"I said I was here." Cadel's voice shook. "If you hurt her, I'll kill you. I will."
"It's plugged in," said Vadi, yanking his organizer free of its connection. "There's a cable back here—I don't know what it's for."
Cadel was poised to hurl himself straight at Prosper, whose gun was almost certainly tucked away in his clothes somewhere. There was a very slim chance that Cadel might be able to reach it before its owner did, if Sonja's life was threatened.
But Prosper didn't move. He didn't so much as shift his weight.
He seemed to be reviewing their predicament, his dark gaze blank and impenetrable.
"The fire," he said at last. Then he examined his watch again. "Damn it."
"I don't understand how you could get this to work," Vadi muttered, gingerly nursing the rescued organizer. "It's so old. It wasn't designed to link up with the Internet. Was it?"
"It's an information delivery system," Cadel replied. "You just have to know how to unlock the right doors—"
"Okay, listen." Prosper released Sonja's hair, so that her head fell back onto the sofa cushions with a soft thud. He spoke crisply and rapidly. "This is going to be tight, but we might just make it. As long as we leave right now."
Alias gawped at him.
"But—"
"Now!" Prosper barked. "Into the car! Everyone!"
"But my message might not have got through," said Cadel. "You might be safe. I'd have to check."
It was a last-ditch effort, and it was futile. Vadi hissed in disbelief. Prosper narrowed his eyes, not the least bit amused by Cadel's clumsy attempt to get back online.
"You'd be better employed keeping your mouth shut and your hands to yourself," was Prosper's recommendation. "I'm beginning to lose patience with you, I really am. You're pushing your luck." He grabbed Cadel's collar. "Now get into the car, or I'll drag your friend there by one foot."
"Which car?" said Alias, and Prosper bared his teeth in an impatient snarl.
"The hatchback," he snapped. "What else?"
"But we'll be early," Vadi objected.
"Then we'll improvise."
"But my stuff!" cried Alias. "All my makeup and prosthetics!"
"Leave them." Seeing Alias hesitate, Prosper slid his free hand into the pocket of his jacket. "I can't let you get caught. You do realize that, don't you?"
It was a none-too-subtle threat, which Alias understood perfectly. His eyes widened. He retreated a step.
"I'll take the girl," Vadi offered. "Alias can drive."
"No. You drive," said Prosper. As Vadi opened his mouth to remonstrate, Prosper overrode him. "Forget the plan. The plan has changed. Speed is essential. That's why we have to get going! Right now!"
So they left. Vadi took Sonja, and Alias took the diapers. Prosper kept his hand firmly clamped around Cadel's collar until they were all safely bundled into the green car—where Cadel found himself in the backseat, wedged between Sonja's lolling form and Prosper's rigid one. Then Vadi took off, accelerating up the driveway and veering onto the road. Cadel had driven with Vadi once before, in a sleek and stately BMW. It had been such a smooth ride that Cadel had spent at least half of it dozing.
But when pressed for time, Vadi had a lead foot. And though Cadel shut his eyes quite often during this second trip, it wasn't because he felt drowsy. It was because he didn't have the courage to open them.
Vadi drove like a Formula One racer.
"Jesus!" gasped Alias, after a particularly close shave. "You're going to kill us!"
"No he's not." Prosper spoke calmly. "He's had special training."
"Yes, so you said!" Alias squeaked. "But we're not on the plane yet, for god's sake!"
Prosper laughed. He seemed genuinely amused. All he said, however, was, "Do you still have that gun, Vadi? Give it to Alias, then. He can return it when we arrive." As Alias craned around to look at him, wearing a pained expression, Prosper remarked, "I don't want to be stopped for speeding."
Strangely enough, they weren't. Though Vadi drove like a maniac, bouncing through potholes and screeching around corners, no flashing lights or wailing sirens intruded upon their frantic journey. In fact, they hardly saw any vehicles at all; the crumbling country roads over which they skimmed bore very little traffic. Once they passed an old pickup, heading in the opposite direction. Once they overtook a brand-new Range Rover, which sounded its horn at them. And once they nearly collided with a truck full of sheep. But for the most part, their passage was unobserved.
Vadi barreled along without hindrance, answering questions in a distracted sort of way, both his hands on the wheel.
"She has leased space in a hangar," he explained, for Prosper's benefit. "There aren't many buildings there. One belongs to a glider club. It's only busy on the weekend."
"So what kind of interference can we expect?" asked Prosper. Then, with a wry half smile, he added, "Besides the police, of course."
"Maybe an airstrip manager," Vadi replied. "It might be too late to avoid him now. If we're lucky, there will be no one."
"Why didn't we just break in overnight?" Alias queried. "Is there an alarm system or something?"
"No," said Prosper. "But most regional airstrips only operate during daylight hours, and I didn't want to alert people. Besides, we're neither of us too confident about flying at night. Are we, Vadi?"
"That's not the main reason," Vadi retorted, a little put out. "You told me to book a time. So I did."
"Yes," Prosper agreed. "Because a stolen aircraft would have created a ruckus. I wanted to keep things as quiet as possible for as long as possible." His gaze slid sideways toward Cadel, who hunched his shoulders. "Unfortunately, now that our cover's blown, there's not much point trying to play by the rules."
"This place is hard to find," Vadi said. "That might work in our favor."
"It might." Prosper didn't sound very sanguine. "We still have to rethink our second leg, though."
Vadi grunted, and Cadel wondered what exactly this "second leg" might entail. But Prosper's whole body was as taut as a guitar string, and Cadel didn't want to make inquiries—just in case they triggered an outburst.
If Prosper lost his temper, Sonja would be his prime target.
All at once the car began to slow, as it approached a modest T-junction. The sign that marked this intersection was so badly scarred by lead shot that it had been rendered illegible; nevertheless, the very existence of a sign indicated that something important must lie at the end of an otherwise unpromising side road. Certainly Vadi didn't hesitate over his choice of routes. He turned straight onto the rough dirt track, which wound through several hectares of level, scrubby land, much of it covered with stands of ironbark and grevillea. Mysterious bits of rusty casing were scattered here and there. Parakeets fled from the roar of the engine.
After about five minutes, Alias had to get out and open a barred gate.
At last, however, they reached cleared countryside and saw—across a flat expanse of yellowish grass and macadam—the distant gleam of metal roofs. Beyond these roofs more bush seemed to jostle against a perimeter fence. And beyond the treetops a low hill reared up, half shorn of its timber.
"There it is," said Vadi. "And that's the manager's car."
"Keep going," Prosper advised. "Don't slow down."
"What if they've already called this manager guy? The police, I mean? What if they've warned him?" Alias demanded. To which Prosper replied, "If they'd warned him, he wouldn't be here. I'm armed and dangerous, remember? They wouldn't have let him stay." With another quick glance at Cadel, he murmured provocatively, "We seem to be in luck, don't you think?"
No one said anything else—at least not for several minutes. As Vadi drove briskly around the edge of the airfield, Cadel spied a wind sock flapping away on top of a pole. A single-engine aircraft was tethered near one of the steel sheds grouped to the north of the wind sock. The smallest of these sheds, which boasted several windows and an air conditioner, also bore a large sign that said O
FFICE.
A white station wagon was parked directly under the sign.
"There he is," said Vadi. "There. See? The airstrip manager."
Sure enough, a man was climbing out of the white car. From a distance, it was hard to make out what he looked like. But his interest in the approaching hatchback was evident from the way he turned to peer at it, shading his eyes from the early-morning sun.
"Is this the only road in?" asked Prosper, and cursed under his breath when Vadi answered that it was. By now they were close enough to see the manager's brown hair and mustache. He wore a pair of jeans under a plain khaki jacket.
"He's just arrived. Look. He's still got his keys out," said Alias. And Cadel instantly realized what that meant.
Any warning issued by the police might very well be sitting on the office voice mail, waiting to be heard.
"Okay," said Prosper. "I can't see any more cars, so this won't take long. Vadi stays here with the kids until I say otherwise. Alias, give that weapon to Vadi. And remember: I want to get as close to this guy as possible before throwing my weight around, or he might try to run. Cadel..." Prosper's dark glare was like a double-barreled shotgun, aimed straight at Cadel's forehead. "You keep your mouth shut, or people are going to get hurt. Understand?"
Mutely, Cadel nodded.
"Right. Stop here." Prosper unbuckled his seat belt as Vadi stamped on the brake. "This is close enough. Okay—are we all clear about what's going to happen? Vadi stays put. Cadel shuts up. And Alias..." Prosper inclined his head. "Alias, it's over to you now."
FORTY-TWO
The poor airstrip manager didn't stand a chance. He smiled broadly as soon as Alias emerged from the car. In fact, judging from the enthusiastic reception that Alias received, Judith Bashford was a familiar and welcome sight around the airstrip.
Then Prosper climbed out of the backseat and joined Alias. Cadel watched the airstrip manager stride toward them. Clearly, there was nothing alarming about Prosper's wispy white hair and tweed jacket. If there had been, the airstrip manager would surely have faltered a little, his smile fading. He wouldn't have hurried so eagerly to close the gap between himself and his visitors.
Cadel looked away. He couldn't bear to witness the inevitable moment when realization dawned.
He didn't dare raise his eyes again until Vadi gave a grunt and murmured, "Good job." This remark prompted Cadel to glance up—by which time Prosper had drawn his gun. Shell-shocked, the poor airstrip manager was standing with his hands in the air, stammering out answers to Prosper's questions. From inside the car, Cadel couldn't hear exactly what was being said.
He could, however, see Alias detaching a bunch of keys from the airstrip manager's belt. Shortly afterward, all three of them—Prosper, Alias, and their unfortunate captive— began to move toward one of the large tin sheds. Upon reaching it, they stopped for a minute or two. (Cadel speculated that this delay was caused by a search for the right key, but couldn't be certain because they were so far away.) Then Alias dragged open one big aluminum door and vanished into the shed's murky interior with his two companions.
"Can you see?" Cadel whispered to Sonja, who was slumped against him. When she managed a nod, he pressed her hand.
Over behind the wheel, Vadi sighed. It was obvious that he didn't like waiting. He kept consulting his watch and nervously scanning the horizon. His muddy skin gleamed with perspiration; his breathing didn't sound quite right.
It worried Cadel that someone so jittery should be holding an automatic pistol.
"Is that safety catch on?" he asked, and Vadi jumped in his seat.
"What?"
"Have you engaged the safety catch on your gun?"
"No talking, please, sir."
At that moment Alias appeared again, pushing open the second aluminum door to reveal the pale outline of a small plane inside the tin shed.
Then he beckoned to Vadi. But when Vadi tried to climb out of the hatchback, Alias shook his head, miming a steering wheel.
"You're supposed to drive over," Cadel pointed out. He had to acknowledge that using the car to transport Sonja from one location to another was a good idea. And when Alias waved them straight into the hangar, Cadel realized that Prosper had been thinking strategically.
With the green car tucked well out of sight, there was no indication that Prosper had even arrived at the airfield. Not from a distance, anyway.
It was a smart move.
As Vadi switched off the engine, Cadel scanned his surroundings in amazement. He was impressed by the sheer size of the hangar, which was certainly large enough to accommodate both a car and a plane—with plenty of room to spare. In one of the vacant corners, Prosper stood with his gun trained on the airstrip manager, who was being forced to remove his clothes. Not far away, Alias was also undressing. Apparently he intended to disguise himself as the airstrip manager, despite the fact that he had left his makeup kit at Judith's house.
Cadel was about to observe to Sonja that the mustache problem might prove to be insurmountable when something else caught his eye. Frowning, he peered more closely at the airplane. It was a neat little machine, as white as a cloud, with three wheels, one propeller, and a three-door cabin. Everything about it looked stylish; Cadel recalled that Judith had mentioned paying close to $100,000 for her "four-stroke Jabiru," and this particular aircraft had JABIRU painted on its tail.
But from what he could see, it contained only four seats.
"That's not ours, is it?" he demanded of Vadi, who was now exiting the car. "Hey! Hey!"
Vadi, however, didn't seem to hear. He pocketed his pistol and slammed the driver's door shut behind him.
So Cadel pushed open his own door.
"There are only four seats in that plane!" he cried, scrambling out. To which Prosper replied, "Get back in the car."
"Who are you going to leave here?"
"Get back in the car."
When Cadel hesitated, reluctant to comply, Vadi grabbed his arm and tried to enforce Prosper's request. Alias, meanwhile, had unstrapped his padding.
"I'll need some water," he suddenly announced. "I can't do this without water. Or scissors, for cutting up the wig. And maybe some paste, or correction fluid."
"Where's your bathroom?" Prosper asked the airstrip manager. "Over in that office?"
The response was a wordless nod. Prosper then turned to Vadi, who was still struggling with Cadel.
"You can't leave Sonja here!" Cadel exclaimed. "Not on her own! You can't!"
"Shh," said Prosper, before addressing Vadi. "I want you to check out that office. There'll be water, and maybe duct tape or electric cables—something you can use on this one." He jerked his chin at the airstrip manager, whose horrified expression seemed to amuse him. "Not for torturing you, Eric, don't worry. For tying you up. These great hawsers lying around here simply won't do."
"You want Alias to go with me?" said Vadi, seeking clarification. He now had Cadel in a headlock.
"I want you to escort them both—Eric and Alias," Prosper explained. "Eric can help you with the keys. Can't you, Eric?"
Another nod from the dazed airstrip manager. By now he wore only his boxer shorts; Alias had even taken his socks.
"Meanwhile, I'll prep the plane," Prosper continued. "And keep an eye on my son here. Are you sure this is the right key, Eric?" Holding aloft a rather ordinary-looking ignition key, Prosper subtly adjusted the position of his gun until its barrel was pointing straight at Eric's heart. "You wouldn't be mucking me about, would you?"
"Of course not!" Eric quavered. "It's the spare! She left it herself!"
"Good," said Prosper, returning the key to his pocket. "Then off you go with Vadi. That's it. Don't dawdle. We haven't got all day."
With a shrug, Vadi released Cadel and used his gun to shepherd Eric out of the building. Alias trailed behind them, clutching his wig in one hand and Eric's keys in the other.
Cadel rubbed his bruised throat, trying not to cough. He felt Prosper's hand on t
he back of his neck.
"Now," Prosper said, "let's see how big this plane is, shall we?"
He yanked at Cadel's collar with such force that Cadel almost tripped, and had difficulty staying upright as he was hauled in the direction of Judith's airplane. "Wait—please!" Cadel gasped. "We have to talk about—Ow!" Prosper had relinquished his turtleneck, only to grab his ponytail instead. The pain was excruciating. "Ow—ow—"
"So sorry, dear boy." There wasn't, however, a trace of regret in Prosper's languid delivery. "I have to put this gun away, and I know how tricky you can be, if given half the chance."
Cadel's eyes were so full of tears that he could hardly see what was going on. But he assumed that Prosper was trying to get into Judith's airplane. And he was right; before long the tight grip on his hair relaxed, as he was bundled through a cabin door and pushed into a very comfortable, upholstered seat. The smell of new carpet and old exhaust fumes made him feel nauseous.
Or perhaps he was just sick with fear.
"Listen," he gabbled, "you can leave her here as long as you tell someone where she is."
"Oh, I can, can I?" Prosper's tone was absentminded. He was surveying the instrument panel. "Nice to have your permission, I'm sure."
"Please. Please." Cadel's voice cracked. "If you call someone about Sonja, I promise I'll be good. I swear I will. I'll do everything you say." Hearing Prosper snort, he leaned forward, fists clenched. "I mean it," he pleaded. "This isn't a trick. Please believe me, I'm telling the truth. Word of honor."
"Word of honor?" At last Prosper's interest was piqued. He turned away from the instrument panel and fixed Cadel with a bright, steely, penetrating look. "What are you talking about? You wouldn't know what that means."
"Yes I would! I'm different now! I keep my promises!" When Cadel saw Prosper's face harden, he realized that this wasn't a piece of information likely to please someone who had once been involved in founding a University of Evil. So he did something he'd never, ever thought he could bring himself to do.
He swallowed and said, "Please, Dad. I'm begging you. I won't cause you any more trouble for the rest of my life, if you just do this one thing."