Killer Summer

“Not north of the terminal,” she said. “South. Sumner’s jet, a Lear. No one’s seen the kids.”

“Okay.”

But it wasn’t okay, and they both knew it.

“The Lear… Sumner’s Lear? It just took off. That was the plane you saw. Tail number T-A-nine-five-nine.”

“What?” His head spun. “Hillabrand’s at the auction di

“What has he got to do with anything?”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes, but-”

“Call him, please. Tell him it’s an emergency, that we need him to find Teddy Sumner in the crowd. Sumner needs to call my office ASAP. Can you do that?”

“Of course.”

“Is Pete there with you?”

“Yes.”

“Put him on please.” Walt waved off Nancy as she entered his office to tell him something. She leaned over and passed him a note. Armory clear. Standing guard.

He acknowledged it with a nod.

A gruff voice answered the phone.

“Pete! Have you got a flight plan for the Lear?”

“I’ll look into it.”

“I think Kevin’s on that plane. If and when that jet lands in another state, he’s looking at a felony. Transportation of a minor. We need to contact the pilot and turn that plane around for everyone’s sake.”

“I understand.”

“Call me.”

“Done deal.”

The phone rang less than five minutes later. It was Teddy Sumner. Fiona was proving herself invaluable.

“What’s this all about, Sheriff?”

Walt could hear the auctioneer prattling in the background.

“Your plane,” he said. “I need you to tell your pilot to turn it around.”

“My pilot’s at the Best Western, ru

Walt held the receiver to his ear but said nothing. The bidding price in the background was up to seven thousand dollars.

“Your Lear took off from the Sun Valley Airport less than ten minutes ago. I believe your daughter and a companion are on board.”

“Summer’s due… Oh, shit-”

There was a long pause on the other end. The bidding had reached eight-five.

“I suppose it’s possible William needed a maintenance run,” he continued. “I don’t always hear about those things. Maybe Summer talked him into a joyride.”

“We need to reach the pilot.”

“I can call.”

“Anything you can do to confirm the location of your plane and whether your daughter and a friend are on board would be appreciated.”

“To confirm you’re mistaken?” Sumner sounded dubious.

“Yes.”

“That would be a first. What kind of cop are you?”

“Elected,” Walt answered.

Sumner barked a laugh.

“One other thing, Mr. Sumner. Can you tell me how much a plane like yours costs?”

“The general rule is, if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.”

“Millions.” Walt made it a statement.

“Seventeen-five.”

“Get back to me as soon as you can. And thank you again for your cooperation.”

The bidding stopped at nine thousand five hundred. Going once… going twice…

Walt grabbed his cell phone from its charger on his way out the door.

Seventeen-five.

He stopped in front of Nancy’s desk.

“Call Myra,” he said. “Get the details of how to track Kevin’s cell phone. We’ll need her user name and password.”

Nancy reached for the phone.

Walt moved around to behind her desk. Within a minute, she had accessed the website and had the GPS location for Kevin’s phone, which was north of Ketchum.

Walt checked the map’s time stamp: seven minutes earlier.

“Oh, crap,” he said, his eyes jumping between his watch and the time on the screen.

“Click ‘History,’” he said.

Nancy moved the cursor and clicked. The screen refreshed to Kevin’s location of ten minutes earlier.

“The airport,” Nancy said. “That can’t be right. Hailey Airport to Ketchum in a couple of minutes? I don’t think so. No one can drive that fast.”

“He isn’t driving,” Walt said.

47

As the call went dead, the plane shook, and to the left Kevin heard a series of loud pops followed by silence. The roar now came only from the right.

He checked his bars: zero. He powered down the phone, saving the battery for when they landed.

He looked at the phone cradled in his hand. If they caught him-and they would-they’d confiscate it. The trick was to hide it, come back for it later. He tried slipping it under the pad he was lying on, but it made an obvious bulge. Just outside the sliding partition, he spotted a hand-towel dispenser. With the pilots busy and Summer and her captor facing forward, their backs to him, Kevin reached out of the storage compartment.

His finger deciphered the dispenser’s front panel and he opened it, slipping his phone inside.

The challenge was to think like his uncle. For all he knew, these guys were pla

He relived all that he’d seen on his brief tour of the jet: a fire extinguisher next to the galley, knives and a corkscrew in the drawer, a flashlight above the toilet, a first-aid kit.

He assumed there would be cleaning supplies, possibly beneath the sink or in one of the larger drawers in the galley.

The wiry guy had taken down Summer with one hand. Kevin wasn’t going to let that happen to him. He’d seen enough movies to know the good guy never got a second chance. He’d get one shot, if he was lucky. He was Bruce Willis in Die Hard, Matt Damon in Bourne, Daniel Craig as 007. He had plenty of reference material to draw upon.

But could he actually stab a guy? He convinced himself not to think about it. Just do it, all the Nike ads told him.

One factor in his favor was the element of surprise. His Uncle Walt was not a hunter but was an expert marksman and one of the best trackers in the country. Kevin had been on overnights with Walt when he would locate an animal or herd and then see how long and how far he could stay with them. Hours, sometimes days, and many, many miles. What he’d learned on those outings came less from watching his uncle track-although he picked up some pointers-and more from the late-night stories told around the campfire. It was then that Walt had talked about Kevin’s father. And he learned about the use of the element of surprise.

Remaining hidden made him feel like a coward. What would Bruce or Matt or Daniel do?

He pictured himself going through each motion. Then, with some sixth sense alerting him, he sneaked a peek out into the plane’s main compartment.

The wiry guy was coming up the aisle straight for him.

Trapped, Kevin thought it better to show himself than to surprise a guy like that.

He reached to push the partition back just as the creep stopped and opened one of the window shades that was pulsing yellow and orange. The man pushed his face against the window, turned around, and ran toward the cockpit, shouting, “WE’RE ON FIRE!”

Kevin slid open the partition. He climbed down into the galley, his back to the emergency exit. The door’s small window revealed the source of the guy’s anxiety: the engine was on fire.

Kevin’s heart leaped into his throat.

He peered around the panel to see Summer looking back at him. Her face was blotchy. He wasn’t sure she saw him. She was staring off into space. She seemed to be in shock.

He undid the clasp that secured the fire extinguisher and pulled the ring pin. To him, it felt like pulling the pin on a hand grenade. Time began counting down in his head.

If Kevin was going to take a run at the wiry guy, it was now or never.

What if he was the last line of defense between them and another 9/11? What if these guys pla