He twisted in his seat, using his damaged arm like a shield to ward off the next attack, while going for his Glock in the flight case on the left side of his captain’s seat with his left hand. His fingers managed to close around the butt of the Glock, but the four-point seat belt had him locked in his seat. Smith leapt out of his seat, the knife coming down fast. It ripped through Nate’s hand, his mind registering with only passing interest how his pinkie finger now hung by the thinnest strip of remaining skin. Yet despite that, he pulled the Glock and brought it across his body.

A lash of fire seared his neck and he felt the blade cutting through his throat. He tasted copper in his mouth and blood poured into and down his severed windpipe. The world turned gray and crushing vertigo annihilated all sense of proprioception. Calling upon the last ounce of will he possessed, Nate squeezed the trigger with his left index finger twice.

His mind was only vaguely aware of the loud twin pops.

Smith fell backward off him and into the copilot’s seat, then pitched over onto the center panel.

Nate glanced at the main panel, relieved to see the autopilot was still operating.

He felt the enormous rush of hot, wet blood on his chest.

He was aware, in a detached way, of the twin geysers of blood that arched up onto the ceiling and windscreen of the cockpit with each pounding beat of his heart.

He waited for Smith to lunge and finish him off, but the attack never came.

Maybe he didn’t need finishing off.

I’m sorry, God. I tried to stop him. I hope I knew You well enough . . .

Unable to move, he slipped into a warm pool that seemed to engulf him mind, body, and spirit. Blackness took him and then the light . . .

CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE

GULFSTREAM G700 N828RP

Jed was surprised that the wind didn’t tear his arm off when he reached for the cargo door control lever on the side of the Boeing. The geometry of the narrow gap between the two planes must have created disruptive eddies in the airflow, making the slipstream between a manageable cyclone of turbulence.

The cargo door opened on command, and Jed found himself peering inside the cargo hold of the Boeing. He looked back at Eli, who, in typical Eli fashion, summarized the situation with an economy of words.

“Well, ain’t that a thing,” the veteran said with wonderment on his face.