Mike eyed the altimeter. The little hand pointed at nine and the big hand at three: ninety-three hundred feet and climbing very slowly. The airspeed was down to seventy-five, and the engine seemed to be straining. He wondered if Hoagie was deliberately holding the plane back, to give them more time.

But time for what?

Reluctantly he looked below. Spanish Galleon Cay was tiny in the afternoon sun. He could see cars and jeeps parked in the middle of the street of Nevil's Town, and people running around excitedly, like brightly colored ants.

Lomas yelled suddenly, over the wind, "I think she will go no higher, no es verdad?" He unfastened his seat belt and forced them all to do the same.

Mike could hardly handle his buckle, his hands were trembling so. Lomas reached forward and yanked it off, then tapped him on the shoulder with the barrel of the gun. "You are cold, señor? Or frightened?"

"Cold," Mike managed through frigid lips.

Lomas shrugged. "Fifty seconds, sixty, and you're warm. Your friends will follow, have no fear."

Mike twisted and looked into Lomas's eyes.

"Look," he shouted above the howl of the wind, "I got a wife and kid!"

"I will send flowers." Lomas half rose in his seat and craned down at the island. "I think no casket will be necessary."

Mike saw Carla, the year before Thea had come, sun-streaked hair flowing, racing him down the beach; he felt Thea warm in his arms at four months old, smelling of milk, tugging at his ear, the first she'd ever noticed; he saw his mother standing on the beach at Amity, mourning Sean....

"What have I ever done to you?" he demanded.

"Nothing, nada." Lomas smiled. "But you should pick a better airline." He motioned with the gun and shivered himself. "Now I am cold. So, vamos! Go!"

Mike turned back and looked down. Why jump? Why not let him blast him here? Maybe Jake could somehow overpower him if he did.

He felt the muzzle pressing at the back of his head, and his muscles turned to water. The gun was forcing him out, pressing harder, jabbing, and Lomas had his left shoulder in a grip of steel, pushing; he seemed powerless to resist, and all at once the icy blast was in his eyes, blurring his vision; below, the island beckoned, in the warmth of the setting sun....

Suddenly the world dropped away, as if the plane had crested a roller-coaster ride. For a moment the slipstream quieted and he was floating. He grabbed convulsively at the strut outside the cabin, felt back for the side of the plane, hung on, half in, half out, as weightless as air.