“Where are you going to put it down?” Gannon said.

“On a rural road,” Ruby said. “Or a field even. The tires looked pretty good.”

“Then what? Hitchhike?” Stick said.

“We’ll call a cab.”

Gannon laughed.

“That’s hilarious. But that just might work, sailor.”

“Hurry now. Get the gate,” Ruby said.

Gannon hit the button beside the roll-up gate and ran back as it started to rise.

Ruby turned over the engine and the propeller began to spin as Gannon and Stick climbed in.

The radio crackled on as they were outside on the taxi road about to get on the runway.

“This is tower. You are not authorized to take off. What the hell are you doing?”

“Tower, we have a sick child aboard. We need to take off now. Clear the air,” Ruby said.

“You are not authorized!” cried the radio.

“We have no choice. Divert all aircraft. We’re coming out,” Ruby said and turned down the radio volume.

They hit the tarmac and turned and began to pick up speed.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Stick said over the rising roar of the engine.

“Yep,” Gannon said as he crossed himself and began a quick “Our Father.”

“I never should have let you into my office,” Stick yelled as they suddenly left the ground. “I knew you were trouble, but I had no idea this chick was as crazy as you!”

71

In the gilded mirror, Reyland held his right hand over his chest like he was about to pledge allegiance.

Then he tilted up his chin and slowly drew the razor up his shaving-creamed throat.

As he clicked the steel against the rim of the full washbasin, they hit enough turbulence to make the water slosh.

As the rattling subsided, there was a change in light at the porthole window above the commode and Reyland stepped over and looked out.

The clouds they had been in had thinned out, and now seven miles down beneath the Gulfstream, he could see the bleached-salt white line of the North Florida coast.

The G550 they were on now belonged to the attorney general. Reyland had heard that the AG tried to block his use of it. Well, at least until he heard the nosebleed height from which the request had originated.

Reyland went back to the mirror and paused again with the razor as they hit some more bumpy air. He squinted at the back of Emerson’s head where he was sitting with a PowerBook on the jump seat just outside the restroom’s open door.

“Hey, you didn’t tell the pilot I was shaving, did you, Emerson?” he said.

Emerson swiveled and smiled.

Reyland kicked the door shut and finally smiled himself.

Now that they actually had something to smile about.

They had finally found the mystery man.

His name was Gannon. Michael Gannon. He was a diving instructor who lived on Eleuthera Island in the Bahamas with a boat registered in the Bahamian database called the Donegal Rambler.