Chapter 11 - The Tarmac Standoff
The heavy FBI cruiser tore down the gravel path, its tires churning through the washed-out mud as Agent Hayes pursued the utility vehicle with Ethan and Claire braced in the back seat. Claire refused medical evacuation; she sat upright, holding Ethan's hand tightly in her lap.
Through the rain-streaked windshield, the private asphalt runway stretched into the darkness between two dense walls of pine trees.
At the far end sat a twin-engine Cessna, its navigation lights blinking red and white, its propellers already spinning into a deafening blur. Richard had already reached the boarding stairs, tossing a heavy waterproof duffel bag into the cabin.
"He’s spinning up the engines!" Hayes shouted, stomping the cruiser's gas pedal to the floorboards. "He's going to roll before backup arrives!"
"He can't take off with the rudder locked!" Claire said suddenly, leaning between the front bucket seats. "The manual pre-flight lock is still pinned to the tail fin—he rushed the startup!"
Hayes hit the siren, swerving the cruiser directly onto the runway to cut off the plane's taxi path. The twin engines screamed at full throttle, the aircraft beginning to roll straight toward the police cruiser.
"Brace!" Hayes yelled, spinning the wheel to broadside the aircraft's path.
The cruiser slammed to a halt twenty yards in front of the moving nose gear. Richard leaned out of the cockpit side window, pointing an automatic assault rifle down at the vehicle and opening fire in a continuous deafening burst.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Rounds punched through the cruiser's hood, blowing the radiator apart in a geyser of scalding steam. Hayes kicked his door open, firing his service sidearm through the gap between the door frame and the fender.
Ethan looked out through the rear window. The plane’s left wheel was catching in the soft dirt beside the asphalt, slowing its forward momentum just enough.
"Ethan, stay down!" Claire yelled, but Ethan had already spotted the emergency tow cable hooked to the back of the airfield utility cart right beside them.
Without thinking, Ethan popped the cruiser's rear latch, grabbed the heavy steel tow hook, and bolted under the cover of the blinding steam cloud toward the tail assembly of the aircraft.
"Ethan, no!" Claire's cry was swallowed by the roar of the propellers.
Ethan slid across the wet tarmac on his knees, hooked the heavy cable directly into the Cessna's rear tie-down loop, and jammed the locking pin home.
The other end was wrapped around a concrete runway anchor post.
Inside the cockpit, Richard slammed the dual throttles forward to achieve liftoff speed. The plane surged ahead fifteen feet—and then the steel cable snapped taut.
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CLANG!
The tail was ripped sideways with tremendous force. The Cessna spun in a violent ground loop, the right landing gear snapping off with a deafening screech of tearing aluminum. The wingtip struck the asphalt, sparking violently before crumpling like tin foil as the aircraft slammed to a dead stop in the center of the runway.
