Gabriel pushed the crate onward until he found himself on the street. A few people were standing around, some in nightclothes and robes, some of them barefoot, each turning to the others in an attempt to learn what was going on. Sirens were converging on the building a block away, where Gabriel could see the orange glow of the fire in the sky over the rooftops. He made his way down the block, steering the crate behind a row of trucks and cars that had hastily been parked on the scene, disgorging police and firemen to combat the chaos. A larger crowd had gathered here, in front of the blazing building.
Sammi and Lucy were among them, their faces frozen in strained expressions of concern.
Gabriel approached them, pushing the crate before him. “Ladies.”
“Gabriel!”
“My god!”
They both rushed to him.
“We thought you were dead for sure,” Lucy said. Her voice sounded a little clearer, as if the combination of adrenaline and cool night air were combating the effects of the drug in her system.
“How did you get out?” Sammi asked.
“Gabriel,” Lucy exclaimed, looking at a seared patch on Gabriel’s sleeve he hadn’t even noticed himself, “you’re hurt!”
“Oh, she’s right—did you get burned?”
Gabriel held up a hand. “I’m all right. I’m all right. Really.” He looked at his sleeve and the reddened skin showing beneath. “It’s nothing a fifth of bourbon won’t cure.”
Sammi’s eyes dropped to the crate and to the corner of gray stone peeking out from the packing material. “The Stone! You got the Stone.”
Gabriel glanced at the emergency personnel, who were working hard to put out the fire. He held a finger to his lips.
“We can discuss it in the car,” he said.
And together they wheeled the crate away, into the night.
Chapter 27
The plane was fueled and ready for takeoff from the same private airstrip at the Marrakesh airport they had previously used. They hadn’t been able to fit the crate in the trunk of the car, so Gabriel had lifted the Stone out and left it with Sammi in the backseat. He lugged it up the stairs of the plane now, surprised not to see Charlie waiting for them at the top of the steps. “Could use a hand here,” he called—but the cockpit door was already shut and with the engines revving loudly it was clear that Charlie was gearing up to start taxiing, so Gabriel carried the heavy piece the length of the plane on his own, his arms aching from the strain. His entire body ached, in fact, and the options for good bourbon were few, though he thought there might be a bottle stashed somewhere on board.
The plane took off a few minutes later and they soared into a predawn sky that was just beginning to turn all sorts of shades of pink and orange at the horizon. Sammi sat with her face pressed to the window, watching. Lucy sat beside her, head back and eyes shut. She wasn’t asleep, since from time to time she would nod in response to something Sammi said to her in French, but she wasn’t entirely awake either.
“Hey, Gabriel,” Lucy mumbled.
“Yes?” he said.
“Did I say thank you yet?”
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m your brother. It’s my job.”
She smiled. “Well, thank you anyway. You’re a good brother.”
“Get some sleep,” Gabriel said.
They sat in silence as the Challenger tilted, turned, and then leveled at around 30,000 feet. Gabriel looked out the window and watched Marrakesh disappear from view. It would be a long while before he had any desire to revisit it. He sighed and then turned his attention to an English-language newspaper he had bought from a vending machine at the airport.
Strapped snugly into the seat beside him, wrapped in a blanket, was the Second Stone. He was tempted to unwrap it just a bit, begin looking over its inscriptions; but there would be time enough for that on the second leg of the flight, from France to New York. For now, the thing to do was just leave it alone. It had already been subjected to more handling in the past few hours than in the two hundred years before, and he didn’t want to risk damaging it in some—
The plane lurched unexpectedly.
Sammi and Lucy both looked over at him.
“I’ll go see if everything’s okay,” Gabriel answered. He unbuckled his seat belt, stood, and walked down the aisle to the cockpit door. Gabriel knocked and called, “Charlie? What’s going on?”
There was no answer. Instead, the plane veered violently, knocking Gabriel off his feet and onto the seats next to him. Gabriel looked out the window. The scenery was swinging past the windows—they were changing course.
Gabriel got to his feet and tried the cockpit door. It was locked—which may have been standard operating procedure on commercial flights, but not on the Hunt Foundation’s private jet.
He rapped again. “Charlie! Open the door!”
Nothing.
This isn’t good.
Unlike commercial airplanes, the door to the Challenger’s cockpit wasn’t break-proof, so it wasn’t difficult for Gabriel to raise his foot and kick the door in.
He followed the swinging door into the cockpit, then stopped dead.
Reza Arif stood inside the broken door. He held a Parabellum-Pistole in his right hand. The barrel was pointed at Gabriel’s chest.
“Back up, Gabriel. Hands in the air.”
“Goddamn it,” Gabriel muttered. He looked past Arif and saw that Charlie had a gag tied around his mouth and his hands cinched together with a pair of plastic crowd-restraint cuffs. Somehow he was still flying the plane. “How did you get on board?”
“How did I get on board?” Arif laughed. “Do you forget the connections I have in my country? I may be wanted by the police, but that doesn’t mean I can’t pull strings, especially at an airport owned by my good friends in the Union Corse. Access to a privately owned jet at the airstrip? That’s nothing.” He jerked his head toward Charlie. “Your pilot has been very accommodating. He knows that if he tries anything stupid we will all die. I’ve instructed him to take us where I want to go.”
“Where’s that?”
“I don’t think I’ll tell you, Gabriel. You’ll find out when we land. If you’re still alive when we land—it’s up to you.”
“And then?”
“And then we shall see. First of all, I will relieve you of the Second Stone, for the second time. Even though the Alliance isn’t around to take it off my hands anymore, I am sure I can find a buyer willing to pay a handsome price for it. I’ve already had an offer of forty-five million—but I think I can get at least a hundred. Do you think the Hunt Foundation would be interested in making a bid?”
“I think the Hunt Foundation would be interested in seeing you in a jail cell. Or a morgue.”
“Tsk, tsk,” Arif said. “I suggest you take your seat, now, Gabriel. Oh, and please hand me your weapon. You do still carry that revolver, don’t you?”
“Better than that German piece of junk you’re holding.”
“What are you talking about? A Luger in fine shape is one of the most sought-after collectibles in the world. It’s an excellent semiautomatic. Each magazine holds eight rounds, which is two more than your Colt. A thirty-three percent advantage.” He held out his hand. Gabriel reluctantly pulled his Colt out of its holster and handed it to Arif. Arid dropped it into a carry-on bag that sat on the copilot seat. “Thank you. Now back to your seat. And buckle up.”
Gabriel scowled at him, but turned when prodded with Arif’s gun. Arif followed him back.
“My two favorite women,” he said, nodding toward where Sammi and Lucy were sitting. “How nice to see you again.”