Page 41 of Savage Assassin

I need that pilot to turn this plane around.

It’s no surprise, when I reach for the door handle and try to turn it, that it doesn’t budge. I would have actually bet money, if I’d thought I needed to, that it would be locked.

I still need to get it open.

Quickly, I shove the knife into my belt as I fish out the small leather pouch I keep in my back pocket, unzipping it quickly. I’ve had to pick locks on a time crunch before, but this is particularly urgent. I fight the urge to glance back over my shoulder and check on Elena as I crouch down, slipping the pick in as I tilt it carefully to one side.

For a moment, I’m not sure if it’s going to give. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to go slow, not to cause too much noise or break the pick. I don’t think the pilot can hear much, but I don’t want him to know I’m about to come in if I can help it.

Another few seconds, and I feel it give. The moment it pops, I reach for the handle, opening it slowly as I set the pouch aside and pull the knife out of my belt.

Carefully, I slip through the door into the cockpit. There’s a moment where the pilot doesn’t hear me or see me in his periphery, and the moment he does, flinching to one side, I’m behind him with the point of the knife pressed into his neck.

“Don’t move,” I warn him, reaching for the headphones he’s wearing and tugging them off.

“Hey! Get your hands off of me! Who the hell do you think you are–”

“Levin Volkov,” I tell him tightly, the point of the knife still pressed just below his jaw. “Former Russian assassin and now Elena Santiago’s bodyguard, so if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do whatever it is you need to do in order to point this plane in the direction of Boston, Massachusetts, and not where it’s going now.”

“I can’t do that.” There’s a thread of fear in the pilot’s voice, but it’s steadier than I would have thought, which is impressive for a man flying a plane with a knife against his throat. “I’ve been paid to take the girl where this plane is going.”

“Last I heard, you were paid to take her to Boston.”

His jaw clenches, and I see him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the point of the knife. “Someone else paid more.”

“Is that someone else named Diego Gonzalez?”

“I’ve got nothing else to say to you.” Another hard swallow and I can tell just how afraid the man really is. “This plane is going where it’s going.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that.” I push the knife in a little harder, the point piercing the skin enough for a trickle of blood to slide down his throat. “Change the flight course, or I’m going to kill you. Those are the only options.”

“What the hell do you think you’re going to do without a pilot?” It’s a last-minute show of bravado, and he knows it as well as I do. “You’re gonna fly this thing?”

“I can try. I’ve got some flight training. Not as much as you, but I’ll take my chances with that over the half an army of armed men that I was told would be waiting for me on the tarmac in South America. So turn the plane around, or–”

I dig the knife in a little deeper, twisting it. “I’m not as big of a fan of killing as a lot of the men I’ve worked with. But I have no trouble with it if need be. So make up your mind before I make it for you.”

“You killing me is better than what the Gonzalez cartel would do to me if I turn this plane around. So–”

The man moves faster than I thought he could. He twists around in the seat, grabbing for my hand holding the knife, and I react on instinct, pushing it hard against his throat. I feel the pop of flesh as it digs in, the tearing of skin, and I hear the pilot’s howl of pain, but he doesn’t stop right away.

He lunges towards me, still grappling for the knife, and as I grab for his other arm to try and get control, his hand swings wide and hits the steering.

The plane shifts, nose going down, and I faintly hear Elena’s shriek from far away as I grab the pilot in a headlock, twisting him around and shoving him back towards the seat.

“Get the nose up! Now! Get this plane back in the sky and towards Boston.”

“No.” His voice is choked with pain, blood dripping down his neck and over my hands, but he struggles, still trying to get out of my grasp. “I’d rather die here than let the cartel take me apart bit by bit.”

“You’re going to get your fucking wish.”

The pilot tries to get out of my grasp again, hands flailing for the controls as he drags us both a few steps closer, no doubt in an effort to go ahead and send us all down to our deaths. I wrench him to one side, yanking the knife out with one hand and pressing my forearm to his throat as blood gushes out over my arm, strangling him as he bleeds out.

I have seconds to get us back on track. I throw the pilot’s body to one side, seeing him still twitching out of the corner of my eye as I sit down, reaching for the controls.

I hadn’t been lying when I said I had some flight training, but I know by the sinking feeling in my gut that it’s not enough. I might have been able to fly us out of this if the pilot hadn’t sent us into a nosedive, maybe gotten us back on track to Boston, maybe even gotten us there safely if I was very careful and remembered it all. But as I try to drag the plane back up, wrestling with it, I know I can’t stop this.

We’re going to crash in the water.When I see that, I know it’s the only chance we might survive. There’s no keeping the plane from crashing, but if I can mitigate it somewhat, we might not die.

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