Shadow of Eden Read Free Page B

passenger cabin. Oliveros motioned the two passengers on the left side of the aisle to stand up and Steve and Oliveros slid Palmer into one. After buckling Palmer in, Oliveros motioned Steve to take the aisle seat.
    “Stay here and keep an eye on him,” Oliveros instructed. He then hustled the two displaced passengers farther back in the cabin. Steve plopped into the aisle seat beside Palmer, but sudden bolts of pain from his back made him quickly lean forward.
    Only then did Steve notice the groans and cries for help. He realized with a shock there had to be lots of injuries back there, there might even be some deaths. Remembering Oliveros’ command, he examined the slumped Captain and found him breathing easily and with a normal, steady pulse. Steve next checked the captain’s scalp and saw some sluggish oozing from a laceration, but it did not appear to be serious.
    Satisfied with Palmer’s condition, Steve tried to relax, but his back hurt too much. Shifting his position back and forth, he soon realized that he could lean far enough into the aisle to see McElroy through the still opened cockpit door. He leaned over even more for a better view and almost bumped heads with a white-haired man with nearly black eyebrows wearing a grey suit, sitting across the aisle from him, doing exactly the same thing. It was the man he had seen earlier from the pilot’s seat, the terrified face in the first row. They traded glances, and then turned their attention back to the activity in the cockpit. Steve soon realized he could hear the cockpit conversation through the overhead intercom.
    “United 1733, you must deviate twenty degrees to the west.”
    “Negative. We’ll stall.”
    “United 1733, deviate now, or I will shoot.”
    “I’ve almost got my engine. Hold your horses.”
    “You’ve got fifteen seconds. No more.”



Chapter 6
    “N umber three turning,” McElroy reported. “Ignition in one.”
    “Make it quick,” growled Verness, sweat rolling down his forehead. They were lower now, less than 300 feet. He traded a little more altitude for speed. He had to maintain their velocity over 240 knots, the airspeed that would spin the engine fast enough to start.
    Verness examined the horizon ahead for buildings in their path. Something massive and dark lay in front of them, but he couldn’t quite make it out. He knew he should recognize it, but . . .
    “Fuel pressure’s up,” reported McElroy. He leaned over awkwardly to use his right hand, the left one being useless. Absently wiping some coagulated blood off his forehead, he stared at his instruments.
    “I’m giving more altitude,” Verness said as he tilted the control yoke forward. “Down to one-twenty.”
    The vast, nearly-black mass loomed up in front of them.
    “What’s that?” McElroy asked.
    Verness just then identified it, “Shit. The Pentagon. Cripes, no wonder that stick jockey is so touchy. Gimme that engine now or we’ll get a sidewinder up our ass.”
    He eyed the altimeter—one hundred feet and dropping.

    “Seven seconds. Turn now!” Kuss could see the headlines if he failed to protect the Pentagon. He knew it would take at least two of their radar-guided Phoenix missiles to stop the jetliner. The air-to-air missiles were designed for much smaller fighter aircraft; their explosive payload would not easily take down a huge 747.
    The reply actually sounded irritated. “Look, ace, the captain twisted all four fire extinguishers and it takes time to spool up again. I grew up in Norfolk, Virginia, the son of a Navy Captain and became a navy flier, flying F-4s. I’m not a friggin’ terrorist.”
    “Who was the civilian in the seat before you?”
    “A doctor who pulled us out of a dive while I was KO’ed on the floor.”
    Time had run out. Kuss had to make a choice.
    “Kisser?” Piper’s tone demanded a response.
    “Fuck, I know.”
    “All I know is he’s aiming right for the Pentagon.”
    Kuss shook his head trying to decide. The