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MacManus continues his tirade, but I’ve stopped paying attention, noting instead that the plane is now fully loaded. Aolani has even shepherded a distressed Chef Kiki and spouse aboard. With Ronin, Vaughn, Charlie, and me staying behind, there are exactly enough seats for everyone else, including AO.
Ronin has his hand on the captain’s shoulder, urging her to board.
They’re going to get away with this, I realize. Vaughn’s mission was to distract MacManus while Ronin and Aolani got the job done. It’s a master class in covert operations.
Aolani reappears. She rat-a-tats back down the steps, capturing MacManus’s attention. Too late, he realizes the plane is fully boarded, leaving him shut out on the runway.
“I order you to cease and desist,” he shouts belatedly, shoving past Vaughn to stride forward. “I did not authorize this trip. Disembark right now! I command you!”
Captain Marilee hesitates, clearly torn. Ronin murmurs more low, urgent words. After a brief nod, she squares her shoulders, regards her employer.
“Sir, this is clearly an example of extraordinary circumstances. The safety and well-being of these people must come first, and staying on this atoll without any means of outside contact isn’t it.”
“That plane takes off, there’s no coming back from this,” MacManus warns. “I’ll see to it that neither of you ever work in aviation again. And you.” He turns to Vaughn. “We’re through. I took a chance on you when no one would. This is how you repay me? Going against my explicit instructions all because you believe some pack of lies?”
“This is the right thing to do,” Vaughn repeats steadily. Captain Marilee heads toward the boarding stairs. Two steps, three, almost at the base.
Ronin falls back, his mission accomplished.
And Brent, following in Marilee’s wake, casually leans forward, wraps his fingers around the handle of her pistol and slips it from her holster.
“Sorry about this,” he says. Then he pulls the trigger.
Pandemonium. Ronin leaps forward to catch Marilee’s collapsing form. Brent ducks under the plane and races to the other side. Jason and Elias both raise their pistols to return fire.
MacManus knocks the gun from the bodyguard closest to him. “The wings,” he snaps. “Hit the fuel tanks and we’ll lose our only way off this island.”
Elias belatedly drops his arm. He and Jason bend low, trying to get a bead on Brent’s retreating form.
“There!” I cry, spying him disappearing into the brush on the other side of the runway.
“You.” MacManus whirls on Jason. “After him. You.” He stabs a finger at Elias. “Come with me. We gotta get everyone out of here. Safest place to retreat?” He looks at Vaughn.
“The mess hall. Open lines of sight, secured on two sides. Everyone, move.”
Jason takes off after Brent’s fleeing form, while MacManus pivots back toward the base camp, Lea tucked protectively at his side. Aolani is already clambering onboard the Cessna and ordering everyone to evacuate. I can hear muffled crying and demands for information. They all heard the shot. Only some could see what happened.
“Captain Marilee will be all right,” AO assures everyone, ushering each person down the steps as I bound forward to help any way I can.
Vaughn has reached Ronin now. They shield Marilee’s body with their own, making it impossible to tell the extent of her injuries.
“Did he shoot her?” Ann demands to know the second her feet hit the runway. “Did one of those evil bodyguards shoot our Marilee?”
“Brent did,” I supply quickly, ushering them toward the crushed-coral path.
“What?” Trudy gasps.
“Not possible!” Ann seconds.
“Brent is armed and on the run. Head to the mess hall immediately. We’re taking cover there.”
For once, they’re speechless. Finally, both squeeze my hands, then take off down the trail leading to the camp, casting furtive glances over their shoulders.
The urgency of the situation has communicated itself through the group, people moving faster and faster for the relative safety of the buildings we’d decided to abandon just thirty minutes prior.
Ronin stands up, Marilee’s body slung over his back in a fireman’s carry.
There is so much blood. On the ground, her shirt, Ronin’s hands. I smell it now. Blood. Gunpowder. Terror. It tastes metallic on my tongue, a flavor both alien and familiar. Time for feminine hygiene products to soak up the blood, stanch the bleeding. Except you have to treat the entrance and exit wounds; that’s what I learned the hard way. Stemming the bleeding from one side isn’t enough. Never enough.
