“Ooh, pun war!”
We both cracked up again, and managed to calm down just as other things started happening.
A motorcycle skidded into view with two riders on it. It was a gorgeous Ducati, and it was moving fast. The driver and passenger were putting down knees to keep from falling off, and they swerved around all the obstacles that were between us and them—namely most of Ben Gurion International Airport.
About halfway to the plane, driving at probably ninety miles an hour or faster, two cars tore into view and were clearly chasing the Ducati.
“I thought he said this was a grab and go,” I mumbled.
“That’s what he said,” Maddox nodded, and leaned back into the plane. “We’re going to have be ready to go. Like two minutes!”
The engines screamed to life in the next instant. Maddox nodded, and leaned in close to me. “I’m running to pull the chocks, you unlatch the gangway.”
I nodded, and Maddox ran down the stairs out of sight under the plane. How the hell he knew all this shit, I had to find out. Not right now—we apparently had spy shit to help with.
After unlocking the gangway, I leaned over to see Maddox throwing the wheel chocks way out of the path of any of the wheels and racing back to the stairs.
The bike was just a minute behind him. He ran up and motioned me back into the plane. “We’re going to have to slam the door as fast and as hard as we can, so once they’re inside, I’ll pull and you twist.”
“That’s what he said,” I mumbled.
Maddox stared at me, and then burst out laughing. “Nice!”
The Ducati roared and caught our attention again. I peered around the door, not wanting to be in the way. My jaw dropped open and I looked up at Maddox, shocked. “Holy shit. He’s not going to—”
The scream of the bike’s engine cut me off, and we both watched, stunned, as Smoke rode the bike right up the stairs, into the plane.
He barely managed to squeal to a stop before nailing the other bulkhead. He ripped his helmet off and screamed, “Go! Go!”
The plane started rolling forward as Maddox leaned out, grabbed the handles on the door and jerked it around, slamming it into the door frame. I leapt up and over him and shoved the lock handle into position.
We were picking up serious speed as Smoke cut the Ducati’s engine. He and his passenger dismounted, and I watched as the stranger’s hands flew angrily through several dozen swear words and phrases in American sign language.
[You fucking maniac!] It was the cleanest of his phrases.
I waved at him. [Are you okay?]
[No! Everything that could have gone wrong—wait. You know ASL?]
[Quite well, yes.]
[Tell Agent Gillam I’m going to kill him. I thought we were jumping off the damn bike, not riding it up into the plane! Is he trying to get us killed?]
I translated for Smoke, who had a smirk on his face that was not contrite. “I liked the bike. I didn’t want to trash it or leave it behind.”
I didn’t have to translate the next sign.
The passenger finally peeled his helmet off as we taxied as fast as we could toward the runways. He shook out his hair and—
—Holy crap, he washot. Maddox’s eyebrows also shot up when he saw him. I cocked my head and shrugged.
[I’m right here,] he signed, smirking.
[That’s why I didn’t say anything,] I said.
[You even know etiquette, impressive.]
“Could you actually introduce us?” Smoke asked. “We’ve been running on fumes here with our communications.”
