“The hangar’s equipped with a full bathroom and sleeping quarters. My wife calls it my dog house. Whenever we’re at odds with each other, she sends me to the hangar to think about my transgressions.” His lips twisted in a wry grin. “It’s not much of a punishment. She knows I come out here to drink beer and catch up on my football. You’ll find toiletries and clean coveralls we keep for when we invite mechanics out to service the plane. Help yourself.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d like to leave in the next thirty minutes to avoid any of my workers dropping by to see why I haven’t left for Panama yet.”
Marta’s eyes had widened when Slater mentioned the facilities available in the hangar. “A shower and clean clothes would be amazing,” Marta said, her voice breathy, her expression hopeful.
“Go,” Crusher said. “I’ll get one after you.”
Marta spun and started for the corner RJ had pointed to. She hadn’t gone two steps when she stopped and returned to Crusher, holding out her bandaged wrist.
He silently unwound the wrap, peeled off the tape, and removed the gauze. “I’ll reapply when we’re done.”
RJ frowned at the sores on her wrist. “Vasquez’s people do that?”
Marta nodded.
Crusher held onto Marta’s hand longer than necessary, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. “They handcuffed her to a lab table to keep her working.”
“It’ll be my pleasure to get you out of the country under his nose,” RJ said, frowning.
“Even though it will put you at risk of his retaliation?” Marta asked.
RJ pressed a hand to his heart. “Knowing I thwarted his brand of terrorism will make my day.” He waved toward the corner. “But if we could leave before anyone sees you two, my employees and family can avoid his wrath.”
Marta hurried away, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be done in less than ten minutes.”
While he waited for her return, Crusher followed RJ around the plane as the pilot completed his inspection and pre-flight checklist. By the time RJ finished, Marta reappeared, her face shiny clean, her auburn hair slicked back from her forehead, lying in damp lengths down her back. She wore a navy-blue coverall and had rolled back the sleeve away from her injured wrist.
“The shower was every bit as wonderful as I’d imagined and would have been even better if I could’ve stood there for a little longer.” She sighed. “But we need to get into the air as soon as possible—not only to keep RJ’s people safe, but to get ahead of Vasquez and his plans.”
“I won’t be five minutes,” Crusher said and hurried for the bathroom.
After spending time in the jungle, he was ready for the shower and clean clothes. The coveralls were a little tight on his shoulders but would do until they got to Panama. He ran his hands through his damp hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. Eager to get back to his charge, he hurried back out into the hangar.
Neither Marta nor RJ was anywhere to be seen.
A voice called out from inside the airplane. RJ leaned his face against the pilot’s window and motioned for Crusher to join them in the plane. He climbed the steps into the plane, secured the hatch, took the seat in the rear and settled a headset over his ears.
Marta sat in the copilot seat, another headset fitted over her ears, listening to RJ as he pointed out the instruments and what they did. As soon as Crusher was in and settled, RJ stopped his lesson on instruments and fired up the engine. He drove out of the hangar and taxied to the end of the runway. Without waiting, he sent the plane racing toward the end of the runway. When they’d built up enough speed, he pulled back on the throttle, and the aircraft left the ground, climbing into the air.
Crusher looked out over the landscape of lush green hillsides lined with coffee trees, surrounded by the jungle along the far edges.
“It’s beautiful,” Marta commented.
“We like it,” RJ said. We’re far enough out in the boonies that most people don’t bother us. When we want to have a little city life, we have the plane and can fly to places, getting there a lot quicker than by road.”
“It’s handy having your pilot’s license,” Crusher said.
RJ’s eyes widened, and he blinked. “Who said I had my pilot’s license?”
Marta shot a shocked glance toward RJ.
He laughed. “Relax. I’m kidding,” he said. “I’ve had it since I was in my twenties. I’ve flown over two thousand hours.”
Marta sagged back in her seat. “Are all you prior military guys just a bunch of jokers?”
RJ glanced back at Crusher. “Have you been pranking Dr. Hale?”
Crusher shrugged. “Once.”
She frowned over her shoulder at him and then grinned. “You had me going for a while. I won’t be as gullible in the future.”
