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Jackson climbed into the little airplane, switched on the ignition, pumped something, and turned the key and the engine started. He picked up a checklist from the floor and talked himself through it, flipping switches and adjusting controls; then he handed Holly a headset and showed her how to wear it. Five minutes later, they had been cleared for takeoff and were rolling down the runway. The airport was on the mainland, and as they climbed they could see the barrier island stretched out before them a few miles away. Jackson turned right, headed for the middle of the island, and when he reached it, turned north, flying at two thousand feet.
“How low can we fly?” Holly asked, hearing her own voice clearly over the headset.
“A thousand feet AGL—that’s above ground level—in built-up areas. Since Orchid is about twelve feet above sea level, that means about a thousand feet.” He pulled back the throttle and began a descent. “There’s Palmetto Gardens up ahead,” he said, pointing. “See the golf courses?”
“Got it,” Holly said.
“Jesus, look at the length of that runway,” he said, pointing at the airfield.
“Barney said it was six thousand feet.”
“That’s longer than the Orchid airport. We’re at a thousand feet, now.”
Holly looked around. “It runs from A1A to the river,” she said, “and a long way north and south. It’s a lot bigger than I thought.”
Jackson circled over the development. “Huge houses,” he said. “They must be on at least five acres each.” A foursome of golfers was looking up at the airplane.
“Uh-oh,” Holly said, pointing out her side.
Jackson turned the airplane in that direction, dipping a wing. A white Range Rover had stopped and the driver had gotten out and was looking up at them. He reached into the vehicle and came out with a pair of binoculars. “Okay, let’s see if he shoots at us,” Jackson laughed.
“Are we invading some kind of private airspace?” Holly asked.
“Of course not. They may have themselves an exclusive club down there, but up here belongs to everybody.”
“Fly on north, and let’s get away from that security guard. Look, that’s a hell of a big greenhouse. They must grow a lot of their own plants.”
“Looks like they grow their own vegetables, too,” Jackson said. “And there are some stables and a riding ring.” He pointed. “What do you suppose that is?”
Holly followed his finger and found a two-story building with a forest of antennae on its roof. “Looks like a NASA substation,” she said. “I count four dishes of varying sizes and there are at least a dozen other kinds of antennas. And look at that giant dish in back of the building. That thing must have a diameter of at least fifteen feet.”
“I visited CNN headquarters in Atlanta, once,” Jackson said. “They had dishes like that.”
“Okay, we’re at the northern extremity; let’s turn and fly south again,” Holly said.
Jackson turned the airplane and headed back for the golf courses, which were at the center of the development. The Range Rover was on the move again, headed toward the airport. “There’s the runway up ahead,” he said. “Let’s do a touch-and-go.”
“Are you nuts?” Holly demanded.
“Aw come on, what can they do about it? You think they’ve got antiaircraft missiles?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Holly said.
He had the nose of the airplane down, now, and the runway loomed large in the windshield. The word PRIVATE had been painted in huge letters in the middle of the asphalt.
“Jesus,” Holly said. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Nothing to it,” Jackson said as they crossed the threshold. The wheels of the little airplane touched down softly.
“Oh, shit!” Holly yelled, pointing ahead. A white Range Rover had pulled onto the middle of the runway and had stopped. A man in a uniform was standing beside it with his hands up, motioning them to stop.
Jackson pushed the throttle to the firewall and the airplane accelerated. The Range Rover seemed to be rushing toward them. He held the airplane on the ground until it picked up speed, then yanked back on the yoke.
Holly had just enough time to see the security guard throw himself to the ground before she covered her eyes. Jackson banked sharply to the right, and she looked back over her shoulder to see another Range Rover arrive and Barney Noble get out. “Oh, shit, it’s Barney! I hope he didn’t recognize me!”
Jackson was laughing maniacally. “Not a chance!” he yelled. He turned left and headed for the beach side of the island. He tuned in a radio frequency, picked up a microphone and said, “Orchid Flying Club, November 123 Tango Foxtrot.”
“This is Orchid,” a husky female voice replied.
