Rogue Commander, Leo Maloney [classic books for 11 year olds TXT] 📗

left. He belted in, gripped the armrests, and prayed—most likely to Buddha.

Hyo turned back and snapped at the pilots. “Where is the nearest airport?

“It’s Dalian,” the chief pilot said. “I have already called them and asked for crash trucks.”

“Can you make it to there?”

“I have no choice!” the pilot nearly squealed. “The aircraft is heading there by itself!”

With that, the Gulfstream nosed over hard to the right. Hyo lost his grip on the left-hand sill, and he slammed back into the bulkhead. He slithered along it back toward the cabin, then staggered over to Lily, whipped her belt from its holder, and snapped her in. Then he crashed back into his seat and did the same for himself, as he stared at her face in fury. She raised her cuffed wrists and sneered back.

“Do you think I did this from here?”

“I think someone is doing it for you, but you are the one who will pay.”

The Gulfstream descended in a sickening spiral. Lily closed her eyes, praying to a God she didn’t really believe in. For a moment she thought about Scott and how he’d begged her to quit and take up a “normal” life in San Francisco with him. If she’d done that right there and then, she wouldn’t be here.

Well, everyone’s entitled to cocked-up choices.

Then the airplane straightened out, but it was still in a nose-down dive. The Koreans behind her were absolutely silent, but the Chinese pilots up front were cursing. She kept her eyes tightly shut; Colonel Hyo’s face wasn’t going to be the very last vision she ever saw.

She felt the aircraft’s nose slowly rising again, and the engine off to the left was no longer screaming. She opened her left eye, and saw a blur of bright lights streaming past the window. She heard the undercarriage whining open, and then the tires screeched and bounced on the tarmac.

She opened both eyes and her pounding heart felt like it was up in her throat as off to the front right she saw the spinning red beacons of fire trucks, very close; the left engine reversed in a howl as the Gulfstream skidded to the left, and the right-hand winglet was sheared right off by a fire truck ladder.

The brakes squealed, and the nose dipped hard and the airplane jolted to a stop. One of the pilots threw off his headset, got up, staggered to the forward toilet, and charged head-down inside. Lily heard him retching.

Hyo wrenched himself up from his seat, stomped to the passenger door, and cranked the emergency handle. It hissed outside on its hinges, and the airplane filled with the scream of emergency sirens. A Chinese soldier scrambled up a stairway and popped his stunned face inside. He was wearing an olive fatigue cap with an embroidered red star.

“I am here as the guest of General Deng Tao Kung,” Colonel Hyo snapped in Chinese. “Get me a truck.”

The Chinese soldier saluted and disappeared. Hyo turned around and walked to Lily. He bent down, gripped her armrests, and nearly touched her nose with his.

“You must think that you have a reprieve,” he snarled. “But now, Miss Stone, we shall be going to the Dalian Jinlon Forest. It has a lovely, ancient, and very remote temple.” His lips turned up in a sneer. “You will need every opportunity to pray.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

If Dan Morgan had been on a nice long vacation with Jenny, he would have loved The Oaks Eatery in Ogden Canyon, Utah.

The place was the oldest establishment around—a small wooden structure with a peaked roof, just off the winding Route 39 state highway. It didn’t look like much from the front, where all the hiking aficionados parked their Jeeps and RVs, but inside was a comfy old place with slat wooden banquettes, red tablecloths, cloth napkins and porcelain dishware, with towering windows providing a vista of the tumbling river out back, braced by lush pines. Folks drove many miles for The Oak’s juicy burgers, fat fries with BBQ sauce, and handmade ice cream, and Morgan was certainly enjoying the first decent meal he’d had since Virginia.

However, he wasn’t on vacation, with Jenny or anyone else. Besides, he wasn’t even Dan Morgan on this fine cool evening, where the sun was just going blood orange behind a magnificent granite peak. He was Air Force Master Sergeant Daniel Martin, and he was on the hunt.

At least he’d been smart enough not to try driving another thousand miles. Instead, he’d headed due south from Kentucky to Nashville, found a local kennel with five-star reviews, and parked Neika there with a promise to be back in a couple of days. Then he’d headed for the airport, long-termed the Shelby, spruced himself up with a close shave in the restroom, and boarded a flight to Salt Lake City, where he’d rented a two-door black Wrangler.

It wasn’t far from there to Hill Air Force Base, where Morgan presented his retired army ID at the gate and headed right over to Military Clothing Sales. He picked up a set of air force ACUs, a sage T-shirt, and boots that were much nicer than the army “rough-outs.” Finally, he plucked master sergeant ranks off the rack and went over to the express tailoring and name tape counter, where a nice blue-haired lady with half-frame glasses on a beaded lanyard looked up at him.

“Morning, ma’am,” Morgan said with a wry grin as he dropped his pile on the counter. “Can’t believe I’m doin’ this again.”

“Doing what, son?”

“Six-month stint, in blue no less.”

“Well, we’re all blue around here.”

“Yep, it’ll all be new to me.” Morgan flashed her his army ID. “I was green for almost twenty.”

The elderly woman patted his hand. “Air force food’s much better. So, what can I do for you?”

“Well, if you’ve got a spare slot, I need these ranks sewed on and some name tapes.”

“We could do that. Take about an hour.”

“Outstanding! Could use a cup of joe anyway.”

She glanced at his ID. “Morgan for the