Donovans 02 - Jade Island

“Walker will be taking off in an hour.”
    Kyle reached for Lianne’s backpack. “Hold still, sweetheart. We’ll start with the head.”
     
    By the time Murray and Steve arrived at the airstrip, Walker had the Piper Aztec’s engine compartment open, a battery-operated work light clipped on, and a few greasy parts laid out on a tarp under the wing. Swirls of rain and wind danced across the tarmac, lifting the edges of the tarp. Bent over the engine, Walker presented the guards with a view of long legs and a lean, denim-clad butt.
    “Hey,” Murray yelled out of the Jeep’s open window. “This is a private airstrip! You’re trespassing!”
    Walker took his time straightening up and turning to the guards. Beneath the short, dark beard, his smile was welcoming—if you couldn’t see his eyes. They were a blue as cold as it was clear. He looked at the men, cataloging them in a single quick glance. They were both under thirty, already going slack from their butt-broadening jobs, and not expecting any more trouble than they could handle.
    “Sorry, boys,” Walker said, deepening his normal West Texas drawl. “The engine started choking on me. No warning, just stuttered like a bitch. I was real glad to see this little ol’ runway on my chart.”
    “This is private land,” Murray said again.
    “I hear you. I’ll be glad to pay a tie-down fee or whatever, but I can’t go anywhere until I straighten the kinks out. Fuel supply, is my guess.”
    “How long will that take?” Murray asked.
    “I’m working on it.”
    Murray chewed on that while Walker bent over and began fiddling with the engine again.
    “’Course,” Walker said after a minute, “if you boys were of a mind to help, it might go faster.”
    Wind and rain swirled again, plastering Walker’s lightweight rain shell to his body and darkening his jeans.
    “We’re not mechanics,” Murray said.
    “Fucking-A,” Steve muttered. “I’m not going out in this slop again.”
    But the guards didn’t feel comfortable just driving off and leaving the trespasser on his own. Besides, they knewwhat was waiting for them back at the compound. Nothing. Murray rolled up his window, shut off the lights and the engine, and settled in to make sure that the stranger didn’t steal any of Dick Farmer’s private runway.
    Walker didn’t look at the guards again. Whistling tunelessly, he pulled out parts, wiped them off, stacked them on the tarp, and turned back to the engine. Making sure that his back was to the men, he checked his watch from time to time. His hands were cold and his face was so wet that rain dripped off his nose, but he never slowed the easy rhythm of take out, wipe off, set aside, and dive back into the residual warmth of the engine compartment.
    Occasionally one of the guards rolled down a window to call out a question. Each time, Walker assured them that he was getting closer to the problem.
    And he was. His watch was getting closer to eleven o’clock with every sweep of the second hand. When he judged the time was right, he began reassembling the pieces a good deal faster than he had taken them out in the first place. He unclipped the work light, folded the tarp, pulled the chocks away from the airplane’s wheels, and stowed everything in its proper place. There was plenty of room. Where four passenger seats normally would be, there was nothing but blank space. Tonight the Aztec was a two-seater.
    The guards watched while Walker climbed into his plane. They were bored, but boredom was a big part of their job.
    “Don’t suppose you could turn on the runway lights?” Walker called out.
    “Only for Mr. Farmer,” Steve yelled back. “You landed in the dark. You can take off the same way.”
    “Thanks, y’all,” Walker said, smiling. He had expected just that answer from the lazy guards. “I sure do appreciate your help.”
    “Fuck you.”
    Walker started up the Aztec, listening carefully to theengine sound. He was accustomed to servicing the plane himself, but not in the middle of a strange runway at night in the rain. The tough little plane growled with eagerness, straining to be up and doing what it did best.
    With a last glance at the Jeep, Walker began to taxi down the runway. He went the complete length, turned, and paused for the final run-up. Holding the Aztec stationary, he increased the revs until the thunder of twin engines ripped through the night.
    A figure slipped out of the wide drainage ditch that paralleled the