“I need to speak to the captain,” Gage told Victor. “He won’t open the cargo bay doors unless I tell him in person.” Alamán had no idea Foxx was actually in charge of the airplane. Plus, the guy never was very smart.
Victor looked around for someone else to send with the message, but everyone was already on the plane.
“Do not do anything you will regret,” Victor warned.
Gage turned and started up the stairs. He was a few feet away from the door when Edge, Trace, and Skye surged into the opening and started firing, scattering fake soldiers across the tarmac, raining down hellfire, and providing cover.
Gage dove through the doorway, barely inside when the plane started rolling. The portable metal stairs slid away, slamming into the wing as the engines accelerated, tipping over as the jet rushed past, moving down the runway as fast as the big turbines could push.
Edge knelt in the open doorway and kept firing while Trace and Skye blasted away over his head. Bullets slammed into the tarmac, then began taking out some of the men shooting at them. Return fire pinged off the metal around the door frame, but the engines were whining, speeding them along the concrete at breakneck speed.
Shots pinged off the landing gear as the plane roared toward the end of the runway. Edge slammed the door and secured it.
“Everybody get strapped in!” Gage shouted, sitting down next to Abby and fastening his seat belt. Everyone but Edge and his crew were already seated. Foxx sat down and buckled up. Edge, Trace, and Skye strapped in as the heavy jet lifted off the tarmac like a big graceful bird.
The roar of the engines filled the cabin, and the g-force pushed Gage back in his seat. No one said a word until the jet began to stabilize and level off at somewhere around thirty-five thousand feet.
Gage turned to Abby, whose face looked pale. “You okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. You could have been killed! You should have given them the damned gold!”
Gage looked over her head to where Jack sat grinning. “No way, sweetheart,” Foxx said.
Gage chuckled. “You won’t be grinning when your friend hands you the bill for the damages to his plane.”
Foxx’s grin widened. “Worth every dime.”
Gage just shook his head. For the first time, he looked around at the opulent interior of the jet. Long white leather divans curved along one side of the living area. There was a dining table with matching wide white leather seats, and a lounge with a bar. Beyond it, an office with a conference table and six wide seats upholstered in shiny black leather.
“Carries eighteen passengers the way it’s configured,” Jack said. “There’s a nice bedroom suite in the back.”
“It’s spectacular. Now if it just gets us home.”
Foxx popped his belt and stood up. He looked at the group strapped into their seats, all of them still wide-eyed and uneasy. Jack walked over to Carlos and crouched down to the boy’s level.
“You okay?”
“I have never been on a plane,” Carlos said as if that explained all the gunfire and the race to the end of the runway.
“Yeah, well, it’s usually not quite so exciting,” Jack said, rising to his feet.
“Or this fancy,” Abby added, joining them. “I can’t believe this.” She glanced around the luxurious interior. “I’m spoiled forever.”
Jack glanced at the passengers seated in the opulent cabin. “Anyone here besides me feel like a drink?”
“I could certainly use one,” Gage drawled.
“I’m in,” Abby agreed.
“We’re roughing it this trip,” Foxx said. “No cabin crew to wait on us.”
Gage smiled. “I think we’ll survive.”
The three of them went over to the bar, and Jack poured two scotches and a glass of white wine for Abby. The security team declined. The rest of the group, including Mateo, drank sodas.
It was just under sixteen hundred miles from Mérida to Denver, roughly a three-and-a-half-hour flight. They would go through customs there. No duty on the gold, but a FinCEN 105 form had to be filled out.
Gage had arranged for an armored vehicle to be waiting to take the gold to a depository. Some of it would be going into bank safe deposit boxes for easy access; some would be sold for cash.
