All of his concentration now homed in on the blade pressed against his neck.
The show must go on,he thought.
Then he threw his head back as hard as he could.
The back of his head collided with Tems’s nose. He felt the agent flinch, giving him a slight inch as the blade loosened against his neck. The blinking cufflink dropped from his hands, rolling away and disappearing underneath a row of seats.
Almost instantly, Tems had the knife pressed against his skin again—but Winter was already twisting in his grasp, sliding out like water between rocks.
As he did, he saw Sydney move.
Tems grabbed his arm in a viselike grip and twisted it back. Pain lanced through his muscles—Winter bent with the movement. A lesson from Sydney shot through his head, when she had used his own weight against him and thrown him to the floor.
Tems tightened his hold and pulled up, aiming to break his bone. Winter felt the pressure against his arm.Now,he told himself.
When Tems yanked up, he flipped with the motion—channeling all of his momentum in the direction of Tems’s movement. The sudden shift in weight threw the agent off balance. Both of them fell backward.
Winter hopped to his feet. But then Tems was on him again. Winter felt a weight hit him hard in the back. He fell forward, collapsing against the floor. The plane veered slightly to one side, as if turning in its run down the curving tarmac, and he felt his body roll with the movement. When he flipped over, he saw Tems standing over him, his eyes flashing with rage, his arm raised, blade in hand.
“Not much of a fighter, are you?” he hissed with a grim smile.
Then he brought the blade down on Winter’s chest.
A hand stopped the knife before it could hit him. It was Sydney.
“Oh, but I am,” she snarled.
34You Go, I Go
She was on him like a whirlwind—her hands turned into claws, raking at his eyes. He stumbled backward, momentarily uncoordinated as he squeezed his eyes shut. She slammed him hard into the locked door of the cockpit.
Then he lunged at her again, the knife flashing through the air toward her face. She threw herself to the floor of the aisle and grabbed for his boot. Her hand hooked on the back of his left shoe—she pulled as hard as she could.
On the floor, she saw the cuff, its red lights blinking faster. She had to get rid of it, now.
He was too heavy for her to throw him completely off balance, but it made him stumble, forced him to stop his knife attack for a split second in order to steady himself.
He suddenly held up his hands.
“Syd, stop!”he shouted.“Stop!”
Behind her, Winter hesitated—but Sydney just narrowed her eyes at him and held her stance. Her lungs were hurting now.
Tems took a step toward her, his hands still up. “Syd, please,” he said. “You don’t understand the entire story.”
He was playing his mind games with her again. She watched him carefully, bracing herself for the sudden move she knew he would make. Her eyes darted to the floor of the plane. The cuff was about to go off.
Then he lunged for her.
Sydney ducked down—Winter jerked back. As Tems attacked them again, Sydney’s eyes darted to the door on the side of the plane, its handle marked with a bold red warning.
DO NOT PULL.
She threw herself at the door, grabbed the handle, and pulled it up with every ounce of strength she had.
“Hold on!”she shouted to Winter.
An alarm blared to life all around them, drowning them in sound.
