Peretz nodded with satisfaction, then clicked on his walkie-talkie. "Firebird One, Bates says there may be some problems with the nav gear. He wants to start it up and give it an instrument check. Probably just feeding me some kind of bullshit, so why don't you send out Helling for a minute? He should be in on this."
"What?" Bates mumbled. "I didn't—"
"I copy you," came back Ramirez's voice. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Probably no big deal. Claims it's the in-flight computer. Something to do with flight control."
"All right," Ramirez replied. "I'll send Wolf out if you think you need him." The walkie-talkie clicked off, to the accompaniment of static.
"What are you talking about?" Bates looked up, feeling a chill. "I don't see anything here that looks like a problem. Who the hell knows if the in-flight computer is—"
"Just shut up," Peretz barked. "Now, start the engines."
"But—"
"Just do what I tell you." He was now grasping a Walther 9mm with what appeared to be boundless self-assurance.
"You're the boss." Bates nodded, settling into the cockpit. He suddenly realized that something not on the schedule was about to go down. All along he'd had a feeling Peretz was up to something. Now it was more than a feeling.