Leilani realized instantly she didn’t have a badge, but as the machines began to disconnect from their plugs she wondered about him.
“Where’s your badge?”
“In the pocket of my robe,” he said, “the one Kurt made me get rid of.”
Kurt and Joe made it through the park and into the second strip of wheat on the far side. The sound of a different kind of motor rumbled to life, and far to their right, at the end of the field, a small combine sprung to life. It straightened and began moving toward them, its blades whipping through the wheat.
“A little early for harvesttime,” Joe said.
“Unless they’re trying to harvest us.”
Kurt picked up the pace and rushed out the other side onto the narrow path that led toward the marina. Running at full speed, with Joe right beside him, he noticed other machines coming out of the woodwork and tracking toward him.
“Apparently Marchetti hasn’t finished reprogramming things yet,” Kurt said.
“Let’s hope he remembers his password.”
Speed and agility were still in their favor, and after racing a hundred feet down the path and hopping a wall they cut away from the machines. A few seconds later Kurt and Joe were bounding down the stairs to the marina. Ahead of them the seaplane was taxiing out past the breakwater.
They had to hurry.
Kurt ran to the fastest-looking boat he could find: a twenty-two-foot Donzi. He jumped in and went to the control panel as Joe untied the lines. Pressing a start button, Kurt smiled as the V-8 inboard roared to life.
“Bogies coming up the dock,” Joe said.
“Nothing to worry about,” Kurt said, glanced at the collection of machines scrambling toward them. He gunned the throttle and spun the wheel.
The boat shot forward, curving and accelerating across the marina. As soon as they were on track, Kurt straightened out and pointed the bow toward the gap in the breakwater. The seaplane was already taxiing through it.
Kurt hoped to catch them, maybe tip them over, but that plan had a low margin for success.
He pointed to a radio on the dash. “Get Nigel on the horn,” he said. “Tell him to scramble. I don’t want to lose these guys.”
Joe switched the radio unit on, dialed up the right frequency, and began to transmit. “Nigel!” he shouted. “This is Joe. Come in.”
Nigel’s British voice came back with everything but a cheerio. “Hello, Joe, what’s the word?”
“Get that bird airborne,” Joe shouted. “We’re chasing a seaplane in a boat, and that’s not going to work for long.”
“Awfully sorry,” Nigel replied. “Wish I could help, but I took the engine apart.”
“What?” Kurt shouted, overhearing.
“Why?” Joe asked.
“Kurt told me to make it look good. The cowling off, a few parts on the ground, and a befuddled look on my face seemed the best way to me.”
?
??I didn’t need him to make it look that good,” Kurt mumbled.
“So much for that plan,” Joe said.
All they could do now was a little bump and run with the plane, hoping to damage it or flip it without getting themselves killed in the process.
The Donzi zipped through the gap in the breakwater. The seaplane was two hundred yards ahead, turning downwind to line up for its take-off run.
Kurt held the throttle all the way forward and slashed in front of the seaplane. The pilot turned away instinctively but the aircraft remained upright.