Page 95 of Eruption

“It is,” he said.

“You sure?”

“No.”

She reached over and touched the side of his face.

“Glad we cleared that up,” she said.

At almost the same moment, J. P. Brett and the Cutlers were at Hilo International preparing to board the Hungarian military helicopter that Brett had purchased in France a couple of weeks before, an Airbus H225M. There were only three dozen of them currently in the air anywhere, as he told anyone who asked. And several who didn’t.

They would be joined on the flight by two Italian scientists that Brett had had flown into this same airport the night before, although he hadn’t bothered to inform Rivers or John MacGregor. The Cutlers had worked with these scientists a few years back, at Mount Etna.

As Leah Cutler watched the two Italians walking toward the helicopter, she asked Brett, “Didn’t they get into some trouble with the law after we made our heroes’ exit from Sicily? I seem to recall something like that.”

“They cut a few corners—what can I tell you?” Brett said. “But the bastards got things done. And the two of them have forgotten more about lava diversion and blowing shit up than MacGregor and Cruz have ever known, even if the two of them have convinced General Hard-Ass that they exist on some higher intellectual plane than the rest of us.”

Brett added, “You know who I want onourdream team? Guys who aren’t afraid to cross the line.”

“Didn’t Rivers tell you last night he wanted the airspace near the summit clear?” Oliver asked.

Brett grinned. “My Italian friends have told me they need to seela grande immagine—the big picture. After they’ve come this far, who am I to deny them? And it will be a short trip.”

“You had to have felt those quakes all night long,” Oliver said. “Leah and I barely slept, waiting for the next one to hit.”

Brett raised an eyebrow. “You’re not getting wobbly on me, are you, Oliver?”

“Never,” he said.

“Keep it that way,” Brett said.

“Our deal with you is the same as always.” Oliver smiled his TV smile. “We’re with you, win, win, or win.”

Brett climbed up into the helicopter; he was followed by the two Italian scientists; Morgan, the videographer; and Oliver and Leah. The door to the cockpit was open, and Oliver stopped when he saw the pilot. Earlier, Brett had instructed him not to contact air traffic control at the airport. The pilot had pointed out that they would be breaking the law with this flight.

“Think of this as my own form of martial law,” Brett had said.

“Wait, don’t I know you?” Cutler asked the pilot now.

“Well, I was all over the news not too long ago,” he said.

“You were in the crash with that TV cameraman,” Cutler said.

“And lived to tell about it.” The pilot reached out his right hand, which was bandaged. “Jake Rogers.”

“Oliver Cutler.”

“Now that the meet-and-greet is over, let’s get this baby in the air and over to the rift zone!” Brett called out.

The helicopter lifted into the air, free from monitoring by air traffic control because the pilot hadn’t called in the flight for clearance. Rogers worked the controls, the door to the cockpit still open. He gave his passengers a thumbs-up and yelled, “Okay, folks. Let’s see what this baby’s got!”

“How close can you get us?” Brett yelled back.

“Close as you want!” Rogers hollered over the noise of the engine and the blades.

J. P. Brett, one of the richest men on the planet, looked like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Remember that old movieJoe Versus the Volcano?” Brett yelled happily. “You all know my first name is Joseph, right?”