She nodded to the jet. “I’ll explain once we’re on board.”
-Uh-huh. “How about you explain before we get on board?” I asked pleasantly. Yes, Mom had recommended it, but that didn’t mean I had gone brain-dead.
Since this was her first Max encounter, I gave Dr. Dwyer a couple moments to find her sea legs.
“Or we could all split now,” I clarified.
“Dr. Martinez” — she gestured to my mother — “has recommended you for a . . . rescue mission.”
“Do tell.” I crossed my arms over my chest, knowing that the flock was scanning the area intently for any signs of danger. “What — or who — are we rescuing?”
“The world?”
27
I DON’T KNOW how many of you have been on private jets, but golly, they’re sweet.
“It’s a baby plane,” Angel whispered when we first got inside the dollhouse-like interior. “It’s going to grow up to be a seven forty-seven someday.”
It was small but very lush, all decked out, similar to the other private jet we’d been on recently. Big flat-screen TV, cushy sofas and armchairs, thick carpeting beneath our feet, little curtains on the little windows. Much nicer than most places we’d stayed in.
Mom had stayed on the ground, and it had been hard — again — to say good-bye to her.
Fang returned from checking out the galley and nodded to me: all clear back there. Gazzy and Iggy had gone forward to the cockpit, and they held the door open to show me a startled pilot, copilot, and navigator. None of whom gave off instant “I am evil” vibes. Total trotted around sniffing everything, and call me crazy, but that actually made me feel safer.
It’s okay, Max, said my Voice. This is part of the bigger picture. You’re being used, but for good this time.
Oh, that makes it all worthwhile, I thought sarcastically. Being used for good is so much better than being used for evil. The operative words are still “being used.”
The Voice was silent.
“Please, sit down and be comfortable,” said Dr. Dwyer. Like we could avoid it. “Fasten your seat belts, just for takeoff. As soon as we’re in the air, you can have refreshments.”
The flock and I buckled ourselves in, as did Dr. Dwyer.
“Whose plane is this?” I asked.
Dr. Dwyer looked up. “It belongs to Nino Pierpont,” she said, and my eyebrows went up. Everyone knew he was the world’s richest man, richer than any country, company, or family anywhere. So we were either in good hands or totally screwed. Only time would tell. I hoped Mom knew what she was getting us into.
Total jumped up onto the sofa, and Angel buckled his seat belt. Dr. Dwyer watched silently, and I saw her eyes roving over Angel’s bulky jacket as if she were wishing a wing would suddenly pop out.
“So where are we going?” I asked. “Please tell me someplace warm. I’ve had enough cold weather this winter to last me a lifetime.”
“South America,” said Dr. Dwyer, her eyes not meeting mine. “Argentina.”
“Rain forest?” I guessed. Argentina was warm, right? This was one of those times when a little schooling would not have been amiss. They turned up every now and then.
“No,” she said. “We’ll be taking a boat from there.”
“A boat?” Fang asked. “To where?”
“How about something to eat?” Dr. Dwyer undid her seat belt and stood up.
Fang and I looked at each other, then nodded.
We agreed: Be on guard.
28