The cable gun was ready on the passenger seat beside him.

He would literally only get one shot-if he missed, there was a good chance he would die when the Ferrari was caught in the engine backblast. If he survived that, he would be dead soon after, killed either by Frost’s men or by his virus.

Even if he succeeded, he was probably dead anyway. But he had to try.

Heat scoured his face as he passed behind the engines on the left wing. The Ferrari threatened to spin out, and he eased off the accelerator slightly-if he made a mistake now, there would be no chance to catch up.

The hatch at the plane’s nose opened. Someone leaned out, a gun in his hand-one of Frost’s men looking for him.

The overstressed tires strained for grip-

Now directly behind the fuselage, Chase straightened the car, aiming between the two pairs of landing legs in the A380’s belly.

The engine noise rose to a scream, and the plane started to accelerate.

For its colossal size, the Airbus was frighteningly quick off the mark. Burning air blasted Chase like a hurricane as the Ferrari darted under the plane’s tail. The massive fuselage filled his vision, a giant hammer ready to crush him flat at any moment.

He was between the rear undercarriage legs, still outpacing the aircraft-but not for long.

He grabbed the cable gun.

Now he was level with the front landing legs, foot to the floor to keep up with the racing Airbus. A slight turn of the wheel brought him closer to the left leg, the four giant tires a whirling blur.

One shot.

The wheels were less than a foot from the Ferrari’s side.

As the plane pulled away, Chase aimed the cable gun into the undercarriage well.

One chance-

Fire!

The grapnel shot out, the line whipping behind it. It flew into the wheel well and struck the inner wall. If it fell out, it was all over…

It held!

The grapnel had pierced the metal bulkhead.

He only needed it to hold for a few seconds. Hitting the switch to retract the cable, he shoved the gun through the center of the steering wheel, looping the line back around on itself. Then he let go of the wheel, forcing himself upright against the hundred-mile-an-hour slipstream, and held the cable as it snapped taut-

The Ferrari swerved, dragged in behind the undercarriage.

He jumped over the door and pulled himself hand over hand up the line. Dust and grit kicked up by the plane’s wheels spat into his face. He only needed to traverse a few feet, but the line was already straining.

His feet scraped the runway, almost tearing him loose. Blood oozed between his fingers as the cable cut into his flesh.

The landing leg was just a foot away-one more swing of his arm and he would be able to pull himself onto the undercarriage-

The cable lashed. The Ferrari skidded sideways, dragged behind the plane like a toy. Chase felt the steel line jolt. The grapnel was giving way-

He lunged desperately for the landing leg, blood-soaked fingers closing around the metal just as the cable snapped free.

The Ferrari broke away, spinning out of control behind him. The cable shot past, the grapnel a lethal barb flashing past his face. He instinctively looked around to follow it, in time to see the Airbus plow right over the sports car, flattening it instantly. Mangled debris flew in all directions.

The impact shook even the massive aircraft. Chase struggled to keep hold, kicking in a frantic attempt to find a foothold before he suffered the same fate as the F430.

His boot found solid metal. He pulled himself up. If his guess had been wrong, if there wasn’t an access hatch, he would be crushed when the undercarriage retracted into the belly of the plane.

He looked up, seeing nothing but metal walls and skeins of cables and hydraulic lines.

Shit-

As the Airbus left the runway, the shriek of the engines almost deafening, the landing leg began to retract, folding into the confines of the wheel well. Chase twisted desperately as he was pushed towards the ceiling, the metal ribs of the fuselage like blades about to slice him into pieces-

A hatch!

An access panel, barely two feet wide, with a recessed ring-shaped handle at its base. He grabbed the handle.

It didn’t move.

Either it was stiff through newness, or it was locked. He bet on the former, twisting it harder, and the hatch popped open. He hurled himself through the narrow gap, landing with a thump as the undercarriage clanked into position behind him. The gap between the leg and the ceiling of the wheel well was barely three inches.

The light level dropped sharply as the outer doors slammed, the engine noise falling to a dull roar. Chase took in his surroundings. He was inside a crawl space, less than four feet high and lit by small but intense LED clusters. More cables lined the walls, leading towards the center of the aircraft.

He closed the hatch and followed them, hunting for a way into the holds.

Nina heard someone banging at the door. She moved more quickly down the hold.

What was in the containers, she had no idea-only that none of them were connected to the plane’s hull. Holding the securing straps to keep upright as the A380 rose steeply into the sky, she headed for the back of the aircraft.

The banging on the door intensified. She didn’t have much time, and there were two more decks still to search…

Chase opened another hatch, emerging from the crawl space to find himself in the forward lower hold. The A380’s bottom deck was split in two by the undercarriage, and he’d chosen to head forward rather than aft with the thought that he might be able to reach the cockpit and threaten the pilots.

If the virus was in the aft hold, he was screwed…

The hold was full, no way for him to squeeze around the aluminum containers and barely a foot of clearance between them and the ceiling. He climbed onto the nearest one and crawled forward on his belly as fast as he could.

Kari squeezed through the door. She ducked beneath the strap tied to the handle, then surveyed the hold, catching a glimpse of movement at the far end.

She wiped blood off her bottom lip, staring at the crimson stain on her skin for a moment. “Oh Nina, I wish you hadn’t done that…”

Then she raised a gun and set off after her.

There was a door at the front of the hold. Chase opened it, finding a cargo lift just large enough to fit a catering cart, and next to it a ladder leading upwards.

He ascended the ladder. It emerged in a utility room, a cramped space lined with lockers. He glanced at the labels on them-emergency equipment of various kinds-then took out his Wildey and opened the door a crack to peer out.

Nobody was in sight. He was near the front of the plane. The room seemed to be some kind of crew area, a row of seats against the back wall next to an open door through which he could see the main hold. Another door led forward.

That had to be the cockpit.

Chase stepped out of the utility room, the Wildey at the ready. To his left was a flight of stairs leading up to the top deck; he looked up it, but no one was there.

What should he do? He needed to find Nina. But Frost said the virus would be released when the plane reached its cruising altitude, and with the A380 still in a steep climb, that wouldn’t take long.

Chase made his decision.

He marched to the cockpit door and flung it open. The copilot glanced around, obviously expecting to see one of the other crew members-then barked a warning in Norwegian to the pilot.