The van turned around, making a full one-hundred-eighty-degree turn before going back in the direction they had come from.
Parkowski made up her mind.
She was going to get free, escape, go to the authorities or the media or whoever would listen to her story of a rogue intelligence apparatus of the United States killing her mentor and trying to kill her and her boyfriend. There was a lot that they could cover up, but they wouldn’t try and hide that. That, or she would die trying.
However, she needed to get a hold of DePresti.
Her boyfriend wasn’t paying any attention to her or their captors. He sat, seemingly hoping that the entire problem would vanish.
But, how could she get his attention when she had a gun pressed up against her head?
She thought and thought.
There was no way that she was going to go down like this.
The van hit a pothole, slightly skewing their arrangement in the back. No one wore seatbelts.
Parkowski’s eyes darted over to the van’s rear door. There was a small window at the top — a detail she had initially missed — and a latch that when swung downwards, would open the door outwards.
Her captors had failed to lock it.
They hit another pothole, jostling them again. But, she had come up with an idea.
The next time the van jolted, she nudged DePresti’s foot slightly with hers.
His eyes met hers. “What?” he quickly mouthed.
Parkowski’s eyes darted to the door latch, then back to DePresti. She blinked twice, slowly, deliberately.
It took a moment for him to process. When he did, his eyes widened.
Another pothole. Another jostling of the passengers in the back. The Space Force really needed to maintain their roads better.
The next time they hit one she would strike.
Parkowski coiled her right arm, the one closest to the man with the gun to her head, like a snake ready to pounce.
She was ready, but it felt like the moment to strike would never come.
The road underneath the panel van became smoother. They must be on a different section of the base, she thought. There were no more potholes.
Parkowski felt the pressure of the cold weapon against her head lessen just a fraction. Her captor was getting sloppy.
If she was going to make a move to free herself and DePresti, it needed to be soon. She locked eyes with her boyfriend again, then nodded just a fraction. DePresti responded with the same gesture.
If not a pothole, another disruption to the rear of the van would have to do.
Just a few moments later, the van’s driver provided the opportunity.
They took a left turn just a little too quickly, throwing the occupants of the back of the van around haphazardly.
Parkowski’s watcher took the pistol off of her head for just a second to right himself.
She took a deep breath and allowed for everything around her to slow down slightly.
Her captor was in the process of placing his pistol back against her head when Parkowski grabbed her right fist with her left hand, and, using the force of both of her arms, slammed her elbow into the ribs of the man next to her.
She got lucky. He wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest or any armor. Her elbow went right into his solar plexus, pushing it upwards and knocking the wind out of him. He doubled over in pain.
DePresti made a similar move to his captor’s face and neck. Less than half a second after Parkowski struck her opponent, her boyfriend jammed his fist into his captor’s throat. Instead of pulling it back for another strike, he kept pushing after the initial impact, sending the man off of the seat and to the front of the van, towards Everson.
Parkowski was already moving towards the door. She grabbed the handle and swung it down. The door opened up and swung outwards with her hanging onto it.
Looking back she saw Everson grabbing for his pistol but the heavy handgun was hard to manage. Neither of his goons would be of much use — the one she had hit clutched his side while the other held both hands to his neck from DePresti’s brutal strike.
The van was traveling about thirty miles per hour along a two-lane road. It wasn’t pitch black anymore; there was quite a bit of light coming from a huge launch complex to the right side of the road.
Parkowski squinted as she swung outwards to see if she could make out where they were. The launch pad was well-lit, dozens of floodlights illuminating a single-core white rocket with black scorch marks on it, topped by a long, extended fairing. Next to the rocket was a large gantry with a crew arm extended at the top towards the rocket. At the top of the gantry was a single white lighting rod. Just to its right was a giant water tower with the OuterTek logo on it.
Her mind whirred as she rotated with the van’s door. She knew where she was. That was LC-39a, the same launch pad that had launched the ILIAD mission. It was the only pad with that configuration — they had finally come full circle. They had crossed over onto the NASA side of the cape and were now on Kennedy Space Center.
