"What took you so long?" she said with irritation in her voice. "I was worried when I saw the lights go on and off."

Austin didn't mind Skye's accusatory tone and took it as a sign that she had regained her natural spunkiness. He kissed her on the cheek. "My apologies," he said. "There was a line at the reservations counter."

She blinked at the darkness. "What is this place?"

Austin switched the torch on and let the beam play the length of the plane's fuselage, from the wooden propeller to the coat of arms on the tail.

"You're looking at the Fauchard family air force. They must use this to crop-dust the vineyards."

"It's beautiful," she said.

"It's more than beautiful. It's our ticket out of here."

"Can you fly that thing?" "I think so."

"You think so?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Have you ever flown anything like this?"

"Dozens of times." He noted the skepticism in her eyes and said, "Okay. Once, at a county fair."

"A county fair," she echoed in a leaden tone. "A big county fair. Look, the planes I've flown had somewhat more sophisticated control systems, but the principles are the same." "I hope you fly better than you drive."

"It wasn't my idea to go for a midnight swim. You'll recall that I was distracted by Fauchard's goons."

She pinched his cheek. "How could I forget, cheri? Well, what are we waiting for? What do I have to do?"

Austin pointed to a bank of wall switches labeled in French. "First, I'd like you to tell me what these are for."

Austin listened as Skye translated the labels, then he took her around to the front of the plane. He placed her hands on the propeller and told her to jump back as soon as she had spun the blades. Then he climbed into the pilot's cockpit, quickly checked out the controls, and gave Skye the thumbs-up. Skye grabbed the propeller in both hands, gave the blades a spin and leaped back as instructed. The engine coughed a couple of times but failed to catch.

Austin adjusted the throttle slightly and told her to try again. Grim determination was reflected in Skye's face as she summoned every ounce of strength at her command. She put all her weight into the effort. This time the engine caught and burst into a roar that was amplified by the walls.

Skye dashed through the purple exhaust smoke and hit the switches to open the door and turn on the landing field lights. Then she clambered into the cockpit. She was still buckling her seat belt as the plane rolled out of the hangar.

Austin wasted no time taxiing before taking off. He gunned the engine and the plane began to pick up speed, advancing across the field between the double lines of lights. He tried to keep a gentle touch on the controls, but under his inexperienced hand the plane fishtailed and the waddling motion slowed the plane's acceleration. He knew that if the plane didn't reach takeoff speed soon, it would crash into the trees at the end of the airstrip. Austin willed himself to relax, letting the controls tell his hands and feet what to do. The plane straightened out and picked up speed. Austin gave the elevator a slight pull. The wheels left the ground and the plane began its climb, but it was still too low to clear the trees.

Austin willed a few more feet of lift from the wings. The doughty biplane must have heard his prayers because it seemed to rise slightly and grazed the treetops with its landing gear. The wings wagged from the impact, but the plane regained its even keel.

Austin kept the plane in a steady climb and glanced off to the left and right to get his bearings. The countryside was mostly in darkness except for Chateau Fauchard, whose sinister turrets were lit up by floodlights. He tried to draw a map in his mind using his recollections of the drive in from the main road. He could see the circular driveway with its odd fountain, and the lantern-lit drive leading down the hill into the long tree tunnel.

He banked the plane around to pick up the road through the vineyards, heading east at an altitude of about a thousand feet. He was bucking a slight breeze that kept the plane's speed down to a subsonic eighty miles per hour. Satisfied that he was on a course that would take them back to civilization, he picked up the microphone connected to Skye's cockpit.

"Sorry for the rough takeoff," he shouted over the engine roar. "Hope it didn't shake you up too much."

"I'll be fine once I put my teeth back in my head."

"Glad to hear that. You'll need your dentures when we have dinner."

"Truly a man with a one-track mind. Do you have any idea where we're going?"

"We're headed in roughly the same direction we came in. Keep a sharp eye out for lights. I'll try to land on a road near a town and hope there isn't too much traffic this time of night. Sit back and enjoy the ride."

Austin turned his attention to the task of getting them down safely. Despite his cavalier attitude, he had no illusions about the difficulties that lay ahead. He was flying essentially blind, over unknown territory, in an antique aircraft he had no business operating, despite his extensive county fair experience. At the same time, he was enjoying the simple reliability built into the old aircraft. This was true seat-of-, the-pants piloting. No cockpit bubble separated him from the cool wind. He was practically sitting on top of the engine and the noise was earsplitting. He had renewed respect for the men who'd flown these relics in combat.

He would have liked to wring a few more knots from the plane, which seemed to grind its way through the night sky. He was heartened when, after several minutes of flying, he began to see pinpoints of light in the distance. The plane was approaching the perimeter of Fauchard's vast holdings. His complacency was shattered by Skye's voice, shouting in his earphones.

At the same time he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced to the left. The helicopter that had hunted for them in the maze had materialized about thirty feet away as if by magic. The cockpit lights were on, and he could see one of the Chateau Fauchard guards sitting in the passenger's seat. He had an automatic weapon on his lap, but he made no attempt to shoot the plane down, although it would have been an easy target.

A moment later, the now-familiar voice of Emil Fauchard crackled over the plane's radio.

"Good evening, Mr. Austin. How nice to see you again." "What a pleasant surprise, Emil. I don't see you in the helicopter." "That's because I'm in the chateau's security control center. I can see you quite clearly on the helicopter's camera."

Austin glanced at the camera pod slung under the helicopter's belly and gave it a friendly wave.

"I thought you would still be in the dungeon with the rest of the rats."

Emil ignored the insult. "How do you like my Fokker Aviatik, Austin?"

"I'd have preferred an F-16 loaded with air-to-air missiles, but this will do for now. Nice of you to let me use it."

"Not at all. We Fauchards are most generous when it comes to our guests. Now, I must ask you to turn around or you will be shot down."

The man in the helicopter stirred and aimed what looked like an AK-47 through the cockpit opening.

"You've obviously been tracking us. Why didn't you shoot us down when you had the chance?"

"I would prefer to keep my plane intact." "Boys and their toys." "What?"

Austin let the biplane drift a few yards. The helicopter veered off to avoid a collision.