The List- Alyssa's Revenge

by Casi McLean

  “No. That’s way beyond my skill level.”

  “Then getting rid of the pilot doesn’t make sense. Unless you want to take a chance and skydive out of here.” Alyssa went transparent then drifted to the top of the cargo boxes Harper referred to and peered inside. “Oh crap.” She dove inside the first container.

  “What? Alyssa, what do you see?”

  After floating through and inspecting eleven crates, she burst through and perched on the last one. “Those cartons appear to be filled with packaged medication. I saw dozens of antibiotics, penicillin, insulin etc. But the medicine only camouflages inner crates––eleven to be precise.” She drifted to Harper then materialized. “We have eleven kids to rescue.”

  “Oh my God.” Harper stiffened. “Are they okay?” She grimaced then stared upward toward the cartons. “They’re so silent.”

  “They’re all breathing. I’m pretty sure they’re just drugged. But Harper, these kids change everything.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After a short discussion with the pilot, Wyatt took a seat across from Parker in the front of the Falcon then tapped his earpiece. “Brewer, I need an update.”

  “Still nothing, sir. Rhodes is monitoring the Director until I return to the bunker.”

  “Stephanie, when you get back, keep an eye on Hanna and Mikey.” He shifted his position then fastened his seatbelt. “Rhodes, you copy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now that Sarah is safe, Hanna might need counseling so Brewer will watch the kids. I want your complete attention on Director Drake.”

  “Ten-four, sir.”

  “Any news on the target plane?”

  “The corporate plane is a 757 that belongs to MFI Pharmaceuticals, a worldwide distributer of medicine like penicillin, insulin, antibiotics and the like. They fly in and out of major airports daily, delivering drugs to third world countries. The flight plan registered nonstop to Tripoli, Libya. Customs inspected a typical cargo of meds, sir.”

  “So much for our faith in customs. Good work, Rhodes. Keep digging. I have a feeling there’s a lot more to this company than what’s planted on the surface.”

  “On it, sir.”

  “Steel, you copy?”

  “Yes, sir. Confirm Tripoli, Libya, is the destination of our target aircraft. Tracking the flight. On scheduled to land in Tripoli at midnight EET––that’s 18:00 hours our time. You’re about an hour behind the target.”

  “Got it. We’re taxiing to the runway now and will be in the air shortly. Be sure to––”

  “I’ve got a signal.” Kara’s impassioned voice erupted, silencing all others. “The indicator is weak, but tracking. We’re matching the flight coordinates with the GPS signal. Confirming, sir. The signal definitely belongs to Director Drake and originating on the MFI Pharmaceuticals jet.”

  “Thank God.” Drawing in a deep breath, Wyatt’s angst kicked down a notch. “Lock on her coordinates and update me with any changes.”

  “On it, sir.”

  Settling into his seat, Wyatt prepared for the long flight, his thoughts reflecting over what had transpired over the last few hours and projecting possible scenarios that lay ahead. He mindlessly shook his head.

  Parker nudged him. “I’ve seen this movie before, Wyatt, and it doesn’t end well. Don’t play the blame game. Harper might have taken a calculated risk, but the card was hers to play. Now that she passed the deck to you, the game changes, my friend.” He leaned into his seat and rested his spread arms full-length across the top of the bench seat. “What’s your deal?”

  “I know what you’re thinking, and a month ago, you would have nailed my state of mind. Hell, maybe even last week.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “The point is working with this team jerked me from the edge and returned a part of me I lost after the explosion in Afghanistan.” He turned toward the small window and peered at the billowing clouds. “When Harper chose to act today––regardless of the risk to her own future––something snapped inside me.” He shifted his gaze toward Parker. “Honestly, the thought of losing her scared the shit out of me. When we lost her signal, I literally felt something explode in my chest, as if a glass dome I built over the past ten years shattered.”

  “Hey, bro, that’s a good thing.” He gripped Wyatt’s shoulder. “I, for one, am glad you’re back.” Again, he leaned back into his seat. “So, how the hell will we save the love of your life?”

  §

  “Four glasses.” Alyssa’s image flickered.

  Harper turned toward the shimmering apparition and glowered. “For glasses? What on Earth are you talking about?”

  She rose and floated above the cargo. “When I inspected the cabin, I saw four glasses on the table––but only three men. I missed someone. Maybe a fourth person was in the bathroom or the galley. I’ve got to go back to the cabin and check.” She swirled into a sparkling cyclone and thrust through the ceiling. A heartbeat later, she darted toward Harper. “They’re coming. Quick. Climb back into your box. They’re almost here.”

  Harper glanced toward the door. “But why would––”

  “No time for questions.” Alyssa spun until the air around her lifted Harper and whisked her into her prison. Slamming the top shut, Alyssa poked her head through the side panel. “Sorry. I caught you off guard.” She squeezed inside then turned toward Harper. “Those traffickers are ruthless. No telling what they’d do if they saw you escaped. Maybe you should let them think you’re still drugged.”

  “But…they never drugged me,” Harper whispered. “Why do you suppose they drugged all the children, but not me?”

  Alyssa shimmered into the box and sat beside Harper. “I’m not sure. Maybe your ‘owner’ doesn’t want you damaged?”

  “More likely they want to have some fun over the ten-hour flight.” Harper shivered then ran her hands over her arms. “We need a plan. If this plane reaches Libya, I shudder to think about what will happen to those kids.”

  She slid through the container into the cargo area. “And you, too, Harper. Your knowledge and expertise might get you killed.” Again, Alyssa poked her head through the box. “They’re here.”

  “How many?” Harper whispered.

  Craning her neck, Alyssa peered toward the men then poked her head in to see Harper. “Two of the men I saw topside. I need to check the cabin for the fourth man. Stay here.”

  Harper chuckled. “I must have missed the memo on teleportation.” She shrugged and let out a soft snicker.

  “Right.” Shaking her head, Alyssa went transparent then swooshed upward into the cabin. This time she took stock of every detail. A newspaper folded on a bench seat written in what appeared to be Arabic, was consistent with the Libya destination theory. Four empty glasses on the table and a plate with remnants of figs, dates, oranges, apricots and olives.

  Two men slept in dark reclining seats typical of those she’d seen on commercial flights. She edged closer to inspect the men more thoroughly. Both wore western attire. One had dark hair with a full beard and mustache, the other––the man Alyssa missed during her first perusal––was clean-shaven with lighter skin and brown hair. Unlike the others on the flight, this man clearly looked English or American…in fact, something about him gave Alyssa an odd sense of déjà vu. Had she met him before? Or seen him somewhere? She pondered a moment but couldn’t come up with a connection. She couldn’t recall.

  Realizing she’d been away from Harper longer than she intended, she returned to the cargo area, still questioning the déjà vu. Hovering over the two other men, she could understand nothing they said, but the jeers and innuendo exchange between them as they peered through the holes in Harper’s prison fed Alyssa’s rage.

  Gazing through the side panel, she saw Harper coiled into the corner, eyes shut, feigning sleep.

  In a swirl of untethered fury, she let loose a burst of energy, tumbling several boxes to the floor.

  Instantly, the men drew their weapons and took cover, babbling exp
letives and shock. They scrambled toward the hatch and shouted to their companions. A moment later, the other two men burst into the cargo area.

  Alyssa leapt into Harper’s container then went translucent and sat beside her, feeling somewhat satisfied the first two likely peed in their pants.

  “Stop.” The fourth man spit out. “Speak English.”

  Hearing the demand, Harper eyes went wide. “He’s an American?” she whispered.

  Alyssa shrugged. “I’m not sure, but he certainly looks American and has no foreign accent. Something about him feels vaguely familiar. I need a closer look.” Again, she faded transparent then spiraled to stand beside the nodding men.

  “What the hell happened down here?” Number four frowned at his cohorts.

  The men shrugged and gazed blankly at each other until one spoke.

  “We thought…perhaps…turbulence?”

  The American scowled. “If the plane experienced turbulence, we would have felt it in the cabin.” He inspected the two who had been in the cargo area when the rumbling occurred. “You even think about touching our crates, you won’t live to see the sun rise.” When he lifted a hand and rubbed the scruffy stubbles on his chin, the dim light glinted off his golden ring.

  Alyssa froze, hypnotized by the ring––her anger flamed into boiling rage as visions of her own death spun through her thoughts. A hand flew to her neck where the ring imprinted into her skin as her murderer squeezed the air, the life from her lungs. The ring bore The Association symbol––the Deep State faction who conspired to take the White House. The faction who ordered her death.

  Suddenly, the crates holding Harper and the children floated in mid-air.

  “What the fuck?” Eyes wide, the American stared at the suspended boxes.

  The plane shuddered.

  Hitting a crescendo, Alyssa’s fury exploded into a fiery cyclone, spitting the remaining containers toward the front of the aircraft. The weight load shifted…plunging the plane into a freefall nosedive…spiraling and sputtering downward, with the three traffickers flailing like ragdolls as they plunged toward a watery grave.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “What do you mean they’re gone?” Shooting toward the cockpit, Wyatt gasped. Damn. We’re so close. We can’t lose the plane now. He slid behind the pilot and studied the radar screen on the instrument panel. “Show me where you lost the signal.”

  The pilot pointed to a spot on the display, then turned toward Wyatt. “Once we caught up with the target plane, we picked up the echo, sir, and shadowed the signal. Matching the 757’s velocity and altitude, we kept a steady distance so our stealth feature could work its magic.”

  “Perhaps they caught a visual glimpse of us shadowing them and took evasive measures.”

  “Not likely, sir. Stealth technology doesn’t make an aircraft invisible like in the movies. It reduces the amount of radar energy reflecting off the plane, in our case, this Falcon. So, as long as we stayed far enough back, their 757 couldn’t detect us.”

  The pilot’s description sparked Wyatt’s memory with a maneuver called the “Crazy Ivan” from the movie, The Hunt For Red October. Could the 757 have circled around to make sure no one tailed them?

  “No, sir.”

  Wyatt ran a thumb over his mustache. “And you’re sure you kept the Falcon a sufficient distance from the 757?”

  “I’d stake my career on it, sir.” He twisted to face the screen. “My eyes have been glued to this monitor since we took off. I was staring at the green blip when it blinked out like someone turned off the light.” He faced Wyatt.

  Wyatt frowned, preparing himself for the worst-case scenario. “You’re absolutely sure they didn’t change direction or altitude?”

  “Yes, sir. And I double checked all my instruments to be sure they were working perfectly before we took off. The flight simply vanished.”

  “Lt. Commander…” He paused and squeezed the pilot’s shoulder then eased his grip. “You and I both know an aircraft doesn’t simply vanish. What do you think happened to the plane?” Wyatt drew in a long breath.

  The pilot sunk into his seat. “I’ve seen a lot of strange occurrences in my career, sir. But for my money, the only feasible answer is…the plane went down.”

  Wyatt let out the breath he’d been holding then nodded. “Maintain our course but keep your eyes on the radar. And scan the area for any other flights. Let me know if you see anything.”

  “Yes, sir, Director.”

  At hearing the title, Wyatt stiffened and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to admit what his common sense told him was fact. The notion of losing Harper was unbearable. He choked the thoughts from his stream of consciousness. His training switched to autopilot. Turning, he tapped his earbud and returned to his seat. “Rhodes, what’s your take on losing the 757’s signal?”

  “When I couldn’t reach you, I figured the pilot notified you of the situation.”

  “Right, I was in the cockpit.” He twisted then raised a hand toward Parker who was about to speak. “Rhodes, I’d like your opinion. What possible situations could cause the flight signal to vanish?”

  §

  “A-lys-sa. Stop. Please.”

  Harper’s screams ricocheted through the jet, dousing Alyssa’s fiery rage. Imploring, reeling her back from the gates of Hell.

  “No. Alyssa.”

  The aircraft spun out of control, thrusting downward, only moments from crashing into the ocean. Harper’s crate, along with the children’s, still suspended in mid-air, diving in unison with the plane.

  “Alyssa.” Emily’s voice echoed in the distance. “Lyssa, I need you to hear me.”

  For an instant, her twin’s voice blotted out everything else, long enough for her to hear Harper’s terrified screams.

  “Please, Alyssa. Save the children.” Harper’s voice amplified.

  Harper…the children. The realization hit Alyssa like a bolt of lightning. If she didn’t control her rage, her fury would kill Harper and the children. Squeezing her eyes tightly, she fisted her hands, forcing the flurry of energy to level the jet. The containers redistributed. The nose scooped upward then leveled off. Alyssa lowered the suspended crates.

  Glancing around, Alyssa stared at the scattered boxes then poked her head inside Harper’s container. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Are you okay?”

  Harper patted various parts of her body. “I’m good. But what about the children?”

  Floating through the containers, Alyssa assessed each child. “They’re fine, if you can call being knocked out cold fine. I’m not sure about those three men, though. I’ll check.” Alyssa withdrew her head from the crate then drifted above the cargo, searching for the kidnappers.

  Wedged between two cattycornered crates, the American inspected his bloody leg. Shrugging off the wound, he twisted his body, wedging it against the side of the plane and hoisted himself free. “Tareq. Hamza. You two all right?”

  The second man was lying in a pool of blood. Hoping he was knocked out, Alyssa examined him. He moaned and tried to roll over. Hmm, injured, but alive. She turned then hovered over the American.

  The third man, barricaded behind several containers, scaled them to the top then rubbing his arm, he scanned the cargo area. Seeing the American, he gave him a thumbs-up. “I am a bit bruised, but okay. Hamza is injured quite badly, though, over near the hatch. Can you see him?”

  “Yes.” He made his way toward Hamza then knelt and inspected the wound.

  Tareq climbed down to the floor then maneuvered through the maze of boxes toward his companion. “His injury looks bad. So much blood.”

  “Head wounds bleed a lot. He has a good-sized lump, likely a concussion, but he should be okay. Let’s get him to the cabin.”

  Tareq knelt and took hold of Hamza’s ankles. “What the hell was the pilot thinking? He could have killed us?” He stood and tugged Hamza’s legs forward.

  The American grimaced. “When I get my hands on him,
he’ll wish he had.” Arms supporting the injured man’s shoulders, he lifted him then carried him toward the hatch.

  Alyssa hovered over them, her thoughts swirling with conflicting emotion. Why did the American look so familiar? The unique design on his ring pegged him as a high-ranking member of The Association. Had he played a part in her murder? How deeply was he involved with the trafficking ring?

  The copilot met the men at the door and helped move Hamza to a bench seat in the cabin. “I’ll get the first aid kit.” He turned and strode toward the galley then paused. “Collins.” Casting a glance over his shoulder, he pointed his head toward the cockpit. “The captain wants to see you.”

  Collins? Again, an icy shard stabbed her chest. Rummaging through her disorganized memories, she struggled to connect the dots but only disdain surfaced. She followed the American––this Collins––into the cockpit, hovering close to absorb every word he uttered.

  After stepping inside, he slid into the copilot’s seat then turned toward the captain. “What the hell happened? If my cargo shows any signs of damager…”

  The captain sneered. “Don’t threaten me.” He jabbed a finger toward Collins, displaying his contempt. “That nosedive had nothing to do with my competence.”

  Collins chuckled. “I suppose the cargo containers magically flew into the nose by themselves?”

  “Unexplained occurrences aren’t unusual in flight, from air pockets and turbulence to UFOs and disappearances. But I didn’t call you in here to listen to your bullshit.” He tapped on the altimeter. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re flying at about six thousand feet above sea level. Apparently, the nosedive caused the intake valve to malfunction, which means we can’t pressurize the plane. If I take us above ten thousand feet, you won’t be able to breathe.”

  Leaning forward, Collins stared at the control panel. “So, how does that ceiling affect our flight?” He shifted his gaze to the captain.

  “Since we’re over the Atlantic, we don’t have to worry about mountain ranges. Lower altitudes create more drag, which means the flight takes more time and uses more fuel.”