Not on His Watch

by Cassie Miles

  Up in the cabin, Quint had overheard Nick Beaumont speaking German. Another of the hijackers spoke in French. This crew seemed to be drawn from several different nationalities, which might indicate that their goals weren’t politically motivated. They truly were in this for the money.

  In English, the weightlifter said, “You’re like a little girl, Alex. Come upstairs and you can help the ladies bake fresh cookies.”

  As he shuffled around the perimeter of the rear cargo hold, Quint had a clear opportunity to shoot. But if he did, the others would be alerted. They’d know for sure that Quint was on the plane, and would come gunning for him before he had time to adjust the autopilot. It was better to wait.

  The weightlifter came closer, shoving at the various containers, banging on the metal storage lockers. A few more steps and they’d be face-to-face. Quint was pretty sure it’d take more than one bullet to bring this guy down. Better to use the Taser.

  “I give up!” The weightlifter bellowed, “Stay down here and freeze in the dark, coward.”

  He turned back toward the steep metal stairs. Heavily, he climbed them.

  Quint hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in letting this big guy walk away.

  He speed-dialed Confidential headquarters. Andy Dexter came on the line. “Okay, Quint. Go through the forward cargo bay, close as you can get to the nose of the plane. You’ll find a rectangular panel, something like a fuse box. It’s labeled EQUIP, and it’s going to be hard to open. Have you got tools?”

  “Just a switchblade. I’ll call back when I find it.”

  Quint returned to the forward hold through the sliding door. His step was steady, but his nerves were tight. He had to pull off this maneuver. It had to work. He couldn’t fail. He would not lose the woman he loved in an airplane incident. Not again.

  STILL TAPED TO THE CHAIR in the private cabin, Natalie shifted uncomfortably as Nick Beaumont tossed a black Stetson on the desk in front of her. Was this his way of telling her that Quint was captured? Or dead? Though panic screamed inside her, she kept her lips sealed. The first rule in any negotiation was to make the adversary speak first.

  “Your boyfriend,” Nick said. “I didn’t see him among the other passengers.”

  He hadn’t seen Quint! Good! Natalie lifted her chin. “He’s not here. He was going to meet me tomorrow in Washington.”

  “But he left his hat.” Nick’s voice was dangerously low. “A cowboy never leaves his hat.”

  “I don’t know anything about it,” she said truthfully. Indeed, she didn’t know how or why Quint had dropped his hat. “Maybe he gave his hat, or one like it, to one of the other people on the plane.”

  The ring of truth in her voice must have convinced him, because Nick relaxed. He strolled to the sofa, sat and made a summoning motion with his hand.

  A dog responded. The black-and-white Border collie hopped spryly onto the sofa, though missing a front leg. It seemed a bright-eyed animal, intelligent. Why would a hijacker bring his pet on the flight?

  “His name is Scout,” Nick said. “And when this is over, my dog and I will retire to a quiet place where there are no jets flying overhead and no fools to bother us.”

  Why was he telling her his plans?

  “You see, Natalie, I wasn’t raised in a privileged home with ponies and swimming pools and yearly vacations to Disneyland. When I was fourteen, I was on my own. Fortunately, I discovered my particular genius—a talent for handling explosives, building bombs.” He scratched behind his dog’s ears. “I worked alone. And I learned to disdain the people who used my services. All of them, fools. Black or white. Christian or Muslim. They’re all the same. Beneath contempt.”

  She nodded, encouraging him to continue. The more time he wasted in self-reflection, the more time Quint had to perfect a plan.

  “My brother,” he said, “was apprehended in Grant Park. I don’t blame you or your cowboy friend. My brother was clumsy, and he will pay the price in prison.”

  She thought of her sister, Caroline. If anything bad happened to her, Natalie would move heaven and earth to help her. To abandon his brother, Nick Beaumont must have ice water in his veins.

  “Human life means nothing to me,” he said.

  Through her fear, she tried to analyze this man who still wore the ground crew jumpsuit. If she understood him, she might have an edge in negotiating. What could she deduce? He was bitter. Apparently, he hated everyone equally. Emotion played very little part in his self-absorbed, egotistic thinking. He must be a true sociopath, a man without conscience.

  Though she only knew the psychology she’d learned in college textbooks and in years of sitting around conference tables, Natalie figured her diagnosis made sense. A sociopath. That might explain his audacity. Nick Beaumont needed blind arrogance to think he could get away with a hijacking in a climate of heightened national security.

  “If you don’t care about anyone or anything, why did you target Quantum?”

  “The opportunity presented itself. You have many enemies. They were willing to finance my operation.”

  “Zahir?” she asked. “But that couldn’t be. He doesn’t have ready cash. It must have been Sheik Khalaf Al-Sayed.”

  His bemused smile neither confirmed nor denied her conclusion. “Does it matter?”

  “I should think it matters to you. How can you be sure they’ll pay you for your efforts?” This might be the logic she needed. She could promise him real cash. She wouldn’t go back on her word. “You can’t really trust Zahir or the sheik.”

  “Your reasoning is backward,” he said.

  She frowned. Backward? “Are you telling me that the sheik and Zahir can’t trust you?”

  He nodded. There was a hint of triumph in his smug expression. “A double cross,” he said.

  “You’re going to keep the ransom money for yourself.” It was a dangerous plan. In a way, brilliant. “Surely, those who financed you will seek revenge.”

  “Unless they are unavoidably detained in one of your fine United States prisons.” Giving his dog one final pat on the head, he rose and came toward the desk. “I tell you these things so you will understand, Natalie, that I have no moral reluctance to betray anyone. Without a single qualm, I will kill every person on this plane.”

  She believed him. The depths of his blue eyes held no expression. In a rush, she reminded him, “But we’re useful as hostages.”

  “Essential,” he agreed.

  “And you’ve been careful not to harm anyone,” she said. “No one was hurt by the explosion in Reykjavik. Or in my office.”

  “I find it expedient not to create martyrs.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s simple. Your father can accept the loss of this aircraft. But if he lost an employee, he might be more aggressive. And if he lost a daughter…”

  “He’d never forget.” She despised this rational yet evil logic. “He’d devote the rest of his life to hunting you down.”

  “Now you understand why you’re still alive.” He gripped her chin and forced her to look up at him. “You and I, Natalie, we have the same goals. If my demands are met, you and the others will survive. You must convince your father.”

  “I will,” she said.

  Natalie didn’t point out the most serious flaw in his sociopathic reasoning. Hijacking was a serious crime for which he would be prosecuted in every nation in the world. And there was another, more immediate flaw. “After you release the hostages, you have no more bargaining power. What will you do then?”

  “At least one hostage must stay with me until I am safe.”

  “Me?”

  “Smart girl.”

  “And then,” she asked, “what happens to me?”

  He took a knife from his pocket. Lightly he drew the tip of the blade across her throat. Then, he released her chin. Quick and businesslike, he cut the duct tape he’d used to fasten her arms to the chair. Pointing to the telephone on the desk, he said, “Get your father on the phone. Sa
y nothing of the hijacking until you have reached him.”

  Natalie flexed her numbed fingers, shrugged and bobbed her head from side to side as if a few simple stretches would relieve her gut-wrenching terror. There was very little chance that she would make it through this ordeal alive. Quint was her only hope. Realistically, what could he do? He couldn’t overpower these armed men.

  “Do it,” Nick said. “Do I need to bring one of your little friends in here and hurt them to remind you of the consequences for disobedience?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I’ll make the call.”

  She was about to bargain for the lives of the other passengers on board, and she didn’t feel up to the task. With all her heart, she wished the weight of this horrible responsibility rested upon someone else’s shoulders.

  She punched in her father’s private cell phone number. At this hour, he ought to be home, probably in his office.

  “Use the speakerphone,” Nick said.

  She longed to be rescued from this nightmare, to wake up and find herself safe in Quint’s strong arms. She wanted a future with him—a loving and endless series of tomorrows with children and a dog.

  Glancing over at the sofa, she saw Scout innocently wagging his tail. He cocked his head, seeming sympathetic.

  She heard her father’s voice, distorted by the speakerphone. “Hello?”

  “It’s me, Natalie. Are you alone?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. I’m in my office, digesting a very dull chicken dinner. You know how your mother is about cholesterol.”

  With a stab of pain, Natalie thought of what this would do to her mother. All Mom had ever wanted was for her daughters to be happy.

  “Natalie? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Dad, I love you so much.” A tremor broke her words. Quickly, she swallowed her panic. “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Name it.”

  “The corporate jet has been hijacked by the terrorists. But they’re not really terrorists. They have no political statement. They’re not on a suicide mission. You can’t notify the authorities.”

  “The hell I can’t. If I—”

  “Henry, you’re on the speakerphone.”

  “What do the bastards want?”

  “Money,” she said. “They know they can’t negotiate with the government. They only want to talk to you. If you don’t pay them, they’ll kill everyone on the plane. Do you understand?”

  There was silence. She imagined her father standing, gripping the phone with a white-knuckled fist. When he spoke, his voice was strong.

  “I’ll pay.”

  “You can’t notify anyone,” she said desperately.

  “I understand. Let me talk to them.”

  Nick Beaumont leaned across the desk. “Good evening, Henry Van Buren.”

  “Who are you? Who do you work for?”

  “Know this, sir. I hold the lives of your employees and your daughter in my hands. You will do exactly as I say.”

  “One condition,” her father said. “I want to stay in contact with Natalie at all times. If she’s harmed in any way, I will contact the FBI.”

  “Your daughter is well,” he said.

  “How much do you want?”

  “Ten million dollars.”

  “Impossible,” Henry snapped. “It’s night. The banks are closed. How can I come up with that kind of—”

  “Somewhere in the world,” Nick said, “banks are open. I wish for this money to be exchanged in a series of computer wire transfers.”

  Natalie had to admire the cleverness of this ransom scheme. There would be no messy exchange of cash or gold bullion or bearer bonds. By the time the U.S. banks opened in the morning, the money would be long gone, transferred from one point to another until it vanished into an unreachable secret account.

  “I’ll pay,” her father said. “But I don’t know the mechanics of this kind of transaction. I need help.”

  “Jerome Harris,” Natalie said. “The head of Accounting is on the plane. He can facilitate the transfers.”

  “I know,” Nick said. He stepped into the corridor and shouted toward the front lounge. “Bring Jerome Harris in here.”

  The nervous little man walked in stiffly. He’d peeled off his suit coat and loosened his collar. Never before had Natalie seen Jerome without a necktie.

  Though she’d been terrified to conduct these negotiations herself, the idea of handing the transaction over to Jerome was even more frightening. He didn’t look as if he could remember his own name, much less perform the complex tasks before him.

  Under the watchful eye of Nick Beaumont, she left her desk chair and guided Jerome to the seat. Her voice was gentle. “My father is on the speakerphone, Jerome. He has a job that requires your expertise.”

  His eyes darted to her face. “I can’t.”

  “We need you to facilitate the ransom payment.”

  “I can’t.” He held up trembling hands. “I can’t.”

  Irritation flashed through her. Did she need to tell Jerome what would happen if he failed? Did she need to remind him that they would all die if the ransom wasn’t paid?

  She forced herself to smile. Jerome looked like he might crack into a million pieces if one more ounce of pressure were applied.

  “It’s just a task, Jerome. A money transfer. It’s the kind of work you do every single day.”

  “Jerome.” Her father’s voice came over the speakerphone. “Are you there?”

  “Yes,” he squeaked.

  “We need to access several different accounts.”

  “Can’t think.” Jerome’s breathing was shallow. He looked as if he might hyperventilate.

  Standing by the door, Nick Beaumont removed the safety from his automatic pistol. “We don’t have time for this.”

  “Wait!” Natalie had an idea. She leaned close to Jerome. “Do you like dogs?”

  His brow furrowed, but he nodded.

  She called to the black-and-white Border collie who still sat obediently on the sofa. “Here, boy. Come here, Scout.”

  The dog hopped down from the sofa and came toward the desk. Scout was just tall enough to rest his chin on Jerome’s knee.

  “He’s a great dog,” Natalie said. “Give him a pat on the head, Jerome.”

  Tentatively, the little accountant reached down. As he stroked the soft fur on the top of the dog’s head, Natalie continued talking to him in a soothing voice. “Everything is going to be all right. As soon as you take care of the money transfer, we’ll all be safe. We’ll get off the plane and have a nice dinner. I’m so glad you’re here, Jerome.”

  Behind her back, she heard Nick Beaumont scoff, but she continued with her reassurances until she could see the high-strung Jerome Harris begin to relax. His constant stroking of Scout seemed to be having an effect.

  “All right,” Natalie said. “You can do this, Jerome.”

  “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

  “You’re okay.” She lightly patted his arm. “I won’t leave the room. I’ll just sit over here on the sofa.”

  “Can Scout stay by me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Nick Beaumont as he took Natalie’s place. From an inner pocket he produced a sheet of paper with a column of numbers. “When the transaction is successfully completed, I will receive a signal. Until that moment, you must do exactly as I say.”

  “How much money are we talking about?”

  “Ten million,” Natalie’s father said over the speakerphone. “Don’t quibble, Jerome.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  While Jerome tapped computer keys on a laptop, her father supplied additional code numbers and Nick Beaumont oversaw the routing. Though Natalie tried to concentrate, this was not her area of expertise. The transaction was beyond her comprehension.

  Her thoughts traveled a dangerous path, thinking of what came next. Even if they managed the money transfer and landed safely at the private airfield near Washington, D.C. customarily used by Qua
ntum, even if the other hostages were released, she would still be on the plane with Nick Beaumont and his crew. They would have to refuel and take off again. Then what? An unknown destination. It seemed impossible to keep the hijacking a secret. They would never find a place to land the plane.

  Even if the hijacking scheme went off without a hitch, would her life be spared? Though she wanted to cling to that thin shred of hope, there were too many ways it might unravel.

  Could she escape? Her gaze drifted toward the bathroom. Quint had somehow managed to disappear in there. He’d gone through a hatch. She might be able to do the same.

  Without warning, the jet lurched violently. Shouts of surprise echoed from the lounge. Natalie felt herself being thrown back against the sofa. The aircraft banked left, making a sharp turn. She saw Jerome’s hands fly off the computer keys. Nick Beaumont barely stayed on his feet.

  “Don’t stop,” he ordered Jerome. He gestured to Natalie. “You. Come with me.”

  “Natalie!” Her father’s voice boomed over the speakerphone. “What’s happening? Are you all right?”

  Nick Beaumont informed him, “She’s coming with me.”

  “I had one condition,” Henry Van Buren said. “My daughter stays in touch with me on this phone. If she’s gone, the whole thing’s off.”

  There were more shouts from the lounge area. Nick didn’t have time to argue. His hand grasped the doorknob. His cold eyes made contact with hers. “Don’t be a fool,” he said. “You know how I deal with fools.”

  The instant he left, she went toward the bathroom where Quint had found a hatch. “Come on, Jerome. There’s a way out. Tell my father that I’m okay.”

  “Sir,” Jerome said meekly into the speakerphone, “your daughter is trying to escape.”

  “Natalie, stop it,” her father ordered.

  She dashed back into the room. “I’m not going to sit in this cabin and wait until that sociopath decides it’s time to shoot me.”

  “Excuse me,” Jerome said, “I’ve got some more numbers. Should I enter them?”