by Ann Gimpel
“Any chance I could have a revolver instead?”
The Marine exchanged a pointed look with her father, who nodded.
She traded guns, figured out the shoulder holster, and picked up her jacket along with two boxes of shells.
“Come on,” Chris said, his demeanor much less forbidding. “I’d forgotten how bad you were with semiautomatic weapons.”
“Bet you haven’t forgotten what you used to tell me.”
He grinned. “You better nail ’em with the first bullet because after that you jammed the gun.”
They walked outside, and she scanned the tarmac. Where was Brice?
Her phone jangled; she dragged it out of a pocket. A text from him scrolled across her display.
Almost there. Caught in traffic. Let your dad know, please.
Chris read the text over her shoulder. He motioned her off to one side. “This mission is far from a sure thing, and we’re off normal radar. Once Brice gets here, you’ll both leave your cell phones with the master at arms inside. We’ll all have burner phones. Untraceable,” he clarified.
Her mouth grew dry, and sweat formed in her armpits. “Serious stuff.”
“Very. It’s why you must do exactly as I say. No second guessing. No questions.”
“Is anyone else coming?”
Her father nodded. “An old colleague of mine. You won’t know his name, but trust he knows his stuff. He’s already inside the plane. He and I will be flying it.”
“I thought you let your certificates go.”
“I did, but this is a Gulfstream G650, long range. As jets go, it’s on the smaller side, and I’m still qualified to fly them. Thanks for asking.” His words were so droll and so typically Chris, it reassured her.
“Will four of us be enough? I’m scarcely mercenary material. Neither is Brice.”
“Half a dozen hand-picked men will meet us near our target.” He looked straight at her. “Neither you nor Brice will go inside.” His eyes developed a pinched aspect. “I don’t want you to see what’s probably in there. It would give you nightmares for the rest of your life.”
A shiny, black BMW slewed around the corner and headed right toward them. Must be Brice. Her heart did a funny little flipflop. She shouldn’t be thinking about him, but she couldn’t help herself. They’d have hours to talk and catch up and...
She cut her thoughts off at the roots. The time in the plane should be spent strategizing, developing several alternate plans to rescue Katie. If she and Brice had any kind of a shot at a mutual future, it would have to wait.
Chapter Nineteen
Brice parked where General Wray indicated and got out of his car after popping the trunk. By the time he walked to the hatch to collect the three bags of gear he’d thrown together—two medical, one personal—the Wrays had joined him.
“Were you able to get everything on the list I sent?” Chris Wray asked.
“Yes. Apologies for being late. Traffic was a beast coming from the east side. Be sure to thank your wife for running interference with my mom. Saved a whole lot of time when I called her because she already knew something had come up.”
“Ariel’s always been good at thinking on her feet.” Chris smiled. “We’ll have to find out what story she concocted, so we’re all on the same page after we’re back.”
Brice began gathering things from the car, but Chris waved him aside. “Julie and I will move your kit to the plane. You need to head into that hangar. How long since you’ve fired a sidearm?”
The question caught him off-guard. “Maybe six or seven months. I still enjoy hunting, and I try to hit the range occasionally.”
Chris keyed a mike clipped to his collar. It was so small and unobtrusive, Brice might not have noticed it otherwise. “Last man headed your way,” he said. “Send him to the plane once you’re done.”
Julie dragged one of his bags out. “Wow. What’s in this one? Rocks?”
“I’ll get it.” Her father slung the strap over one shoulder. “Get moving, son.”
“On my way, sir. What will I be collecting in the hangar? A gun?”
“And a Kevlar vest.” Julie tendered a gritty smile that spoke to just how out of her league she was feeling.
He wanted to offer support, but they needed to get moving. Besides, he felt awkward with her father standing there. “Just close the trunk when you’re done,” he said. “Everything’s already locked.”
“Hold up a second.” Chris extended a hand, and Juliana gave him her phone, which he handed to Brice. “Give this and your cell phone to the master at arms inside. They’ll be waiting for you when we return.”
Brice wanted to protest. Instead, he asked, “How will we communicate?”
“Burner phones. Get moving. We’ll have hours to talk on the plane.”
Brice loped for the open hangar door. After a short session with the absolutely humorless Marine who outfitted him with a gun and vest, he ran to the plane and up its steps. He and his practice partners had sprung for a plane to make it easier to provide service to locations east of the Cascades, but theirs was a plain Jane workhorse compared with this beauty.
He’d always appreciated fine machinery. He’d acquired the BMW roadster direct from the factory in Munich because that particular model wasn’t available in the United States. He wanted to comb through every inch of the Gulfstream, starting with its power plant, but he recognized it for a diversionary tactic. Being fitted with a bulletproof vest had been sobering, and it added a whole new angle to what lay ahead.
The Wrays stood just inside the plane. Its interior surprised him. He’d expected luxury to match Gulfstream’s reputation as a premier private jet manufacturer. Instead, the passenger compartment was spartan. Seats that looked as if they’d come out of a military transport were arranged in four rows, one on each side of a center aisle. The back of the plane was devoted to storage; his duffles had been secured by straps along with several others.
General Wray hit a button, and an electric motor whirred as the steps rose and locked into place. The whine of turbines made the floor vibrate beneath Brice’s feet.
“Prepare for takeoff,” an unfamiliar male voice called. “Need you in the cockpit, General.”
“Be there in five,” Chris replied.
“Roger that. Full power run-up in progress.”
The engine noise grew much louder.
Juliana’s father narrowed his eyes. “Grab these two seats.” He jerked his chin at the first row. “You’ll wear headphones, so we can communicate. They’re tucked into pouches along the wall.”
“You’ll be flying us?” Brice asked.
“You have a problem with that, son?” The corners of Chris’s mouth twitched but didn’t make it to smile position.
“No. Not at all. Who was that other fellow?”
“Mystery man,” Julie spoke up. “We won’t know who he is.”
Her father offered her an approving nod. “Once we hit cruise altitude, you’ll be free to move about. Head’s in the back. So’s a small galley with snacks, water, and maybe fruit juice.”
“What? No booze?” Julie waggled a finger her father’s way.
“We can pop the champagne after we’re back stateside. I’ll continue this briefing once we’re upstairs.” Chris ducked through the open cockpit door, dragging it shut behind him.
Julie took the seat on the left side of the aisle, so Brice settled into the one across from her and buckled what turned out to be a shoulder harness. He found the headset and settled it into place.
Julie did the same and keyed the push-to-talk switch. “Can you hear me?”
“We all can,” Chris’s voice crackled through Brice’s earpieces. “Quiet until we’re off the ground.”
Brice unplugged his headset and gestured for Julie to do the same.
“But Dad said we should wear them,” she said.
“Yes, but that was so he could communicate with us, something he won’t be doing for at least the next twenty t
o thirty minutes. Right now, they have an open channel to the tower,” he told her. “Once we leave the ground, they can set the system so it’s only the four of us.”
“Why wouldn’t the plane have a PA system, independent of headphones?”
“Probably to avoid anyone intercepting what’s said. I bet they have some way to scramble the electronics. Maybe it works better with individual units than a PA system.”
“I’ll ask Dad later.” She clasped her hands over the headset in her lap.
“How are you doing?”
She shrugged. “Scared we won’t get there soon enough. Dad gave you a list of supplies, huh?”
“Enough to outfit a small field hospital. I had kits still packaged from my DWB tours, though. Made it easier, but I still had to detour through the hospital pharmacy for some of the drug items.”
“DWB?” She raised one dark brow into a question mark.
“Doctors Without Borders. It’s essentially an international medical aid society.”
“I know about them. Just didn’t recognize the acronym straight off. Did you run into problems getting here?”
“You might say so. I was hoping your father wouldn’t ask for a blow by blow, and he didn’t.”
The plane started down the runway, moving fast. It rose smoothly into the air, much more quickly than Brice anticipated it would, and climbed steeply. He whistled long and low, appreciating the plane’s abundance of power.
“What?”
He shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. “I’ve always loved machinery. You know. Fast cars.”
“And loose women?” she quipped.
“I wouldn’t know. None ever threw themselves across my path.”
“Maybe they did, and you were too preoccupied to notice. What happened to slow you down getting to Boeing Field?”
“I chose the south bridge route and took a chance with the carpool lane since it was moving much faster than the others.”
She made a face. “Oh-oh.”
“Yeah. Predictable, huh? A cop pulled me over. I flashed my medical creds and mostly told the truth. Said I was heading to Boeing Field, and I was late for a life flight plane leaving the country. Don’t know if you noticed, but all my medical bags carry the DWB logo, so he waved me through and told me he’d radio his buddies not to stop me again. Even though the episode ended decently, it cost me almost twenty minutes.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your MD credentials go a whole lot further than my archaeology ones. Last time I was speeding—on my way to present an academic paper, mind you—the Highway Patrol guy could have cared less who I was or where I was going. Ended up costing me over three hundred bucks.”
“Not too late to go to medical school.” He smiled.
“I’d make a crappy doctor, and both of us know it. Never had the aptitude for smoothing over cranky, sick people. Hell, I was in denial about how sick Sarah was until very recently.”
“Be a surgeon. Their patients don’t talk much.”
“Yeah, because they’re asleep.” Julie laughed.
Damn it was good to hear her rich, throaty laugh that had always reminded him of a rambunctious kitten, purring. He struggled for words to describe how much her happiness meant to him. Before he settled on something that was neutral and didn’t presume too much—or anything at all—the cockpit door flew open.
“What part about headphones on escaped the two of you?” General Wray scowled. “If we weren’t already late, I’d be tempted to circle back to the strip and leave you there.”
“Sorry, sir. Julie was compliant. I’m the one who suggested she and I talk while the plane—”
Chris made a chopping motion. Brice dropped his headset back into place. Julie’s already circled her head. “Better.” Chris’s voice crackled through the electronics. He went back into the cockpit, but left the door open.
Brice watched him settle into the copilot’s seat and waited for the promised briefing.
“Conditions are favorable,” the other pilot said. “We should arrive in just shy of twelve hours.”
“Will we stop somewhere to refuel?” Juliana asked.
“No.” The pilot paused for a beat. “I recognize you weren’t trained by the military, Dr. Wray, but trust we will tell you what you need to know.”
“If that’s a roundabout way of instructing me not to ask questions, you can just come out and say what you mean,” she replied.
“Fine. If the general and I open the floor to questions, you’ll be the first to know.”
Brice couldn’t see the other man since he was turned toward the windscreen, but his words held the slightest hint of an accent. Perhaps Russian. Maybe Eastern European. Possibly Scandinavian.” A wool watch cap covered his head with a headset perched atop it.
Juliana reached across the aisle and rested her fingertips on Brice’s arm. He glanced at her, and she rolled her eyes and mimed a salute.
Brice grinned. Before she could take her hand away, he placed one of his over it. Touching her, any part of her, was exquisite. He savored the silk of her skin, the line of her long, tapering fingers. Her nails were short and blunt cut, which pleased him. He’d never had any use for long fingernails on anyone.
“Listen up.” General Wray was all business. “The most likely scenario is our target is still at the identified location. It is possible they will have transferred her, though. Or that someone will have purchased her. Healthy white women command high prices. A ground team will be moving into position in roughly two hours to keep an eye on the location.”
Brice had questions. Like why wasn’t the team already in place? How many men were on the ground team, and did the human trafficking den have more than one entrance? He’d come across one with an underground tunnel affair attached to it during a medical cleanup operation.
“Another possibility”—the general cleared his throat—“is our target escaped.”
“Sorry. I know you don’t encourage active dialogue.” Juliana’s tone was carefully neutral. “How likely is that?”
“If she’s anything like you,” her father retorted, “I give it better than fifty percent, but you’d better hope she stays put. One of the best ways for her to end up with a bullet through her head and dumped where we’ll never, ever find her is for her to run. They have dogs, and her captors will be extremely motivated to make certain she doesn’t reach the American embassy in Cairo.”
Pain and horror washed over Julie’s expressive features. Brice tightened his grip on her hand.
“Transport will be waiting for us at the airport,” the pilot added. “Depending on intel from the ground team, we’ll select our route.”
“We’ll be landing at an unmarked, currently unused, strip in the desert. Originally, it was built by the Russians, but they abandoned it years ago,” Chris said, and then added, “It will expedite things. Less air traffic. No customs. No issues with our guns. If we get very lucky, no one will strip the plane while we’re gone.”
“I’m leaving two men with it,” the pilot said. “Sorry, I thought I’d mentioned that.”
Chris made a noncommittal sound that could have meant anything, followed by, “Once we reach the target, you two will remain with the car and driver. In the event we develop unexpected problems, the driver will take you directly to a safe location. I’ll join you as soon as things are mopped up.”
Julie frowned and captured her lower lip with her teeth. Brice could almost see wheels turning in her head. He covered his mouthpiece and hissed, “Follow orders.”
She flashed a determined grin, mouthed, “Bite me,” and said, “Dad. You always told me how important it is to deploy every resource at your disposal.”
“I know where you’re headed, and you can stop right there,” Chris growled.
“First off, trust I’m not stupid enough to get caught in the middle of a major firefight,” Julie replied. “Second, sending Brice—our team doctor—to a location where he can’t do any good makes no sense.”
He
liked the sound of our team doctor because it made it clear he and Juliana were playing for the same side. Finally.
“This is why we do not place family in a direct line of command,” the pilot sputtered. “Dr. Wray. When things turn to shit, it happens fast. Far too fast for you to get into an argument over orders. If the general’s attention is split too many ways, he might end up shot.”
“You can’t bully me,” she retorted. “Threats never had much impact, either. Brice and I will stay out of the way, but we’re not leaving unless we have to. I’m afraid Dad will be conservative.”
“Damn straight, I’ll be conservative.” Chris left his seat and stomped to where he stood over them. He ripped off his headset and jerked Julie’s off her head, unplugging it from its socket. She pulled her hand out from beneath Brice’s and clasped it with the other one, regarding her father.
Before he could launch into a parental lecture, Julie said, “You brought me for several good reasons. I fill multiple roles. I know Katie. She trusts me. I speak the language, and I’m familiar with the Nile Delta region. And Cairo. None of those reasons have gone away.”
Chris dropped to a crouch between their seats. “I promised your mother I’d bring you home safe, and by God, I will.”
“Fine, but I’m not flying halfway around the world for you to shuttle me off to the side. Why outfit me with this”—she tapped her Kevlar vest—“if you didn’t expect me to need it?”
“Standard field gear. Juliana. You have a temper. When it’s activated, your ability to reason is impacted.”
“You think I don’t know that about myself? I’m not fifteen anymore.” She glared at her father. He glowered back.
Brice recognized a standoff and removed his own headset. It was as good a time as any to jump in. “I agree with your daughter about not moving me off the field. If Katie—or anyone else—is injured, the first few moments can be critical. If I’m in a safe house miles away, I won’t be any good to anyone. Plus”—he leaned forward in his harness—“I’m a decent shot.”
Chris shook his head. “You medical types balk at shooting people. Goes against the grain.”
