by Andrew Watts
He had trained for this for the past few weeks, working with an explosives expert to custom-design the charge and ensure that they had just the right weapon for this job.
There. His target was at the perfect spot.
Hugo flipped up the transmit switch and watched Karen Becker’s plane.
Just as she was about to take herself out of the spin, Karen heard a sharp mechanical pop underneath her, and her controls went slack in her hands and under her feet.
All the resistance pushing back against her right hand, which gripped the yoke, and against her boots on the pedals was now completely gone. Karen rapidly moved the yoke as far as it would go in all directions, alternating pumps with each foot. Moving it around in a big square. Slow at first. Then fast. Both directions.
Nothing.
A terrifying chill ran up her spine as her aircraft continued to spin, plummeting towards the earth.
What she didn’t know was that Hugo and his ISI assistant, who had been trained by the Pakistani Air Force in small aircraft maintenance procedures, had accessed Karen Becker’s plane at three a.m. local time. Together they had placed a trace amount of plastic explosive at three critical points that connected the plane’s flight controls. A silver-colored patch was placed over the control rod, encasing a small receiver, trigger, and detonator. The charges had been painstakingly planted in a ring-shape around the control rod. The explosions would be small, but quite effective, snapping apart the linkage from the flight controls to the aircraft’s control surfaces.
The work was almost invisible to the naked eye and had not been noticed by the maintenance or pilot inspections, as it was located inside the aircraft—a position only checked during scheduled maintenance tune-ups.
“Tower,” she began, her voice strained.
“Say again, Bravo Sierra…” A different voice over the radio now. Deeper, and this man had used her call sign, all pretense of showmanship gone.
She tried again, moving her yoke in one big square, attempting to fix the problem. She pushed and pulled both foot pedals all the way forward and backward, to no avail. Nothing was giving her control back. It was like the mechanical connections had all been severed.
Her altitude wound down with sickening speed, the colors of the spectators still swirling together as the ground rushed up to meet her.
“Tower, Bravo Sierra. Declaring an emergency. Loss of flight controls…”
Max and Trent made their way through the grove of trees towards the two men in gray flight suits. They were watching the aerobatics demonstration.
“Hold on,” Wilkes said. “Are you guys listening to this?”
Trent and Max were farther away from the air show loudspeakers. The two men stopped and turned to see where the crowd was pointing.
One woman near Max was hugging her husband and wincing, saying, “Oh my God…” Another man was swearing over and over, seemingly unaware of the children next to him. Both were looking up at Karen Becker’s aircraft.
What had Max missed?
Then he heard Karen’s radio call, still being broadcast over the speaker.
“Did she say loss of controls?”
Trent looked alarmed, his head on a swivel, careful not to lose the men standing by the outdoor theater.
Max looked up towards Karen Becker’s aircraft. Red and black, spiraling downward, lower and lower. His eyes widened as it became obvious she was in real trouble. She was too low. She should have recovered from that spin by now…
Max looked towards the VIP tent. He could just make out the figure of Senator Becker pressed up against the translucent plastic of the tent, looking up at the plane, and then away at the ground.
Max looked up at the aircraft again.
“Something’s wrong,” Max said. “Something is very wrong…”
The last hundred feet felt like the aircraft was flying straight down.
Screams from the crowd the closer it got.
And the chilling cries of Karen herself, still broadcasting over the outdoor speakers as the aircraft slammed into the hard pavement of the nearest taxiway. A gaseous yellow fireball erupted from the concrete, transforming into plumes of thick black smoke.
A collective gasp of horror from hundreds of thousands of spectators, holding their mouths and picking up crying children. Men and women stared at the wreckage, held captive by their own morbid curiosity.
Sirens blared from a mile away as the crash crew activated. Giant versions of fire engines and heavy-duty ambulances raced to the scene. They sprayed water on the fires, but there was nothing anyone could do for Karen Becker now.
Max looked at the senator. He was on his knees, one hand still holding the plastic of the tent window, the other over his face.
“Hey.” Trent tapped Max on the arm to get his attention. “Look.”
The men in gray flight suits were on the move, riding their golf cart away from the scene. Max watched as they rolled through the nearest exit and headed for the massive parking lot area.
“They’re gone.”
Bullet holes filled the door.
Renee watched in horror as the CIA man standing behind it collapsed to the floor, his chest covered in crimson. Three men in black tactical gear stormed through the entrance, fanning out through the living room, their weapons trained on the two women.
Within seconds, Renee and Upton were on their stomachs, a boot in each of their backs, the barrel of a submachine gun aimed at their heads.
More men entered the house, including two who carried in a large plastic tarp roll. One of the gunmen flipped up the coffee table and threw it into the corner of the room, picture frames and glass shattering. Two other men pushed the couches and chairs so that the space became open. Then they unrolled the plastic tarp on the floor.
Renee became nauseous as she realized what was going on.
A tall Caucasian man appeared in the doorway, a thin smile on his face.
“Hello, ladies,” said Ian Williams in his thick British accent. He said something in Spanish, and both women were hiked up off the floor.
Jennifer Upton said, “Ian, would you please tell your men here to release me? I’m the one who called you here, for God’s sake.”
“Yes, and it’s much appreciated.” One of the men set a toolbox down on the floor next to Williams.
“Gracias.” He opened the toolbox and removed a pair of pliers, a vise, and a small power saw, which he plugged into the wall.
Williams walked over to Renee and caressed her neckline up to her cheek. His face twitched, and he pressed his lips forward and together like a deranged kiss. Renee turned her head away, shivering in fear and revulsion.
Where was Max? Wilkes must know that something had happened here. They would come for them. But how long would it take? The air show was more than a half hour away.
Williams seemed to be reading her mind. “Don’t worry, dear, I’ll have you out of here before your friends begin to worry. They’re busy cleaning up another mess right now.”
He kissed her on the neck and walked around her body, sliding his fingers over her bare arm. Renee wanted to lash out. She could feel her blood pressure rising and her face heating up as anger overcame all her other emotions. But there must have been six of his attack dogs in the room, each one holding a large black machine gun. Renee hated guns. But what she wouldn’t give to get her hands on one of them right now.
“Renee. You don’t know how happy it makes me to see us united again. If you please, my dear. Go wait in the car. I will join you momentarily.”
He gave another command in Spanish, and she was escorted into the back of a large SUV outside, a gunman sitting on either side of her. They didn’t even bother to tie her hands. She had no chance against men like these. They left the door open, allowing the airflow to cool them in the warm summer day. Through the open door, Renee heard the high-pitched sound of the power saw. Then she heard screaming. A loud, blood-curdling scream. Then nothing for a few moments. Then more power saw
and screams, and an awful gurgling noise. Then nothing. Renee dry-heaved in the backseat of the car and one of the men guarding her laughed.
The whole thing took ten minutes, and then the men marched back out. This time the tarp was significantly thicker and heavier, with ties around each end as they shoved the remains of Jennifer Upton into the empty back of the lead vehicle.
Ian Williams sat shotgun in Renee’s SUV. He looked back at her. “We’re in good shape. Now let’s go show you the lake house, shall we?”
He smiled at her, his white teeth contrasting with the rest of his face, which was covered in tiny crimson dots of blood.
Chapter 28
Max, Trent, and Caleb Wilkes stood talking in the CIA’s faux vendor booth near the VIP tent. Charles had retired to his private jet after Senator Becker had left. Becker had wanted to mourn his daughter’s death alone, and Charles Fend had to agree.
Max was still in shock after witnessing Karen Becker’s crash. It had affected everyone watching.
Max spoke in a hushed tone. “So what do we think happened here? Was this another attempt to intimidate the senator? By targeting his daughter?”
Wilkes nodded. “It fits with the profile thus far.”
“This seems different than the other killings.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?”
“Yes. It’s too much of a coincidence not to be intentional. And with the men in the gray flight suits you saw disappearing after the crash…it’s got to be foul play.”
Max looked out at the wreckage, rubbing his chin. The thick plumes of black smoke had ceased, but there were still wisps of white and gray rising up into the air. The air show, being as large as it was, had a policy in the event that a crash occurred. All flight operations stopped, and a new tentative schedule was announced. There was to be a four-hour delay before flights would continue. The taxiway where the accident had occurred would be closed while safety and investigation crews did their jobs. When the day’s events resumed, they would begin with a moment of silence.
Wilkes picked up his phone. “Go ahead.”
His face went from annoyed to panicked. “When did you get there? Son of a bitch. Do another sweep of the place, then call the local police and notify the FBI. You’ll have to stay there. Call me when authorities arrive. Don’t provide any info on our ongoing operation. I’ll contact my man at the FBI and give him a heads-up.”
Wilkes hung up and looked at Max.
“What is it?”
“Mike just got to the safe house. Someone hit it.”
“What?”
Trent shook his head and cursed.
Max said, “What the hell do you mean? Hit it? Where’s Renee?”
“She wasn’t there. My agent was dead at the scene.”
Max felt dizzy.
“No sign of either Jennifer Upton or Renee. But there were several bullet holes near the door, the furniture had been kicked around, and there were a few traces of blood spatter on the walls.”
Max’s mind was on fire. Caleb kept talking, but he couldn’t hear him. Max turned and walked away, fists clenched, breathing heavy through his nose and flexing his jaw.
Renee was gone.
Ian Williams had taken her. Was she still alive? If so, how long did she have?
Trent had placed his hand on his shoulder. “Max, you alright?”
The world was spinning all around him. Conversations and memories of the past week flashed through his head in a vortex of images and emotions. Joseph Dahlman shot in the park. Breakfast with Ian Williams. Ines Sanchez killed on the beach. The attack in Texas. Flying in to Oshkosh. Karen’s crash. Now Renee had been taken by these murderous madmen.
Then the flood of thoughts froze as he felt his phone vibrating. After the crash, he had turned it back on in hopes that Renee might have left him a message—before he knew she had been taken.
He hoped that she had been taken, and not worse.
There it was. A single voicemail. Max pressed the play button and held the phone up to his ear. Renee’s voice was a mousy whisper, quick and nervous.
“Max, I know I’m not supposed to call, but this is important. What did Karen Becker say to her father in the conversation your dad recorded? She asked him if they were here again? That kept bugging me, the way she said that. Here again. I didn’t think anything of it at first. Like maybe just that the bad guys were back. But now I think she actually meant that literally. Like here in Oshkosh. I found a picture from the internet dated three years ago. Get this. Senator Becker, Ron Dicks, Jennifer Upton, all smiling, and Ian freaking Williams is in the background. Max, they were at Oshkosh. Becker and Williams, Upton and Dicks. Oshkosh. Three years ago. Call me.”
Max was stunned. He pressed the play button and listened the the message again. Thoughts racing through his mind.
When the message finished, he looked at Trent, who was watching him with a concerned look. Max said, “Karen Becker was killed right when they hit the safe house.”
Trent said, “Yeah, I know, Max. Hey, maybe you should sit down, man?”
What had Senator Becker said to his daughter? They won’t have anything on me after this week.
This was part of his plan.
“He knew about it,” Max said.
“Knew about what?” said Trent.
“Senator Becker knew. That bastard knew his daughter was going to be killed. Becker didn’t have a plan to escape Ian Williams and the ISI. He has a plan to cover up his involvement with them.”
Renee was shoved out of the SUV by Williams’s gunmen and made to follow him up the large flat steps and through the mansion’s entrance. The opulent home was empty inside, but Renee heard raucous laughter coming from the rear garden area. Through open French doors, Renee saw a group of six men sitting around an open fire pit.
A dark-featured man walked up the expansive lawn towards them. He looked at her with surprise and fear.
Syed, Renee realized.
“What is she doing here?” he whispered to Williams.
Williams, who was nearly a foot taller than the Pakistani man, craned his neck to look at him as he spoke.
“Don’t worry about her. What happened at the air show? I heard on the radio there was a crash.”
Syed looked at Renee.
Williams snorted. “I told you to relax. Say what you want. Did your man Hugo have any problems?”
“No, I didn’t,” came a voice from behind them. Renee turned and saw a younger man in a gray flight suit, two-day old stubble on his face. She thought she recognized him. Evidently, he was thinking the same thing, staring her down with menacing brown eyes.
Williams said, “She’s dead?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“One hundred percent. Now I need to clean up and collect my payment. Then I’ll be gone.”
Syed said, “I’ll be leaving with you shortly. Mr. Williams and I need to take care of something first. You will need to remain in the house. Out of the backyard.” The tone and look Syed used were ominous. The men in the room exchanged glances.
Williams said, “You can babysit her.” He pointed to Renee. “Have a seat, darling. We’ll be a few minutes.”
Syed and Williams walked outside. The group of men around the fire pit were smiling and holding up their drinks. They were trying to get them to come join them, but the two men kept walking, out towards the lake. They walked down the dock and sat in a little wooden gazebo that stood over the water.
It was just the two of them now. Renee needed to find out what was going on. Understand who she was dealing with. Figure out more options. She was scared, but she was also raging inside.
She looked at the man standing in the room and said, “You were in Virginia, weren’t you? Two weeks ago. In the park. I saw you get on your bike and ride away.”
The man looked at her, expressionless. “Why has he let you live? Williams?”
“I don’t know.”
“I woul
d be concerned about that if I were you. He’s not a nice man.”
Renee let out a scoff. “You killed someone. You’re not a nice man.”
“I’ve killed a lot of people.”
“Why?”
“Money.”
She spoke softly. “I can get you money. Help me. They’re all outside. You could help me get away right now. I…”
He shook his head, looking at her with a skeptical eye. “Don’t waste your time. If I betrayed them, I would be hunted down and killed. And I wouldn’t be paid. Nor would I get any more work. No offense, but your proposal is illogical.”
She exhaled, looking outside. “Baptême.”
He turned and looked at her with renewed interest. “You’re from Quebec?” he asked in French.
“Yes. I lived there until I was eighteen,” she said, also in French. “You?”
“I’ve spent time there. Also in France.”
For a moment, Renee thought she saw an opening, but then he switched back to English and turned away. “But that was long ago. What do you think is going on here?”
“I assumed you knew more than me.”
“They only tell me what they need to.”
“And you trust them?”
“No. But I trust money and leverage. Both of which are working in my favor. Syed knows what will happen if he double-crosses me. And I know the same. It’s a healthy relationship.”
Outside on the gazebo, Ian Williams and Syed were standing up now. It looked like they were talking to someone on some type of oversized phone.
The senator was numb, but he remained focused on the task at hand. Charles Fend had wanted to accompany him home, but Becker had insisted on being alone. Only the local police security detail had accompanied him back to his lake house after the crash.
