by Theo Cage
Rice looked over his shoulder to the rear of the plane, thinking Jimmy was a bloody genius. He had said there was ten percent chance Wheeler wasn't just getting out of town. He might be planning to take Rice with him. Make sure all the loose ends were looked after. The bomb was Plan B.
Rice getting out alive from a kidnap attempt was Plan C. Unfortunately, Plan C wouldn't pre-empt Plan B. The bomb was still going to explode. He just had to get off the plane. Or he could warn the pilot and force a landing. In which case Wheeler would probably go free again.
Rice patted his chest. He still had on his jacket and the special vest. They hadn't removed it. If they had, Rice would be a dead man walking. Just like all of them. They just didn’t know it yet.
His vest came packed with a new cross-sectional sport chute. A slider, they called it. Less than four pounds of fabric that once inflated formed a steerable wing. Rice was highly trained on parachute drops. With the Seals he had done hundreds. This one would be a bit different. He was wearing something designed for racing. It took special skills he had never trained on. And it dropped faster than a guided missile. Easy to break bones or smash a skull on landing. But still better than staying up here when the C4 blows up the fuel tanks.
The exit door on the G150 was where Jimmy said it would be. And the lock looked right. Turn hard to the left. Lift. Push the emergency bar. Stand back a bit so the vacuum doesn't suck you out until you’re ready. There was a problem though. The door on a jet won’t open above 8,000 feet. He knew that from flight training. The internal pressure is too great to overcome.
Trent pushed him from behind, a shove out of anger, nothing more. Rice stepped back into him, feinting dizziness. He needed to get closer to the door. And fast.
Wheeler raised a gun, Rice's. “Here's the deal, Rice. I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse.”
“I'm listening,” said Rice, pushing back harder.
“I want you to jump.”
“What?” asked Rice.
“I want you to jump out of the plane,” said Wheeler.
“Yeah, right. Why would I do that?” Wheeler nodded his head at Trent, who turned to the aisle seat and lifted a blanket off another passenger. It was Britt. Her eyes were red and swollen, her makeup smeared. On her wrist was the plastic medical ID they snapped on at the ER. She had a strip of tape across her mouth, which Trent deftly tore off. “Burroughs. Don't do it,” she groaned. She must have seen the pain in Rice's eyes and stopped yelling, halfway out of her seat. Trent now had his gun aimed at her head.
Wheeler continued, “We released her from her hospital stay a bit prematurely so she could be with us. But Ms. Johnson knows the terms of this agreement, don't you.”
Britt's lower lip was shaking, tears flowing freely, her skin pale blue.
“If you jump, saving us all a lot of trouble, we will spare her. I assume she knows little. And if not, who cares. No one will take an ER nurse's word on international affairs anyway. I'll release her in Antiqua. I hear they have good doctors there,” said Wheeler.
Rice looked first at Wheeler, then at Britt. He could hardly breathe. Jimmy had never talked to him about where the bomb was located or if it was possible to disarm the device. In a matter of minutes, everyone on board was going to be random molecules drifting in the stratosphere. But only he knew that. Britt knew nothing of any of these plans. He had about a 70% chance of surviving a jump by himself, as long as he wasn't sucked into one of the jet engines, which Jimmy said was a distinct possibility.
Wheeler was up now, looking very satisfied. He led Rice to the exit door; the gun pointed at waist level.
“I'll gladly shoot you, asshole,” he said to Rice. “Yes, the bullet might puncture the cabin, but we’re flying low, about 5,000 feet, so we won't have an oxygen issue. We will have a mess to clean up though. Jumping would be so much neater.”
Rice looked into Wheeler's face. The eyes of a dead man looked back. A ghost.
“I want to say goodbye,” said Rice, nodding towards Britt.
“Then you agree?” asked Trent.
“Stay out of this, Razer. You're just a lap dog to these guys.” Rice waved to Britt, beckoned her towards him. She fell into his arms awkwardly, her face twisted with pain. Rice squeezed her and whispered into her ear.
“You need to trust me,” he said. “This is going to seem crazy, but you're coming with me. Stay close.” He released her and stepped back to the door. Britt's body was shaking visibly, her eyes drilling into his. She was in shock, trying to imagine what Rice meant. And trying not to pass out.
“I know how to open the door,” he said to Wheeler. Then he twisted the latch, pulled the bar up and punched the safety bar. The door released; a sliver of black sky revealed. Rice didn’t know what the exact time was, but he hoped the sun was about to rise. The cabin filled with the roar of the jet engines and freezing air streaming past. The door swung outward and crashed into position. Britt jumped.
All Rice could see below was an ocean of dark cloud tinged red with the coming sunrise. He had no sense of height or distance. He was certain they were too close to the ground to survive the fall. But it was better than staying on the plane.
“Nice knowing you, Rice,” said Wheeler, smiling. “Now you have five seconds to get the fuck off my plane, or I shoot your girlfriend.” Wheeler waved the gun inches from Britt’s eyes.
Rice beckoned her to him. Britt’s eyes were bright with fear. She was frozen in place. Rice had to reach out to her and pull her close. Over the scream of the engines he yelled to her, “Hold on,” then wrapped his arms around her and they fell backwards into space.
CHAPTER 123
Smithsonian National Air & Space Museum, D.C.
SNAKE SEARCHED FOR HIS COUSIN, Tony the Wolf, in the dimly lit foyer, but all he could find was a lifeless body, the head turned at an awkward angle, the eyes blank. This couldn't be Wolf, a black hole in his cheek, the head deflated like a discarded soccer ball. But there it was. The Wolf tattoo. The inked eyes more alive than the family soldier’s two black orbs staring up into nothingness.
Snake slipped on the slicked up marble flooring, blood pooling everywhere. A massacre. Longhaired bikers in faded leathers. Federal agents in suits and ties and white shirts. All mixed together like soggy pick-up-sticks. And his Uncle Enzo, laying on his side, his feet moving in slow motion trying to gain traction on the oily floor.
Snake hoped Enzo wasn’t slipping in his own gore. That would mean he didn’t have much time. Nobody could lose that much blood and still hang on for long.
He grabbed Enzo by the shoulders and dragged him back into the shadows at the front of the Smithsonian Welcome Center. Enzo groaned. He had a bloody wound in his left shoulder. And a ragged hole in his thigh, luckily not high enough to be a femoral puncture. Enzo was lucky. Or the shooter was so pumped up on adrenaline that he couldn't keep his hands steady.
"Enzo, can you hear me?" he spoke into his ear.
The mobster nodded, his eyes half open. "Can you stand up? Lean on my shoulder." Snake lifted the older man, his shoes slick with bodily fluids. Enzo almost went down again. Snake felt his boss’s shame, the heartless killer unable to stand, his eyes wandering in their sockets like he'd taken a near-fatal jab to the head.
"Did you get Rice?" asked Enzo, spitting up blood onto his shirt, a string hanging down from his lip.
"The Feds took him," said Snake, looking disgusted.
"Shit," said Enzo, putting his weight on his nephew. "How about Wolf?"
Snake knew finding out Wolf was dead would kill his uncle. Tony the Wolf was the good luck charm of the family. Emphasis on was.
"He's OK. He's like you. I've got to go back and get him." They made it out the back door onto Jefferson Drive and were struggling across the wide courtyard.
"You're good boy, Snake," said Enzo. "Honorable. And you're loyal. I don't know what I’d do without you."
"Well, I guess we'll find out," said Sumner, standing in the dark by Enzo's SUV
. He raised his gun and shot Snake in the neck without hesitation. Snake looked slightly surprised, grimaced and dropped behind his uncle who was clinging to the side of his car.
"Why did you do that?" bellowed Enzo, his head down.
"Well, I didn't have to. You’ve got a point,” said Sumner. “But I knew it would ruin your day."
Enzo had fallen to the concrete and was crawling over to his nephew, one hand stretched out and reaching for Snake’s neck. Sumner watched for a moment; Enzo pleading with Snake to wake up, his hands around his throat, working to stanch the flow of blood. Snake was already unconscious.
Sumner gave Enzo a kick with his shoe.
"You're wasting your time, Ruffino. He's gone."
"You bastard. Your whole family will pay."
"That would be just me then. I have no family. Being an orphan can be a bitch, but in this case, I guess it's an advantage."
"Wolf will skin you alive."
"They're all gone, Ruffino. Snake. Wolf. The whole zoo has been cleaned out." Ruffino just lay on Snake, his hands covered in blood, cradling his nephew's face in his hands. Sumner yanked him up by his suit coat and opened the back door of the mobster’s Range Rover. The interior lights came up, and Ruffino froze. Addie was sitting in the back seat, her face a rigid mask.
Sumner pushed Ruffino onto the rear bench and slammed the door, banging the gangster's head. Enzo fell back against the seat, his eyes on Addie. Sumner crawled into the driver's seat.
Addie wrinkled her nose. "You smell like a butcher shop."
"Killing me won't stop them hunting you," said Enzo, a bubble of blood forming on his lips. He licked it away in slow motion.
"Who's going to track me down, Enzo?” she asked. “Your grandchildren? Everyone else is in prison. You want this to go on forever?" Enzo turned his eyes away. "Why didn't you kill me that night?"
Enzo opened his eyes, looked up at the ceiling, then rolled his head over and stared at her. "I was saving you for me. I had plans."
Addie shook her head. She moved her left hand up to her lap. She was holding one of Sumner's Glocks. Ruffino didn't react.
"You're sick,” she said. “You've inflicted horrible pain on so many people." Ruffino still had his head back, a slight smile on his lips. "I'd like to get even, but I’m not like you. I don't have the stomach to go and find your grandchildren one day and drown them or set them on fire. Like you did to my family." Addie was sobbing now, tears running freely down her cheeks. "But I'm going to tell them what you did. I'm going to write my story and show everyone what a monster you are. Then I am going to hand-deliver a copy to your wife and your two daughters."
Ruffino turned his head to her slowly, his eyes half-closed, his mouth slack and sickly pale. “Sounds like a best seller,” he said.
“And then finally, I’m going to tell your family how you betrayed them. How you used my families confessions to put all of your brothers and your father away so you could take over their business.”
Ruffino lunged at her then, his fingers like claws. Addie looked him in the eye and pressed the gun deep into his stomach and pulled the trigger, the way Sumner showed her. She felt a hot bubble of gas envelope her hand, then Enzo shuddered once and collapsed on her, his face contorted. He was shaking uncontrollably by the time she had the gun back in her pocket.
Addie pulled back and slid out the passenger door, Enzo's head almost down to the level of the black leather seats. There was blood everywhere. He was writhing in pain.
She looked at Sumner through the driver’s glass. She could see her pain reflected in his face. They had talked about this option if Ruffino could be taken alive.
This wasn't closure. And it wasn't justice. Simply a promise she had made to herself a lifetime ago.
To Enzo: “You’re a monster. You deserve to die. I'm doing the world a favor. Ciao.”
Addie closed the door and Sumner got out of the driver’s side. He extended his hand. She gave him the gun. It was warm in his hands and smelled slightly of her perfume. He returned the Glock to his holster.
“Now what?” he said.
Addie folded her arms. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On who I am.” Sumner nodded. He knew what she meant. WITSEC complications aside, he could relate to her question. He’d asked it himself many times.
CHAPTER 124
Somewhere over South Carolina
WHEN WHEELER SAW RICE reaching for Britt, standing by the open door of his private jet, something came over him - a flare-up of unbridled rage that surprised even him. This arrogant agent who had made his life hell for so many years was screwing with his plans again. At first he thought Rice was going to take Britt hostage, somehow try to renegotiate their arrangement. So he looped his arm through Britt's to stop her from moving. An instinctive act. But the momentum of the agent and his woman, falling back through the open door of the jet, was too much for him to resist, and he was dragged out the door with them.
The frigid air hit him like a sledgehammer, and he screamed out of sheer surprise. He looked up to see nothing, just a flint colored night sky. The jet and its running lights were gone so quickly, disappearing from his view in one dizzying flash.
Now Wheeler was hanging on to one of Britt's arms, his legs dangling, the air pounding back at him. He could feel the woman trying to dislodge him, shrugging away. Then she kicked out hard and released his arm and he watched as she shot away from him. He was suddenly alone in space, struggling to breathe.
He fought an urge to scream again, knowing it was useless, but unable to accept what was happening. He squeezed his eyes shut, the icy air hammering at his chest and legs. This wasn't possible. He used to be the President of the United States. It was preposterous to imagine a man of his distinction, his education, his wealth and power, to be pin wheeling down through the clouds like a discarded child's doll.
Then he felt the gun in his right hand. He forgot he had it. He toyed with killing himself, ending everything right now, but he didn't have time. Just as he lifted the pistol, the ground came up out of the night like a freight train into his face, and he was no more.
CHAPTER 125
Washington, D.C.
SUMNER HADN’T SAID MUCH. He drove aimlessly about Georgetown and Foggy Bottom, waiting for a return call from FBI Headquarters on Pennsylvania Avenue. He looked tired, but he turned to her and grinned at least twice. He had a nice smile. Genuine. Like he was communicating some shared victory.
Addie knew he always liked her. From afar. Like a kid in high school, hot for the cheerleader but afraid to ask her to the dance. Of course the FBI had their rules, so she understood. Sumner was a good man and would probably make a passable agent one day.
Listen to me now, she thought. She couldn’t believe what she was thinking. For years she hated the police. They had uprooted her life. Destroyed her family.
Which wasn’t entirely true when you analyzed the facts.
When the authorities moved her into WITSEC, into a strange community, away from her friends, she became an emotional wreck. She just wanted to leave, and she counted the days until she could run away. Even being on the street, being alone and penniless, but away from the constant fear and tension seemed like a beautiful dream she ached for.
But she was ignored in the chaos of the shuffle; a young teenage girl full of angst? How clichéd was that.
Of course, the Blum household was obsessed with the continuing series of arrests and trials battering the Ruffino crime syndicate. Addie caught a news story one night about one of the children, Roseanna Ruffino, and how the ongoing media circus had affected her. Out of curiosity she checked her out on Facebook. She found her. A sullen looking girl, overweight, unruly black hair and a manufactured smile. Addie felt sorry for her. So she reached out and left a message on her wall.
They started up an online friendship. Addie knew this was a complication that could lead to disaster, but she couldn't tear herself away. Roseanna lived her own spe
cial kind of nightmare, the daughter of a mobster, her family being torn apart publicly.
Oddly, they had things in common. They both loved horses and Nirvana, excelled at Math but hated Chemistry. They both looked forward to Spring break.
That night there was another family argument. The fear of discovery and the lack of sleep was driving a wedge between the two parents. Her father hit her mother across the cheek with an open hand. Addie ran to her room. She texted Roseanna, and she told her the plan she had dreamed up. She would deliver her father to the mob. He didn't deserve protection. In her imagination, she saw him being held and beaten. That would teach him a lesson. That was all. She couldn't see beyond that and didn't care. She just wanted him away from her and her mom and her brother.
The two men who came that night were given instructions by Roseanna. The sad mob teenager was now the family hero. They were told to spare Addie. They were to leave the mother and brother alone. That didn't happen of course. That was never Enzo's plan. He wanted revenge, and when he saw the picture of the young girl, he decided he wanted her too. So they tortured and killed the family while Enzo watched live on Skype. And they brought Addie to his house that night and the nightmare continued.
Over the next few months, before she escaped over the balcony, Addie’s life was hell. But she did learn something. She became aware that Enzo was using the state’s evidence to advance his own position within the family and insure his place as mob leader. As a result he’d grown his territory several times over.
Putting all those mob bosses in prison had done nothing to reduce crime. It was simply a change in leadership. And now that Enzo was gone, others would take his place.
Addie could see her father’s face filled with confusion and fear. What had she done? She started to cry, unable to stop, the volume of tears surprising her. She had no idea what lay ahead for her or if she would ever feel normal again. She had no family anymore.
