by Marc Cameron
“Twenty-two flight attendants,” Carly said. “And the two up front in the cockpit. We don’t pick up the relief pilots until Vladivostok.”
“Twenty-one,” Natalie corrected. “Stacy Damico called in sick.”
“Okay,” Quinn said. “From this time forward, every attendant needs to find a buddy and stick with them. A murder is too big an incident to keep buttoned up. Word will spread quickly, if it hasn’t already. There’ll be a lot of uncomfortable questions that no one will be able to answer. My advice is to keep up service.”
“To keep people calm.” Carly nodded.
“That, and to give us eyes moving around the aircraft,” Quinn said. “Let the others know right away. Everyone moves in twos.”
He picked up the phone on the bulkhead, reporting his findings to the captain. He spoke in whispered tones so as not to reach Mattie’s straining ears and give her more than she should have to handle.
Ninety seconds after he hung up, the massive Airbus dipped her wing, and began a slow bank to the right. The pilot was taking the plane back to Anchorage.
Quinn felt the white-hot gush of anticipation that came before a conflict. Someone on this plane had cut the throat of a complete stranger to divert attention from something else—a bomb, a hijacking. Quinn didn’t know what, but it was something bigger than murder.
Chapter 50
Fifteen minutes earlier
The actual act of killing happened more quickly than Tang had anticipated. One moment he stood at the top of the stairs, ensuring no one interrupted Gao while he did his work—and the next Gao was there, tiny droplets of blood on his face and neck. There had been no thump, no groan, no scream. Tang didn’t know what he’d expected, but it seemed to him that bloody death should come with some sound. He was still processing when he returned to his seat. Lin knew nothing about the murder and, though they had planned to kill everyone on the plane from the moment they boarded, he kept this death to himself. He would keep the entire secret, until the last possible moment.
Still, many years of marriage made it impossible to hide the concern in his face.
“What has happened?” she asked.
“We are going to try something different,” Tang said. He could see the corner of the recycle bag sitting on the floor of the galley just two rows ahead. There were ninety-six seats in business class, ninety-six meals, ninety-six sheets of aluminum foil. He hoped that would be enough.
“Different?” Lin stared at him, head tilted to one side, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “I find it difficult to believe you would change your mind so easily.”
“I love you,” he said, voice tight and plastic—surely she noticed that. “I am ready to make necessary sacrifices.”
Tang looked away under the heavy burden of her gaze. He checked his watch for something to do. “I must go,” he said.
She took his arm, leaning in close so as not to be heard by other passengers.
“I will not detonate the device,” she said.
“You will not have to,” he said softly. “I told you, I am making some sacrifices because of my feelings for you.”
Red-and-white uniforms seemed to be everywhere—but any minute there would be even more. He waited for the business-class flight attendant to move down the aisle on her rounds, then grabbed the recycle bag and whisked it into the lavatory. Once behind the safety of the locked door, Tang spread the foil dinner covers out flat, then worked feverishly to rip each sheet into smaller pieces until he had a pile of silver confetti that filled the small sink. The entire process was simple, but it took time, time Tang knew he did not have.
Word of Gao’s bloody handiwork spread among the cabin crew like a grass fire. Those that didn’t go all the way to the back went as least as far as mid cabin, to see for themselves if the rumors were true. While they were looking aft, Tang used the opportunity to slip down the front stairwell with his shirt stuffed full of foil strips. He ducked around the corner to the espresso bar, which was now empty but for the single attendant.
The seat belt chime sounded and the slender man in a crisp red vest nodded politely when he saw Tang. “Can I get you something, sir?” he said. “I’d be happy to bring it back to your seat.” The tag on his vest said his name was Paxton. He had the youthful eyes of a man with lofty dreams, who was only here serving coffee for a time while he worked out his road to somewhere bigger and better.
Tang nodded toward the bulkhead separating the espresso bar from the front of the aircraft. “I cannot be certain,” he said, “but I believe I saw a child go through that door.” Tang stepped closer to the edge of the semicircular bar, resting a hand on the rich leather edge as if to steady himself.
“What door are you talking about?” Paxton said.
“That door around the corner.” Tang pointed toward the cockpit. “By the stairs. It looks as though someone must have left it open. I’m not sure where it leads. . . .”
“Dammit,” the attendant said. He wiped his hands with a bar towel.
“What is it?” Tang asked, though he already knew what it was. “Some kind of coat closet?”
Paxton shook his head. “It’s a rest area for the crew,” he said. “A little girl, you said?”
“A boy.” Tang made up the story as he went. He wouldn’t need it long. “He had a teddy bear.”
“Thank you for letting us know, sir,” the attendant said, coming around the bar. “But I need you to sit down.”
Tang followed on the attendant’s heels. “I heard someone was killed,” he said, grimacing as if the very words were distasteful.
Paxton looked over his shoulder as he punched the code into the cipher lock. “Sir,” he finally said, “do me a favor and sit down.”
All the seats were aft of the espresso station, so Tang had the attendant alone as soon as they made it to the corner.
When Paxton turned around to descend the ladder into the crew rest area, Tang kicked him in the face.
Tang jumped into the darkness. He assumed all personnel had reported topside as soon as they’d learned of the murder, but there would surely be an intercom. He moved quickly before Paxton could cry out for help.
The only light came from an orange strip of ribbon that ran along the ceiling of the small cabin and gave off little more than a faint glow. The rest area was hardly more than a narrow aisle with three sets of bunks on either side, and the two men had little room to fight. Tang didn’t need much. He’d undergone months of physical training during police academy—and though he was far from the strongest or quickest in his class, he was certainly more experienced than the hapless flight attendant.
Paxton outweighed him by at least thirty pounds and had a much greater reach—but Tang doubted the young attendant had ever seen real violence. Rather than fight back, the young man tried to get away, fleeing toward the ladder and the brighter light above.
Tang pushed him the way he was already trying to go, but redirecting his head into the hard plastic upright of one of the bunks. It was a stunning blow that sent Paxton reeling. Tang grabbed a handful of hair and slammed the dazed man’s head again and again into the sharp plastic edge. The flight attendant went limp at the first blow, but Tang took him with both hands and bashed his forehead against the upright until the man’s eyes rolled upward, glassy and lifeless. A trickle of blood ran from his ear.
Tang wrestled the body into the bunk farthest from the hatch and covered it with a blanket. By the time anyone had a chance to look for him, the plan would either have worked or failed miserably. Either way, it wouldn’t matter.
Tang climbed back up the ladder and opened the door a crack to find Ma Zhen standing outside. Lin was behind him, just as he planned, though she knew nothing of the dead man below. Ma’s intensity frightened her from the first time she’d met him. Her face was creased with worry until she saw Tang on the other side of the door.
“What is happening?” she whispered. “The other passengers are saying a man has died.”
Ma came down behind her, carrying the coffee grinder he’d stolen from the espresso stand. He reached around Lin when they were at the bottom of the ladder, crowding her as he handed the grinder to Tang.
“What are you doing?” She looked over her shoulder at Ma, then back at her husband. “Dalu?”
“I am sorry, my love,” Tang said. “But you must understand . . .”
Lin’s jaw dropped when she realized what was happening. Ma Zhen looped a charging cord from his computer around her throat, hauling her backwards. He was taller by six inches and easily lifted her tiny body off the floor. The intensity of the attack pulled her blouse to one side, exposing the tender flesh of her collarbone. Ropelike veins on her slender neck swelled above the biting electrical cord as if ready to burst. Her eyes flew wide. Tiny hands clawed the air. Hands that once caressed him reached out, trembling, pleading for help.
When it was done, Ma let her body slide to the ground. Even in the shadows, his face was bright from the frenzy of killing. He dropped the cord and wiped his hands on a pillowcase from one of the bunks.
“I did my best to make it quick,” he said.
Tang’s eye began to twitch. It was impossible to erase Lin’s final look of betrayal from his memory. But that could not be helped. Ma did what had to be done. Lin had agreed to die. That was the plan since they had met the man from Pakistan. She had even embraced the idea. Tang told himself that this was quicker, perhaps, he thought, even less cruel since she would not have to pull the trigger. Death had freed her from the awful state of confusion brought on by the little guizi bitch. The child would pay for forcing him to take such drastic measures.
Ma put a hand on his shoulder.
“Are you all right, my brother?”
“We have to hurry,” Tang snapped. The killing had to be done, but that did not keep him from hating the man who did it. “Go and see to the others.”
Ma paused, dark eyes still frenzied. “She . . . she was to detonate the device.”
“I am aware of our plan.” Tang draped a flimsy airline blanket over his wife’s body. “Go and tell the others we are back on track.”
Eager to move toward his own end, he found an outlet for the coffee grinder and some pillows to muffle the noise. He dropped a handful of the aluminum foil strips into the grinder and turned it on.
Ma Zhen steadied himself on the edge of a bunk as the plane dipped suddenly, beginning a slow 180-degree turn back toward the United States.
“Will you take her place?” the young man asked. His hands shook from the aftermath of killing.
“You will have that honor,” Tang said, staring at his dead wife. “This is a large aircraft. There is always a chance that there will be a few survivors. I will make certain the guizi child is not among them.”
Chapter 51
Maryland
Bowen drummed his fingers on the armrest of a stolen concrete truck and tried to get his head wrapped around the situation. Thibodaux had commandeered the thing from a construction site in Silver Spring, reaching under the chassis to disable the GPS as if he swiped concrete trucks several times a week.
Bowen had followed in his Charger to a strip mall north of the Beltway, next to some new construction so they wouldn’t seem so out of place. The government car, or G-ride, was parked in front of a beauty salon a few spots away where Bowen could keep an eye on it while Thibodaux filled him in.
“Well, cher,” the Cajun said. “I guess now is when you decide if you’re in or out.”
“What the hell?” Bowen shook his head. “I think we’re up to three felonies apiece already.”
“And the night is young,” Thibodaux said.
“Whatever,” Bowen said. “I’m in.”
“Fair enough,” Thibodaux said. “I’ve been given approval to bring you into the fold, so to speak.”
Bowen said nothing, so the Cajun continued.
“Here’s the way this’ll go down,” he said. “An army three-star named Lucas Hewn is about to conduct a surprise inspection of the mental health ward at Walter Reed Hospital. It’s well known that certain high-value prisoners are being held there. General Hewn wants to make certain everyone is watching their P’s and Q’s, so to speak, and ensure we don’t have ourselves another Abu Ghraib. Anyhow, he’s loyal to us and understands the urgency. One of his staffers is a known IDTF snitch. He’ll leak it that there is about to be an inspection. If they’re keeping the director naked and threatening her with rape, Walter is bound to want her moved before the general can talk to her. If Joey B does his job, we’ll have enough time to set up and grab her when they move.”
Bowen thought for a moment before he spoke. “You’re talking about grabbing a federal prisoner during transport?”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, cher,” Thibodaux said.
“Look,” Bowen said, “that could be some of my friends conducting this move. What if there are guys involved in the transport that aren’t a part of this whole secret government takeover thing?”
Thibodaux shook his head. “You ever move an ID agent’s prisoners before?”
“No,” Bowen said.
“There ain’t no clean end on a turd,” Thibodaux said, looking like he wanted to spit. “I understand the need for secrecy and all, but these guys are beyond dirty. You heard what they did to Garcia.”
“Okay,” Bowen said, convinced, but easing into it. The cab of the concrete truck seemed to be closing in around him. He’d done a lot of iffy things in his life, but nothing close to this. “I understand Ross is the director of the CIA, and there’s no doubt she’s being treated badly. But if what you say is true, so are a lot of other high-level people. There’s got to be something else about her you’re not telling me.”
“Now you’re trackin’.” Thibodaux smiled as if he was happy Bowen had figured out some clue. “How much do you know about our new president?”
“Garcia gave me her thoughts on the matter,” Bowen said. “I hate to say it, but it sounds reasonable.”
“Good,” Thibodaux said. “Because you’ve just been inducted into a secret group committed to bringing them down. General Hewn, Palmer, Garcia, me, and a shitload of others are in it up to our necks right along with you.”
“Wait, wait, wait . . .” Bowen shook his head. “You’re telling me you guys are planning a coup?”
“What we’re planning to do,” Thibodaux said, “is cut their damn heads off.”
“You mean figuratively,” Bowen said.
The Cajun shrugged. “Remains to be seen,” he said. “And don’t go all flabbergasted on me. Joey B laid out exactly what’s going on. You want men like him and his pal Walter running the show? Because there’s a hell of a lot more where they came from. This ain’t the America I know.”
“And Director Ross?” Bowen asked again. “Where does she fit into this?”
“She’s part of us,” Thibodaux said. “It’s not like we have group meetings or anything, but she and Palmer were working through several scenarios, so she’s pretty much up to speed on everything—names, plans, you know, shit that will get us all killed if she gives it up.”
Chapter 52
Flight 105
“So,” Carly said when the captain finished his 180-degree turn and the airplane was pointing back out over the Bering Sea. “Just under four hours until we’re back in Alaska. You think we can find the killer by then?”
“We’re going to try.” Quinn bit his bottom lip, his mind racing.
There was no way this killer was working alone. He would need accomplices to make sure other passengers were kept away from both the upper and lower decks in the moments while he murdered Foulger. Anything else would have relied too heavily on luck. No, there was more than one actor out there. It was the only thing that made sense.
See o
ne, think two, he said to himself. The philosophy had kept him alive on more than one occasion when others wanted him DRT: Dead Right There.
“I’m a doer, Mr. Hackman,” Carly said, momentarily startling Quinn with his alias. “Looking for clues on a dead body is a good start, but tell me what we have to do next.”
“First, we’re going to look for blood.” Quinn kept his voice low so Mattie couldn’t hear the gory details. “Whoever killed Foulger took a big hit of spray.”
“You don’t think he would have wiped it off by now?”
“I’m sure he would have tried,” Quinn said. “No offense, but it’s hard to wash all the soap off your hands in those little airplane sinks. The human heart pumps a lot of blood under substantial pressure. It has a tendency to go in unintended directions when something gets cut.”
“Something else in which you’re an expert?” Carly said, looking a little sick to her stomach.
“You might say that.” He nodded. “Anyway, we’re looking for a guy with blood on his left shoulder.”
Carly leaned around the bulkhead so she could look up the aisle. “So we just walk up and down trying to find someone with stained clothes.”
“I’d have the other flight attendants keep an eye out,” Quinn said. “But chances are our killer is wearing dark colors or someone would have pointed him out by now. Blood might be impossible to see with the naked eye. There are, however, devices that can pick it up, even on dark fabric.”
Carly gave an exasperated sigh. “We’re seven miles up in the sky,” she said. “You have one in your carry-on?”
“Not exactly,” Quinn said. “But I’ve been looking for a reason to show off for my daughter.”
It took ten minutes for Quinn to gather the materials he needed and bring them back to the couch below the stairwell.
As with any operation, his first priority was security. He posted Natalie at the bulkhead, facing forward so she could keep an eye on both aisles. There was a calmness to her demeanor that he supposed came from having seen it all over her years of flying. Quinn put two more flight attendants in the passenger lounge above, to make sure no one could sneak up on him while he worked. He left the body where it was.
