by L.T. Ryan
* * *
I slept through most of the flight and woke up as the plane descended through the dark sky toward the city of Frankfurt. Lights from cars and buildings lit up the black ground like pins poked in dark construction paper and held over a lamp. I pried my eyes from the window and looked at Bear. He clutched his seat belt tight. Only thing I found that set the big man on edge was flying. Not so much the flying part, though. He hated landing.
He glanced over at me. Sweat covered his forehead. Beads rolled down his cheek and settled into his whiskers.
“Take it easy,” I said.
He nodded and took a deep breath. His shoulders heaved up and down, forward and back. I’d seen him do this ritual several times. He clenched and loosened his muscles while taking deep breaths. The series of exercises helped him overcome and tame the panic that flooded his mind. It’s how we were trained to handle any situation where our mind got the better of us. No shame in feeling afraid or panicked. Improvise, adapt and overcome. The unofficial mantra of the Marine Corps. It always stuck with us, even if we spent the majority of our time with the CIA.
Bear exhaled, and the tension left his body. He smiled, let go of his belt and leaned back in his seat. I didn’t think it appropriate to mention he’d have to go through this one more time before our ordeal ended.
The plane lurched and tires squealed as they touched down on the runway furthest from the terminal. I bounced in my seat a few times while the plane set down. The pilot brought the jet to a near stop, and then guided us along the outside track, toward a row of terminals. The plane stopped.
Colwell stood, passed by me and went in the cabin. A few minutes later he came back out and motioned for us to stand.
We did.
He opened the door and dropped the narrow set of stairs attached to the plane.
I stepped through first. A cold breeze stung my face and exposed arms. We weren’t prepared for this weather. I hurried down the stairs. An idling truck waited for us near the front of the plane.
Bear came down the stairs with Colwell right behind him.
Colwell pointed toward the truck. “That’s your escort to the international flight back to the States.”
I nodded and waited for Colwell to join us. He didn’t.
The passenger door opened. A man stepped out. He looked to be mid-thirties and wore a dark suit, red tie. He walked around the back of the truck, pulled down the gate and then turned to us. “Get in.” He pointed to the bed of the truck.
I looked at Bear and rolled my eyes. He climbed up on the gate and took a seat on the wheel well, and I followed.
The man in the suit nodded at Colwell, returned to the front of the truck and sat down in the cab.
Colwell gave me a mock salute.
I gave him a middle finger salute.
He smiled.
“Friggin’ cold,” Bear said loudly over the rush of the wind and the truck’s engine.
I didn’t have to agree. My hot breath hit the chilled air and turned into a cloud of mist that rose above my head.
The truck rolled slowly on the asphalt, close to the cluster of white and gray buildings. Floodlights spaced every thirty feet lit the ground in an evenly spaced bright-dark-bright pattern. Planes were parked to the left, on the other side of a wide median filled with dead, brown grass. The truck slowed and turned toward the planes where a strip of road cut through the landscaping. We slipped out of range of the floodlights, and the sky turned dark again. I looked up, waiting for my eyes to adjust. The truck stopped before they did.
The suit stepped out of the cab.
“Get out,” he said.
We did.
“Follow me,” he said.
We followed him past two planes and stopped in front of a third. He held up his hand. “Wait here.” He continued on a few more feet, pulled out a cell phone and made a call. After a few moments, a door on the side of the plane just behind the cockpit cracked open. Light flooded to the ground from the opening. A man dropped a rope ladder.
Our escort walked to the ladder, stopped and turned to us. “Come on, we need to hurry.”
I jogged to the side of the plane and climbed up the ladder, ready to get out of the cold. The man at the top grabbed me under my elbow and pulled me up. Bear followed and our escort came up last.
“Your lucky day.” The suit pointed to the blue curtain, slightly pulled back. “First class.”
“You flying with us?” I said.
He nodded, put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me toward the curtain.
I stepped through and walked to the front of the plane. “What’s your name?”
“Where do you think you’re going, Noble?”
I turned, held out my arms. “Taking a seat.”
“Back here.” He pointed at three seats in the middle of the aisle, last row in first class. “You sit in the middle. I’m on that end,” he pointed across the row. “Big man right here,” he patted his hand on the back of the end seat nearest us. “My partner will stay right there, across the row from him.”
“You know,” I said, taking my seat, “I’m more dangerous than him.”
“I don’t doubt that one bit, Noble.”
“What’s your name?” I asked again.
“McMurray,” he said. “You can call him Otto.” He pointed at his older partner, who hadn’t said a word the whole time.
Otto looked up from his newspaper and nodded. His deep-set dark eyes revealed nothing. He brushed his silver hair back and returned to reading.
“What are the chances we can get some coffee?” I said.
Otto laughed. “Stewardess.” He tapped his fingers on his blue rubber armrest and waited a beat. “Guess you’re out of luck. They’ll board the plane in half an hour or so. Try then.”
We barely talked the rest of the night. I fell asleep before we reached the Atlantic Ocean and woke up over Georgia. Bear started his relaxation exercises when the pilot announced we were making our final descent to Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson airport. A few minutes later we were on the ground.
The stewardess announced first class could depart first. Bear and I stood. Otto remained seated. McMurray stood.
“You guys get off here,” McMurray said.
“You’re not escorting us any further?”
“I was told to get you to the U.S. You’re someone else’s problem now.”
I shrugged. Followed Bear off the plane. We walked down the jetway. I expected to find an armed escort when we stepped into the gate. It was empty. We made our way past the mostly empty seating area and headed toward the center of the terminal, where the escalators to the tram were located. Aside from a few early passengers, the terminal was barren. I checked my watch. Not even four a.m. yet. Another hour and the place would be packed with early morning travelers.
“Coffee.” Bear pointed toward one of the only open stores in a section between gates.
I followed him over, ordered a black coffee and a cream cheese Danish, and then paid for both of our orders. After the girl handed me my change, I stepped further down the counter where I found a lid and grabbed a handful of napkins. I snapped the lid on the cup and lifted it to my face. The hot steam escaping from the lid burned my upper lip and outer edges of my nose. I inhaled anyway. The heat faded, giving way to the full, dark aroma of the coffee and its promise of caffeinated energy.
Hard and loud footsteps echoed behind me. Click-clack. They stopped a few feet away.
“Jack Noble. Riley Logan. Don’t move a damn muscle.”
