by L.T. Ryan
Chapter 5
“Christ,” Bear said under his breath.
I turned my head toward him. My eyes followed the speckled countertop then lifted to meet his. He shook his head, straightened his back and lifted his hands over his head.
I looked over my shoulder. Two men dressed in jeans and button up shirts stood ten feet back and aimed their handguns at us.
“I said don’t move a damn muscle,” one said. “Eyes forward. Arms up.”
I reluctantly placed my coffee, of which I still hadn’t had a sip, on the counter, and then I raised my hands.
The lady behind the counter stood motionless, mouth open, arms held out to her side. Our eyes met. A tear rolled down her ebony cheek. I gave her a halfhearted smile. She looked away.
Two men closed in from the side. They were dressed the same as their partners. They approached us slowly and cautiously, guns drawn.
“Nice and easy,” one said as he approached me from behind. “One arm behind your back.”
I lowered my arm. He grabbed it.
“Now the other,” he said.
I did as he said.
Cold steel gripped my wrist and pinched my skin as the handcuffs tightened and locked.
“Do we really have to go through this?” I said.
“Shut up, Noble,” one of them said.
I dropped my head and considered the odds. It was two versus four. Not so fair after all, for them at least. A hand at my back guided me to the side. I turned my head and watched three of the men converge on Bear while the fourth kept a gun aimed at me.
Bear cooperated by bringing one arm down, then the other. They cuffed him, turned him and led him toward me, one man on either side of him, their hands gripping his elbows.
One of them stepped forward. He had brown hair and a square jaw. He holstered his weapon. “This is going to go nice and easy, guys.” He pointed down the terminal. “To the escalator, board the train, get off. Don’t make eye contact with anyone. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t talk at all. Got it?”
I nodded. Didn’t look to see if Bear did or not.
He continued. “At Arrivals turn right toward the North Terminal. Continue past the baggage claim and head outside. A van will be waiting for us.”
I wondered why he talked to us like equals instead of prisoners.
“If something happens, and we get separated, you meet us at the van,” he said. “If we find you anywhere other than the van or on your way there, we have orders to shoot to kill.” He paused, his eyes batting between the two of us. “Can I trust you guys for a few minutes?”
“Yeah,” I said.
He nodded at one of the others, who then removed our handcuffs. “Let’s go.”
We followed him through the terminal, down the escalator and into the train. We sat in the back. They stood in front of us. The train stopped at terminal A. We all exited and followed the signs to the escalators that led to the empty Arrivals gate. It seemed that nobody had any loved ones arriving that early, or maybe they just didn’t care at four a.m. We passed the baggage claim and walked through two sets of tinted automatic doors, coming to a stop outside.
The air felt cool and refreshing. Orange light flooded the sidewalk and six lane divided road between the building and the parking garage. A dark van with tinted windows idled nearby.
One of the men pointed and went over to it and opened the back door. He gestured toward us, and Bear and I followed and got inside.
“Middle row,” he said.
We sat in the middle. I didn’t recognize the driver. He must have been waiting in the van the whole time. One of the men joined him up front, in the passenger seat. The other three sat in the row behind us. The van pulled away from the curb, followed the curved airport road and merged into the early morning traffic heading northbound on I-85.
