Coyote's Revenge

by Vannetta Chapman

  Another streak of lightning tore across the sky, revealing a bit of prairie not concreted by airport runways. It was immediately cloaked again in darkness, a blackness so complete it reminded Madison of her mother’s eyes. They had seemed so serene those final days, but also distant. As if she had already gone to a place Madison couldn’t reach.

  Now Madison remained stuck in between. She couldn’t follow her mother, but she couldn’t find her way back either. She understood it from the outside as a part of the grieving process. From inside it felt like an endless midnight. Staring into the storm, the bleakness seemed a mirror image of her heart.

  SERGIO SCANNED THE waiting area as he made his way to the ticket counter. Two USCIS agents stood near the jetway, and the air marshal in the Hawaiian shirt sat near the windows. Then of course there were the usual airport security personnel. Once he switched his seat, he would text their description to Yassin.

  As he waited in line, he allowed his mind to slide over the details of Yassin’s plan. It was a work of art, as surely as Picasso’s Maisons sur la colline. Sergio had long ago traded his Spanish heritage for his Muslim faith, but there remained in him an appreciation for the things of his youth. He couldn’t help comparing the beauty of their current plan to the near perfect lines of Picasso’s early work.

  No doubt the Americans’ computer program was even now establishing his identity and connecting it to his previous aliases. Choosing to use his real name was one more stroke in the painting they were creating. The agents would no doubt search Ms. Hart’s luggage, wasting more precious time. By creating a rapport with her, he would draw less attention to himself. It was important the other passengers expect nothing. He wanted them to remain guileless sheep. All the better when the story was leaked to their media that he had slipped among them—a coyote in their midst. What good had their precious security measures done them? None.

  Meanwhile, another trap was being set thirteen-hundred miles to the east. Both were misdirections, but useful in their own way. Misdirection increased fear, and fear reduced conceit. Moving forward in the line, Sergio watched the waiting area continue to fill with families and their unruly children.

  Then there were the wealthy businessmen, whose arrogance made his blood boil. The man in the corner was a prime example. With his Armani suit and Ferragamo shoes, his air of superiority did much to fuel Sergio’s anger. While his own people suffered in poverty, the hedonistic Americans spent money as if it were of no consequence at all. The cost of the man’s briefcase alone could have fed a family for a year in his country, or financed one mission. Sergio smiled at the thought.

  In fifty-eight days we will see what is left of their arrogance. When their cities lie in ruin they will no longer smile so smugly nor enjoy their richness with such disregard for the rest of the world.

  Perhaps, before the night ended, he would steal the man’s briefcase. It would be an easy thing to do while the capitalist pig flirted with the ticket agent or enjoyed the luxuries of first-class. The thought pleased him, as did the memory of Ms. Hart waiting so innocently a few feet away.

  “Can I help you?” The ticket agent smiled brightly, her red hair falling immodestly around her shoulders. The provocative scent of her perfume carried across the counter to him.

  Sergio handed her his boarding pass and identification. He averted his eyes from her low-cut blouse, praying to Allah for forgiveness as he did so. “I noticed my seat is located next to the emergency exit. I’d rather have a different one if I may.”

  “No problem at all, Sir.” She keyed his information into her computer. “We have several open seats due to the weather. Is there a particular row you would prefer?”

  “I’d rather sit toward the back of the plane. Do you have anything in row 42?”

  AIDEN STARED INTENTLY at the Wall Street Journal. He hadn’t digested a single word from the front page. Every ounce of his being was focused across the gateway, though he forced himself not to look in that direction.

  “Coyote has left the ticket counter and is sitting again in the vicinity of Jane Doe,” Dean said.

  “What did he do at the counter?” Aiden asked.

  “Delta authorities have confirmed he changed his boarding ticket,” Martin said. “It appears he likes being close to our Jane.”

  Every hair on the back of Aiden’s neck stood up.

  There were two possible scenarios, neither of them good. Either she was his accomplice and they were playing it very cool, or she was an innocent he’d picked up for cover. Either situation would complicate matters.

  “Background is in on Jane Doe,” Martin continued. “Name is Madison Hart, twenty-five years old, born here in Texas. She’s flying to Salt Lake, connecting to Kalispell where she has reserved a car to drive to Edgewood. Looks like you’re going to have a new neighbor. Hart recently accepted a teaching position in the Edgewood School District.”

  “If she survives the flight.” Aiden rustled the paper loudly as he turned the page. “He’s using her for cover. There’s something in his backpack he doesn’t want noticed.”

  “Negative,” Martin said. “We just reviewed airport security tapes. The backpack is clean of explosives, weapons, or tools.”

  Martin’s news was met with silence.

  If Coyote wasn’t there to bomb the plane, why was he there?

  “She doesn’t appear to be in immediate danger,” Aiden said. “I want her boarding delayed. There’s a reason he’s using her as a distraction.”

  “There’s no better way to avoid detection than place yourself in the company of a lovely woman.” Dean’s voice teetered between admiration and anger.

  “Flight will board in twenty minutes,” Martin said. “We’re nearly through combing the cabin. Cargo area is clean.”

  “Any new intel?” Aiden folded the paper and threw it on the seat beside him.

  “All reports confirm Coyote plans to leave the country via the Canadian border.”

  “My gut tells me something else is going on here,” Aiden said. “There are less visible ways of traveling to Canada. Why through Dallas? He met someone here, and I think he’ll meet someone in Salt Lake. I want double the manpower we currently have scheduled on the ground in Salt Lake.”

  “Aiden, he’ll never make it to Salt Lake,” Martin said.

  “That’s the plan,” Aiden muttered, but he knew they were missing something important.

  There were many ways Coyote could have moved material through airport screening. He could have bribed a baggage handler or stashed explosives on the plane. Coyote wasn’t suicidal. The explosion in Hamburg had occurred after he’d left the plane. Unfortunately, more than two hundred other people hadn’t.

  Maybe he was playing with them, keeping them on edge. The only certainty was that Coyote had planned every move carefully.

  Aiden stood and hazarded a glance across the waiting area just in time to see Madison Hart attempt to pick up her bag.

  “We still take him in the jetway,” Aiden said. “Let’s isolate him from Hart. Martin, pull her ticket. Find something wrong with her luggage. Anything to keep her out of the jetway.”

  “Copy that. You’ll go in first, Lewis. When you signal the pilot, he’ll lock the plane door protecting himself and any passengers who have boarded ahead of you. Coyote will board directly after you. No one will be allowed on after he enters the jetway. Dean and Jones will follow and protect the innocents. Hopefully you’ll get off a clean shot before anyone’s hurt. I’m briefing the pilot now.”

  Martin clicked off for several seconds, then came back.

  “The plane has not been fueled. I repeat. The plane has not been fueled in case any rounds go wild, but let’s keep the shots to a minimum.”

  The call came announcing all first-class passengers to board. Aiden stretched and gratefully moved away from the screaming children he’d had the misfortune of sitting near. Dean remained in position at the bar.

  Aiden walked up the ramp and waited until the passe
nger in front of him had cleared the plane door. He was about to signal the pilot to close the door when Martin broke in.

  “Abort operation. I repeat, abort operation. Dean and Jones, do not enter the jetway.”

  “What’s going on?” Aiden asked.

  “Lewis, proceed onto the plane. There’s been a change in plans.”

  “But we’ve got him.”

  “Claudia’s security detail has been breached.”

  Aiden forced his feet to keep moving, even as his mind tried to process what Martin was saying. “Say again.”

  “You heard me, Aiden. Keep walking or Coyote’s going to bump into you. He should be coming up the jet way now. If he’s not allowed to board this plane, Claudia will be killed.”

  Aiden understood the weight of the First Lady’s life rested on his next actions. He somehow managed to smile at the flight attendant, continue into first-class, and find his seat.

  The President’s wife flatly refused to be called Eagle 2 or Dove or any other name they suggested. Claudia was her middle name and worked fine for her.

  “Lewis, are you there?” Martin asked.

  “Yes.” Aiden sank into the leather seat and busied himself shuffling through his leather satchel as he saw Coyote pass his seat and continue toward the back of the plane.

  “We received confirmation the First Lady’s security was compromised. Unless Coyote is allowed to board this plane and deplane in Salt Lake, they will kill her.”

  “That’s an unacceptable negotiation.” Aiden’s throat had gone so dry he could barely push the words out. It was agony to keep his tone normal, to sound like just another businessman connected to a Bluetooth.

  “Not our call.” Martin brought his voice down a notch with some effort. “No one here likes it either, Aiden. Passengers are continuing to board now, and the flight is currently being fueled.”

  “You are not going to let him get away again.”

  “We’ll try to follow him, but he pegged two of our men. Dean and Jones are out. He’s allowing the air marshal on since people expect that, with the stipulation that he board unarmed. He hasn’t tagged you so far.”

  “Why Salt Lake? What’s there? I thought he wanted to cross the Canadian border?”

  “We’re working it on this end, Aiden.”

  “What about the girl?”

  “Apparently he’s using her for cover. She’s entering the jetway now. Stand by.” Martin clicked off. When he returned Aiden could hear the chaos in the background. “I need you to get the plane to Salt Lake. Your air marshal’s name is Stephen Slater. We’ll stay with you until transmissions are cut, then you’ll be on your own. We were able to pass Slater one of our comm units.”

  MADISON PULLED THE carry-on toward the jetway.

  It hadn’t seemed nearly as heavy when she’d strolled toward the security counter. Stupid bag. What had she been thinking? All she really needed was a few changes of clothes. The rest would arrive via her movers by the weekend.

  Madison looked past the other passengers who were ahead of her. Why did her bag have to be checked again? Only three passengers had been pulled out of line to have their bags rechecked. Did she look dangerous?

  Rain pelted the windows so heavily she couldn’t see the plane. She wiped her hands on her jeans and prayed fervently for the storm to ease. This wasn’t Peru. This was Dallas. But her heart had nearly stopped when she’d learned the aircraft was the same—a Boeing 737.

  She didn’t want to die on an airplane.

  Finally her turn came to hand her boarding pass to the ticket agent. She limped down the jetway, pulling the too heavy bag with first her right hand and then her left. As she entered the first-class seating, a passenger stepped into the aisle, blocking her way.

  “I’m so sorry. I need to put this with my bag.” The cowboy gave her a winning smile, one he no doubt handed out like candy on Christmas.

  She tapped her fingers impatiently against her bag as he turned and opened the overhead bin. His movements were maddeningly slow and deliberate, as if he owned the plane. Madison rested her bag against the seat beside her and watched him. At first she squelched her impatience by enjoying the view. Broad shoulders, tanned skin, good-looking. Without a doubt very rich and self-absorbed.

  He was also oblivious. Or maybe he didn’t care that he was holding up the entire flight. He removed his Armani jacket, folded it and laid it in the bin. Next he took off the Stetson hat, revealing sandy-blond hair that curled slightly at his neck.

  “Not many people wear a cowboy hat with an Armani suit,” she said.

  Again, the dazzling smile. “We take our western image seriously where I come from.”

  “We take flight schedules seriously where I come from.”

  “Sorry,” he said.

  He brushed up against her as he turned to sit, and Madison felt an electrical jolt course through her.

  “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He ran his hand through his hair, messing it up and looking even more cover-boyish in the process.

  “No, it’s okay, really.”

  “I’ve been holding you up though. It was rude of me.”

  The man looked genuinely embarrassed. Probably a nice guy, just clueless.

  “If I could squeeze by.”

  “Of course, my apologies again.”

  Forcing down her irritation, Madison made her way to row 42. Using the last ounce of her strength, she attempted to pick the carry-on up and shove it into the too crowded overhead bin. A teenage boy caught the luggage as it began to topple out.

  “I think there’s room in this one,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  Madison squeezed past the aisle seat, which had a tweed coat placed neatly across it. She collapsed into the window seat and tried to remain calm, but she couldn’t draw a good deep breath. No doubt it was the heat and humidity causing her heart to race. She closed her eyes, touched the necklace again, and prayed she wasn’t having another panic attack. She hadn’t had one since her mother’s funeral.

  When she opened her eyes, she peeked out the window. The storm seemed worse. Madison’s stomach tumbled at the thought. Pushing it from her mind, she stared at the back of the seat in front of her, tried to focus on settling in for the three-hour flight.

  “We meet again.”

  Madison looked up as Sergio settled into the seat next to her. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  Her smile faded as she realized he had seen her boarding pass when they’d talked earlier. Maybe he was a stalker or one of those creepy older, internet guys who preyed on twenty-something-year-old women too terrified of flying to notice.

  “My seat assignment was near the emergency exit doors,” Sergio explained. “I do not like the idea of being called on to perform such an important duty, so I requested a different seat. When they asked if I would like to be near anyone else on the flight, I realized I would rather sit near you than the screaming children several rows up.”

  Madison relaxed a little as the baby let out another howl. She couldn’t really blame the guy. “I understand. I like children, but not on airplanes.”

  “Perhaps it is fate then that we found each other for seatmates,” he said.

  “I wish fate would ease up on the storm outside.” Pulling her hair back with one hand, she wiped the sweat off her neck with the other, then reached for her seatbelt. “It’s never too early to buckle up, right?”

  “I suppose. The storm seems to have intensified. That could be the reason our flight is taking longer to depart.”

  Madison adjusted her necklace, touched the pendant, then turned to look out the window. The rain was pouring down even harder. How was that possible? She snapped the cover shut over the small window. Out of sight, out of mind.

  But she could still hear the rain beating against the window.

  “SHE’S A FEISTY ONE.” Dean’s admiration came through loud and clear over the comm link.

  The banter might be inappropriate, considering t
he First Lady’s life was on the line, but it helped to ease the mounting tension. Aiden realized that the most important thing at this moment was for him to appear relaxed and bored.

  “Just your type,” Dean added

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What’s wrong with this one?”

  “Too young, too sad, and too skinny.”

  “Well, Aiden. You can feed ’em you know, and they do age with time. Wealthy guy like you, I’m sure you can find a way to cheer her up.”

  “Fueling will be complete in another twenty minutes,” Martin said. “Are we filling dead time with Lewis’ lack of a social life again?”

  “We’ve been trying to hook him up for two years,” Dean said.

  “The last date you got me had a mustache,” Aiden said.

  “She was a great agent,” Jones piped in.

  “We arm wrestled and she won.”

  “That’s a problem?” Dean asked.

  “Most days.” Aiden continued setting up his laptop, turning on the filters, which would shield his screen from anyone else’s eyes. “I have visual.”

  “You have to admit this one’s gorgeous,” Dean said. “Coyote’s lucky day it seems. I should be sitting back there with her. Want me in the cargo hold, Aiden?”

  “Negative,” Martin overruled. “For all we know he has handlers on the ground. We will not be taking chances with Claudia’s life.”

  Jones began humming Beautiful, Beautiful Brown Eyes.

  “I noticed the eyes,” Aiden admitted as he adjusted the angle of his laptop.

  “So you are interested.”

  “I’m not dead, Dean. Just old.”

  “Thirty-two isn’t exactly ancient. We’ll give you pointers if you’ve forgotten how to woo a woman.”

  “Don’t do me any favors.” Aiden switched on the transmitter to the surveillance device he had planted on Ms. Hart’s sweatshirt.