Any conversation would be relayed to his smart phone instantly. Coyote and Hart would come in his left earpiece. Martin, Dean, and Slater in his right. Some stereo.
He opened his newspaper, then reported, “I have audio.”
“Confirmed. Slater should be passing you now.” Martin’s voice had been replaced by that of a technician.
Aiden saw the Hawaiian shirt out of the corner of his eye.
“Copy. Has he been briefed?” Aiden asked.
“We transferred all data to him ten minutes ago,” Martin said. “He’ll be sitting two rows up and across the aisle from Coyote. Remember the conditions of his boarding—he’s unarmed.”
“Then what good is he?” Aiden asked.
Aiden’s voice had remained level, but the intensity had notched up. The first-class passenger across the aisle sent a questioning gaze his way.
“Stockbrokers,” Aiden offered a dazzling smile and rattled his Wall Street Journal. “They should be shot.”
“No shooting, Lewis. Remember Coyote is supposed to walk.” Martin’s tone left no room for discussion. “That is your new directive, whether you like it or not.”
Aiden resisted the urge to argue. Some ops go bad, and this one had. They would apprehend Coyote, but it wouldn’t be tonight. This had turned into a surveillance mission. He forced his pulse down. At least Coyote hadn’t pegged him—yet. If he could ensure Claudia’s well-being and see Madison Hart safely off the plane...if he could get them all safely deplaned, the mission would be a success.
A few clicks of the mouse brought row 42 into focus. The camera worked off line-of-sight and could penetrate anything between the transmitter and the receiver. He’d placed the transmitter on the right side of Ms. Hart’s sweatshirt. With Coyote in the aisle seat, Aiden could easily watch every move the man made. The audio picked up anything within five feet of the transmitter. All he had to do was sit back, watch, and listen.
MADISON SEARCHED THROUGH her backpack for something to distract her from their imminent crash. Her fingers touched the letters from her father. She had sat in the backyard and read them with her mother. Some were twenty-five years old. She touched the packet and tried to draw a bit of courage from them. Sitting on a plane in the middle of a torrential downpour, they didn’t offer her much comfort. They only held more mysteries, and her life already had enough question marks in it.
Snatching her book from the bag, she forced the pack under the seat in front of her, much as she forced the memories of her mother to the back of her mind.
Who was she kidding?
Flying wasn’t safe.
It went against all the laws of nature. The bodies littered across the highway in Peru had proven that. She should have driven. If her car hadn’t died last month she would have. The storm continued to rage outside her tiny window as the plane backed away from the gate—each raindrop like tiny needles piercing her heart.
Finally the plane began accelerating. Madison stole a glance at Sergio and realized she was trapped. She clutched her book and forced herself to take deep breaths, praying she wouldn’t hyperventilate. She looked again at Sergio. He still sat with his eyes closed, oblivious to their mortal danger. Somehow, she found the courage to nudge him.
“Excuse me. Could we change seats?”
He opened both eyes and raised one eyebrow. “Now?”
“I feel airsick. If I could have an aisle seat...”
A look of irritation briefly crossed his face, but it was gone as quickly as a cloud flies before the sun. Or perhaps she had imagined it. He unbuckled quickly, and they changed seats and re-buckled at the exact moment the plane left the ground.
Madison ignored the glare from the flight attendant. Instead she grasped her pendant and tried to think happy thoughts.
Sergio reached for the airsickness bag and passed it to her. “Would you like me to call for assistance?” he asked. “Perhaps a drink of water would help.”
“No. This is much better. Thank you.”
She would not cry. She was a grown, educated woman. Logically, she knew the chances were nil that her first flight in two years would end in disaster. She clutched her necklace and choked back the tears threatening to escape. Sergio would be mortified if she broke out in sobs. He was acting as if they were in no danger at all and in fact had already closed his eyes again. At least she had a considerate seatmate. Already the pendant was exerting its influence.
AIDEN RESISTED THE urge to punch his tray top, which was in the upright position. By moving to the aisle, Madison Hart had effectively cut off his view of Coyote. Airsick? The woman was airsick? That’s all he needed. As if he didn’t have enough complications on this mission.
“I still have him in sight,” Slater murmured.
“We’re going dark until we achieve altitude.” Aiden switched off his audio receiver, but kept the laptop focused on row 42. Now he could only see Madison and the center aisle of the plane.
Until they leveled off, he would have to watch and wait. He forced himself to remain calm, willing the plane to climb quickly so he could resume audio surveillance.
As long as Coyote remained on the plane, chances of an explosion were minimal. The man’s profile strongly concluded he was not suicidal.
Great. I’m betting the lives of everyone on this plane, including my own, that some government shrinks did their job well.
There was always the possibility of a hijacking, but no such priors existed in Coyote’s file. Why was he going to Salt Lake City? Why tonight? Why on this flight? He could have rented a car if he wanted to visit Utah, and he didn’t have to kidnap the President’s wife to get there. Whatever was going on here, Aiden knew it was big. Much bigger than Hamburg or Tokyo.
What was near Salt Lake?
Forcing himself to relax into the leather seat, he continued to watch row 42.
If Nate could see me now. But Nate thinks I’m on a golfing trip. My brother will never know I tried to make my life count for something.
USCIS didn’t send flags to the families of the deceased. Instead they penned a fictional cover story and released it to the press.
Of course his brother would receive the extra life insurance USCIS funded, but money wasn’t exactly scarce in their family.
Aiden adjusted the angle on his laptop.
The brunette remained hidden behind her book.
She wasn’t much of a flyer. There would be finger imprints on the book cover from the way she clutched it. She stared down as if riveted by what she read, so he couldn’t see her eyes, but chestnut hair spilled down her shoulders.
He continued to watch, thinking about what her hair would feel like between his fingers.
Now where had that come from?
It wasn’t like him to be distracted on a mission. Perhaps he should put in for a vacation. Martin had been harassing him to take some time off for months.
“Is there something you need, Mr. Lewis?” The flight attendant’s voice was friendly, the smile even more so.
Raven hair, long legs, European accent. All of Aiden’s warning bells went off at once. He looked over the top of his laptop. “A cup of ice would be great.”
“Sure thing.”
“Bourbon would be good too.”
“Bourbon and ice. Got it.”
“Bring one for yourself while you’re at it.”
The flight attendant flashed a convincing smile, brushed her hip against his seat as she turned, and walked to the front galley.
She was definitely with Coyote. She didn’t have his name tattooed on her wrist, but Aiden knew. In five years with USCIS, he’d learned to trust his instincts.
Hopefully the drink and flirting would confirm he was merely another obnoxious first-class passenger.
The plane leveled off, and the captain announced that those purchasing Wi-Fi access could now connect to it via their electronic equipment—of course the access was complimentary in the first-class seats. Aiden had the audio reactivated before the captain fin
ished his announcement. Row 42 remained silent. Slater came in loud and clear.
“No change on 42. Both are still seated. Coyote appears to be napping.”
Aiden didn’t know much, but he knew Coyote wasn’t napping. He wished he had a video of the man, as if an image would allow him to read the man’s mind.
“I’ve got a hostile in first-class,” Aiden said.
“Roger. I’ll forward the information to the pilot.”
“Tell him to remain on Alert Level 4. He’s to keep the cabin door locked for the duration of this flight.”
“Affirmative. Description?”
“Five feet nine inches. Female. European. Black hair. Flight attendant. Nametag says Maira.”
“Copy that.”
“Your priority remains row 42.”
“Roger.”
“There may be more, Slater. Keep your eyes open. I have no idea how many, where he has them, or what he has planned next.”
“Hell of a thing they’ve put us in the middle of.”
“That is God’s truth.”
Why had Coyote put Maira in first-class? How did he get her scheduled on this flight? Had he broken into the airline’s secure system? Did he have inside sources in personnel? If he could break into the President’s security system, he could break into any system he wanted.
With one eye on the galley, Aiden split the monitor’s screen and opened the briefs Martin had downloaded to his computer before their flight took off.
<
The fact that no contact was to be made explained why Aiden had been pegged to keep tabs on them. USCIS preferred to schedule him on monitor-only missions. They didn’t want to expose their wealthiest mole.
Aiden moved easily in and out of Canada’s best resorts. He was the perfect candidate for watching and obtaining information since he had all the necessary tools—wealth, background, access. He’d grown up in resorts where rooms regularly cost a thousand dollars a night. He had a reputation as a philanthropist, a millionaire playboy, and an amateur-pro golfer. More importantly, he had the single item they couldn’t teach any of their field agents—a pedigree. The term made Aiden feel like a poodle.
<
Aiden made no effort to block his screen as Maira handed him his drink. The filters would only allow viewing if you were sitting directly in front of the monitor. Unless she climbed into his lap, the information remained safe. Popping the seal on the bourbon, he poured it over the ice, handed the bottle back to her, and moved his leather case off the empty seat next to him. “Have a seat,” he said.
“We’re not allowed.”
“What a pity.”
“I’ll tell the lead attendant you said so.”
“Tell her I’m lonely.”
“A wealthy, nice-looking man like you? Now that is hard to believe, Mr. Lewis.”
“Call me Aiden.”
“All right, Aiden.” Already she’d dismissed him and begun watching the other first-class passengers. “I’ll be back to check on you in a few.”
He nodded at the empty bottle in her hand.
“Bring another one of those when you come.”
“Absolutely.”
He downed the drink as she moved away. Good thing training included building alcohol tolerance. Aiden’s assignments often involved beautiful women and drinking, a fact Dean liked to remind him of whenever he had the chance. Aiden turned his attention back to the monitor. Ms. Hart still clung to her book.
<
Maira continued working the first-class passengers. Now that Aiden had tagged her, the woman’s moves were obvious. Either Coyote suspected an agent was planted in first-class, or he had a flight attendant in both cabins.
For the next hour row 42 remained quiet, but even with the second bourbon Maira so dutifully served him, Aiden couldn’t relax his shoulders. They remained firmly knotted. He continuously tightened and flexed his calves as if he might need to sprint at any moment. They had covered every scenario, but he couldn’t lose the nagging suspicion something was about to happen.
If he could see Coyote, he might be able to read the man’s body language. Unfortunately his monitor continued to display only the lovely Ms. Hart, who seemed to be napping. Aiden was readjusting the view when the plane hit an air pocket, knocking his laptop off the drop-down table.
“Let me help you, Mr. Lewis.”
“I’ve got it. Thank you, Maira.” He smiled as he snapped the laptop shut and placed it back onto the table.
“Are you sure? I’m pretty good with electronics.”
“Thank you, but I’m sure it’s fine.” The clock in Aiden’s head continued to tick. Ten seconds. They had been out of his view for ten seconds.
“Let me bring you something to drink. Another bourbon?”
“That would be great.” Twenty. He had to get rid of her.
She smiled but seemed in no hurry to move on.
Thirty seconds. Anything could have happened in thirty seconds. Aiden wanted to push her toward the kitchen. Instead he put on his best nonchalant demeanor. He had to be sure she didn’t suspect him, so he looked down at the computer and grinned. “It’s only stock reports, but my accountant wanted me to go over them before tomorrow.”
He glanced again at the seat beside him. “Are you sure you can’t take a break?”
Maira smiled indulgently and shook her head. “Let me check on the other passengers, then I’ll bring your bourbon.”
Aiden put on his best playboy pout. Maira laughed and turned away, started back toward the front of the plane.
He opened the laptop, but the screen had gone blank. The receiving software continued to run, but no visual was displayed. He could still hear Slater’s obnoxious seatmate in his right ear, but only silence came through his left. He tapped it lightly. Still nothing. Not only had he lost visual for row 42, but he’d also lost audio. Coyote and the lovely Ms. Hart had effectively disappeared.
MADISON BARELY NOTICED when Sergio left the row.
The exhaustion of the previous weeks and months finally claimed her. Caring for her mother in April and enduring the agonizing weeks before her death in late May had bled all of Madison’s reserves—emotional and physical. She had braced herself for a long fight against the breast cancer. Losing her mother in such a short time had devastated her.
She allowed the motion of the plane to blur the memories. For a few minutes she fell into a dreamless sleep where she forgot to worry about her new teaching job in Montana, forgot even the father she was somehow supposed to find. When the plane hit an air pocket, she stirred, but refused to waken, clinging to that blissful blanket of darkness.
Some part of her mind registered when Sergio returned to his seat, squeezed past her.
Then there was more turbulence, and he fell against her.
He murmured an apology.
Madison nodded, but kept her eyes closed, willed herself back to sleep. She knew she should be afraid of the flight, vigilant of the emergency procedures, but she couldn’t find the energy to care.
Then he grasped her wrist painfully in his hand. “Please do not yell, Ms. Hart. I might have to do something we would both regret.”
He spoke softly, but when Madison opened her eyes and looked into his, the expression on his face was anything but calm. In fact, Madison hardly recognized the man sitting beside her. The gentle face had been replaced with barely controlled anger, and Sergio’s eyes had turned in
to two black coals.
He leaned toward her, still firmly gripping her wrist. “Tell me, Ms. Hart. Where did you get this listening device?”
Madison looked down at her hand. It seemed disconnected from her body. Surely it belonged to someone else. This was not happening to her.
“What are you talking about? You’re hurting me.”
“You know what I am talking about. Do not play with me.”
“I don’t—”
“I will hurt you more than you can imagine,” Sergio continued softly. “Tell me why you had this listening device on your shirt and who you are listening for.”
Madison stared at the tiny device he held in his other hand. It was nearly the color of her sweatshirt, and she had never seen it before in her life.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Is this why you insisted we trade seats?” he hissed in her ear. “You will tell me.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“I can break your wrist, Ms. Hart. I can also do much worse.”
For the second time in her life, Madison knew unmitigated fear—ice in your veins, paralyzing fear. Terror that made her instantly forget her flying phobia. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She glanced around, but couldn’t catch anyone’s eye.
“They will not notice.” Sergio twisted her wrist until she looked back at him again, tears now running down her face. “Most of them are wearing head phones or sleeping. To them it appears we are traveling together, especially since we have been speaking on a first-name basis. Even the air marshal two rows over will not notice for I have an associate who has conveniently placed a beverage cart between our seats. It would be better if you would simply tell me who you are spying for.”
“I am not spying.” Her denial was the barest of whispers.
“You do not want to anger me.”
What an understatement. The man was insane. How could she have mistaken him for a gentleman? And what was the thing he claimed to have pulled from her shirt?
Coyote's Revenge Page 3
