He sighed and shook his head. Milani got away with things FBI special agents were forbidden to do, such as traveling in first class, albeit at his own expense. Saving the taxpayers money was Milani’s explanation, always accompanied by a cocky smirk. Occasionally he’d wanted to utilize the special agent’s talent in an investigation, but couldn’t locate him. He seemed to be nowhere, for weeks at a time. But when anyone tried to delve into Milani’s activities, they ran into a brick wall and he knew the reason for that. Milani’s boss, Ralph Johnston, safeguarded his special agent’s privacy vigorously. He’d heard a few whispers about Johnston, too. Those in the know said that he and the president were long-time friends.
Shit, he’d love to get a warrant and hang onto Milani long enough to get some real answers. But he couldn’t justify a warrant and besides that, he owed Rowan Milani the benefit of the doubt. Jerk or not, he was one of them and anyone could make an anonymous phone call. Still, he could ask the special agent to have a talk, especially since Milani wasn’t traveling with his extra-vigilant boss. Everyone in the Bureau would support him on that.
Decision made, he picked up the phone and speed dialed the special agent on duty at Denver International Airport. “Banks, this is Fred Ralston. Are you prepared to meet with Rowan Milani? He’s booked on a United flight at gate B17. It’s imperative that we talk with him, even if it means delaying that flight.”
He paused, massaging his forehead while he considered. “Follow procedure Banks, and keep this low-key. Get a cup of coffee and have a chat downstairs in one of the holding rooms. Watch yourself, though. I’ve dealt with Milani before and believe me – he’s not going to be happy about any of this. Reassure him that we just need to find out what’s up with that phone call. It’s possible he can shed some light on it. I’ve seen a news report that verifies two people were killed on the border last night, and Milani did fly in from Phoenix. I’ll keep investigating and get back to you in a couple hours. Let me know what you find out.”
* * *
Rowan woke groggily when someone shook his arm. “Special agent Milani, you need to wake up. Hey, Rowan, I need to talk to you.” Yanking his arm away, he opened his eyes wide and stared at a tall, balding man standing beside his seat. At the front of the aircraft, the captain and a flight attendant huddled next to the gate agent. They all looked frightened. He rubbed his eyes and frowned at the man, who pulled FBI credentials and flashed them in his face. “I’m special agent Leonard Banks. Something’s come up and I need to talk to you, but not here. Would you mind deplaning with me?”
Wanting to make the man wait, he stretched and yawned, then shoved the blanket aside, unbuckled his seat belt and stood up, following the special agent to the front of the plane. Banks shuffled into the cramped space next to the captain, forcing the gate agent and flight attendant into the galley. Rowan looked from the captain to the FBI special agent and back. “One of you wanted to speak to me?”
The tall man addressed him before the captain could reply. “Special agent Milani, like I said, you and I need to have a chat. But first, I’d like you to step off the aircraft with me.” Following the man’s gesture out the door of the plane, he saw a Law Enforcement Officer standing in the jetway. What the hell was going on? The cowardly anxiety he read in all their faces brought the submerged but always simmering rage he lived with bubbling to the surface. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been pulled from a flight because another passenger was concerned about a Middle Eastern man seated in first class. But it had never required the presence of another FBI special agent to make it happen.
The rage had him breathing hard and he clenched his jaws, told himself he’d better bring it down a notch. But goddamn it, he hadn’t done anything except sit in his seat and go to sleep. Glaring at the captain, he planted his hands on his hips. “What exactly is the problem? What are you afraid of, and why do I need to deplane?”
Watching the captain’s ample face turn pink, he knew he’d angered the doughboy. “Look special agent Milani, I don’t know what’s going on. I received a call from the FBI telling me that my aircraft can’t leave as long as you’re on it and that you might cause a problem. What was I supposed to do? I asked the gate agent to call security. This is my aircraft and whether you stay or leave is my decision, so let me be clear – gather up your things and deplane right now.”
Something was amiss and his sleep deprived brain couldn’t put it together. But it wasn’t worth pursuing. He’d lost – big-time. Now it would be hours before he arrived in South Dakota and even longer before he’d see a comfortable bed. Fighting to contain the rage, he nodded at the captain. “Of course sir, I’ll get my things and deplane immediately. But there is one more thing.”
The captain had been turning to reenter the flight deck and swung around abruptly. “What is it?”
He gave the chubby man a shrewd look. “If you consider me a threat to your aircraft, then you need to unload my checked piece of luggage. Otherwise, there is no point in removing me. If I pose a threat, my luggage does as well.” He was pushing the envelope with that one, but he didn’t care.
The rotund man took two quick steps toward him and poked him in the chest. “You have made a threat against a commercial airliner – my airliner, and I can’t let that pass.”
Speechless, he stared down at the flushed, bloated face, thinking about how easy it would be to choke the life out of the annoying man. A fresh wave of anger rolled over him when he glanced at the insipid FBI special agent. The man stood with his hands outstretched in a supplicating gesture. “Hey, everyone, take it easy. Captain, no one’s making any threats, either to the aircraft or your crew. Rowan, let’s take a walk, get some coffee.”
Drawing a breath, he clenched his fists at his sides and willed his hands to remain there instead of around the captain’s neck. That he of all people would threaten a commercial airliner was beyond the pale. Ignoring Banks, he addressed the captain. “I did not threaten your aircraft.”
But the doughboy would not be denied his victory. “You can consider yourself persona non grata on any United Airlines flight for at least the rest of the day and most likely longer.” The captain motioned to the special agent. “Please escort this man out of here. The flight attendant will bring his things. Good day, special agent Banks. Thank you for your help.”
It was over now. He’d be lucky to get a flight anywhere, for the foreseeable future. Still seething, he trudged to the top of the jetway, sandwiched between Banks and the cop. After they stepped from the jetway into the gate area, Banks turned and smiled, first at him and then the police officer. “Sorry to have taken your time. We don’t need your services.”
The officer nodded and raised an arm in a brief wave. “No problem. You gentlemen have a great day.”
Watching the man head down the concourse, the anger receding in the face of monumental exhaustion, he yawned and then glanced at Banks. The special agent still had a smarmy smile on his face. It would be fun to rearrange the smile with his fist, but since that wouldn’t be considered civilized, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand instead. “What now, special agent Banks?”
Banks rubbed his hands together and gestured down the concourse. “How about that cup of coffee I mentioned? Then we’ll head downstairs to one of our holding rooms so we can have some privacy. It’s possible my boss, Fred Ralston will want to talk with you as well.”
Twenty minutes later, he found himself sipping a paper cup of Seattle’s Best coffee, seated on a bench in a small room, somewhere in the bowels of the airport. A security camera with a glowing red light sat high up in the corner, and offhand, he thought he’d enjoy flipping it off. When Banks closed the door and leaned against it, he stared at the special agent and wondered if he’d get some answers. Banks gulped coffee, placed his cup on the desk and sighed. “Sorry for the rigmarole, Rowan. It’s just that the conversation we need to have is sensitive and not appropriate for the front of an airplane or a coffee sho
p on the concourse.”
The bench he was sitting on was damned uncomfortable and all he wanted to do was lay his head on the desk facing it and go to sleep. Yawning again, he sat the cup of tepid coffee on the floor and gazed wearily at Banks. “All right, why don’t we start by you telling me what the hell’s going on?”
Banks clasped his hands together and frowned at him. “First of all, keep in mind that I’m not the enemy here, OK? You and I – we’re on the same team.”
The special agent’s ass-kissing disposition irritated him and he nodded impatiently. “Yeah, sure, I get it, you and I – teammates. Now, what exactly did you want to talk about?”
The hesitation he saw in the special agent’s face had the anger lighting up again. Banks grabbed his cup from the desk and swilled more coffee, then started in. “Fred Ralston got an anonymous call this morning. The caller said you were involved in a double murder in Mexico last night.” The special agent shrugged. “We thought you could clear that up for us. I mean, shoot, it was an anonymous call.”
Expecting the usual apology about appeasing anxious passengers, the surprise that widened his eyes and dropped his jaw was genuine. He scratched the itchy whiskers on his chin and smirked at Banks. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve heard in a long time, Leonard. You’re telling me Ralston thought an anonymous call held enough weight to drag me off a plane and bring me down here to your holding room? What’s next? You want to haul me downtown to the Field Office for interrogation?” Fighting rising anger again, he held his breath and glared at Banks.
A red stain crept up the special agent’s neck and spread across his face, but he had to give the guy credit. Banks just ran a hand across the top of his gleaming head and chuckled. “I understand how you feel. Let’s keep it simple. Tell me where you’ve been for the past several days. We’ll verify the information and you’ll be on your way.”
Thinking he’d like to say fuck you, he stared at the man drumming his fingers on the wall and decided he was in too deep. Something was off kilter, or must have gone terribly wrong with the operation after he’d left. Since he had no clue, he opted for silence, wishing he’d thought of that earlier, on the plane.
Banks waved an arm. “Rowan, you know the drill. I need answers – to take to my boss.” Banks looked at him intently. When he didn’t speak, the special agent shoved off the wall and gestured with the coffee cup. “I’m at a loss, Rowan. I wish you’d clear this up for me. Not talking isn’t going to inspire confidence. I’m afraid Fred will insist that you come downtown to the Field Office. Why don’t you help me out, so we can both put this behind us and get on with our lives?”
Staring at Banks, he felt like a pawn on a chess board, being maneuvered by an unseen hand, unwittingly shifted where he didn’t want to go. And now he had to lie. Trying for a defeated look, he shrugged. “Oh hell, all right, Leonard. But I can’t say much. We’re conducting private training at a ranch not far from Flagstaff. I haven’t been near the border. I’ve been with a bunch of guys, 24/7 for almost a month.” He paused and gave the special agent a conspiratorial wink. “But that’s not for public consumption, you understand? This training is part of the Anti-Terrorism Task Force I’m attached to and if my boss finds out I said anything, he’ll have my ass.”
Banks nodded, mouth open, and he thought the guy looked like a big carp, fresh out of water. “Oh, I see, I see. Well, now I can understand your reticence.” The special agent tugged on the sleeve of his suit jacket and glanced at his watch. “Tell you what, I need to call Fred and let him know we’ve gotten to the bottom of this. He may not even want to talk to you further.” Banks tilted his head. “He’ll probably just touch base with the facility, to verify your presence. In any case, I’ll be back shortly. You OK with hanging around here for a while longer?”
The whole proceeding had gone beyond tedious, and he wanted nothing more than to escape the stuffy, grimy room. But he had to keep playing the game for as long as possible. Faking a smile, he told Banks what he wanted to hear. “Sure, Leonard, that’s no problem. Do what you need to and I’ll hang out here.”
After the special agent left, shutting the door firmly behind him, Rowan bent his head, closed his eyes and heaved a gusty sigh. One thing he’d told Banks hadn’t been a lie. Ralph would have his ass for the entire debacle, starting with the disagreement between him and the fat captain on an aircraft that was probably being unloaded in order to retrieve his dangerous suitcase. His boss was a former Navy SEAL, if there was such a thing, and a stickler for appearance and decorum. He’d sure as hell shot both out of the water today. Fumbling in his jacket pocket, he pulled out his phone and sighed again. It figured that there’d be no service in the holding room.
Rubbing his eyes, he gazed blearily at the door and wondered how the damaging scenario would play itself out. When he didn’t arrive in Sioux Falls, Chad would call Ralph. That was a good thing, since Ralph was the only one who could get him out of whatever he’d fallen into. But would Ralph find out in time to make a call and stop the process? Picturing Fred Ralston’s disbelieving gray eyes and unsmiling mouth, he grimaced. Ralston didn’t like him, never had, and he couldn’t imagine the man being satisfied with his story. That meant he was headed downtown to the Field Office, which would not be pleasant.
Once in an interrogation setting with Ralston, he wasn’t sure he could keep his temper in check. God only knew what would happen to him then. With the futility of his circumstances setting in, weariness overtook the simmering rage. Sleep in any form was better than sitting hunched over on the hard bench. Gauging the distance to the desk, he thought if he leaned over carefully, it might work.
Laying his head on the cool surface, he contemplated how he’d gone from minding his own business, dozing peacefully in first class to a filthy room somewhere in the depths of the airport. The situation was beyond his purview, too much for his enervated mind. Trying unsuccessfully to pillow his head, he gave up and let his arms droop. Despite the discomfort and the gnawing uneasiness that things were not as they should be, he slipped immediately into exhausted sleep.
* * *
CHAPTER TWO
At fifty-five Ralph Johnston had been Special Agent in Charge of a small, elite FBI Anti-Terrorism Task Force, operating out of Bureau headquarters in Quantico, Virginia since shortly after 9-11. He stayed trim and vigorous by maintaining the military discipline that had become second nature through years of practice. Over six feet by several inches, he generally took no shit and didn’t suffer fools – at all.
Sliding his large frame down the aisle of the aircraft, he looked for row twelve. It was business class. He’d been bumped up since there were no seats available in coach. Leaving Dulles that morning on a United Airlines flight to Chicago with the intention of connecting to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, he’d been disgusted to find that his flight from O’Hare had canceled. Frustration set in as he realized he’d be flying over Sioux Falls in order to get to Denver, only to board a flight there and fly back to Sioux Falls.
United wouldn’t transfer his ticket to Legacy Airlines, so he could connect directly from Chicago to Sioux Falls. Oh no, and the reason United had canceled the flight boggled his mind. Settling into his seat, he motioned to the flight attendant and ordered a Glenlivet on the rocks. Considering the domino effect of the cancelations, he scowled. The aircraft slated to fly his tired butt from Chicago to Sioux Falls had originated in Denver and was still there.
A security breach of some kind had delayed and finally canceled the flight from Denver to Sioux Falls, thus canceling the flight from Sioux Falls to Chicago O’Hare, which would have positioned the aircraft to fly back to Sioux Falls from Chicago with him and seventy or so other crabby passengers. United had canceled that leg as well and that was why he was sitting in business class on a Boeing 777 sipping scotch. A customer service agent, who’d been as disgusted as he was, told him that all the flights from O’Hare to Sioux Falls were full, but Denver still had a few open
seats on an Airbus 319 later in the evening. Bully for him. He’d better have one more drink, because this flying back and forth across the country bullshit made absolutely no sense.
* * *
Chad Cantor stood near the United Airlines ticket counter in Sioux Falls, apart from the long, restless line of passengers waiting to rebook their canceled flight. He needed to inquire about his missing colleague. His blonde hair and blue eyes usually attracted favorable attention from women like the one behind the counter. Hopefully, combining his looks with his FBI credentials would entice the lobby agent to tell him what had happened to Rowan. Smiling affably when the agent looked up from her computer, he hoped for the best.
Eyeing him appreciatively, the young woman inspected his ID. “What can I help you with special agent? Are you checking in for a flight this afternoon?” Her navy blue uniform didn’t do her justice, but she filled it in a pleasing way and had aquamarine eyes that looked daring. Her name tag said Mandy.
Pulling his gaze away from the uniform, he smiled at her again. “No, I’m not flying today. Actually, I’m concerned about a colleague who was booked on your canceled flight from Denver. I know you aren’t supposed to give out personal information, but since he’s with the FBI, I thought maybe you could help me. He hasn’t called and I’m wondering if he managed to get on another flight.”
Mandy looked at him, tapping manicured nails on the countertop. “Since you have proper FBI credentials, I’ll take a look for your colleague. What’s his name?”
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