by Amy McKinley
She ignored his command. He’d said it to protect her, to keep the potential chaos limited and the aisle clear. His job would be easier that way should there be hostiles that attempted to board. Her training kicked in, and she moved to investigate. She could take care of herself. He just didn’t know it.
Something had caused their crash, and she had to be prepared, which meant she needed her purse and the gun inside of it.
Searching for her purse amidst the other carry-ons and laptops strewn about the cabin, she moved on unsteady feet. There! Her purse was lodged between the wall and a chair.
A quiet click alerted her to movement from the front of the cabin. The door handle separating them and the pilots turned. She lunged forward, skidded on her knees, and yanked her purse free. With her back to the wall, she waited for the person to emerge. She wrangled her gun out of her purse and leveled the barrel at whoever might walk across the threshold from cockpit to cabin.
With a creak, the door swung and blocked her view. Gunfire exploded in swift pops, then blood bloomed across the guard’s white shirt. She stayed pressed flat against the wall, hidden from the killer by the open cockpit door as her gaze met Todd’s fading one. Red continued to spread as he fell to the floor in a heap.
A mere second passed as she readied herself to spring into action as soon as the shooter became visible. Steve, the second security guard, and Henry were still unresponsive in their seats.
The door moved a fraction, and a man stepped into view. The pilot. Tall, lean, and blond, he did not turn fully to her. Instead, he looked from passenger to passenger with an impassive expression. The hairs on her arms stood on end. He expected this. He knows something I don’t.
Flush to the wall, she spared a moment to scrutinize him, but it was time to act. Limbs heavy, she forced herself into action and leveled her gun at his back.
The slight sound of her movement had him whirling, and she missed her shot. Lunging from the wall, she adjusted her aim and locked onto her target, whose gun pointed at her head. Uncaring, she depressed the trigger as he hit her hand with the side of his gun. Again, the shot went wide. Dammit, I’m better than this! With several blinks, she worked to clear her semi-blurry vision.
“The root strikes now,” the pilot snapped.
She froze at his harsh whisper and pinched features. His words were correct—the phrase she knew well, as she should, was carved into her psyche in blood. Even so, her instincts screamed that he wasn’t who he claimed to be. He had a common, boy-next-door face, one that wouldn’t be remembered if seen again, and she struggled to place him.
She swayed on her feet before tensing her muscles.
His brows furrowed. “Are you injured?”
“I’m fine.” She responded only to buy herself time. His familiarity sent dread spiraling through her unsteady limbs. She hadn’t met the pilots before they took off in the private jet, and killing Todd made it clear he wasn’t who he pretended to be. Anger and pain flared inside, her but she held it in check. “Why did we crash?”
He smirked, and she longed to wipe it off his face with a hard crack from the butt of her gun. “You should know the answer to that, comrade.”
Oh shit. This is about the weapon. She lowered her gun. The unmistakable phrase coupled with the way he addressed her—comrade—when no one from the past nine years knew who she was or where she’d come from said everything.
After nine long years, it was happening.
With effort, she dropped her arms and flashed him a small smile, ready to give the answering phrase. “Comrade, the root is ready.” Taking a step forward, she kissed both his cheeks. “It’s so good to be among family again.” As she felt her American life being stripped away with those words, an intense loneliness and pain again found the light of day. It wouldn’t matter—her skills would rise to the forefront and propel her to complete the mission regardless of her elusive dreams.
A part of her died inside. She would have to do things and kill people that she didn’t want to.
He grinned and inclined his head in a nod. “We have much to go over in preparation for the assassination and little time.” He swept his hand over the few in the cabin who were still unconscious. “The gas pumped through their masks will wear off soon.”
She frowned. “Was it delivered to all of the oxygen masks?”
“All but yours.”
While he talked, she worked to place him from the many children she’d grown up with in the Academy. “Where are we?”
“We landed in Colombia. Specifically, we’re in guerrilla territory within the Darien Gap. In approximately”—he looked to his watch—“five minutes, a team of soldiers will arrive to take all able passengers as hostages for ransom. You too will be taken.”
“Why?” Careful to keep her tone regulated, without emotion, she waited for his response.
“With the Secretary of Defense compromised, the US government will send backup. The Gray Ghosts, a contracted former SEAL search-and-rescue team, will come.” The pilot stepped forward, withdrew a small pair of bolt cutters, and snipped through the chain at Henry’s side. Slipping them back in his pocket, he lifted the briefcase from the floor and began to back away from her. “The engineer will be among them. His name is Chris Shaw.”
She nodded, knowing exactly who he was. Will Jack come too? That would complicate things. A heart-wrenching barrage of images whirled through her mind at a breakneck speed. When they’d first met, her stomach had flipped, her heart stuttered, and she knew he would be the one to burrow under her skin. It wasn’t just his looks and commanding presence, but the entire package that had her unbalanced. He’d made her feel like she was cared for, listened to, precious.
It wasn’t meant to be.
None of that was possible anymore. Her personal desires were no more. Jack would be a liability for what she needed to do. Pushing him from her thoughts, she narrowed her gaze on the pilot.
He raised his gun and aimed at Henry, and she reacted. Jumping in front of Henry, she held up her hands. Her instinct to protect the man who had been a friend and a father figure roared to the surface. “Wait. You can’t kill him.”
“I planned to wound him. He isn’t needed now that we have the case with the weapon, so long as he’s alive enough to draw the weapons engineer. We don’t want Chris complicating things by making another prototype just yet.”
“Henry is needed. The case can’t be opened without the correct code, and he is the only one who has it.”
The pilot cursed, and angry red splotches climbed high on his pale cheeks. “There isn’t enough time to revive him and torture the information from him. You will get it in captivity.”
“Why not steal the information at the airport? What was the point of doing it here?”
He pressed his lips together as anger darkened his light eyes. “You’ve been in America far too long. You’ve forgotten the way of our mother country. Do as you’re told, comrade. Do not question your superiors.”
She bit her tongue and cast her eyes downward in a seemingly submissive act. “I apologize. I do not recognize you. We were in the same year?”
“No. I’m older. I left shortly before you would have been placed.”
But he was assured enough in his positioning in their organization to reprimand me? “Why wasn’t I informed before we left the States?”
“You were not needed until now.”
“What is expected of me?” She bit the inside of her mouth and waited for him to speak.
“Stay alive. They’ll rescue you and the Secretary of Defense. He will be most important. All others are expendable. If all goes according to plan, the weapons engineer will be shot down and off course so that you can find him, not his team. Make sure to get the code before they come.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if I wasn’t a hostage?” Can I just kill the pilot now? She peered at him as if he were a bug under a microscope. Did he concoct this ridiculous mission?
The pilot’s hand reste
d on the back of a seat close to the private plane’s emergency exit. “No. You’re needed to retrieve information from him.” He motioned to Henry. “There is a small margin of error where the engineer will not be the one intercepted during his jump.” He grunted, his distaste clear. “Sven is the point man for that leg of the operation. Not the best choice. I would have chosen better and will after this assignment is completed.”
Hmm, he’s ambitious. Could be dangerous. “Why would you be the one to assign responsibilities?” She dug her toe down into her shoe to stay her emotions and relieve the ache to hit him. Something about him was vaguely familiar, but there had been so many of them growing up together at the training camp.
“After the assassination, I’ll be only two under the director, but that isn’t your concern. The mission is. We need you here in case the weapons engineer, Chris, shows. You’ll bring him, not the rest of the men. If the engineer is correctly targeted, then you will escape, rescue him from where he went down, and bring him to the exchange point.”
“What will his location be, and where is the next checkpoint?”
“In four days’ time, you are to arrive at Turbo, Colombia, then travel west to the harbor town, Buenaventura. You will meet your contact by the farthest building on the outskirts of the town. An agent will meet you and either take Chris off your hands or kill him.” The pilot stood, briefcase in hand, and stepped toward the door. He pulled the latch and pushed the door open.
“And then what?”
“Nothing too difficult. You’ll have instructions. After that, the rest of the mission does not concern you. Leave the finer points to your superiors. Only this leg is your responsibility.”
The Russians would have possession of the weapon, but she needed the semantics of where, when, and who the intended assassination target was.
The pilot paused, one foot hovering over the threshold to the world she would soon become acquainted with. “And Hannah”—he turned to look at her over his shoulder—“this is just the beginning.”
Regardless what she would learn on the mission, she had a part to play. She’d been activated.
Chapter 3
Hannah
The pilot was gone, and Hannah was left with Henry and the remaining guard, Steve. Both were unconscious from the gas that fed into their oxygen lines but slowly coming to.
With the door to the plane left open from the pilot’s exit, she looked out into the world she would be a part of for the next few days or weeks. Green met her view, the landscape covered with thick, leafy trees and bushes. Tropical heat and the buzz of insects hit her.
In a slow blink, she realized her past would collide with her present. It’d been nine years since she’d left the Academy in Russia and assumed a life on US soil. Nine years since she made a promise to her sister. She was finally within reach of fulfilling that promise.
As of yet, nothing had happened. No soldiers came. She was the only one conscious in the plane. That would change.
They wouldn’t be alone for long. She tapped her thigh with her palm, waiting. Their recovery wasn’t fast enough. Debating the best course of action to maintain her cover, she buckled herself back into her seat, tucked her gun along the side and between the cushions, slipped the mask back over her face as theirs were, and slumped on the table. The insurgents would be there soon, and she needed to appear as her boss and security guard did when they awoke.
Seconds ticked by before the sound of movement met her ears. She held still, needing to sell the same symptoms as the others. A curse whispered through the cabin. Steve was awake.
Heavy steps approached her from behind, bypassed her, and stopped by Henry. A dull thud was likely Steve kneeling by her boss. With her face turned away, she couldn’t observe between her lashes. Clothes rustled again, and the security guard repeated Henry’s name.
The snap of elastic from the mask and the rustling intermingled with Steve’s frantic whispers to Henry to wake. “Sir. We’re compromised. I suspect drugged as well, from the taste in my mouth.” Steve cleared his throat. “Todd was shot. Looks like they left through the emergency exit door.”
A mere second or two ticked by until Henry’s groggy voice met her ears.
“What?” Henry shifted. “No...” The sound of metal clinking against the table echoed through the small space.
Hannah moaned, stirring enough so it seemed that she was waking.
Bullets peppered the side of the plane, and Hannah swiveled the chair and flattened herself to the opposite wall. Steve covered Henry then grunted, and blood spurted from a shoulder wound. Idiots. What’s the purpose of the mission if they’re all dead? Especially Henry?
Voices grew in volume, and Hannah pushed herself farther into the corner of the seat so that Steve and the back of Henry’s chair partially blocked her from view. She met Henry’s eyes over the top of Steve’s deadweight.
She slipped the earbuds from her purse into her bra and put the strap diagonally over her body, sure their kidnappers would take it. She would get it back, but the earbuds weren’t something she would willingly hand over.
Humid air continued to pour into the cabin through the door the pilot had left open. With the back of her hand, she wiped at a fine sheen of perspiration that coated her forehead and plucked her silk blouse away from her sticky skin. She tucked her purse behind her. To reduce any potential suspicion, she again slumped on the table.
A twig cracked. Someone climbed aboard. Hannah fought back her instinct to fight. She needed to keep her skills dormant for the time being. Heavy boots approached, and a flurry of Spanish words erupted. A large hand splayed on her head, yanking her back into the chair by her hair. Pain exploded along her scalp. Her eyes went wide as she stared into the face of the man who held her. You’ll die soon.
Rapid Spanish overrode the noise the men were making as they climbed inside the cabin. One of the men cursed another for shooting the side of the plane. There were five soldiers inside. Machine guns were slung over their shoulders, and the first one who’d entered swept through the cabin with his gun, ready to pull the trigger should opposition rise.
She had no plans to do so based on her orders. As the enemy assessed them, the interior cabin was silent. Hannah itched to palm her gun, to attack whoever entered through the door her handler had jumped from. These soldiers—guerrillas—meant harm, at least to some degree. But if she did that, she would reveal herself to Henry and the remaining security guard.
Anger singed her veins as she slowly blinked the pseudo grogginess from her expression. Across from her, Henry jolted in his seat. His hand snaked out to her, concern etched across his aged features.
Pain lanced her scalp as one of the soldiers yanked her hair again, forcing her to look at him. Thick fingers fell away from her hair as another man chastised the soldier who touched her. She gave a minute nod to Henry, letting him know she was okay.
Intelligence lit within Henry’s dark eyes. As he pulled his hand back, he glanced down and sucked in a breath. The handcuff around his wrist dragged along the surface of their table, no longer attached to the case. His nostrils flared momentarily, and he flicked his gaze to the men surrounding them. Their lone surviving guard was hauled to his feet, his wrists cruelly tied behind his back before they marched him off the plane. They were next.
Rather than being manhandled, Hannah stood and positioned herself close to Henry. In careful movements, she maneuvered her purse to rest under her hands rather than at her side. Rough hands bit into her shoulders, and she raised her palms between herself and the man who held her.
He yanked at her purse, and she stumbled after it, the strap tethered to her body. “What do you think you’re doing?” he roared in Spanish.
She answered in kind. “I’m a secretary. There’s nothing dangerous in my purse.” One of the prerequisites for working for Henry had been the ability to speak several languages. She did. More than he knew.
Henry lunged to his feet and flanked her. “That’s quite
enough. Take your hands off her and tell us what you want.”
The one who held her purse laughed. “You’re no longer in charge, old man.”
Two men stood before her and Henry, both wearing muted green-and-tan fatigues and pointing machine guns at them. Her nails bit into her flesh as she restrained herself from violence. The soldier closest to her yanked her purse open, jerking her closer to his foul-smelling body. He rummaged through it. Not finding anything threatening within, he dropped it back by her side. Idiot. She was the threat, and the purse strap and pen inside were useful weapons.
The other soldier—she called him soldier two—returned and barked orders to bind their hands. Soldier one withdrew two plastic ties and secured Henry’s hands in front of him, then hers.
With a last glance at Todd, the guard the pilot had shot, who lay in a pool of his own blood, she fell in line behind Henry, until soldier one pulled her in front of him. Cursing the heels she wore, she maneuvered to the door, where another guard was waiting to help her down. The leer on his face didn’t go unnoticed. She clenched her teeth as his hands on her thighs inappropriately aided her. Angling her landing, she let herself fall off balance, allowing the momentum of the drop to angle her down on his foot, her heel digging into the top of his boot.
The hard shove was expected. With her back leg behind her in anticipation, she absorbed the push and kept herself from falling. She catalogued his face and filed it away for later. She was taking numbers. They wouldn’t like what she would do when the time was right.
She wanted to be behind Henry to keep watch and help him if needed. From what the pilot had said, they would be taken to a guerrilla camp. The insurgents were amenable to detain or kidnap them for a fee. It had to be a hefty one, and she was surprised the Russians had paid it.
The entire plan seemed overly complicated, and as they walked along the narrow trail that soldier two made by carving through the jungle with his machete, she worked to piece together the why of it all.