by Jonas Saul
THE SARAH ROBERTS SERIES
VOL. 4-6
Three Novels in One
by
Jonas Saul
The Hostage
by
Jonas Saul
Chapter 1
Sarah Roberts wondered if intent mattered. Could murder be justified?
She rested her head back on the seat and contemplated what her life had become — debating the senseless murder of Drake Bellamy and thinking about her dead sister. What caused Vivian to stay in touch?
After she stopped Drake’s planned murder, would she be able to find out why Drake was targeted? All the key players were already dead. There had to be a reason other than just murder.
Turbulence snapped Sarah out of her thoughts as the KLM Boeing 747-400 shook. They dropped through the clouds as she rubbed her stomach. The plane’s in-flight meal hadn’t sat well.
The ground took shape below, Toronto sprawling to all points on the compass except where Lake Ontario touched its southern shore.
The lake had the look of an ocean due to its massive size. From where she sat, a few thousand feet in the air, the lake stopped at the horizon. The United States couldn’t be seen on the other side.
The lone male passenger beside her had slept most of the flight, but was waking now. She had the window seat in a row of three. An empty chair separated the man who had introduced himself as Dave when they’d first sat down. Heading home to a funeral, he’d said. How sad.
A commotion started in front of her seat. The couple in the next row were arguing. She looked at Dave and smiled at the tension in the seats ahead. Then she heard the woman gasp. Sarah looked out the window again but only saw the sprawling city and the massive lake. She’d never been to Toronto, but she’d seen pictures, so she had an idea of what to expect. She scanned the downtown area, but for all her effort, she couldn’t locate the CN Tower, one of Toronto’s landmark tourist attractions.
Something’s wrong. That’s why they’re arguing.
Her stomach dropped.
What now?
She looked at the man beside her again. He seemed disinterested in the people ahead of them as they grew more and more animated.
A beep resounded throughout the aircraft, signaling everyone to fasten their seat belts. Sarah already had hers on. She looked out the window again as they got closer to the ground.
“This is your captain speaking. Good afternoon. We’ll be landing in Toronto to moderate winds, with a light cloud cover and a temperature of twenty-eight degrees Celsius. We’re slightly ahead of schedule as we had a tailwind. We’ll be landing fifteen minutes early. The cabin crew and myself would like to thank you for flying KLM flight 487B and wish you safe travels wherever your final destination may be. Cabin crew, take your seats for landing.”
Sarah stared out the window as the city drew closer. No CN Tower. Nothing recognizable. Weird.
Toronto’s big. Maybe it’s in another part.
The couple in the seats in front of her grew louder. The man pushed the flight attendant button.
Sarah tapped the back of their seat and leaned forward.
“Is everything okay?” she asked. “Now that we’re preparing to land, I don’t think any flight attendant’s will come.”
Both of them turned and looked at her through the gap in the seat.
“That’s not Toronto below us,” the male said. “Something’s wrong. We’re landing in Chicago. That lake down there is Lake Michigan, not Lake Ontario.”
“What?” Sarah couldn’t believe it. They had to be making a mistake. “Are you sure? The captain just announced that we were landing in Toronto.”
“I’m absolutely sure. I used to live there. This is Chicago. No doubt about it.”
“But why? There’s no layover booked there. Let me check my boarding pass.”
Sarah reached in her carryon bag and grabbed her boarding pass, already knowing she wouldn’t see the name Chicago on it. It said KLM, flight 487B, her seat number and the destination: Toronto. She had to be in Toronto by Wednesday to stop Drake Bellamy’s murder. If she was on the wrong flight, she had no idea how fast she could make new plans.
“What do your boarding passes say?” she asked.
“According to this we’re on a flight to Toronto. It doesn’t make any sense, because that’s Chicago below us.”
Sarah turned to her right. Dave, the man sitting one seat over, had a stupid smile on his face.
“Have you checked your boarding pass?”
He shook his head in the negative, but didn’t say anything.
“Why are you smiling?” Sarah asked. “Do you find something amusing?”
Dave opened the right side of his jacket far enough to show Sarah his weapon.
“I’m an air marshal. The penalties and jail time can be severe for cases of air rage, so I suggest you sit back and relax. Don’t do anything stupid. No more disturbing the other passengers. No more questions. There’s nowhere you can go, nothing you can do. Stay calm. Everything will be explained when we land.”
Sarah stared at him, open-mouthed. “Tell me you’re joking, please, because showing me your gun like that is what I consider to be a threat. I’ve done nothing wrong on this flight. I’ve not been arrested and I’m definitely not your prisoner. So, tell me you’re joking, because if you aren’t, we are going to have a problem. A serious fucking problem.”
The air marshal undid his seat belt and stood up in the aisle. He looked toward the back of the plane and nodded his head. He turned forward and repeated the same nod.
Two men walked toward Dave along the aisle.
Dave turned to the passengers watching him from their seats when his backup arrived.
“May I have your attention, please? My name is Dave Ingram. I am an air marshal. These men are also marshals. We have a temporary situation that you needn’t be alarmed with. This plane is landing in Chicago and then it will be heading to Toronto as planned. You may be a little late getting to your final destination and we’re sorry for that inconvenience, but we have a passenger here that needs to be detained. Stay calm. We’ll be on the ground in moments.”
What a nightmare. Who is orchestrating this?
People whispered among themselves. Sarah felt every face aimed toward her. She needed to think. They were close to the ground. The plane would touch down within a minute. She had to do something, but what?
Could Rod Howley be behind this? No way. He’s dead or seriously wounded back in Hungary.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as the wheels touched down.
Stay calm, Sarah, stay calm.
There was no use trying to fight three armed men. With the way air travel had changed, if she attacked the marshals, regular passengers would come to their aid.
What will Parkman think when he arrives in Toronto to pick her up at the airport and, not only is flight 487B late, but Sarah isn’t on it? He is going to be pissed. They were supposed to meet and go to a ball game tomorrow to see the stadium before Wednesday, the day Drake is to be killed. Parkman will be furious when he finds out who’s behind this.
I’m going to be furious when I find out who has fucked up my day.
The air brakes activated and the plane slowed, taxiing off the landing strip.
The three marshals wouldn’t take their eyes off of her. Whoever was behind this had informed these men who she was and that she was to be watched carefully. Do not underestimate her. Sarah is dangerous.
Good advice.
Sarah undid her belt. The plane stopped, still quite far from the terminal. In the distance a line of three black SUVs headed their way.
FBI?
The couple sitting ah
ead of her sneaked peeks backwards. She smiled at the woman, who jumped away as if bitten.
“Is all this really necessary?” Sarah asked.
Dave nodded.
“Who has the kind of power to change the flight plan of a major commercial airliner?” Sarah asked. “The U.S. government maybe? The Sophia Project guys? Am I getting closer?”
Dave didn’t respond this time. He bent down and looked out Sarah’s window at the approaching SUVs.
“They’re coming now,” he said to the two men on either side of him.
Obviously she wasn’t going to get anything out of Dave before whoever was coming got there. She crossed her arms, laid back and closed her eyes. This didn’t bother her. She wouldn’t allow it to. Whoever was behind it, whatever they wanted, she would fix it and move on. That was the way of things for her. It had always been that way and always will be.
“Where are your bags?” Dave asked.
“I don’t have any bags,” she said, keeping her eyes closed. “Only this carryon by my feet. I travel light.”
The door to the plane opened. She sat eight rows back from where she had boarded. Boots smacked down hard as several people entered the aircraft in unison. She opened her eyes and looked up, hoping to recognize someone who could answer her questions.
A line of military-type recruits in green camouflage stomped down the aisle toward Dave and his men, who moved away to give the newcomers more room. Within seconds, Sarah’s seat was surrounded by eight beefy men.
The tallest one stepped in close and asked in a deep John Wayne voice, “Are you Sarah Roberts?”
What was the right answer?
“Who’s asking?”
“Stand up,” he ordered. “Now.”
“Fuck you. First, tell me what this is all about. I bought a ticket to fly to Toronto. I’m an American citizen. I cannot be held without being charged and since I’ve done nothing wrong, tell me what this is all about.”
“Sarah Roberts, you are under arrest for the murder of Joseph Singer. Stand up, or my men will drag you out. This will either be hard or easy, your choice, but we prefer hard.”
It felt like someone smacked her in the face. She had never heard the name Joseph Singer before. There had to be a mistake. Where did this kind of shit come from? Could life ever be normal or does it always have to be fucked? And how could they re-route a plane just to arrest one person? Wouldn’t they get the Canadian authorities to pick her up as she exited the plane in Toronto, and then extradite her through the normal legal process?
Someone set this up. Someone is setting me up.
All eyes in the immediate area were on her. She was sure that the passengers surrounding her seat weren’t thinking about their delay to Toronto anymore. They wanted to see some action.
Fucking rubberneckers.
“Hard or easy, huh?” she asked. “Those are my options?”
“Wait!” a man yelled from down the aisle near the front of the plane. Heads turned to see the new arrival. A man in a long black overcoat and a black fedora made his way toward her.
Rod Howley. Motherfucker.
“Ahh,” Sarah said. “Now I understand what’s happening here.”
“Fall back, men. Give her a chance to stand on her own legs before they’re both broken.”
“Is that how it’s going to be?” Sarah asked. “How did you do it? How could you reroute this plane? Are you that powerful now?”
The thin aisle offered little wiggle room when two well-built men needed to pass one another. Rod forced his way through as best he could and stopped at her seat.
“Sarah, we have danced together too long. It’s over. You’re on American soil now. You’re mine. You don’t have Parkman here to help. No one on this plane knows who you are.” He leaned closer. “Have you no honor? Do this to help your fellow American. Have you no soul? Do what I need you to do to help your fellow human being. Come with me willingly and show me what you’re made of. Help me help them,” he said, waving an arm around the cabin.
She looked away. Outside, all she saw was a distant city, grass and tarmac. It looked like the terminal stood a mile away. Even if she figured out how to get past this many men, where would she run to?
He had finally done it. He got her. She had no choice.
Without looking at him, she said, “Yes, I have a soul. That’s why I do what I do in the first place. That’s why I fight for the weak and I won’t work for the government.”
The couple in the seat in front of her gasped at the same time. She realized they were assuming she justified murder in such a way.
It was time to leave. This wasn’t the place or the time to make a stand.
“I’ll come peacefully,” she said. “Step back, give me some room, and I will leave this plane with you.”
“You’re right you’ll be leaving this plane with me.”
“Cocky much?” Sarah asked.
Rod stepped back and motioned for his men to give her room. Sarah lifted her carryon and edged along the seats until she reached the aisle where she stood and turned to face Rod.
“You bastard. You, sir, are a fucking whore. You have sold your soul to the government. I think I will have to kill you one day, Rod Howley. There will come a time when I will fear you no more.”
Rod didn’t smile. He didn’t act cocky. He stepped aside and nodded his head.
Sarah’s legs were swept out from under her. She barely had enough time to brace herself and protect her face as she hit the carpeted floor of the airplane aisle. She tried to spin onto her back but couldn’t. Too many men pounced at the same time. Someone’s knee jammed into her back with another knee on her neck. They were doing something to her feet.
It ended as fast as it started. Rough hands grabbed her and lifted until she stood on her feet again. She looked down at the two large, iron cuffs on her ankles, connected by a chain.
“Are you serious?”
A nearby passenger asked Rod if that was necessary. Rod cautioned him to mind his own business.
“You will not run from me again,” Rod said. “I assure you of that.”
Her carryon bag lay on the aisle floor having slipped off her shoulder when she was knocked down. One of the men grabbed it.
“Hey!”
Another man grabbed her forearm and, before she could stop him, slapped handcuffs on her wrists. He stepped behind her and turned her shoulders until she was facing Rod again.
“There. You’re all tied up and ready for transport to prison. Let’s go.”
Rod turned and started up the aisle. Sarah caught a glimpse of the couple who had sat in front of her. The woman shook her head back and forth in disgust.
If they only knew.
Sarah shuffled forward as the ankle cuffs offered little leeway. A staircase had been rolled up to the side of the plane. The sun broke through the clouds, reflecting off the white metal steps. The space between her ankles wasn’t enough to manage the stairs. Even before she could protest, a man on either side lifted an arm each and carried her down the steps to the tarmac where they set her back down.
Both her arms felt like they’d be bruised bad. All the way down she fought the urge to scream from the pain of their combined grip.
The SUVs all sat with their doors open. They guided her to the middle one parked near the tip of the airplane’s wing.
Rod moved up beside her. No one spoke. She knew the drill. Do this, do that, comply with them, and then find a hole in Rod’s armor. She’d get out. There’s a way. There was always a way.
At the vehicle, the ankle cuffs prevented her from lifting her leg high enough to enter so she turned to Rod.
He grabbed her hair behind her right ear and twisted her head back until his face loomed over hers.
“Shit, that hurts,” she said through clenched teeth.
Water filled her eyes. It had been awhile since that much hair had been pulled at the same time.
“You’re mine now,” Rod said, his nose an inch fro
m hers. “We parlayed too much in Europe. Until I’m satisfied you have a gift or not, you will never be out of my sight again. Got it?”
She tried to nod. When he let go, she righted her head, the pain fresh and sharp.
The man behind her held a baton.
Where the fuck did that come from?
He lifted it and swung.
She had no chance.