Express Pursuit

by Caroline Beauregard

  “Last call for passengers Guiddo Brunetti, Carla Brunetti for Flight IT 240 to Rome. All passengers must be onboard. Passengers Drake Steinfield and Mara Ellington, please proceed to Gate Number 7. Ultima chiamata del d’imbarco per il volo…”

  When we arrived in view of the gate’s boarding desk, there was a committee waiting for us composed of a senior flight director wearing three inches high red stiletto, a security officer and a middle-aged man in a suit wearing an airport badge on his lapel, likely an airport official, I figured. Drake presented himself to the suit after taking out his FBI and Interpol badge. A quick conversation with the flight director followed. I kept hearing her say, “No. No. Questa persona potrebbe essere un criminale e non essere autorizzato a salire a bordo,” frowning at me while agitating her index finger left to right.

  What? I was being refused boarding? It was unexpected, considering the fact that I was no criminal and that there was no warrant issued against me. However, even without a red notice on my head, Steinfield had told me earlier, in the taxi, they might request an official security escort. Because of his Interpol connection, he’d volunteered.

  Without further waste of time, he pulled the flight director aside and showed her more documents along with something on his phone. She lifted her brows at me, a sudden understanding drawing on her face. Offering him a sexy smile, she made a quick call. A moment later, she hung up and spoke with a lowered voice in a conspiratorial tone.

  “Stai accompagnado un testimone in un affaire terroristico? Ora capisco.”

  Now, my Italian is not great but did she just refer to me as a criminal?

  August 28th, Aboard flight AT1460 Going to Budapest, Midday

  That I was cranky, worried and starving when we took our places in the aircraft was an understatement. They assigned us side-by-side seats in the last row at the tail of the AirBus 319. Mercifully, the rows in front were empty as this flight was only half full.

  He snatched us two Cokes and peanuts bags before takeoff by using his killer charm tactics with the stewardess servicing our section. She was all smiles for him when she brought the goodies while eyeing me with a frown and pursed lips.

  “Now, Agent Steinfield, I want you to give me an exact account of what those policemen and security guys told you at the Venetian Head of Security and why the flight director used the word criminal when she looked at me. I have broken no laws.”

  He lifted his hand and shushed me. Leaning over, he drew his face closer, knowing too well I was not insensitive to his proximity.

  “Listen, that stuffy flight director would only let you board the plane unless this was a matter of national security, so I told her you were helping the Interpol in a matter of national security and needed an official escort to make it in time to Budapest. Looks like she had not yet received the notification of the airport to let you go on board.”

  “Since I saw you hand her my passport, I’d like to have it back, please.” I stretched my hand, expecting him to give it now that we were isolated at the back of the plane.

  “Sorry, the Interpol assigned me to keep it under my custody.”

  He stared at me with a stone face that suggested he would not relent no matter how much I argued or pleaded. At least, maybe I could get some information out of him.

  “You still owe me an explanation about what happened in that police station.”

  He lifted his brow and the corner of his mouth downed at my demand, and he gave a quick black chuckle.

  “Well, the news is not good. Interpol received more demands from Rachid’s organization. He now threatens to bomb more cities along the route of the Orient-Express’s Paris-Istanbul journey if the international authorities don’t free his sons and nephews. The chief of security in Venice just received the message from the Interpol that until they know more about the planned bombings, they think it’s imperative you continue your trip as per the anonymous text. They cannot dismiss it at the risk of jeopardizing your sister or your own security. I agree with them.”

  “But what does this all have to do with me? A few minutes ago we went thru airport security—even my check-in luggage was x-rayed—and nothing came up. So you must have the wrong carrier. There is no other explanation. Mind you, I’m glad to get on with my trip, but once we arrive in Budapest, there is no point in you following me around.”

  “And you’re ready to risk the safety of your sister? Did you forget Rachid’s men may also have hacked into your personal email account?”

  My mood sank. He was right. I couldn’t risk the wellbeing of my sister. I just had a lot of trouble cruising into this new parallel universe that seem too strange to be true.

  “Breathe, Miss Ellington,” he coaxed, stroking my tense knuckles that were holding the armrest. “The good news is that they have not mentioned your sister as part of their threats this time,” he added in lieu of comfort.

  “But I still have no news from her. There are still no words on her exact location, right?”

  “Affirmative; I checked again earlier,” he said, settling himself better in his seat and trying to stretch his long legs under the seat in front of him. Then, he closed his eyes. What? Was he planning to sleep at a time like this? Maybe he dealt with these situations daily but not me. Not when my sister’s life and God knows how many others were at stakes. I couldn’t come to terms with the fact they forced me to continue this “dream vacation from hell”. I don’t know how this would all end but one thing was for sure: no one would ever say again that my life was boring, I reflected cynically.

  Within two minutes, the handsome agent was fast asleep. I tried to settle more comfortably into my narrow economy seat, but my arm kept rubbing against his leather jacket. I tried to match the slow and even pace of his breathing, but it was useless. With the overdose of sugar and caffeine in the Coke I had drank earlier, I’d ensured the perfect recipe to stay awake and nervous.

  I couldn’t stop fidgeting because I was bored and high-strung at the same time. As a solution; I took out my journal. Whenever I wrote in it, I found that it helped me to “talk” to someone I trusted and who would not judge me.

  Sorry, Josie, but this is not just about me keeping my promise to you. By the way, I forgot to thank you for offering me this journal. It’s nice to talk to you without looking like a total looney. So far, I found that it gives my aching soul a safe place to unload. Putting the words on the page helps me see more clearly what has happened since this journey began. Yes, I give it to you—God knows you’ve been hammering this one on me—“It isn’t just a trip, it’s a journey.” But still, I don’t know where this is all going. As far as I can tell, it’s either Istanbul dead or alive or in a prison somewhere. Ok. I know I’m being melodramatic, but I’d like to see you in my place.

  My scalp tingles from your nagging above. Geez, can’t you give me a break? I’m starting to believe in paranormal occurrences or my insanity, thanks to you.

  Ok. What do I think of Steinfield?

  Well, you’ve seen him, right? Not my type? I don’t know because I go all girly whenever he’s standing within a ten feet radius. Can even locate him blindfolded on my internal radar just because of the effect he has on my blood pressure and heart rate. The man’s pull on me is potent, and to make matters worse, I think his interest in me is strictly related to the fact I have gotten myself involved by accident in some terrorist attack plan. It’s basically what it boils down to. I’m sure that once he gets his hands on his men and dismantle the bombing plans, he’ll forget me within an eye blink. But still, in all honesty, I could be wrong. He’s a tough man to figure out. Sometimes, I catch him looking as if he cares, but it’s very fleeting. If I were in his shoes I know for certain I wouldn’t let myself fall for someone under suspicion of crimes.

  But Josie, he affects me like no other man I’ve met. We laugh, we argue, we exchange a few accidental touches, and despite this horrific trip, I’m ashamed to admit I’m all excited when he’s around, whi
ch is, in fact, all the time. I don’t recognize myself anymore. I’m afraid to lose grip on what’s real and what’s the product of these unusual circumstances. Is his discrete personal interest in me the product of my imagination or worse: wishful thinking?

  “Hey. You’re writing a novel?” he said with a smirk leaning forward toward the journal.

  Oh God, had he…?

  I felt my cheeks burn while my hand held my pen, frozen in mid-sentence. Could I have been more mortified? Had he seen what I’d been writing a moment ago? If he hadn’t, he was not letting it show. Perhaps I should also pretend the same. I kept my eyes downcast, unable to face him. I didn’t want him to notice how much he made me nervous and excited at the same time. Damn, I wished I was positive if he had. Was he gentlemen enough to have refrained? Then again, he might judge that reading my journal may bring him some enlightening information. All for professional reasons, of course. He was, after all, an FBI agent. From the looks of utter veneration I saw plastered on the rookies officer’s faces in the Venetian Security office, he must excel at his job for his reputation to reach such an international status.

  I pretended, for my peace of mind, that he read nothing.

  “No, just killing time.”

  I leaned down in the limited, cramped space of my stiff narrow seat to put away my journal and pen in my purse and settle to sleep to avoid more questions. After closing my eyes, I worked on timing my breath to an invisible metronome.

  Although I could not blame him for trying to do his best to rid the world of the likes of Rachid, I was less than thrilled with the way the authorities forced me to play bait to attract this terrorist while at the same time keeping me in the dark on many aspects of the operations involved. For sure, this must have been unethical. Although I must admit he had been a gentleman so far and had defended me as much as possible under the circumstances. But what alternative was there? Interrupt my trip, go back home and wait to see if these terrorists plans turn to reality? Risk the safety of my sister? Could I live with myself if any of my loved one were on the receiving end of these attacks? Just the idea that they watched my every moves made me sick. I was already of a suspicious nature, so this situation threatened to send me in full fledge paranoia.

  He’d been back asleep for the last thirty minutes and now his breathing was speeding up and there was a frown knotting his thick eyebrows.

  I reached for his hand resting on the armrest between us. Although I didn’t want to wake him up, I wanted to indulge in the feel of his warm skin because I had an irresistible need to touch him. Stupid, I know. Was it lust? Infatuation? Surely not. Was I so desperate for male contact or attention? No way, but with Steinfield there was an undeniable connection between us. Was this related to these strange circumstances? Maybe. My innocent caress on his hand caused his rapid breathing to slow down and the rumble to stop, leaving him more at peace.

  I smiled, allowing myself to fantasize that he didn’t want me to leave me alone on the trip because he could protect me better this way. Although I might have been just a job for him, I suspected that he had pulled quite a few strings to ensure that I was not treated too harshly, even though I was considered to be a dangerous suspect or even a criminal.

  What would my parents think if they knew what I had gotten myself into? Unlike Steinfield, I hadn’t suffered the lost of family members, but then, my parents had seldom been home together when I was a kid. As a result, I didn’t develop a close-knit relationship with them. My father was the most absent of the two. How often did he orchestrate his flights to match his mistresses’s schedules, I’ll never know.

  After a little rest, I woke up stressed out with unanswered questions tossing around in my head. They needed immediate answers, and I wouldn’t wait until we landed to have them. Twisting in my seat, I gripped his shoulder and shook him.

  “Hmm?”

  “I have questions I want to ask you, so please wake up.” I tapped his arm a few more time to show him I meant business.

  The sleepy but familiar slow grin formed on his lips.

  “Can’t get enough of me, Princess?” He turned, full of a new self-confidence I hadn’t noticed earlier. “And I thought you wanted to sleep with me.” The man was teasing me for sure, but the double entendre did not escape me.

  “Listen, since the body scanners, metal detector devices and luggage pressurization protocol have detected nothing suspicious, am I to understand that International Civil Aviation ensuring airports security is useless?”

  Turning to face me better, he ran his hand on his eyes and then continued to worsen the mess of his hair.

  “I don’t know, but I have my orders and you will comply with instructions and continue the trip exactly as planned. The Interpol will not take the chance of risking more attacks in the meantime.” His tone hinted of his inner conflict about it.

  “There’s something else that’s not right here.”

  He didn’t say a word but looked at me as if he knew well enough he wouldn’t like what I would say next.

  “So if the authorities of several European countries are working together on this affair, why haven’t you guys been able to find that illicit equipment or this Rachid?” Yeah, touché, Agent Steinfield.

  He took a few moments before answering, lost in the contemplation of the empty seat in front of him. His deliberation finished, he turned, a flicker of apprehension darkening his features.

  “You’re going to have to trust me on this, Mara.”

  I should have been more discouraged by his request, but the intensity of his eyes stirred something warm and comforting that I didn’t expect. He had called me by my given name for the first time. I liked it beyond reason. He had pronounced it with care. Yet, I should be cautious not to let this novelty make me lose my train of thought. If only he had used it in better circumstances.

  “I’m being used as a bait to catch this terrorist, right?”

  “Yes.”

  At least the man was honest. Brutally honest. I averted my face to look out the windows, still feeling his eyes on me. There was so many things running through my mind I almost jerked when he spoke next.

  “Want a piece of candy?” he asked with a matter-of-fact tone.

  I turned back to him, incredulous about his timing. He was already rummaging for something in his jacket. He offered me a red little treat wrapped in a clear cellophane. Looked like a cherry flavored one.

  I chuckled. The man never ceased to take me off guard. Was he doing this on purpose to divert my attention?

  “Hmm. Ok.” At this point I was so famished that I could have eaten anything.

  He steadied my outstretched hand in a slow but deliberate caress before dropping one.

  As soon as I popped it in my mouth, I almost spat it. I turned to face him with my eyes about to bulge out of their sockets.

  He guffawed, full catty teeth out with a happy expression in his eyes that was genuine and unbridled.

  “Yeah, I like them fiery hot.” He winked, still snickering.

  I suspected that the sly fox was talking about more than candy. He pressed the call button for a flight attendant and requested two glass of water for me. After downing the water, I was relieved to see other flight attendants at the front of the aircraft heading our way with the food cart. I gobbled down the dill cucumber salad and Hungarian goulash like an ogre. The dark chocolate cake disappeared without leaving a single crumb in its square plastic container. Satiated, I closed my eyes and let the even sound of the jets lull me to sleep.

  “Hey, Sleepy Head, we’ll be landing soon,” he said, somewhat ill at ease.

  When I opened my eyes, I noticed that I had shifted myself to rest my head against his shoulder. I hoped I hadn’t drooled on his leather jacket.

  Our IT1460 flight landed at Ferenc Liszt Airport in Budapest at 3:40 PM. Like the other passengers taking the Paris-Istanbul VSOE, I would join the group for an overnight in town in one of the city center
hotels.

  Chapter 15

  August 28th, Budapest, Hotel Gresham, Late Afternoon

  I'd seen pictures of Budapest and looked forward to an evening stroll to admire the city lights. The Four Season Gresham, with its central location, would be perfect to explore. During the taxi ride from the airport to the hotel, we passed elegant streets along the Danube river rendering—I agreed—the Hungarian capital one of the most splendid city in Europe. We turned around a small rectangular park before arriving at our destination. I’d read in my travel guide about its art nouveau marble facade, featuring a flat stone bust of 16th century Sir Gresham in a cameo framing over its portico entrance. The landmark dated from 1907. Situated at the end of the Chain Bridge, it offered panoramic vistas of the Danube. Its decorative ironwork and stain glasses begged for photography.

  Josie and I had booked two rooms for our night here. We figured that it would be a nice break before returning to the limited space of our train cabins during the next leg of our VSOE trip. The receptionist at the front desk was confused by my travel companion since they expected a female. After a brief explanation, we were both handed our room keys which were next to each other.

  The spacious and modern room offered a priceless panoramic view of the Chain Bridge spanning across the Danube, which separated Buda from its city sister; Pest. It was almost strange not having him share my space.

  My room, a soft gold and beige color scheme, boasted a cozy sitting area facing the bay window. I couldn’t have asked for a better city view. I was in desperate need of fresh air. After taking a quick shower, I changed into a pair of jeans and a cashmere moss green sweater, a loan from Josie. Next, I picked up my purse and camera and was about to head out of the room when someone knocked on my door.

  Steinfield barged in with a cross expression on his face. Didn’t even wait for an invitation. He had his SDR devise in his hands to sweep the room for bugs. A moment later, he was running his little black box over every lamps, phone and furniture before repeating the process in my bathroom.