They weren’t going through the airport.
Dang it,these mercenaries had thought ofeverything.
The propellers whined and sucked the wind into their blades, blowing Sarah’s bangs around her face as the jerks poked and prodded her to climb the short staircase to the plane.
The plane had twelve seats, six rows of one on each side of the center aisle.
The sneering mercenary, a living example of your-face-will-freeze-like-that, duct-taped Sarah to the seat, winding the silver bands around her body and the seatback like a mummy, even though one of the others was complaining in Russian that the upholstery was going to be gooey afterward.
So much for her secret weapon of being able to speak Russian to gather information. They were talking about gooey seats and the lack of alcohol in the plane’s snack cabinets.
Sarah sat near the back of the plane, and Blaze was strapped to his chair in the front row, presumably where it was easier to keep an eye on him.
The engines’ drone ascended in pitch, the whine becoming a scream.
Outside her porthole window, the ground slid backward as the plane rolled, coasting toward the runway.
Dang it,dang it,she’d let themkidnapher.
Maybe she should have thrown herself head-first over the side of the stairway and broken her neck on the tarmac rather than allowing them to get her on the plane.
She was about to find out.
An hour into the flight, when the mercenaries had eaten all the chips and peanuts and chugged the soda, some of them slept. One snored so loudly she could hear his snorts over the plane’s droning engines.
At the front of the plane, Blaze was leaning his head against the plane’s wall and looked to be asleep.
Conserving her energy was probably a good idea.
Sarah leaned her head against the fuselage and rested her eyes.
She couldn’t say she slept, but the three hours until the plane’s nose tipped down to land in New Jersey went faster.
But she still listened to those jerks talking in Russian.
Even though her brain was screamingNo-no-no-Jesus-save-me-noinside her echoing skull, she listened.
And they talked because they thought she couldn’t understand them.
“Taking them alive was too much trouble. We will charge White Russians double for losing four soldiers and two more going to infirmary.”
Served them right.
“I’m not sorry to see Vasily dead. He punched me last week for cheering for wrong football team.”
Soccer.The guy said football, but Sarah had watched the Olympics enough to know he meant soccer.
“Blaze Robinson is the guy who was supposed to get us weapons to do job next year. I don’t think he’ll be getting them for us now.”
That voice was the throaty growl of the sneering guy who’d grabbed her, probably. Sarah squeezed her eyes closed and concentrated on their voices speaking Russian like she was turning her ears all the way around like a cat.
“What do we need more weapons for? We have plenty of guns,” another voice said.
“We needbetterweapons. Drones. Bombs. Distance munitions. Those amateur pipe bombs didn’t go off last time, and the mob was a disaster. This is what happens when we let amateurs plan the strategy. They were incompetent, unable to plan even an uprising and coup. It was embarrassing.”
“Trying the same exact strategy again is predictable. I don’t like it.”
“Same, butbetter.This time,wewill be in the crowd and finish the job, and our soldiers on the buildings will make sure no one stops us.”
