“GPS disruptors. From the palm of your hand, you can target the whole world, a jet, or a city block.” His admission ignites all my synapses. He could hack satellites, blind pilots, or confuse Seal Teams. Hundreds or thousands could die. Governments could topple.
My face pales. Holy shit. Thank God for the circumstances which brought me here. Should Ledbetter sell this weapon, it would be devastating, especially in the hands of the Russians.
The arms dealer smirks at my stunned silence. “Make no mistake. I expect results, Dr. Wulf. A project planner with your intelligence will appreciate my methods. I have assembled two groups of scientists. Those who reach the finish line first will be rewarded. The others, I have no use for. Do we understand each other?”
Swallowing hard, I bob my head. While his news creates an unexpected risk, it is not urgent, and for now, I choose to ignore it.
“I hear you thinking.” The lizard slithers closer to my face. “Don’t you positively love reality TV? I especially enjoy howparticipants are allowed to vote someone off their team. I have no patience for losers. Are we clear?”
“Yup.” Translation? If I try to stall or mislead my researchers, I die.
Girrll, this guy is a nutcase. You are way out of your depth.
Thanking my Captain Obvious, I try not to picture my dead bodyand focus on Ledbetter.
He appears to be enjoying my discomfort. “Even if you are an excellent bed partner, it will not save you from your coworkers. Any attempt to sabotage the project will result in your team voting for your departure. Their lives and yours depend on doing your absolute best.”
Lips tight, I close my eyes and nod. Holy shit, if this asshole can disrupt GPS, how in God’s name will Wulf and his people track me? I suppose they could use radar, but this jet is merely a blip in the sky amongst hundreds if not thousands of others. A willing government, a well-paid man in the airport tower, and we could land with a brand new identity.
Full of nervous energy, I recite the periodic table backward. The FBI and Patten Securities believed in my almost flawless plan, and now I must trust them to adhere to it.
I wake to the clunk of the landing gear. After the plane descends through the clouds, it skims a lush forest and barely misses hitting a medieval castle.
Its wall, high enough to repel the Mongols, disappears as the tires hit the tarmac. Gravity forces our backs to the seats as the pilot brakes on the short runway.
According to my scenario, Patten’s airplane should’ve landed first. Since Ledbetter was able to disrupt their GPS, I can only guess what’s happening.
The wily terrorist pulls me from my seat and points toward the exit sign by the cockpit. “Ladies first.”
Back on solid ground, surrounded by trees, a giant bumblebee buzzes overhead. Not an insect at all, my chest tightens when the drone flies over our space.
Clearly, I underestimated my enemy and am in urgent need of a revised strategy.
Chapter 19
“You have to be like wolves: strong alone and in solidarity with the pack.” ~Unknown
Axel
The sun beats down on the sidewalk where I pace in front of the Patten Securities building. I feel bad about leaving Bear behind, but we don’t have time to include him in our plans. Besides, he loves Callie’s kids and will be safer with them.
While I text her feeding instructions, Lucky and Slate stand in the shade behind me, their thumbs busy tapping their phones.
We need to find Gwen before she does something I can’t fix.Where’s our ride?Maybe, my boss got wind of my plans and suspended my team. When our SUV pulls to the curb and squeals to a stop, I grin at Rhonda behind the wheel.
“Hurry up. Get in.” She leans out the driver’s side window and waves.
After we pile into the back seat, Trever, sitting next to the feisty redhead, grips his tablet, and laughs. “Better buckle up. You know what they say about lady drivers.”
“I may let you live to regret that statement.” The competent female agent flips him the bird, turns on the sirens, then stomps on the gas.
Caught off-guard, my two hired guns reach for the grab handles. Gravity pulls me to the right, tires squeal, and as the sea of traffic parts, she winks in the rearview mirror. “ETA to airport, thirty minutes.”
A punch to my right bicep makes me wince and I turn toward a serious-faced Lochlan. “Mate, your wife’s still at her flat, packin’. We have the coordinates Danbury sent her. We’ll arrive at the airport long before she does. She’ll be under surveillance the whole time. We won’t lose her.”
The FBI whizz-kid twists over the cup holder and glances back between the seats. “Gwen forwarded me a link. I’m having one of my friends verify it’s not AI-generated. If this video is real, I’m sure the DA will drop the charges.”
Right now, I don’t give a flying fig about the murder rap. As the minutes drag on in slow motion, my frustration erupts, and I tap Rhonda on the shoulder. “Can’t you go any faster?”
