“No, boss. I cannot.” Distracted, my agent almost sideswipes a tractor-trailer.
I get her point and lean back in my seat.
While I pray we arrive in time to save my loyal, yet misguided Guinivere, Trever shows me his tracking screen. “Your wife is in her car and headed for Dulles. Don’t worry, we’ll be in place long before she gets there.”
“Fuck!” Rho slams on the brakes as traffic in front of us stops abruptly.
“Hang on.” Swerving, she bounces over the meridian.
By the time I unclench my teeth and take a deep breath, another car joins us in the ditch.
When it stops, a bearded millennial exits his car, blood running from his nose. “Please help us. My wife is in labor.”
“Ah, hell.”
By the time the ambulances show up, Chester Arthur Dillon has arrived.
Despite the warmth of witnessing a new birth, a cold chill runs down my spine as we reenter our vehicle.
About a mile down the road, Trever bangs his fist on the door. “Dammit. Our men lost sight of Gwen.”
Brain synapses fire and yet they refuse to move his statement into the reality column. “How… Where?”
“Your missus collapsed in front of the airport’s check-in line. Ink and Hunt ran to help, but the TSA detained them. By the time they got free, she was gone.”
My gut churns as I try not to shout. “People don’t just disappear. What about the security cam footage?”
“Some kind of RF glitch. It lasted long enough for them to remove her from the terminal. Hold on… oh fuck.”
Damn the irony. Six months into the future, the government boys would’ve deployed Gwen’s latest technology, preventing this very thing from happening.
Trever shouts out from the front seat. “They think she boarded a private jet linked to Ledbetter.”
“Texting our pilot.” While Slate thumbs his phone, Lucky catches my eye.
“Phase two, mate. She knew this might happen.”
My back molars grind as we pass under the green sign for Dulles Airport. Ten fucking miles. God knows what could be happening to her.
If I had, for one second, thought she would end up in the clutches of one of our country’s most wanted criminals, I would never have agreed to this harebrained scheme. I have no one to blame but myself.
“The tower gave us a priority slot. We can take off the moment we board.” Slate, on my left, studies my face, no doubt wondering if I can keep my emotions in check.
A new thought makes me want to hurl. “I had to surrender my passport to the bail bondsman. The TSA will never let me leave.”
Not missing a beat, the Patten man passes me a new one. “Dr. Wulf already thought of that.”
I don’t inquire where or how he managed to acquire such an excellent fake. That way, if anyone asks, I can claim plausible deniability.
After we pass through security, we race over the tarmac and climb the aircraft steps. Inside, Rhonda, Ink, Trev, and Hunt greet Jack, Suds, Hands, and Wheels.
Trever points out a blip on his phone app’s radar screen as the jet lifts off. “This is Ledbetter’s private Lear. We should assume he has her. According to the flight plan, they’re headed for Belarus. However, we shouldn’t assume he’ll land at a public airport. More than likely, he has a private strip nearby.”
When the fasten your seatbelt sign goes off, I motion everyone to the conference table. “My team, find all new and old fields in the area, including those used in World War II. See if any exist near residences with ties to Ledbetter.”
As my agents scour databases, Slate and his team hand out gear. “We may need to hike ten or more clicks once we touch down.”
While I trust Gwen’s almost supernatural abilities, my stomach hurts from worry. This damn terrorist did not rise to numero uno on the FBI’s list for no reason. He is cutthroat, lethal, and cunning. He’ll stop at nothing to achieve his goals. When I find him, my only choice is to take him out. He will never come after her again.
