“Okay,” Officer Petty said, clearly trying to calm Zach down with her smooth tone. “I can only imagine how freaked out this has you, but I have to ask these questions. Anything you know could help us.”
Zach understood what she was saying and felt the wind blow out of his sails as he took a calmer stance. “I know. He’s my best friend, and I’m pretty fucking worried. Sorry about the language.”
“So, what can you tell me?” Officer Petty asked.
Zach quickly described what had happened the entire morning.
“If anything, he seemed better this morning than yesterday.”
“What happened yesterday?” the officer questioned.
“We were at a television shoot for RNN, and he’d passed out before going on camera. The doctors said he was fine, so we hadn’t worried about it.” Zach watched as the officer jotted in her notebook again. “You don’t think these two are related?”
“Who knows?” Officer Petty said. “I’m gathering all the facts I can right now. The more information we have, the easier it will be to find him.”
Right then, Ms. Z approached the group. Zach introduced Officer Petty to the entire group.
“Nice to meet you, Officer,” Ms. Z said. “I was in Vice for the NOPD for about a decade before I became an independent contractor.”
“Ahh, so you make the big bucks now,” Officer Petty said.
“Anyway,” Ms. Z continued, bypassing the officer’s comment, “the security feed in here is pathetic—too many blind spots. There are cameras on all the doors, and no one forcibly removed Mr. Bond from the area. I’m going to go see if I can access the airport security feeds and do the same thing.”
“Why don’t I come with you?” Officer Petty said. “Maybe I can help grease the wheels around this place. I know pretty much everyone who works in security here.”
“That would be appreciated,” Ms. Z said, following Officer Petty out of the lounge.
Once Zach was alone with Ric and Orr, he whispered, “Do either of you know anything?”
“Nah, dude,” Orr said.
“Me neither,” Ric added. “You?”
“Nope. I texted him. Still haven’t heard from him. I’m about to text his best friend, Stephanie, to see if she knows anything. I was putting it off, hoping we’d find Ethan hanging out signing autographs somewhere in the airport.”
“This is so fu—”
Orr was cut off by a rolling, thunderous explosion. The sound was so loud that Zach’s ears went numb as a viewing window facing the tarmac exploded inward, showering a section of the lounge with shards of glass. The sudden bloody carnage in front of him shocked him as he was tackled to the ground by Ms. A., who shielded his body from the flying debris.
Zach was suddenly jerked upward by a pair of firm hands. He was still trying to process what had just happened. Ms. A. ushered him toward a side door, heading him into the belly of the airport. He ran behind a man from Peregrine Airlines security through the maze of halls before finding himself in an inner room. Orr was already inside, and Ric came into the room seconds later, escorted by Mr. J., Hightower and Rawlins.
“What the hell was that?” Hightower said to no one when he finally caught his breath.
“Still finding out, sir,” Mr. J. said, talking into a walkie-talkie he had on him.
Moments later, a Peregrine Airlines employee came into the room, escorting a politician Zach had seen a few times on the news. The asshat was one of those good-old-boys White Republican racists. The older man had cut marks on his face. Nothing fatal, but the man would need some stitching…and soon.
“Is everyone okay?” the Peregrine Airlines employee asked. “Anyone injured? Besides you, senator,” she said to the politician.
Mr. J. looked everyone over and said, “Shook up, but no injuries here.”
“J, it’s Z. Come in?” Zach heard Mr. J.’s walkie-talkie squawk.
“Z, it’s J. What the hell was that? Over.”
“Hold, J.” A pause over the walkie-talkie was brief before Z started talking again. “It looks like an airline exploded on takeoff. Still getting information from Federal Aviation Administration—FAA. It looks like it was Peregrine Flight 923 traveling from New Orleans to Seattle. Holy fuck!”
It took Zach a second to realize what the “holy fuck” was about. But from the grave look on Mr. J.’s face, he clued in immediately.
