“Yes,” Abby countered, “because obviously a plane is never on the ground, like it is…say…now.”
“Oh, please.” Townsend shrugged off her worries. “If they know she’s on this plane, they’ll simply shoot the whole thing down.”
“Oh,” Bex and I said at the same time.
Not. A. Comforting. Thought.
Maybe that was where the feeling in my gut was coming from. Knowing the Circle wanted me alive had been terrifying. Knowing the Circle wanted me dead and didn’t care who died with me was a whole new level of fear.
“You get some sleep, Abigail,” Townsend told her. “I’ll keep watch.”
“That’s very gracious of you, but being that we’re on an airplane . ..”
Even after the plane took off, they kept debating security perimeters and protocols. I’m pretty sure they argued for forty-five minutes about where the best place for cappuccino was near the Colosseum.
Finally Townsend said, “Always a loose cannon, aren’t you, Abigail? Taking chances.”
“I seem to remember one of those chances saving your hide in Buenos Aires three years ago.”
“Oh, Abigail…still bringing up Buenos Aires?”
“Well, you’re still alive because of it.”
It should have been easy to curl up in the plush leather seat and rest. (Grandma Morgan has always claimed that I am a world-class sleeper.) But every time I closed my eyes, I heard the music floating through my mind, the new soundtrack to my life. I turned my head to the window, but all I saw was the image of the sniper’s knife reflected in the darkened glass.
Finally, I tried to feign sleep. I would have sworn it didn’t work, but five minutes later, someone shook my shoulder.
I bolted upright and grabbed the hand that held me, twisted the wrist backward at an impossible angle. It was a second too late before I realized the hand was semi-friendly.
“Not bad, Ms. Morgan,” Townsend said, unfazed. He didn’t seem to be in even a little pain as he freed himself and told me, “Get your shoes on. We’re here.”
* * *
Somewhere over the Atlantic, Abby and Townsend must have called a truce. Or arm wrestled. Or compromised, because it was impossible to tell who’d won. They both seemed equally unhappy with our arrangement as I climbed down the stairs of the plane and onto the sunny tarmac below.
“You’re with me, Cammie.” Aunt Abby looped her arm through mine in a gesture that had nothing to do with girlie bonding. It was more like, They’ll have to go through me to get to you.
Townsend had arranged for a van, and the five of us crawled inside like a totally dysfunctional family. Townsend drove.
“Via del Corso is faster,” Abby said in a singsong voice. Townsend ignored her.
I sat in the back, wedged between Bex and Macey, staring at cobblestone streets lined with ancient buildings. There were bicycles and old women selling flowers, scooters and police cars that drove through the city with haunting, piercing sirens that caused the hair on my arms to stand on end. But nothing felt familiar.
“Anything, Cam?” Macey asked, turning to me.
I shook my head. “I think I need to walk.”
“Not here,” Abby and Townsend said at the same time. There was something especially terrifying about hearing them agree.
“But Dr. Steve says that music and sensory stimuli are essential in memory recall.”
“I’ve never heard him say that,” Bex said.
“Well…he told me,” I said.
Townsend shrugged. “With all due respect to the good doctor, I highly suspect that he’s a moron.”
That didn’t sound very respectful, but it hardly seemed like the moment to say so. And besides, there wasn’t time, because Agent Townsend was parking the van and announcing, “We’re here.”