The Escape (US Marshals #1) - Lisa Harris Page 0,9

move.

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

Another step toward the front of the plane gave her a better view out the window where she could see the broken-off section below them. Her stomach turned again.

“Riley’s still in his seat, but considering the angle of his neck and the fact he isn’t moving, he might be dead.”

“And Barrick?”

She felt a shiver slide down her spine as she shifted her gaze to where Barrick had been sitting. “The way the back of the plane fell, I can’t see his seat.”

She couldn’t panic. Not yet. He was shackled and couldn’t have gone far. More than likely, he’d been thrown from his seat and was dead like Riley. She moved cautiously to another one of the windows and searched the ground for signs of him as far as she could see through the dense forest. But there was no sign of the man.

“I can’t see any footprints from this angle,” she said, turning back to Jonas. “But I can’t be sure.”

“We’re going to have a serious problem if Barrick managed to vanish. This guy is desperate—and smart. We both read his file. He used a toothbrush to make a shiv and killed a fellow inmate, and that was after he murdered two people.”

She nodded. “So worst-case scenario he’s alive and escaped, but even if that’s true, he couldn’t have gone far. More than likely he’s injured, and on top of that, he’s shackled.”

She slowly approached the cockpit, worried about what she was about to find. If the pilots were alive, or at least conscious, she should have heard them.

The cockpit door had buckled in the crash, but it was surprisingly easy to open. Blood covered the front of the pilot. A tree branch had shattered the window and impaled his copilot. Nausea bubbled in her gut, reaching up into her throat. She checked the pulse of each man but there was nothing. Just lifeless faces staring back at her. A satellite phone lay on the floor between them, the screen crushed.

She fumbled for the radio and pressed the button. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is JPATS prisoner transport flight 342 en route from Seattle to Denver. Can anyone hear me?”

She counted to ten, waiting for a reply. Nothing.

“Repeating, Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is flight 342 en route from Seattle to Denver with United States Marshals. We have just crashed. Location unknown. This is a prisoner transport plane. Pilots are both dead and possibly one prisoner has escaped. Need assistance.”

The radio buzzed, then went silent.

“Jonas,” she called out to her partner. Her heart was beating frantically. “I can’t get through on the radio.”

“Try again.”

Panic threatened to engulf her. She was used to high-stress situations. Ones that put her life at risk on a daily basis. In an early-morning raid, there was never any way to know what was going to be on the other side. Whether they’d be met with live rounds of fire or a submissive suspect. This was no different. She just needed to stay focused and remember her training.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday.” She repeated the information, praying that someone would hear her. There had to be someone out there listening. Or maybe someone had seen the plane go down? Except she had no idea where they were. It was possible that no one had seen the crash.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?”

She stepped back into the cabin, nodding. There was no time to feel sorry for herself. “Communications are out. There’s no way to send a message.”

“I found my phone,” Jonas said. “There’s no signal, but there should be an emergency beacon on the plane.”

He was right. The airplanes sent messages during the flight including latitude, longitude, altitude, and airspeed. The authorities would track them here and send someone to rescue them.

“They’ll track us using breadcrumb data,” Jonas said. “On top of that, sensors will automatically transmit a distress signal when the crash is registered.”

“But we can’t stay here. If Barrick managed to escape, we have to go after him.” She stared at the seat that had him trapped. “But first we’ve got to get you out of here.”

“Are you injured?” Jonas asked.

She brushed off his concern. “Just a few bruises. I’ll be fine.”

She stood in front of him again, trying to determine exactly what had happened. The bar from the seat in front of him had jammed across his leg, pinning him down. She tried pulling on it from in front of the seat but couldn’t get enough leverage to move it. She tried slowly from another angle. The