boots sounded loud despite the distant groan of the early morning commercial flights already landing and taking off. There wasn’t as much activity on this part of the airport. Yet. But that wouldn’t be the case for long. Very soon there would be a lot of coming and going.
Logan’s heart began to beat in his throat as he neared the diplomat’s hangar.
Another man in familiar black tactical rounded the corner of the hangar doing what appeared to be a circuit around the building.
Everest Security.
Damn.
Logan ducked his head, turned and walked parallel to the hangar. He lengthened his stride, not very keen on being in visual distance of the mercenary.
He reached the front corner of the opposite hangar and glanced right.
The doors stood open. Inside was a sleek, maroon colored jet with the exterior door open. A few men loitered about with barely disguised bulges on their hips.
That was a lot of security for an empty plane.
Fuck.
Logan turned left again and ducked into the neighboring hangar.
What were the chances they were wrong? Was Skilton and Kelsey in there?
Logan jabbed at his phone, dialing Zora’s phone.
She picked up after one ring.
“I’m arriving now,” she said.
“I think he’s here,” Logan whispered.
The bastard was right there, and still Logan couldn’t get to him.
25.
Wednesday. Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. Washington, DC.
Kelsey sat in the darkness sucking down deep breaths.
Holy shit.
She shivered and glanced toward the front of the plane.
Skilton hadn’t threatened her. He’d been polite and direct at times. Still, she’d heard the threats and knew them for what they were.
If she didn’t make it off this plane her options upon landing would be to fall nicely in line or die. She hadn’t come this far in her career to turn traitor.
Right now she needed to calm the fuck down.
Skilton hadn’t noticed her now perforated restraints.
There was time yet.
Did she wait, or did she make a move?
It felt as though a hundred bugs were crawling over her skin.
She couldn’t stay here. Not a moment more than necessary.
Kelsey twisted her arms, applying pressure to the restraints. Her wrists burned and then snap. The plastic fell off one wrist. She grabbed the other cuff and yanked, breaking free.
She froze, listening for movement or any indication she’d drawn interest from others.
Nothing.
Carefully, she crawled back against the bulkhead and inched the window up a bit. Before she made a move, she had to know where the hell she was.
The window looked out into a hangar. The sky was gray, lightening with the early morning dawn. At least one man was out there, probably more keeping watch.
She peered toward the entrance to the hangar, but couldn’t see much beyond the open doors and tarmac.
Out there was freedom.
If she got off the plane and away, she could escape. She had faith in herself. The trick would be that first twenty or so yards. Her captors would be restricted. Pulling guns and shooting would draw the wrong kind of attention.
She could use that in her favor.
She just had to get out quietly. The emergency exits would create too much noise for a fast exit. Besides, she’d never trained for something like that. No, better to go out the already open hatch.
Kelsey spent another moment collecting herself and breathing deep.
A long creak made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
Someone was coming.
She scooted back to the chair and turned so that she faced it. Clasping her hands round the leg of the chair, she bent her head forward to cover any sign that she was free.
Another creak.
Slow, heavy footsteps came closer and closer.
The night guard.
Kelsey held her breath.
The form of the night watchman passed her like a phantom out of the night.
If she moved now, he’d see her.
She had to take him down. It would mean one less person to stop her escape. But she’d have to surprise him and do it quietly.
Did she dare risk it? Or was she better off bolting?
Kelsey could do this.
The man entered the rear galley. It was about as private as she could get back here.
She reached down and broke the bonds on her ankles then stood. Her muscles protested, but she ignored them as she crept toward the back of the plane.
The unmistakable sound of a can of soda opening was loud in the quiet.
Her heart sang, recognizing the opportunity. At the same time, she resolved herself to this act. She didn’t want to kill people, but she also recognized that Skilton’s crew needed to be stopped. They’d tortured Dixon and would