port-side window as the aircraft taxied up to three big silver SUVs parked next to a large refueling truck in a remote corner of the tarmac. Four men in ground crew coveralls stood by the truck, and as the plane came to a stop, a total of eight men in dark suits climbed out of the SUVs.
Court pegged these guys as MI6. He had done his own share of deliveries to the UK back in his days with the CIA’s Special Activities Division, and he recognized the protocol.
Court was a singleton asset now, a contract agent of the CIA, not an officer. A somewhat reluctant and only occasional team player. But this had been Court Gentry’s world once.
The out-of-the-way airport. The late-night rendezvous on the tarmac. The hooded prisoner with no clue as to where the hell he was.
The big guys in suits, guns at the ready, flitting eyes scanning the night.
Yes, he remembered this life, and he didn’t much miss it.
* * *
• • •
Doug Spano stepped down the jet stairs and walked towards the three SUVs and the men standing around them. He noticed they had dispersed around the vehicles, a man at each wheel, keeping 360-degree security on the area, and this he was glad to see. He knew MI6 would be ready to deal with any threats.
The ground crew moved the fuel truck closer to the Gulfstream and a man pulled on a hose, taking it over to the belly near the starboard-side wing to attach it to the aircraft to start the flow of jet fuel.
Three other men climbed out and began helping with the hose.
Spano shook the hand of a balding man in a black suit who had stepped forward. “You’re Palmer?” he asked.
“I am. And you must be Scott.”
“That’s me.” They shook hands.
The Brit smiled. “I do love how you Agency Yanks only use first-name pseudonyms. It does make it fun and jocular.”
Spano stayed on mission. “You’ve searched the ground crew?”
With a sigh the man said, “Of course we have, mate.”
Spano nodded, then pointed back to the Gulfstream. “If you’re ready for him, I’ll have him brought down.”
“Quite ready. Thank you very much, indeed.”
The CIA officer waved to one of his men at the top of the stairs, and slowly the hooded prisoner was led out of the aircraft and down the steps.
* * *
• • •
In the back of the Gulfstream, Court continued looking out the window at the transaction, thinking about his past. The security cordon around the SUVs remained vigilant, eyes scanning the far reaches of the lights. The four men in the ground crew walked around the refueler, dealing with the hose.
Court watched the early-morning activity, only taking his eyes away when the flight attendant appeared next to him.
“Refueling should take about twenty minutes. We have some pretty fair schnitzel and potatoes we picked up in Munich earlier tonight. Will take me ten minutes to reheat them. Interested in a very late dinner?”
Court nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He glanced out the window again, ready to get back in the air, but then a trace of movement in the distance, beyond the lights of the SUVs, caught his eye.
It was an airport truck; on its side it said Lavatory Services, and behind it a catering truck appeared. Bringing up the rear was an unmarked black van.
The men pulling security saw the movement, as well, but there was a moment’s hesitation in their response, probably while they conferred with the Americans to find out if these newcomers were here to service the aircraft.
Court spun his head back to the refueling truck. All four men were behind it, out of his view, and this fired off threat alarms and warning lights in his well-tuned combat brain.
He saw a pair of flashes from the darkness beyond the tarmac lights, and instantly a pair of men by the silver SUVs fell to the ground.
The refueling crew ran back into view from behind the truck. The men held rifles now, obviously pulled from inside their vehicle, and together they opened fire on the Brits and Americans on the tarmac as they advanced on them.
The booms and chatter of gunfire rocked the night.
More flashes from the darkness. The Lavatory Services truck and the black van skidded to a stop behind the refueling truck.
Court leapt to his feet and pushed the flight attendant down to the floor, shielding the woman with his body. He heard full-auto gunfire tearing into the fuselage now, puncturing windows, sending