down and rolled toward the executive terminal. Nothing else was moving. The small jet appeared to be the last plane cleared, the rest in a holding pattern or being rerouted.
As he neared Concourse A, Jessie went to Google Maps on her cell phone, which displayed the satellite image of the runway they were traveling at breakneck speed, and the layout of the concourse.
“Which gate?” she asked.
“Forty-eight.”
She magnified the map. “That’s the terminal up ahead. You need to turn left before you get there. That’ll put you on the south side of the building. Gate 48 is at the east end, closest to us. You need to be careful they don’t see you driving past.”
He turned before he got close enough to be spotted through the big plate glass windows, drove west, then turned north again.
“How are you getting in?” Jessie asked.
“Working on it,” he said. SWAT wasn’t there yet. Airport security didn’t have enough manpower to cover the whole place—good news for him at the moment. He needed to get inside unseen.
The terminal loomed ahead. He pulled up next to an Airbus A330 docked at what the map showed as gate 46, and parked the black Denali beneath the wing.
“Get behind the wheel.” He got out and opened the rear passenger door, unzipped his gear bag and armed himself: his Glock 9 mil, a .380 S&W semiauto in an ankle holster instead of the .38 revolver still in police custody. A Ruger .45 semiauto backup piece, clipped to his belt behind his back, a six-inch folding knife in one pocket, and an extra 9 mm mag in the other.
His cell rang. Ty. “It’s bad, Bran. There are at least four pallets of munitions positioned around this end of the terminal, and each is heavily wired with explosives.”
“There’s probably more.” A total of three thousand pounds, the amount stolen and still missing from the plant. Way overkill, to say the least. But the goal of a terrorist was to make history. To destroy the US economy and cause international chaos. “The bad news is those canisters are filled with mustard gas.”
“Holy shit, Bran.”
“How many terrorists?”
“I counted eight, before three of them disappeared. There’s one guarding each of the pallets and one roaming around, keeping track of everyone. They’re all heavily armed and carrying AK-47 assault rifles.”
“Middle Eastern?”
“Yeah. They’re bearded, wearing robes.”
“How many hostages?”
“At least two hundred and fifty. People getting ready to board different flights when these guys showed up. With airport personnel, passengers, including women and children, it might be more than that. They’ve got us sitting on the floor all over this end of the terminal, a bunch of people grouped together in the middle of the corridor.”
“Where are you?”
“I got Hallie and the kids as far away as I could manage. We’re sitting behind a row of seats on the west end of the group.”
“I’m on my way. Don’t worry if you don’t see me.”
Ty made a sound that held a trace of humor. Bran had always had a knack for blending in, becoming practically invisible. With that many hostages, he couldn’t go in full commando. He needed to be just another passenger, someone who didn’t draw attention.
Ty ended the call to conserve the battery, and Bran turned to Jessie, now in the driver’s seat.
“As soon as I’m inside, pull back to where it’s safe. Get Ramirez on the line and bring him up to speed. Tell him I’ll have intel when I call. Advise him we’re likely dealing with mustard gas. If I can find a way to get Hallie and the kids out, I’ll need you to be there for transport.”
“Just let me know where you want me to be.”
He cupped her face and leaned in for a final quick kiss. “Stay safe, baby.” Slinging his gear bag over his shoulder, he moved away, silently heading for the doors on ground level below the gates where the passengers boarded the planes.
Where terrorists now held two hundred and fifty innocent people hostage, the threat of deadly explosives and chemical weapons hanging over their heads.
* * *
Jessie sat rigidly in the driver’s seat. She’d been able to hold it together until Bran had slipped away to scout the area around the terminal before he went in to face the hell that waited inside.
Now her hands were shaking so badly she could barely put the car in reverse. He was heading into danger. He could very well be killed.