“That, and to give us eyes moving around the aircraft,” Quinn said. “Let the others know right away. Everyone moves in twos.”
He picked up the phone on the bulkhead, reporting his findings to the captain. He spoke in whispered tones so as not to reach Mattie’s straining ears and give her more than she should have to handle.
Ninety seconds after he hung up, the massive Airbus dipped her wing, and began a slow bank to the right. The pilot was taking the plane back to Anchorage.
Quinn felt the white-hot gush of anticipation that came before a conflict. Someone on this plane had cut the throat of a complete stranger to divert attention from something else — a bomb, a hijacking. Quinn didn’t know what, but it was something bigger than murder.
Chapter 50
The actual act of killing happened more quickly than Tang had anticipated. One moment he stood at the top of the stairs, ensuring no one interrupted Gao while he did his work — and the next Gao was there, tiny droplets of blood on his face and neck. There had been no thump, no groan, no scream. Tang didn’t know what he’d expected, but it seemed to him that bloody death should come with some sound. He was still processing when he returned to his seat. Lin knew nothing about the murder and, though they had planned to kill everyone on the plane from the moment they boarded, he kept this death to himself. He would keep the entire secret, until the last possible moment.
Still, many years of marriage made it impossible to hide the concern in his face.
“What has happened?” she asked.
“We are going to try something different,” Tang said. He could see the corner of the recycle bag sitting on the floor of the galley just two rows ahead. There were ninety-six seats in business class, ninety-six meals, ninety-six sheets of aluminum foil. He hoped that would be enough.
“Different?” Lin stared at him, head tilted to one side, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “I find it difficult to believe you would change your mind so easily.”
“I love you,” he said, voice tight and plastic — surely she noticed that. “I am ready to make necessary sacrifices.”
Tang looked away under the heavy burden of her gaze. He checked his watch for something to do. “I must go,” he said.
She took his arm, leaning in close so as not to be heard by other passengers.
“I will not detonate the device,” she said.
“You will not have to,” he said softly. “I told you, I am making some sacrifices because of my feelings for you.”
Red-and-white uniforms seemed to be everywhere — but any minute there would be even more. He waited for the business-class flight attendant to move down the aisle on her rounds, then grabbed the recycle bag and whisked it into the lavatory. Once behind the safety of the locked door, Tang spread the foil dinner covers out flat, then worked feverishly to rip each sheet into smaller pieces until he had a pile of silver confetti that filled the small sink. The entire process was simple, but it took time, time Tang knew he did not have.
Word of Gao’s bloody handiwork spread among the cabin crew like a grass fire. Those that didn’t go all the way to the back went as least as far as mid cabin, to see for themselves if the rumors were true. While they were looking aft, Tang used the opportunity to slip down the front stairwell with his shirt stuffed full of foil strips. He ducked around the corner to the espresso bar, which was now empty but for the single attendant.
The seat belt chime sounded and the slender man in a crisp red vest nodded politely when he saw Tang. “Can I get you something, sir?” he said. “I’d be happy to bring it back to your seat.” The tag on his vest said his name was Paxton. He had the youthful eyes of a man with lofty dreams, who was only here serving coffee for a time while he worked out his road to somewhere bigger and better.
Tang nodded toward the bulkhead separating the espresso bar from the front of the aircraft. “I cannot be certain,” he said, “but I believe I saw a child go through that door.” Tang stepped closer to the edge of the semicircular bar, resting a hand on the rich leather edge as if to steady himself.
“What door are you talking about?” Paxton said.
“That door around the corner.” Tang pointed toward the cockpit. “By the stairs. It looks as though someone must have left it open. I’m not sure where it leads…”
“Dammit,” the attendant said. He wiped his hands with a bar towel.
“What is it?” Tang asked, though he already knew what it was. “Some kind of coat closet?”
Paxton shook his head. “It’s a rest area for the crew,” he said. “A little girl, you said?”
“A boy.” Tang made up the story as he went. He wouldn’t need it long. “He had a teddy bear.”
“Thank you for letting us know, sir,” the attendant said, coming around the bar. “But I need you to sit down.”
Tang followed on the attendant’s heels. “I heard someone was killed,” he said, grimacing as if the very words were distasteful.
Paxton looked over his shoulder as he punched the code into the cipher lock. “Sir,” he finally said, “do me a favor and sit down.”
All the seats were aft of the espresso station, so Tang had the attendant alone as soon as they made it to the corner.
When Paxton turned around to descend the ladder into the crew rest area, Tang kicked him in the face.
Tang jumped into the darkness. He assumed all personnel had reported topside as soon as they’d learned of the murder, but there would surely be an intercom. He moved quickly before Paxton could cry out for help.
The only light came from an orange strip of ribbon that ran along the ceiling of the small cabin and gave off little more than a faint glow. The rest area was hardly more than a narrow aisle with three sets of bunks on either side, and the two men had little room to fight. Tang didn’t need much. He’d undergone months of physical training during police academy — and though he was far from the strongest or quickest in his class, he was certainly more experienced than the hapless flight attendant.
Paxton outweighed him by at least thirty pounds and had a much greater reach — but Tang doubted the young attendant had ever seen real violence. Rather than fight back, the young man tried to get away, fleeing toward the ladder and the brighter light above.
Tang pushed him the way he was already trying to go, but redirecting his head into the hard plastic upright of one of the bunks. It was a stunning blow that sent Paxton reeling. Tang grabbed a handful of hair and slammed the dazed man’s head again and again into the sharp plastic edge. The flight attendant went limp at the first blow, but Tang took him with both hands and bashed his forehead against the upright until the man’s eyes rolled upward, glassy and lifeless. A trickle of blood ran from his ear.
Tang wrestled the body into the bunk farthest from the hatch and covered it with a blanket. By the time anyone had a chance to look for him, the plan would either have worked or failed miserably. Either way, it wouldn’t matter.
Tang climbed back up the ladder and opened the door a crack to find Ma Zhen standing outside. Lin was behind him, just as he planned, though she knew nothing of the dead man below. Ma’s intensity frightened her from the first time she’d met him. Her face was creased with worry until she saw Tang on the other side of the door.
“What is happening?” she whispered. “The other passengers are saying a man has died.”
“I have heard the same thing,” Tang said. “Hurry, I will explain.” He turned to descend the ladder, knowing that she would follow, but half hoping she would not.
Ma came down behind her, carrying the coffee grinder he’d stolen from the espresso stand. He reached around Lin when they were at the bottom of the ladder, crowding her as he handed the grinder to Tang.