“The kind who’s pretty good at getting answers from guys like this.”
Chapter 55
Quinn yanked the curtain shut as he dragged his prisoner past the bulkhead that separated the aft section of the aircraft from the view of the rearmost row of seats. The passengers would be able to hear, but that could not be helped. Once at the base of the stairs, he shoved the man in the black jacket on the floor, facedown, and slipped another set of plastic restraints around his ankles. Even metal cuffs were temporary restraints at best. Quinn had escaped from enough of the plastic ones never to trust a single set of any kind.
A quick pat-down revealed a passport with the name Gao Jianguo of the People’s Republic of China. He was clean-shaven, with black hair that was buzzed short. Not a tall man, he had thick muscles, with the scarred hands of someone accustomed to physical labor.
Quinn asked a series of rudimentary questions about where he was from, his destination, and if he had any confederates on board. The twitches of Gao’s face showed he understood the questions. He would not speak a word.
Carly came back with a small set of clippers from the emergency supplies closet. The plastic cutters had hidden blades that weren’t exposed so they were worthless for anything but cutting plastic cuffs.
Mattie stood on the other side of the plane with Natalie, giving her some distance if not actual separation from the events that were unfolding.
Quinn checked the Aquaracer on his wrist. It had been nearly forty-five minutes since the pilot had turned the plane around. Whatever this guy was up to, it would be happening soon.
Free from the restraints, Madonna Foss rubbed her wrists and worked her jaw back and forth.
Quinn noticed her left shoulder drooped like a broken wing.
“Is it bad?”
She shook her head. “Not sure. I hit the armrest pretty hard when you popped me.” She opened and closed her hand, but grimaced when she tried to raise her arm. “Yeah,” she said. “That makes me want to puke. It’s broken, but I’ll be fine until we land.”
“Good to hear,” Quinn said. “Because I’m going to need your help. There is no way this is the only bad guy on board. The killing was random, but so professional it has to be some sort of diversion.”
“Makes sense.” Foss nodded. “A murder on board would make the pilot divert to the nearest US airport that was safe and secure. In this case that means turning around and heading back to Alaska.”
“Keeping us over water,” Quinn said, finishing her thought.
“You think it’s a bomb,” Foss said.
“Good possibility,” Quinn said. “But I’d keep that to myself.”
“No kidding,” Foss said, her air marshal training kicking in. “I need to discuss this with the captain.”
“Phone’s on the wall,” Quinn said. “But I’m about to start questioning this guy. If, as we suspect, he has compatriots on the plane, I need someone to keep eyes on my daughter while I’m otherwise engaged.”
“Look,” Foss said, “I can help with the interrogation, but I’m not a babysitter.”
“You’re hurt,” Quinn said. “But you seem to be good at what you do. I don’t count protecting my daughter as babysitting.”
“I’m not too hurt to help you,” Foss said.
Quinn lowered his voice so Mattie and the others couldn’t hear. “We don’t have much time,” he said. “Who knows how many others there are out there or what they plan to do. I don’t want my daughter out there with some unknown killer — but I can’t have her watching me work either.”
Foss took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said. “But I’m pretty sure you broke my arm so you’d have someone to watch your kid.”
“I wish I could think that far ahead,” Quinn said. He turned to Carly. “I need you and Natalie to go get me the EMK.”
“My arm isn’t that bad,” Foss said. “Certainly nothing in the enhanced medical kit that would do me any good.”
“It’s not for you,” Quinn said. He shot a look at the prisoner.
Carly’s eyes fell on Mattie. Her face suddenly went slack. Quinn felt her tense beside him. “Can I talk to you and your daughter a second?” she said.
“You okay?” Natalie said, noticing her friend’s sudden change in mood.
“I’m fine,” Carly said, still looking down. “I just need to talk to Mr. Hackman about something. Would you mind grabbing the kit?”
Quinn followed her gaze down to the book in Mattie’s lap. It was open to the title page where she’d written her name in beautiful cursive.
Madeline Irene Quinn.
Natalie shrugged and went to retrieve the EMK while Carly followed Quinn to the other side of the plane, away from Foss and Mattie.
Carly looked him straight in the eye. “I can’t handle being lied to right now,” she said. “Any other time and I’d think, oh, you and her mom are divorced, and that’s why her name is different… but something awful is happening on this airplane and I need to know who I can trust.”
“You can trust me,” Quinn said — bold words, he thought, for a man living a lie.
Carly folded her arms across her chest and set her jaw. One part I’m-fragile, nine parts don’t-screw-with-me, it was a particular look he’d seen on Kim too many times. “Is her name Mattie Hackman?”
“No.”
“Really?” Carly let her arms drop, looking surprised at his lack of denial. “What is it then?”
“Mattie Quinn.”
“But you are John Hackman?”
“Jericho Quinn,” he said.
“But wha—”
Mattie padded up behind them. She looked back and forth to make sure no one else, including Madonna Foss could hear. “Remember when Mom was in the hospital after she got shot and we were all in her room?” she said.
Quinn nodded, looking at an astonished Carly, and then back at his little girl. He had no idea what she was about to say.
“She told me a secret,” Mattie said. She had tears in her eyes, but was remarkably composed.
“I remember,” Quinn said.
Mattie rolled her lips, rocking back and forth on her heels. She looked so much like Kim. “She said we should give you a break. You’re doing the best that you can.”
“Oh, sweetie,” he said.
She hugged his leg.
Carly closed her eyes. “Are you even a cop?”
“I’m exactly what I said I am,” Quinn said. He ran a hand over the top of Mattie’s hair, and then gathered her up in his arms. She put her arms around his neck and hugged him until she shook. “Just traveling under an assumed name.”
“With your daughter?”
“Long story,” Quinn said.
“When this is all over,” Carly said, “will you tell it to me?”
“Honestly…” Quinn gave her a tight smile. “Probably not.” He carried Mattie back over to Foss and buckled her in with her book, giving her another kiss on top of the head.
“I never should have gotten into this,” Carly said when they’d walked back to the other side of the plane.
“Asking me to help?” Quinn said, feeling a twinge of guilt for the lies.
Carly shook her head. “No, being a flight attendant. I’m scared to death of flying.”
“That is a thing,” Quinn said.
“Do you remember the shoe picture?” Carly asked, gazing into space in a thousand-yard stare.
Quinn shook his head. “The what?”
She took a ragged breath, trying to gain control of herself. “From the first time I saw it in training, I’ve had nightmares about the picture of all the shoes from KAL 007.”
Quinn put a hand on her shoulder. Now he knew what she was talking about. He’d been a small boy in 1983 when a Korean Air 747 from New York via Anchorage had mistakenly wandered into prohibited Soviet airspace while en route to Seoul. A Soviet SU 15 “Flagon” fighter was dispatched when the aircraft crossed the Kamchatka Peninsula, shooting it down over the Sea of Japan. All 269 passengers were lost. The Soviets denied involvement at first, but eventually turned over items that were found floating at the crash site. A photograph of dozens of shoes — sneakers, loafers, and pumps of all different sizes, piled on top of a plastic bag — had appeared in LIFE Magazine. Several of the victims’ families recognized them as belonging to their loved ones. Quinn had a distinct memory of his mother holding the magazine and crying — and his father’s angry words at the Russians over the incident.