“Turn around again,” Mo-bot instructed. “Call Carver. Tell him to stop flight PY 984, leaving from Linden Airport.”
Sci took out his phone while Justine did exactly as instructed and turned south.
“There are three private jets leaving for China this evening. Two from JFK and one from LaGuardia. Both airports are on the other side of the river, which puts them at least two hours away at this time of day, but this fourth plane is heading for Seattle. No big deal except in the past six months it’s made fifteen Seattle-to-Beijing flights and back. And Linden Airport is only twenty minutes from here.” She typed another command and her eyes widened. “The aircraft is owned by Golden Journeys Aviation, which in turn is owned by Liu Investments. This is the one.”
“Secretary Carver,” Sci said. “Seymour Kloppenberg, sir... No, sir... Your friends ran into trouble. They were picked up by airport police. It seems the man we want pulled a switch and is leaving from Linden Airport. Flight PY 984. Our resident computer nerd wants you to stop it... Yes, sir.”
Mo-bot was glaring when Sci hung up.
“Computer nerd?” Her tone was frosty.
“I didn’t want to use any names.”
“You used your own,” she noted.
“I didn’t want to put you at risk,” he said with a cheeky smile.
“You just wanted to tell the Secretary of Defense I’m a nerd.” Mo-bot grunted her displeasure but said no more.
Justine took less-travelled back roads south and was soon on Edgar Road, cutting through the small town of Linden. The rush-hour traffic slowed to a crawl as they passed the stores and malls that lined both side of their route. The parking lots were filling up with vehicles and people crowded into stores. Justine found every minute they had to wait sheer torture.
Finally, they turned left onto the airport approach road.
“There!” Mo-bot announced, pointing.
Justine pulled over and the three of them got out to see a green Jeep Cherokee parked beside a Gulfstream jet. Three police vehicles surrounded the aircraft and Angel was being held down on the hood of one of them by two very large officers. He was about one hundred yards away, sufficiently close to register Justine, Sci, and Mo-bot watching him through the chain-link fence.
He frowned when his eyes met Justine’s, but she didn’t feel triumphant, just satisfied there was a chance Lewis’s killer would now face justice. There was a roar as a small commercial jet came in to land.
As its wheels touched the runway, Angel broke free of his captors and tried to make a run for it. One of the cops pulled his Taser and shot the big man in the back. He went down, convulsing. The other officer walked over, removed the barbs and handcuffed him.
“Well, I’m glad I got to see it,” Sci remarked with an unmistakable air of satisfaction.
“You did more than see it,” Justine replied. “This wouldn’t have happened without the two of you.”
“I think she’s right,” he observed.
“We just did what any good citizens would have done,” Mo-bot replied, and Justine got the distinct impression the two of them were mocking her.
“Well, if you can’t take a compliment,” she countered.
“That was a compliment?” Sci asked.
Exasperated, Justine turned away and headed for the Nissan.
“Did you know that was a compliment?” Sci asked Mo-bot.
“Quit it, Kloppenberg,” Mo-bot told him. “She’s taking it to heart. Come on, Justine, we were just fooling around. We love you, kid.”
“I know,” she replied, turning back with a big smile on her face.
“She suckered us,” Mo-bot said to Sci.
“This is why I don’t trust profilers,” he replied. “They know too much about how we all tick. Get out of my head, Justine Smith.”
“Come on,” she said. “Stop goofing around. I know you’re excited at a job well done, but Jack’s still out there facing who knows what. Let’s get back to the city.”
Mo-bot and Sci dropped the double act immediately. They got into the Nissan and Justine drove them back to Manhattan.
Chapter 83
The last time I had come to Moscow, I had almost been killed by people determined to ensure Russian global supremacy. I looked down at the glittering city beneath the jet with a sense of foreboding. Most people would have run. They would have gone home and hoped the authorities fixed the problem, but I knew no authority could touch someone like Valery Alekseyev. He was far too powerful, and political systems are designed to protect those with power.
He had come up with an intricate plot to make me suffer in revenge for what I’d done in Moscow and Afghanistan, but his ultimate intention was to kill me. He’d come after Justine again, or Sci or Mo-bot. Angel had already tried and failed to kill them with the bombs in New York. Alekseyev would simply send another Angel at me and my friends, and another, and another, until one of them achieved his objective. The only way to truly end this was to neutralize the general giving the orders.
Our descent into Sheremetyevo International Airport was bumpy, with gale-force gusts of wind swirling in the night air. A shudder ran through the plane when we hit the runway. As I looked out the window, the lights of the hangars, emergency-response buildings, and terminals emerged from a moving blur when the aircraft came to a stop.
“Sorry about that,” the captain said, emerging from the cockpit.
“No problem,” I replied. “I used to fly Sea Knights. Those crosswinds were nasty, would have tested any pilot.”
He nodded, opened the door and lowered the airstairs.
I grabbed my bag and headed for the exit. Warm air and the sweet smell of a new city hit me. I saw two guys in short-sleeve shirts and black pants standing beside a black Toyota Landcruiser.
“Mr. Morgan,” the taller of the two said, “I’m Mark Espiner. This is William Powell. Erin Sebold sent us to pick you up.”
“Good to meet you,” I said, shaking their hands.
“Let me help you with that,” Mark said. He took my bag and put it in the trunk.
I climbed onto the tan leather back seat and Mark got behind the wheel. William took the front passenger seat.
“Erin said you’d run into trouble in Beijing,” William said, glancing over his shoulder. “Is that why you’re here?”
Something about the question bothered me. Would Justine have been so careless? Would Erin? I really doubted it. Neither of them would have divulged the reason for my visit, and genuine embassy or CIA staff would have known better than to quiz a subject they’d been sent to collect.
“You guys give me a minute?” I said, producing my phone. “I promised my girlfriend I’d call her as soon as I landed.”
I dialed a number, but it wasn’t Justine’s. I called Erin Sebold, who answered after a couple of rings.
“Hello?” she said groggily.
“Hey, honey. I’m down safely,” I replied. “Yeah, Erin sent two guys to meet the plane.”
“I didn’t send two guys,” she said, suddenly alert. “They’re not mine, Jack.”
My stomach lurched.
“Thanks, honey, that’s good to know.”
I heard her try to tell me something else, but I wasn’t listening and hung up. I was reeling. I had to get out of this vehicle before it left the airport, and we were almost at the gate.
“Everything okay?” the man who’d introduced himself as Mark asked.
I nodded. “You know how it is on these long business trips.” I paused. “You know what, guys? I think I forgot my laptop on the plane. You mind if we go back and check?”
The look they exchanged was unmistakable. They were both wondering whether they’d been made.
“You wanna check when we get through the gate?” “Mark” asked. “Take a look in your bag. I can pull over just up ahead.”