Flight Risk Read online

  Alexi knew they would soon be taking Blayne away in an ambulance. That wasn’t a bad idea, she decided. The diversion to Colorado Springs was a lucky break because it would take Cinzano a while to get someone here. I will ride with her in the ambulance and come up with a plan while she’s getting checked out. She didn’t think Blayne’s injuries were too serious, although the concussion was a concern and she might need stitches. But she seemed quite lucid. We can be on the road in an hour or two. Now that they could finally hear each other speak, it was time to identify herself.

  Alexi touched her arm, and got her attention. “Miss Keller… Weaver,” she said deliberately. “My name is Alexi Nikolos and I am with the U.S. Marshals Service. You will be under my protection from now on.”

  Blayne stared at her with a stunned expression. “You…you know who I am?”

  “Yes. I know everything. I’m an Inspector with the Witness Protection Program. You can trust me.”

  Blayne said nothing for a long moment. Her mind was spinning. She closed her eyes and gripped the armrests to steady herself. She wanted to believe this woman, but she was shocked by the revelation that Alexi wasn’t some random passenger on the plane. And so much had happened in recent days she was now suspicious of everyone.

  How the hell did they find out what plane I was on? Surely that was information that wasn’t readily available. Topping had been reluctant even to tell her anything until the very last second, saying it was for security reasons. They were obviously going to great lengths to keep her safe. But the mob had still found out what plane she was on. That meant one of the presumably few who knew--FBI or whomever—had told them.

  She stared at Alexi. She has an accent, does that mean anything? She couldn’t tell what kind, but it put her even more on edge. The mobsters were all Italian. How could she know Alexi was who she said she was? And was it just coincidence that Alexi was seated just far enough away from the bomb not to be injured by it?

  Everything was happening too fast. “Why should I believe you?” Her aggravation leaked into the tone of her voice. “Why should I trust any of this?”

  Alexi reached under her seat for her satchel, but her hand found only empty space. She half stood and peered at the seats behind and in front of them. It was gone—one of the myriad of bags sucked out through the hole. The satchel had her identification in it, her files on Blayne, and her wallet. There was no way to prove who she was. Damn.

  The doors to the plane were open now, and emergency crews were starting to come on board to assess the passengers. “Unfortunately, I cannot identify myself at this time,” she told Blayne. “So you will just have to take my word for it. You must come with me, Miss Weaver.”

  Blayne’s sense of alarm increased. How convenient. “What do you mean, I don’t have a choice? I don’t remember being arrested, so I do have a choice. I have no desire for a babysitter. I’d rather take my own chances. Surely I can’t do worse than this. ” She gestured in frustration at the hole.

  “I understand that you feel you would rather do this on your own, but I cannot allow it. I don’t think you realize that things could get a lot worse. You have to come with me.”

  “Worse than this? How much worse can it get?”

  “You have been very fortunate until now to have survived all this, largely thanks to the agents protecting you. But luck runs out, and these people will not stop until they succeed in what they have set out to do.”

  Blayne half stood, ducking her head to avoid hitting the overhead compartment. “Once again, I do intend to continue alone, and I hope I stay lucky, because it seems as though it’s the only thing I have going for me.”

  Alexi rose as well and stopped Blayne with a hand on her elbow. “Miss Weaver…”

  They were interrupted by a paramedic and a tall gray-haired man in a suit who wore a gold badge at his belt. “Ladies, please remain seated,” the police officer said.

  “Excuse us, but she seems to be disoriented,” Alexi said. “She was knocked out for several minutes. Lost blood. Struck her head, there. ” She reached out a hand to touch Blayne’s injured temple, but Blayne shied away as though burned. “She’s confused.”

  “No, I’m not!” Blayne glared at Alexi in disbelief. “I’m not disoriented or confused. Why would you say that? I just need to get off this damn plane!”

  Alexi’s mind worked furiously. Blayne seemed determined to run and she had to prevent that. She looked at the EMT in a conspiratorial way, then in a calm, even tone, said to Blayne, “Yes, this gentleman will help us off the plane, and make sure we get you to a hospital. I think you need an ambulance.”

  “No, I don’t!” Blayne snapped. “I’m fine!”

  “Ladies, will you follow me, please?” The EMT led the way, the policeman brought up the rear, and they left through a set of stairs that had been wheeled into place beside the Airbus.

  Outside, a chaos of activity greeted them. Fire trucks encircled the crippled Airbus, their lights flashing red and white along the smooth surface of the plane. The sounds of approaching sirens and shouted instructions filled the air. Babies cried. A woman screamed hysterically. In a blur of action, emergency personnel ran about, each attending their well-rehearsed duties aiding the injured, calming the distraught, and securing the plane. A flight attendant stood a few yards from them transfixed, staring back at the plane. Blayne slowed her steps, and turned to look, too. From the outside, the hole seemed so impossibly, inescapably big and terrifying that her body clenched and her vision swam and she stumbled. She would have sprawled headfirst onto the tarmac had Alexi Nikolos not caught her.

  The strong arms that encircled her waist were instantly reassuring, but as soon as she was upright, Blayne pushed them away without a word and followed the EMT toward a row of ambulances parked on the edge of the runway.

  He tossed a question at her as he opened the rear doors of his rig. “We’ll take you in this one, Miss…?”

  She had to answer. The cop was standing right there. “Amanda Jones.” Now that’s original. But it was the first name that popped into her head. She wasn’t about to give out either her real one, or her new WITSEC identity. Either might be used to track her down.

  Alexi was impressed. Smart girl.

  “But I don’t need an ambulance,” Blayne insisted.

  “You should let a doctor look at you. You’re not thinking clearly after that hit you took,” Alexi said.

  “Why do you keep saying that?” Blayne was fuming. ???There’s nothing wrong with my thinking.”

  “It really is best you get evaluated, Miss Jones,” the EMT said. “The airline wants everyone to get checked out. All the passengers and crew are going to the hospital. It’s just a matter of whether you go by bus or by ambulance.” He grinned encouragingly and pointed toward the stretcher in his rig, “This is a lot more comfortable and we can keep an eye on you. Please?”

  “No. No stretcher.” Blayne said automatically, then she reconsidered. But if you ride in an ambulance, you can get away from her. “Uh, okay. It might be best.”

  She climbed into the rig and the EMT got her comfortably situated before excusing himself to go make sure no one else needed immediate attention.

  Blayne closed her eyes and tried to relax. It was still noisy, but the rig effectively cut out a lot of the din and allowed her a moment’s peace. Okay. I’m rid of her. Now what am I going to do?

  At the back of the ambulance, Alexi waited for the EMT to close up the doors, then said. “I need to ride with my sister. I’d hate for us to get separated, especially since she’s been acting kind of funny since she hit her head.”

  “Oh! Your sister! I didn’t realize. Of course.” The EMT started to reach for the rear doors again, but Alexi stopped him.

  “I thought I would leave her alone a minute,” she said. “Let her calm down—you know? It has been a pretty harrowing day.”

  “Of course. Go ahead when you’re ready, then. I’ll find my partner. Shouldn’t be long.”
r />   He headed back into the commotion and Alexi glanced around. No one was paying her any mind. She opened the rear doors of the ambulance, scrambled inside, and quickly shut the doors behind her.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Blayne snapped. The EMT had strapped her loosely onto the stretcher. She unbuckled the top straps so she could sit up. “Get out of here! I’m not riding anywhere with you!”

  “Yes, you are.” Alexi planted herself on the bench seat that ran along one side of the rig, a couple of feet from Blayne’s head.

  “You can’t come in here. I’m going to tell them…tell them—”

  “Tell them what? You’re not going to tell them anything, Miss Weaver. I’ve told them I’m your sister and that you are confused. They will believe me over a distraught woman who’s been hit in the head.”

  Blayne shook with rage. “You told them what?”

  “Accept it, please. You are under my protection now.”

  “First you tell them I’m delusional, and then you claim to be my sister, and you expect me to believe a word you say? Trust you to make decisions for me? Now who’s delusional?” She shot daggers at Alexi with her eyes and unsnapped the remaining straps confining her with quick, angry movements. Where are you planning to run? she asked herself even as she did. She felt trapped. “I told you I want nothing to do with you! Leave me alone!”

  Alexi was surprised and even a bit amused by the outburst, but showed neither emotion. This woman had a fire in her, that was for sure. She had to admire that. “Please calm down. You know, your hysteria is not going to work in your favor, if you plan to try to convince anyone you are all right.”

  Blayne clenched her fists and ground her teeth. Alexi Nikolos infuriated her more every time the wretched woman opened her mouth. “Even if I believed you—which I don’t—I’m done putting my life in the hands of the feds. You’ve done a pretty shitty job of keeping me safe.”

  Blayne’s words struck an old wound in Alexi, but she did not allow her emotions to register on her face, and when she answered it was with the same controlled, even tone that she always used. “I would say we have done our jobs very well. It is Agent Topping who was killed, and Agent Wright who took a bullet. Not you.”

  A flush of shame colored Blayne’s cheeks. “Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh. But who exactly told them what plane I was on, huh? Tell me that!”

  The door to the back of the ambulance opened, abruptly ending the exchange. The sandy-haired flight attendant who’d helped them on the plane stuck his head in. “There you are! Glad to see you’re both okay. I just wanted to say thank you for taking care of her,” he told Alexi. “Lucky we had you on board.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  The paramedics returned, cutting off any further opportunity for escape and soon they were en route to the hospital. Blayne answered all the usual health questions as one of the EMT’s patched the cut on her temple, but she wanted to be left alone to collect her thoughts. To figure out what the hell she was going to do. How was she going to get rid of this woman. And after that… Yeah. After that, what? I’m alone now. Even when she lost her parents, she still had Claudia. But now… now she was really alone, for the first time in her life.

  Alexi watched the paramedic tend to Blayne and tried to figure out a way to get the witness to believe her, trust her. I do not blame her skittishness after all she has been through. But she sure is not making a difficult situation any easier. She could almost taste the woman’s anxiety, feel her fear, see the wheels turning as Blayne tried to put what had happened in perspective and make decisions on what to do next.

  Alexi felt protective of her, which was not a surprise, of course. That was precisely what she was here for, after all, it was her job. But she also felt an unfamiliar urge to comfort Blayne, hold her hand or something. She guessed it was because despite all of Blayne’s big talk and bravado, there was a certain vulnerability about her, just under the surface.

  Alexi shrugged off the urge, however. She knew what could come from giving in to those impulses, and she needed to focus all of her attention on keeping her charge out of harm’s way.

  Would she be able to do her job? Keep Blayne safe? She’d thought so. But now the doubts were creeping in. She had studied every single person getting on the flight, and she knew the FBI had vetted all the vendors and crew. Yet she hadn’t seen this coming. And certainly Topping hadn’t either. This was going to be one hell of an assignment. She had no resources, and she had not only the mob to worry about, but a scorpion within her own ranks.

  Can I do this? Can I keep her safe? She knew she didn’t really have a choice. Someone was telling the mob where Blayne Keller was every step of the way. I’m her only hope.

  *

  WITSEC Chief Inspector Theodore Lang was getting into his car in the agency’s parking lot when his BlackBerry vibrated against his hip.

  The caller was Paul Fletcher, the man he’d replaced as head of WITSEC’s Chicago office. Fletcher had been bumped back to Inspector and was assigned to the Joint Task Force on Organized Crime.

  “We have a problem,” Fletcher said. “The plane carrying Skip Topping and Blayne Keller just made an emergency landing in Colorado Springs. News reports say there was an explosion on board.”

  “An explosion?” Theo mentally kissed goodbye to the birthday dinner his wife had been planning for the past month. He didn’t often allow himself a night out on the town. At fifty, a man in his line of work had to be very fit and look ten years younger than his age if he wanted to keep climbing the career ladder. This was even more so for an African-American. Theo followed a disciplined diet and exercise regimen to keep himself at the top of his game.

  “Initial reports suggest maybe a bomb,” Fletcher confirmed. “We can’t reach Topping on his cell, and there’s no word on Keller yet. We’re making calls and we have someone en route.”

  Theo was tempted to ask Fletcher to check on Alexi as well, but he didn’t trust anyone with the knowledge that she was on the case. He’d have to make some discreet phone calls himself.

  “Keep me posted,” he said, already planning how he was going to handle the evening. “I’m heading home.”

  *

  Vittorio Cinzano was led from his cell in Division 11, a state-of-the-art facility and the newest addition to the sprawling Cook County Jail complex. Designed for maximum security detainees, the more than seven hundred cells in Division 11 were double-occupancy, but Vittorio was housed by himself. A sheriff’s deputy escorted him down the long corridor toward a small room with two chairs and a table, where his attorney, Michael Florio, awaited him.

  Vittorio was used to getting his own way, and the inscrutable demeanor he maintained was beginning to slip under his incarceration. Every day, his irritation and impatience became a little more evident in his terse tone and body language. And so, too, did his humiliation at having to trade his custom tailored suits for this obscene orange jumpsuit. It took all his self-discipline to maintain the dignity of his name and his position under the circumstances. He wanted results and he wanted them yesterday.

  His lawyer had better have some good news for him.

  Vittorio was gratified to see the faint smile on Florio’s face when their eyes met. They were left alone, but their actions were monitored through a thick Plexiglas window by a female deputy.

  “Sit down, Michael.” Vittorio gestured toward one of the folding chairs on the visitor side.

  Florio waited for his boss to claim the other before asking, “How are you holding up, Vittorio?”

  “How the fuck do you think I am holding up? I can’t go anywhere without them following me.”

  Florio did not respond, and when Vittorio spoke again he softened his tone. He had talked to his wife the day before, and she had assured him all was well, but he relied on his attorney to give him an honest assessment.

  “How is Nicki? Have you talked to her today?”

  “She’s fine. Seems to be hanging in t
here,” Florio responded.

  “And Marie?”

  “Still in seclusion at your mother’s. Won’t talk to me or anyone else right now.”

  “I expected that. So, is there any news?” Vittorio asked.

  “Yes, we should be hearing something soon. I think you’ll be satisfied.”

  “You’re good to me, Michael.” Vittorio kept his manner casual. But it took an effort. Without a witness, they couldn’t hold him for long, and the day of his release couldn’t come soon enough.

  Three days after the shooting of Aldo Martinelli, he’d received the information he was waiting for in a jailhouse phone call from his attorney. As such, he knew it was privileged, but he and his lawyer still spoke in a cryptic shorthand. It was second nature, anyway. A way of life for someone in Vittorio’s position.

  He’d made it clear to Florio on the day of his arrest that he wanted all three women from the travel agency eliminated, along with Philippe Cluzet, the building owner. First they’d dealt with Aldo’s goumada, Joyce. She probably knew too much because that fat fuck never could keep his mouth shut. It wasn’t her fault and Vittorio had behaved like an honorable man and instructed the clip to be quick and clean. She never saw what was coming.

  The witness they were now hunting had to go for obvious reasons. Fortunately one of their friends in high places understood where his interests lay, so they knew every move that woman was making.

  Philippe Cluzet and his daughter both had to go as well. Vittorio had no choice. Cluzet had only reluctantly cooperated with the sale of the building, and though he’d sworn never to tell anyone about what he knew about the soda operation, who could know what a father might tell his daughter?

  Vittorio’s orders went against the mob’s longstanding policy of using threats and intimidation alone against civilians. The cops didn’t mind wiseguys killing each other, but when an innocent died, there was a lot of heat in a hurry. Way too much heat, on all the families, and that made it difficult to do business. Vittorio, however, was not about to be compromised. He followed the unwritten code of conduct only when it suited him anyway, and this time he was in serious danger of losing his freedom for a long while.