Authors: Trish McCallan
“John?” The other agent, a slender, almost effeminate man with slicked-back red hair and a fastidiously trimmed goatee, leaned to the left with a frown and glanced at the note.
The movement snapped Chastain out of his trance. He crumpled the paper and shoved it back into his pocket.
“Sorry. Shopping list,” he said in a voice that lacked breath.
As Chastain turned back to her, she caught something raw and haunted in those sunken eyes. Something hurting.
“You work in the engineering department?” he asked again, jotting something down inside the file.
From the confused frown his partner sent him, Beth wasn’t the only one wondering why he’d asked that question a second time.
“Yes.” She left it at that.
His fingers tightened around the pen. “Are you familiar with a Todd Clancy?”
She stiffened. Why were they asking about Todd? Something told her this sudden interest in her co-worker had serious ramifications.
“Why?”
He regarded her with complete flatness. “Are you friendly with Todd Clancy?”
“Yes. It’s through him I got my job,” she whispered through suddenly dry lips.
Zane’s hand tensed within her grip, his fingers clamping around hers.
“Ginny—Todd’s wife—and I have been friends since kindergarten. I’m godmother to their son.”
Zane’s fingers relaxed.
“You’ve been to their house?” Chastain bent over the folder, scanned a page and flipped it over. Beth craned her neck, trying to get a look, but he closed the folder over the piece of paper.
“Of course. What’s this about?” she asked, tired of their games, of the posturing, of the lack of answers. “If you think that Todd had anything to do with this—” She waved her arm around the room. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Why do you assume we think he’s involved?”
She snorted. “Because you’re asking about him.”
His forehead crinkled and he jotted something down on the inside flap of the folder. What had he written? That she was uncooperative? Defensive?
“You guys are completely off track. Todd is the kindest, most gentle person you’ll ever meet. There is no way,
absolutely no way
, he’d stash those guns and make it possible for the hijackers to take that plane.”
Dead silence fell. Chastain stared down at his folder and for a moment his shoulders seemed to hunch. “The east gate login shows Todd Clancy accessed the tarmac at approximately five a.m. His shift didn’t start until eight a.m.”
Beth relaxed, expelling a puff of relief. “The engineers come in early quite often. If they need to check something on a plane they have to do so preflight or between flights. I’m sure he has a perfectly good explanation.”
Chastain cocked his head and watched her intently. “We have a witness, Miss Brown. A witness who can place Mr. Clancy outside Flight 2077 with a parts crate. Can you think of a reason why Todd Clancy would show up at the plane with a parts crate?”
Beth swallowed, retreating into her seat. An engineer hauling around a parts crate was much harder to dismiss. Engineers didn’t touch the actual mechanics of the plane. It was forbidden. Only the maintenance department was allowed to work on PAL planes and even they kept detailed records, per FAA regulations. Of course, it was probably a case of mistaken identity. Yeah, that made sense. Thousands of people worked for PacAtlantic. In all likelihood, their witness had mixed Todd up with someone else.
She leaned forward again and met Chastain’s grim gaze. “Then your witness is wrong.”
“Our witness is a camera. The camera focused on gate C18 specifically. It clearly shows Mr. Clancy boarding that plane—with a crate.”
Her chest tightened and her hands started to sweat. He wouldn’t need a parts crate for any legitimate work he had on that plane.
This couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. Her gaze flipped back and forth between the two men before her. “I don’t believe it. I know Todd. He wouldn’t do this.”
The agent withdrew a photo from the folder, set it face up on the table and slid it across to her. The sibilant hiss of plastic against wood echoed in her ears.
“Is this Todd Clancy, Miss Brown?”
She didn’t want to look. Oh God, not Todd. He couldn’t be involved in this. Vaguely, she felt Zane’s hand tighten around her own, but the sensation was distant, out of focus.
Swallowing hard, she glanced down, instantly recognizing that sandy sprout of hair.
Oh, Jesus
.
“Is the man in this picture Todd Clancy, Miss Brown?” Agent Chastain’s flat tone made it clear he already knew the answer to that question.
Beth didn’t answer. Instead, she ran a gentle finger down the face in the photo, grief and shock rolling through her like a tidal wave. Her heart hurt. So did her head. This didn’t make sense, none of this made sense. Todd would cut off his arms and legs rather than hurt anyone—especially Ginny and Kyle—and this—this was going to kill them.
“Miss Brown, is this Todd Clancy?”
Beth’s finger trembled as she stroked that glossy face again. “You know it is.”
He didn’t deny it, just leaned back in his chair and studied her face.
Zane scooted his chair closer to hers, the plastic feet screeching against the floor, and wrapped an arm around her waist, giving her a one-armed hug. Without saying a word, he leaned in to kiss the side of her temple, his lips gentle against her skin. Beth closed her eyes and breathed in his musky, male scent, tried to push aside the whirlwind of disbelief and confusion.
“How well do you know the Clancys?” the agent to the left asked, his pale blue eyes assessing her, and Beth knew he was wondering if the friendship she shared with Todd and Ginny had extended into a business arrangement.
“I told you. I’ve known Ginny forever. We grew up together. They’re my best friends,” she said, stunned disbelief solidifying inside her. “Why would Todd do something like this? It doesn’t make sense.”
The slender, dapper agent with the well-groomed goatee answered. “Money? It’s a prime motivator.” But he didn’t sound like he believed it himself.
Beth shook her head. “They don’t need money. Todd’s an avid fly fisherman. A couple of years back he invented a lightweight collapsible reel for hikers. Some company paid a fortune for the design. Since then, he’s invented a couple of other things and sold those as well. They’ve got more money than they know what to do with. The only reason he works is because he loves planes.” She paused, stared down at the picture and shook her head again. “If he did this, there’s a reason behind it. A good reason.”
Chastain glanced down as he slowly closed the folder. “Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”
With a deep breath, Beth tried to focus. This development meant they’d be looking at her more closely. She tried to stir up some worry over the possibility, but all she could think about was how this was going to shatter Ginny and Kyle.
“Have you tried his house? Ginny will know where he is.”
Oh God, Ginny.
Tears stung as she imagined the horror and disbelief Ginny must be feeling. This nightmare was about to swallow her whole family.
“You can’t find the wife and kid?” Zane asked.
She was so caught up her own thoughts it took a moment for Zane’s question to register. She must have missed something.
“He took the family and disappeared?” Zane dropped his arm from her waist and shifted until he was facing the federal agents again.
The silence in the wake of that question sent chills crawling up Beth’s spine. Neither agent was agreeing with Zane’s assessment. When she caught the brief, haunted skim of emotions across Chastain’s lined face, she suddenly knew why.
Oh, God. God no
.
Horror compressed the air from her lungs and crawled up her throat until she felt like she was suffocating. She flashed back to the last time she’d seen them. To Ginny’s laughing blue eyes. To Kyle’s shy grin and chubby little body.
Nonononono.
“Oh, God
.” With a jerky motion she reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. She expected the feds to prevent her from making the call, but they just sat there and watched. She tried Todd first. It rang a couple of times and went to voice mail. Ginny next. Same thing. Just like the calls that morning.
A cold, heavy sludge settled in her chest.
“What’s happened to them?”
“We don’t know that anything has. We’re trying to determine the situation,” Chastain said.
But Beth didn’t believe him. Not with that raw, sickened expression in his eyes.
“When’s the last time you saw Virginia or Kyle Clancy?” Chastain’s voice was very quiet in the icy room.
Beth tried to think back, but terror squeezed the memory from her mind. “I don’t… I don’t know. A week ago? We were supposed to have dinner at their place this past Friday, but Todd cancelled. He said Kyle had some kind of….” Her voice trailed off, suddenly remembering how odd the call had been.
Todd never remembered such things, and Ginny had learned early in their relationship to pass the information along herself, or to check in later and make sure Todd had made contact. More often than not, he hadn’t. So she’d expected Ginny to call later in the day, to make sure Todd had delivered the message.
When she didn’t, Beth had assumed she’d been busy taking care of Kyle.
“What about Todd? Have you noticed any changes in his behavior, his appearance, or his habits during the past few weeks?”
Todd’s face came into focus. Hollow cheeks. Red-rimmed eyes. Getting thinner and thinner every day.
“He said he picked up Kyle’s flu.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He wasn’t sick, was he? I should have known something was wrong.”
“Hey.” Zane cupped her chin and waited until her gaze shifted to his. “This isn’t your fault. There is no way you could have known.”
“
You
would have known,” she said.
Zane would have sensed that something was wrong immediately. Tracked down the problem, and taken steps to rectify it.
She took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled her chin free. Bracing herself, she turned back to Agent Chastain. “The hijackers have them. That’s why Todd put the guns on board.”
“We don’t know that. All we know for sure is no one’s at home. According to Kyle’s elementary school, his father called earlier in the week and told them Kyle was going on a trip with his mother. No timeframe was given.”
“Is it possible Mrs. Clancy took their son and left? Was the marriage in trouble?” Chastain’s partner asked.
He was speaking in the past tense. Her breathing hiccupped.
“No. They have a strong marriage.”
A true partnership. They’d been together since high school and knew each other inside and out. Their relationship was the kind Beth hoped for. The kind based on respect, understanding, and an endless depth of love. The kind of marriage in which to raise children.
Chastain rubbed his palms down his face. “We need you to walk through the Clancy’s residence. Since you’re familiar with their home, you may notice if anything is missing.”
Although Beth nodded her agreement, she was already certain they’d been taken and used to force Todd to smuggle the guns on board. It was the only thing that made sense. There was no way Todd would have planted the weapons unless he’d been trying to protect his family.
What would happen to them now? With the hijacking plot exposed, and the guns discovered, would Ginny and Kyle become excess baggage to dispose of as soon as possible?
Were they already dead?
A rush of nausea climbed her throat and her scalp started to tingle.
What if, by stopping the kidnappers and exposing the guns, she’d caused the death of her best friend?
And Kyle.
Oh, God.
Kyle could be lying dead somewhere. Those shy blue eyes empty of life. That chubby little body still.
A hot, heavy pressure settled in her chest.
Because of that damn dream, a plane full of strangers was safe, but her best friends and her godchild were, in all likelihood, dead.
Because of that damn dream
.
Chapter Nine
By the time Cosky and Rawls returned from their debriefing, Mac had fielded multiple questions from a variety of agencies. Michael Brita of Homeland Security was the most insistent, demanding to know the circumstances under which the intel had been acquired, and how they’d identified the hijackers. Since no passengers had survived the Argentinean incident, there was no record what the terrorists looked like.
Christ, the clusterfuck swirling around them threatened to swallow the whole team. He could hardly admit the information had come from a fucking dream.
As soon as Cosky and Rawls stepped inside the room, he activated the jammer and got down to business. “SITREP?”
Cosky shrugged and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Lots of questions we couldn’t answer. We cited classified and held fast.”
Mac grunted, watching as Rawls perched on the edge of the lunch table. “They’re pushing for the source. It won’t be long before they hit up Command Central.”
“What did you tell Gillomay?” Cosky regarded him with a level stare.
“I told
McKay
that
Zane
had a dream.” Mac stomped on another surge of betrayal.
Captain Gillomay wouldn’t have accepted Mac’s interference and confrontation with the FBI without busting him back a rank, which was exactly why Mac had gone to McKay. The Admiral had personal experience with Zane’s visions. Or at least his grandson did, since one of Zane’s flashes had saved the kid’s life during his first deployment. McKay had called Gillomay and smoothed the waters.
Of course Admiral McKay had been going on the same false assumption as Mac. Namely, that Zane hadn’t lost his fucking mind and been lying through his teeth.
Cosky cocked his head, and watched him in silence. “So he knows our information didn’t come from a source we can hand over?”
Mac wouldn’t go that far. He had every intention of handing over the fucking
source
, but after he’d cleared his team from potential fallout. He practiced some deep breathing to counter his spiking blood pressure.
Cosky and Mac stared at each other for one throbbing moment.
“How the
hell
could you let him do this to us?” Mac finally asked through gritted teeth.
Cosky didn’t flinch. “It was the only viable option.”
“Bullshit.” Mac unclenched his teeth long enough to force the words out. “He should have told the truth. You know damn well I would have moved on the plane.”
“And her.”
The two words hung there, an accusation in the charged air.
A blast of shock sucked the air from his lungs. Frustrated rage filled them back up again. He stalked to the corner of the room and back. “Don’t fucking tell me you believe her?”
“Yeah, I do,” Cosky said in that same level tone as he watched Mac pace.
Mac stopped in front of Rawlings and scanned his face. “You too?” He didn’t wait for Rawls’ silent nod. Grinding his teeth, he took another trip to the far corner. “What the fuck did that bitch do to you three?”
“Beth.” Cosky’s voice chilled. “Her name’s Beth.”
Mac spun around. “And you don’t find
Beth’s
sudden appearance a little too convenient?”
“Because of her, we’re not lying in a pool of blood twenty thousand feet up. Because of her, we have three targets in custody.”
“I‘m fucking aware of that—” Mac broke off, took a deep, calming breath and regrouped. “She’s lying. She has to be involved.”
“You weren’t there, Mac,” Rawls said, his gaze watchful. “She was scared. Confused.”
Mac snorted. “Which makes her a damn fine actress.”
Cosky tilted his head and studied Mac’s face. “Why are you having such trouble with this? You accept that Zane knows things he shouldn’t. You trust those visions of his. What’s the difference?”
“Fuck no. You’re
comparing
the two? I know Zane.” He squared off against his lieutenant, feeling like he bracing for nuclear sub charge. “I’ve experienced his flashes. We don’t know a goddamn thing about this woman.”
With a lift of his eyebrows, Cosky shook his head dismissively. “You barely knew Zane the first time you trusted one of his visions. It was your first op together. Trusting him saved your ass. Why not give her the same benefit of the doubt?”
If that didn’t beat the bull—the jackass was lecturing him. Had his whole team gone crazy?
He ground his teeth and tried to shout some sense into them. “We don’t know this—” Christ, he sounded like a broken record.
“Zane knows her,” Cosky cut in. “If we’re gonna trust his flashes to keep us alive, then we trust this too.”
“Big difference, buddy. Zane’s hung up on her. He’s compromised.”
Cosky straightened against the wall and pinned him with a sharp look. “I’m not. Neither is Rawls. Back off.
She’s not involved
.”
Mac bared his teeth. “You don’t see what she’s up to? She’s convinced him to lie to his commanding officer. Next, she’ll separate him from the teams. A year from now, when he’s due to re-up, she’ll convince him to play nursemaid to some fucking security firm.”
Whoa
. He broke off.
Where the hell had that come from?
With a snort, Cosky stepped away from the wall. “The lie’s on Zane’s head. She’s been against it from the beginning. As for separating him from the team,” he paused, regarded Mac steadily. “She’s not the one pushing him out. You are.” When Mac stiffened, Cosky’s gaze hardened to slate. “He’s been waiting ten fucking years for her. You think he’s going to give her up? Even for the teams? You need to stand down. She’s one of ours now.”
Clearly a warning.
Son of a bitch
. Mac scrubbed his hands down his face. “She isn’t one of ours yet. He’s still got time to grab hold of his senses.”
“Ain’t gonna happen,” Rawls drawled, sliding off the table. He stood, lifted his right arm above his head and worked his left shoulder. “Better him than me, though.”
“No shit.” Cosky’s lips twisted.
Mac took another turn around the room. Obviously, the woman had cast some kind of spell over Cosky and Rawls too. More accusations would just drive a wedge between them. Best to back off and wait. Eventually, she’d show her true colors, and they’d see the little bitch for what she was. He relaxed as a plan took shape. He’d feed her some rope and watch her dangle from it.
“So what’s the word?” Rawls asked.
“We’ve been asked to remain available—for questioning.” Mac shrugged. “But we’re hands-off. Keep your eyes open, though. Something hinky’s going on.”
“Who leaked?”
“Figured you’d pick that up.” Mac tossed Cosky a predatory grin. “First thought was Chastain. The bastard’s reaction to the initial call didn’t fit.” He delivered a concise replay of their conversation over the phone.
“What kind of asshole blows off fresh intel?” Rawls asked.
Very slowly, Cosky shook his head, his gaze dark and distant. “Doesn’t track. Anyone with an ounce of sense would realize such a reaction would raise flags.”
“You’d think.” Mac eyed his lieutenants with satisfaction. Zane, Cosky and Rawls were as sharp as they came. “I pulled his file. The SOB’s a fucking Boy Scout. Twenty years on the job. Commendations up the ass. He’s taken hardware twice. And get this—before he went federal, he spent time on the teams.”
With each word, Cosky’s brows lowered further, until they looked like a bushy black V, perched above the bridge of his nose. “Who’d he serve with?”
“Semper Fi.”
“No shit?” After a moment Cosky shrugged. “Even Marines go south.”
“This guy doesn’t read like that. Reads stand-up. Lost his family to a drunk driver back in the eighties. Pulled into a gas station, filled up the tank, went inside to pay. While he’s waiting in line some asshole skids into the family wagon and pins it against the pumps. Whole thing bursts into flames. One minute he’s got a wife and three kids. The next, his family’s gone.”
“Jesus,” Rawls said.
All three men fell silent.
After a moment Mac continued. “Poor bastard lived the job after that. Handled some ugly cases. Routed the Mafia out of the San Francisco garbage union. Took one of those bullets there. After 9/11, he transferred to Counterterrorism. Three years ago they appointed him Special Agent in Charge of the West Coast Unit.”
“A guy like that….” Cosky shook his head and cursed softly. “Doesn’t have much to lose. Maybe that’s how they turned him.”
Mac frowned. “That’s the thing. He remarried, started a new family—in his forties no less. He’s got two kids now. Boys. Can’t see him risking his second family by getting in bed with these motherfuckers.”
Even as the words hit the air, Mac froze.
He flashed back to his first sight of Chastain. The deep lines bracketing his mouth. The loose hang of his clothes. And then there was how accommodating the man had been. For Christ’s sake, he’d allowed him to talk to his men before the feds had even interviewed them. From his escort’s stunned reaction, that alone had to be unusual.
“Jesus,” he breathed, watching the same realization creep across Cosky and Rawls’ faces.
How hard would it be to compromise a man who’d lost his first family, lost his first run at happiness? How hard would it be to use his second family, his second chance against him? Suddenly, that strange reaction to Mac’s phone call made an ominous sort of a sense. It had been a deliberate flag, a warning.
“Son of a bitch,” he said quietly. “The bastard was trying to warn us.”
* * *
Asking Beth Brown to tour the Clancy residence had been necessary to avoid drawing suspicion; such requests were standard operating procedure. A complete waste of time, in this case, since John Chastain already knew Todd Clancy’s family had been taken—kidnapped to use as a club.
He’d recognized the raw, carved face. The ill-fitting clothes. The fresh streaks of gray in the sandy hair. Just as he’d recognized the flat sheen of terror in those brown eyes.
The same face stared back every time he looked in a mirror.
With controlled impatience, John closed the door to the office that Sea-Tac’s head of security had lent him. The briefcase he carried dragged at his left shoulder, a weight more mental than physical.
He should have accompanied Beth Brown, Zane Winters and their host of FBI and police escorts as they toured the Clancy residence. But the thought of walking through that house and facing the desolation and terror had been more than he could stand. Houses soaked up their residents’ emotions. A happy home could vibrate with joy. A stable home could ease with calm. An unhealthy home could sour with sickness. But a grieving home… grieving homes drowned in desolation and stillness. They numbed with emptiness.
He’d been drowning in such a home for years before Amy had dragged him free.
He’d been returning to such a house every night for the past six days. He didn’t need to tour Todd Clancy’s place to know that they shared the same zip code.
Besides, there were the instructions on that damn note.
He took a deep, raw breath.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled the scrap of paper free. Ice prickled, burned down to the bone. Someone in that bastard’s pay had gotten so close they’d been able to slip the instructions into his pocket.
The note hadn’t been there when John had left the field office. He would have found it while rooting around for his keys. Nor had he taken his jacket off since his arrival, which left one conclusion. They’d slipped the note into his pocket while he’d been wearing the jacket.
They could have slipped a knife through his ribs just as easily.
The only people with that kind of access were on his team. He’d suspected someone from his unit had betrayed him. Now he knew for sure. Not that it made a difference, because he still didn’t know
who
.
The office John found himself in was smaller than his own, with wood paneling on the walls, but the furniture was comfortable—leather and wood. Fishing and hunting scenes hung from the walls. Amy would have described it as lodge-aesthetic, and made some crack about men and their clubs.
The fact she wasn’t there beside him to make the crack burned like acid. Christ, he needed to talk to her, hear the sound of her voice. Know she was alive.
That they were all alive.
He crossed to the mahogany desk and eased the briefcase down on the gleaming surface. Only a whisper touched the room when the case made contact, and he relaxed, as though anything sharper would have ricocheted up his arm and shattered him into a billion pieces.
Pieces that nobody would ever find.
That nobody could put back together again.
Ah, God. Amy
.
The nausea swelled sudden and furious, a sour backwash in his throat. He stood there, completely still, waiting for it to subside and then bent over the briefcase. It took three tries before the locking mechanism retracted with a pop.
Inside were a laptop and a disposable cell phone. He took both out and arranged them side by side on the desk. The leather of the chair creaked as he sat down. For one long moment he stared at the two items, his body tensing with each hard thump of his heart. Then he picked up the phone. The call log was empty.
Nervous terror flooded him.
What if they didn’t need him anymore? With their plans abandoned, and half their crew in custody, what if they’d simply cut their losses and walked? What if Amy and the boys were—He started shaking. Fists clenched, he rode the wave out. Tried not to think, tried not to guess, tried not to imagine—just existed in the here and now where they still lived.
They had to be alive. Nothing else was acceptable.
His breath caught in his throat as he powered up the laptop. Once Windows was running, he typed in the URL from the note.
A flash of white and a dark, square box took center stage. Seven names appeared within the square. Chastain stared hard at the list of names, recognizing them from the flight manifest. All seven had been booked in first class. All seven were down in the makeshift holding pen, awaiting interviews.
He shook his head. What the hell did these people have to do with the attempted hijacking? What the hell was he supposed to do with them?