Chapter 18
Mason searched the bar until he located Sean. Quickly, he maneuvered through the tables. He needed to see Jess. Make sure she was safe. He’d give just about anything to hold her in his arms and kiss her. Nothing would loosen this knot in the center of his chest.
The seat across from Sean was empty.
“Where the hell is Jess?”
“Head,” Sean said, chomping on a mouthful of nachos. “She drank about seven gallons of water while sitting here.”
An alarm filled the bar. Mason swung around. A couple of waiters were headed down a hallway. He bolted after them. His heart beat painfully in his chest. He knew it was Jess. And he knew something had gone very wrong.
“Fuck!”
Mason was halfway across the bar before Lance caught up with him. Something brushed past his legs. He glanced down, and saw Apollo sprint through the bar patrons. By the time they reached the open door, Apollo had the two waiters cornered. Mason blew past them and burst outside.
A black SUV squealed out of the parking lot.
Massachusetts plate. Mason memorized the plate number. Just about to take off running for the rental vehicle, something on the ground caught his eye. His gut twisted in pain and guilt.
The dog tag he’d given Jess.
“He’s got her,” Mason growled.
“How can you be sure?” Riley asked, stopping next to him.
He let the dog tag dangle from his hand. “I gave it to her last night.”
A tight grim line crossed her mouth. “Dammit. Did you get any identifiers on the vehicle?” she asked.
Mason rattled off the make, model, and license plate number.
Riley grasped his arm and squeezed. “We’ll find her, Tink.”
* * *
Riley passed the information Mason had provided to Flaherty.
“According to Mason, they took the on-ramp for north I-93. Check for local airports.”
“Logan is South,” Flaherty said.
“They won’t use a large airport. All the major airports in the area have her picture. They won’t risk getting held up at security. They’ll want a smaller airport to get her out of the country via private aircraft.”
“Okay, looking for regional airports nearby.”
The silver Explorer they had rented pulled up beside her. She got into the front passenger seat. In the back were Mason and Sean. Apollo was in the cargo area. Lance hit the accelerator, and flew onto the interstate, trying to make up lost time.
“Laurence Municipal Airport. North of you, located just off I-93,” said Flaherty.
“Send the coordinates to Lance’s cell,” Riley said. “See if you can find out if there are any flight plans submitted for this afternoon.”
Lance’s phone was cradled in a holder on the dashboard with the GPS open. It dinged with an incoming message from Flaherty. Airport coordinates. Riley’s phone rang and she pressed the answer button, and placed the call on speakerphone.
“Based on the information you gave me, the vehicle is a rental under the name of Alexei Khil.” Flaherty said. “I’m trying to hack into the vehicles GPS, but I’m hitting some firewalls. My hacking skills aren’t as sharp as they once were.”
“Keep trying,” Mason said. “We need to get to Jess before they get her out of the country.”
“I’ll keep you updated with any new information.” Flaherty ended the call.
The vehicle was silent for the next twenty minutes. When they pulled into the airfield, the Khil’s black SUV was in a parking spot next to the concourse entrance. Mason was out of the vehicle and through the entrance before Lance came to a complete stop. Riley was on Mason’s heels.
“The man driving that black SUV,” Mason asked the man behind the counter. “Did he come in with a woman?”
The man narrowed his eyes at Mason. “Yes.”
“Where are they now? Are they still here?” Mason’s voiced boomed through the small area.
The man’s nostril’s flared and his hands rested on his hips. “No they just departed.”
“To where?” His voice echoed through the concourse.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t give you that information.” The man turned his attention to his computer screen, effectively dismissing Mason.
Mason reached across the counter, grabbed the man’s tie, and yanked him forward. “Want to reconsider your position on that?”
Oh shit…the last thing they needed was for Mason to be arrested on an attempted murder charge when he beat the man to a pulp.
Riley stepped up next to Mason, and pulled out her CIA credentials. She elbowed Mason in the side and gave him an I got this—don’t kill the man—we need him glare. When Mason released the man and took a half step back, she turned her attention toward the man. Wide eyes, a deathly white complexion, and the real possibility he had released his bladder. Riley almost felt sorry for him. She handed him a picture of Jess. “Is this the woman accompanying the man driving that SUV?”
“Y-yes,” he stuttered, “that’s her. The man said she wasn’t feeling well, which is why he had to help her onto the aircraft.” His gaze darted to Mason and quickly back to Riley. “She was having a hard time walking straight—like maybe she’d had too much to drink.”
Mason slammed her fist on the counter. The man jumped.
“Was there a flight plan filed?” Riley asked, edging Mason out of the way. Where the fuck was Lance? She needed him to get Mason out of here before he went postal and started dismembering the man.
“Yes, let me pull it up for you.” Of course, Mason putting the fear of God in the man seemed to have a positive effect in one way—the man was suddenly very excessively helpful.
Riley stepped closer to the counter and tried to peer at the computer screen. “Are they flying internationally?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m sure of that much.”
“What type of aircraft are they flying?”
“A Sikorsky S-92 helicopter.” The man grabbed papers off the printer and handed them to Riley. “The flight plan has them landing in North Aroostook Reginal Airport, Maine.”
“Maine?” Mason asked. “Why there?”
“It’s probably not far from the Canadian border,” Riley muttered as she scanned the documents.
“But they could’ve just flown direct.” Mason said.
Riley was on the phone to Flaherty within the next heartbeat. “They’re en-route to a small airport in northern Maine,” she said. “North Aroostook. What’s there?”
“I’ll get back to you,” he said, and dropped the call before she could respond.
Lance walked in and approached Riley.
“It’s thirty miles to Hanscom from here.”
“We don’t have time to waste trying to get back there,” Mason said.
Riley turned back to the man behind the counter. “What aircraft to do you have to charter, and is there a pilot available immediately?”