Flight 12 to Rome: A Nick Bracco Novella Page 2

  Nick slid into her spot and said, “What are you doing, Kyle?”

  The guy ran a hand through his thick head of hair. “I had it, Nick.”

  “Had what?”

  “The device. I had it.”

  Nick’s blood pressure spiked. “What do you mean had? How did you find it?”

  “Never mind how,” Kyle said. “The fact is it was stolen from me and I believe the thief is on board the plane.”

  “How?”

  “It’s irrelevant,” Kyle said, getting frustrated. “We need to find it before we get to Rome.”

  Nick gave him a suspicious look, and Kyle immediately interpreted the expression.

  Kyle looked down at his hands. “You’re wrong, Nick.”

  Nick remained still, wondering just what scheme Kyle was running this time.

  “I accepted the bribe because I knew Bradford was dirty and I wanted to prove it.”

  “You have any evidence?”

  Kyle clasped his hands together, then placed them against his chin. “I had the recorder running on my cell phone but—”

  “The button malfunctioned or stopped recording when it rubbed against your keys. Yeah, I was at the trial.”

  Kyle looked toward the window. “This device is extremely dangerous.”

  “It also comes with a reward.”

  “It’s not the money.”

  “You’re not with the Bureau anymore, Kyle, so how do you even know about the device?”

  Kyle bit his lower lip, then said, “There are people who know about Kristin’s murder. They know who did it.”

  Nick understood. Kyle’s girlfriend was killed when her car exploded when she started it one morning. Kyle was there to see it happen. There was always speculation that Kyle had double-crossed the wrong people and he was being punished for his behavior.

  “Kyle,” Nick said, “you’re in way over your head here. Why don’t you tell me what you know and I’ll try to help.”

  Kyle stared into space, his eyes not fixing on anything. “I was followed to the airport. They knew I had the device and they weren’t going to let me make it.”

  “Who?”

  “Clanton.”

  “Brian Clanton?”

  Kyle nodded.

  “Brian Clanton, the assistant CIA director?”

  Kyle continued to nod.

  Nick almost laughed out loud. “Kyle, do you know how preposterous that sounds?”

  Kyle looked at Nick. “Really? Did you happen to tell anyone at Langley you were going to be on this flight?”

  Nick said nothing.

  “I didn’t think so. Apparently there’s a little trust issue, isn’t there?”

  Nick said nothing.

  “Oh, I know . . . you had to compartmentalize the intelligence so you kept it in house. Right? Except you have a team of Interpol agents waiting for you in Rome. So you trust an international agency with multinational branches over the CIA?”

  Nick wasn’t about to go into the rift between departments, but Kyle hit the target with extreme accuracy. “Okay, so Clanton is chasing you, trying to take the device and keep it safe from a rogue agent.”

  “Sure, that makes sense, except for one thing. Clanton is the ringleader of the operation. I can prove it. I’ve got photos, recordings, secured emails. It’s all on a flashdrive in a safe deposit box. There is no malfunctioning button this time. I can give you everything.”

  The look in Kyle’s eyes prevented Nick from dismissing the notion. There was something so lucid, so clearly sober about his demeanor, Nick almost believed him.

  “Okay,” Nick said. “What does the device look like?”

  “It’s inside a small canister posing as an inhaler. Like one of the inhalers for asthma patients.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Who’s this woman you’re with?”

  Kyle instinctively looked at the seats in front of them where she was sitting. “I don’t know. She calls herself Lisa, but I doubt that’s her name. She claimed to work with Kristin at the Embassy, but I know she’s lying.”

  “So what does she want?”

  “The device.”

  “And whose side do you think she’s on?”

  “No idea. I just know she rescued me from Clanton, but I doubt she’s with the government.”

  “Jeesh, Kyle, what have you been doing?”

  “A lot,” he said sheepishly. “An awful lot.”

  “Tell you what,” Nick said. “We get to Rome, I’ll have my partner check into this right away. You give him the data and we’ll check it all out. But you’ll be detained until we have the device. Okay?”

  “Sure,” Kyle said, “but I doubt this plane is going to Italy.”

  Nick squinted. “What do you mean?”

  Kyle showed Nick his phone. On the display was the face of a compass. “We’ve been heading due south for the past fifteen minutes. And unless they moved Rome to the Bahamas, we won’t be landing in Italy anytime soon.”

  Chapter 3

  Nick returned to his seat with more questions than answers. He placed his phone on the tray table with the compass showing them heading south. Nick was going to give the pilot a few more minutes to reroute, before he acted. A temporary flight path could be changed due to weather ahead, so he wasn’t going to jump the gun.

  Jess returned to her seat next to him and began scribbling more notes.

  “Anything?” Nick asked.

  Jess shook her head, then pulled out her cell phone and tapped her screen a couple of times. “What about you?” she said, staring at her phone. “You put a little scare into my stalker?”

  “Your stalker is an air marshal.”

  Jess looked over at him. “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish I were.”

  Jess tapped her screen again, then glanced over at Nick’s phone. “Are you getting a signal?”

  Nick picked up his cell. “Sure, but mine’s a satellite.”

  The interior of the plane was dark now with most of the passengers in a reclined position attempting to sleep.

  A female flight attendant pulled a cart up next to their row and looked at Nick. In a quiet voice she said, “Something to drink, sir?”

  “Diet Coke, please.”

  “And you, ma’am?”

  “I’m okay,” Jess said, then added, “is there a problem with the WiFi on board?”

  “Yes,” the woman said with rehearsed pleasantry. “The WiFi isn’t functioning. Sorry, I know it’s an inconvenience.”

  The plane jostled, yet the attendant adroitly avoided spilling anything as she reached over and handed Nick his drink. “If there’s anything else you need, please let me know.”

  Nick couldn’t help but stare at his phone, praying for the damn compass to move away from the giant “S” on his screen.

  “You waiting for a call?” Jess said.

  “No,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, then added, “I’m just solving a mystery.”

  “What mystery?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nick, not everything is on the record.”

  He had to grin at that one. “I realize I opened up to you earlier, but I am an FBI agent you know.”

  They hit turbulence and Nick felt the plane come out from under him. He clutched the armrests as the fuselage bobbled in the sky.

  “Bobably jus urbance,” Jess said.

  Nick looked at her. “What?”

  “Bopity moor uterlent,” she slurred. Her face seemed to slant to the right, melting like a Salvador Dali painting.

  Nick was too slow to realize what had happened. He glanced at his drink, then at the flight attendant peeking at him through the corner of her eye. He jammed a finger down his throat desperately trying to purge the drug from his stomach, but again he was too late. His finger felt fat and gooey, and he couldn’t find his esophagus. The motion of the plane made him tired now and he could tell consciousness was leaving. The last thing he remembered
was the flight attendant jabbing a syringe into Jess’s neck and watching her head drop onto the tray table with a thud.

  * * *

  Even before he opened his eyes, Nick felt as if he were speeding down a rollercoaster. Every little jiggle the plane made caused his stomach to roll up and down. His hands were clammy and his eyelids were resisting his commands. He was slumped down like a drunk and hadn’t the power to sit up.

  When he finally managed to open his eyes, there was a woman sitting next to him, pointing a gun. His gun. It was the athletic woman who boarded with Kyle Church. Her crooked nose seemed even more severe close up.

  “Welcome back,” the woman said quietly.

  They were in the last row on the right side of the plane. In the middle three seats sat Jess and Kyle Church with their heads back, snoring.

  Nick forced himself to sit up, rubbing his neck from the uncomfortable position he’d slept in.

  “How much they paying you?” Nick asked, while cracking his neck from side to side.

  “Five million each.”

  “So, what’s that, thirty million dollars for a doomsday device?”

  There was a tone of sarcasm in her voice that seemed to belong there. “You’re very funny, Agent Bracco. You trying to figure out a number? Let’s just say there are more of us than you. A lot more.”

  Nick blinked dry eyes. “So five million dollars to destroy the planet. Nice.”

  “Don’t patronize me. You think you know all the answers, but you don’t. You only know a small portion of the equation.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Well,” she shrugged one shoulder, “the country who owns the device can defend itself properly from any enemy.”

  “Yeah? What if the enemy are your own citizens? Then what?”

  That stopped her. She had to go off script and it seemed to annoy her. “It makes no difference who the enemy is. Maybe this will prevent the United States from getting involved in everyone else’s business.”

  “You have experience with foreign policy?”

  Nick could see her clearly now. Her eyes were dark pockets of intensity and her chin jutted out with sharp edges.

  “The question you’re asking is, ‘Do I work for the U.S. government?’”

  “Okay?”

  “I used to, but that became an act of futility. You needed a two-hour meeting to decide where the vending machine should go. It’s a miracle anything gets done.”

  “And yet here I am, on this plane, sniffing out your ill-conceived plan.”

  “A nuisance, that is all.”

  Nick’s head was beginning to clear and he realized the flight marshal was still loose. He might’ve drunk himself to sleep, but he was free.

  “And what about the three hundred passengers?”

  “No one will be harmed,” she said.

  “Except for the millions of people exposed to the contents of the device.”

  The woman’s face contorted into a sneering glare. “You keep obsessing about this little canister. What makes you think it will ever be used? We’ve had nuclear warheads available for decades and no one seems interested in deploying them.”

  Nick scratched the back of his head. “You really don’t understand foreign diplomacy, do you?”

  “Or maybe I choose to ignore it.”

  “You give that device to a third world country with nothing but guns and Humvees and they will succeed in destroying a major civilization. Including yours.”

  The woman frowned. “Agent Bracco, you’ve been watching too many dystopian movies. I doubt the American tumble will affect my world at all.”

  Nick had to assume the woman was the only terrorist on board with a weapon. Everyone else was probably armed with a syringe full of a strong sedative, which was much easier to get on board, especially with medical releases. Now he needed to keep the woman talking until he found the right moment to attack.

  Nick scanned the interior of the plane, taking inventory of his assets. One drunk air marshal and an ex-FBI agent charged with bribery.

  “I will have no problem firing should you attempt to scream,” the woman said.

  “Then what? How do you control three hundred passengers with one solitary weapon?”

  She smiled a sad smile. “Let’s just say we have strategic control over the rest of the flying public.”

  Which meant they had some flight attendants and certainly the pilot involved with the takeover as well. But the way she said it, Nick considered the fact they had many more involved than he’d originally considered. He’d put the number at eight or nine, but now he might be looking at fifteen or twenty. A number he might not be able to overcome.

  “What’s your name?” Nick asked.

  “You can call me Lisa.”

  “I mean your real name.”

  A grin curled the side of her mouth. “Let’s stay with Lisa.”

  “I’m going to find out eventually.”

  Lisa wiggled the gun. “You’re in a bad spot, Agent Bracco.”

  Nick shrugged. “I’ve been in worse.”

  “I doubt it,” she said, pulling his crushed satellite phone from the magazine compartment, then shoving it back down.

  “So where are we going?”

  “Not Rome.” She smiled with a smug arrogance that didn’t fit the occasion.

  Nick thought about it. “You still don’t have the device yet, do you?”

  Her smile dissipated. “Only a matter of time.”

  “So you don’t know who has the device and yet you’re already spending the five million.”

  “Anticipation is the best part of any vacation.”

  “Hmm,” Nick said, feeling the clear air turbulence bouncing the plane. He needed a plan, something. He wasn’t about to watch human greed prevail.

  There was a commotion in first class and when Nick looked to the front of the plane, Lisa said, “Just a little search party. Nothing to be concerned about.”

  “You realize you don’t have enough bullets to kill everyone on board, right? Eventually the masses will move against you.”

  Lisa kept a flat expression, as if she’d heard the story before. “Yeah, but who’s going to be the first to challenge a loaded weapon?”

  Nick spotted someone coming toward the back of the plane. It was the bald air marshal and he was wobbling down the aisle, bouncing from seat to seat to catch his balance from the turbulence and excess alcohol. He desperately clutched the headrest from each chair as if attempting to climb Mount Everest. His eyes were half-open slits of inebriation.

  Lisa saw the man coming, but showed no signs of concern. She lowered the pistol to her side, then carefully draped her left elbow over the weapon.

  The guy never even looked in their direction. He seemed preoccupied with the concept of getting to the bathroom and nothing was going to interrupt that one simple need.

  As he went past, Nick almost called out to him, but what good could it do? Get them both killed?

  “Good boy,” Lisa whispered as the door to the bathroom shut behind them.

  The commotion continued up front. People were chirping loudly about the treatment of some of the passengers. Apparently there was a cover story being used to have people empty their pockets while they were being frisked.

  “You see,” Lisa said, “this will be over quickly and harmlessly.”

  Nick measured the time they were airborne and came up empty. He couldn’t gauge the time he was unconscious, but he assumed they were at least two hours from takeoff. Maybe more.

  The bathroom door slid open and the air marshal continued his dance as if the floor had been smeared with oil. He wobbled behind Lisa, who didn’t feel the need to turn around.

  That was a mistake.

  The marshal dove down into her lap and swiped the gun from her grip before she could react. He elbowed her in the side of the neck, sending her head into the backrest with a startled expression on her face.

  Nick grabbed Lisa and shoved her into the
window seat while the apparently sober marshal pointed the gun at her.

  “What’s your name?” Nick asked.

  “Kirk Weston,” the guy said. “You?”

  “Nick Bracco.”

  “Something I should know?”

  “Yeah,” Nick said, eyeing the front of the plane. “She’s not alone. I have a feeling they’re in control of the aircraft.”

  “That why we’re heading south?’

  “Yeah.”

  Kirk handed Nick his gun, then pulled out his own pistol to keep trained on Lisa. She was rubbing the side of her head but staying quiet.

  “Are they armed?” Kirk asked.

  “With syringes maybe, but I doubt they have guns.”

  “Good,” Kirk said, gesturing toward first class. “Why don’t you see what’s going on up there while I keep her company.”

  A female flight attendant came rushing down the aisle toward Nick. She was being chased by a thin man with scraggly hair and a determined look on his face. She ran into Nick’s arms out of sheer panic. Nick held out his gun and stopped the guy in his tracks.

  There was a clear understanding that a gunshot on a plane was a bad idea. A bullet through the skin of the aircraft might not be that devastating, but blowing out a window was another matter altogether.

  Nick twisted the flight attendant behind him and the terrorist moved back. The passengers were all up in their seats, screaming or huddling their loved ones. Nick had to assume he was the only one with a weapon, so it was time to take control.

  He moved slowly moved down the aisle as the terrorist moved backward at the same pace. Nick reached the forward section of the seating area and found the PA system. He pulled the microphone from its cradle and pushed the button.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of Flight 12, this is FBI Agent Nick Bracco. Please take your seats and keep your seat belts fastened. As you can tell, there’s a group of people on board who are attempting to divert this flight from its original path. I can assure you that you are safe and will arrive in Rome as planned. To the radicals who are attempting this takeover, your feeble plan has been anticipated by our government. We have hundreds of agents from multiple agencies awaiting our arrival where you will be arrested and brought to justice.”

  His words resonated with the passengers and a swell of cheers and applause bounced around the interior of the cabin. Part of Nick’s dialogue was meant to notify the pilot that there was a safe harbor in Rome and if he were operating under duress, he might revert his flight plan back to its original destination. But if he didn’t, it substantiated the fact that he was part of the terrorist takeover and complicated Nick’s plan immensely.