Page 88 of Hotter than Wildfire

Maybe Gerald would go down, after all. The FBI was good, thorough, uncorrupted. They wouldn’t be like Gerald’s tame officers back home. They’d dig and dig and dig.

Utter hatred for Gerald pulsed in her. Hatred for all of them—for the man who’d battered Harry’s little sister to death, for the man Kerry had been so afraid of, but above all, hatred of Gerald and all his men—prickled through her veins like some kind of drug.

She was going to die, but by God before she did, she was going to hurt Gerald, somehow.

The back door opened, and the engine noises and sharp diesel fuel fumes assaulted her senses. She stayed completely still, eyes closed and unmoving. She’d be deadweight. Good. Make them work at getting her out of the car.

“You get her.” Gerald’s cold voice. She’d recognize it anywhere.

“Yeah. I’ll take her up into the plane.” The second man had an odd accent. The accent everyone spoke in a Clint Eastwood film, Invictus. South African.

“You do that. I’ll talk with the pilots. They’ll be ready for takeoff. Let’s get in the air.”

Ellen tried to will herself to be unwieldy, but the blond man was really strong. He didn’t try to carry her across his front. He pulled her up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, steps loud on the concrete floor, moving swiftly up the plane’s stairs, holding her legs with one arm around her knees.

She felt the South African dip and they passed into the cabin. The quality of the air changed immediately. Fresher, cleaner. The outside noise abated then disappeared when she heard a door thump close.

They were in the airplane.

She was unceremoniously dumped in a leather chair. She lolled, making her whole body limp, arms dangling.

Everything hurt, but she was alive.

Maybe they would stay here for a while, in the airplane. Maybe they were waiting for someone. Maybe the plane needed refuelling.

Would there be a way for the FBI to find Gerald? Would a flight plan have been filed?

When she disappeared, Harry would read her email and contact the FBI immediately. As her head slowly cleared of the drug and she was able to put two thoughts together, hope surged through her.

Harry’d be pushing the FBI to find them, they’d be on the lookout, canvassing all roads, trains, buses, planes.

Maybe all she needed was for Gerald and this South African guy to stay in the plane while the FBI and Harry did their thing.

Stay here, she ordered the plane.

As if in answer, there was an incomprehensible announcement from the pilot’s cabin over the speakers and the engines fired up. A minute later, the plane started slowly moving.

Ellen chanced cracking an eye open and saw that the plane was taxiing from the hangar out into the sunlight.

The place looked utterly deserted. Even if she sprang to her feet and pounded on the windows, there was no one to hear. No one to care.

The notes on the engines changed as the pilot engaged a higher gear. They were moving out.

This was it. She was as good as dead.

“How much further?” Sam asked.

Harry made the calculations in his head, looking at the green dot, still now, looking at the overlying map. “Two miles. Couple of minutes.” He lifted his head. “There!” He pointed straight ahead, where the airfield was slowly coming into focus. Several medium-sized hangars, a couple of small jets parked outside them. While he watched, a Boeing 707 lifted off.

Somewhere on that airfield was Ellen.

Hold on, honey. I’m coming.

“Where’s the entrance?” Sam asked. He didn’t even dare flick a glance Harry’s way. He was pushing the vehicle to the max.

Harry ran his finger over the map, around, around…

“Shit! It’s on the north side! If she’s already on the plane we don’t have time to circle the perimeter.”