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She wanted to come home as soon as possible. Whose goddamn fault is that? No time to dwell on it now. “When did Lexie contact you to come home?”
“Sometime before noon. Whoever put out the hit on the flight attendant and had her replaced is nimble, with plenty of resources.”
They also had help from the inside. There’s no way they could have operated so quickly without someone feeding them information. He doesn’t admit to it, but Will knows he has a traitor in his midst. It’s a direct shot at his power—and because his daughter is on that plane, it’s a bold attempt to emasculate him, too.
“What about the guards?”
“The guards are also highly capable, and loyal, as far as I know. But their loyalty hasn’t been tested.”
Then why the hell are they protecting your daughter? I don’t say it, because even well-tested guards can turn. There’s a certain amount of luck involved in assigning protection. No one likes to talk about it, because leaving anything to chance when it comes to a loved one’s safety is chilling. But Lady Luck always has her say.
“Even if the personnel are trustworthy, Rafael, the communication channels could be compromised. We have a problem, but we’re still searching for the rotten root.”
Will’s voice is hollow, with the twang of defeat. Men like him never admit weakness. His candor is a testament to what’s on the line. Not that I need a fucking testament to understand the stakes.
“After the crash with Edward and Lydia,” he continues, “we put measures in place that make it virtually impossible to sabotage our planes. So the bastards did the next best thing. They got an insurgent on board.” Before the final word is out, there’s a loud crash and the sound of glass shattering through the phone.
Tamar peers up at me, brow raised.
Given the chaos, I should ask if everything’s okay, but it would only embarrass him.
Will isn’t prone to throwing tantrums in the middle of a shitstorm. He lives by the adage revenge is a dish best served cold. Either he’s slipping, or this is more than even he can shoulder. Regardless of the reason, his ability to make sound decisions feels off.
“I’m going to put you on speaker,” I tell him. “One of my best soldiers is with me.” I glance at Tamar. “She’s smart, Mossad trained—and loyal. You can speak freely.”
“Tamar Sorin, sir. I assume we’re on a secure line.”
It’s correct procedure to check, but there’s no way he would be talking so freely if the line wasn’t secure.
“The most secure. I hope you can say the same, Sorin.”
“Without reservation, sir. What exactly is the plane’s destination?” Tamar cuts right to the chase without taking a breath, and her voice doesn’t waver as she questions the notorious William Clarke. She’s got a lot of balls.
“Quimper. Cornouaille Airport,” he replies curtly.
A midsize airport just a few miles outside the city.
“Why is Lexie going to Quimper?”
“Shopping for wedding gifts or some other nonsense.”
Oh, Angel, you can fool your father, but I don’t buy it. You could have purchased wedding presents online. Quimper might be an old city, but it has twenty-first-century capabilities. Porto. Oslo. Quimper. They’re connected. I feel it in my bones. What are you chasing, Lexie?
I weigh the possibilities. It’s not the first time I’ve mulled them over. They all lead to one place. Somewhere dark and sinister, where there’s no escape if she’s snared in the net. I have to get to her before that happens.
“Anything else Tamar should know before I take her off speaker so she can focus on getting a team on the ground?”
“No.”
I glance at Tamar, who shakes her head.
“Why didn’t you reroute the plane to London as soon as you learned about the dead flight attendant?” I ask once the phone’s off speaker.
“Now you’re questioning my decisions?”
Yes. “I’m trying to understand what the fuck is going on so we can get Lexie to safety.”
He clears his throat. “My first instinct was to bring the plane to London—until we discovered the flight was being tracked by satellite. At that point, keeping it airborne seemed too risky. And…”
