Kitsune saw Ajax rise and wipe off a bloody stiletto on the dead man’s shirt. Another one dead.
“I don’t know, but we’d better find out.”
Kitsune inched back. The old metal creaked again, louder this time, flexed and gave way.
Kitsune landed on all fours at their feet. The metal ventilation shaft sheared and gave way, flying down, and hit Cassandra on the head. As she fell, hard, Kitsune scrambled up from the floor and started running.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Off the Coast of Cuba
The Albatross seaplane might be Korean War vintage, but Rafael kept it in excellent shape. The stylized G on its side was freshly painted. It held four passengers with a small area for supplies.
“You guys will stay here,” Mike said to Louisa and Adam, when the arguments started. “You have to keep communications open with Zachery, and guard the plane. No way we want to wreck her on our first outing, or have the Cubans confiscate her.”
Nicholas let them grouse and curse, then added, “Can you guys imagine what Zachery and Savich will say? After they fire the lot of us? So, protect our jobs, guys.”
The Albatross lifted into the sky. It was loud, nothing sleek like their jet. Mike was glad not to have to talk. She’d never admit it on the pain of death to Nicholas, but her throat hurt, her head hurt, her chest hurt.
Once they were strapped in, headphones on, they skimmed the slate-gray Caribbean water, and lifted into the sky. Rafael Guzman was whistling, no longer afraid they would shoot out his kneecaps, and knowing he’d made the deal of a lifetime. He said into their headphones, “It’s the same thing every time—load up, fly out, unload, fly back. I’m on-call twenty-four/seven. Even on Christmas and my wife’s birthday. But now this job is going to be over because they’re criminals.” Slight pause. “You think I can fly in Florida?”
“Why not?” Nicholas said, then sighed. “All right, Rafael, I’ll make some calls.”
“That won’t fly, try again,” Mike whispered, watching the whitecaps under them, followed the shadow of the plane skimming over the water.
“What was that?” Nicholas asked. “What won’t fly?”
She leaned in. “I’m trying to figure out a nonviolent plotline to tell Big Mike and my mom, the Gorgeous Rebecca. They know we were in Venice, in that shoot-out, no way around that since the media gave out names, but this? This they do not need to know.”
“You think I’m going to fill in my parents? My grandfather would send a squadron of special ops to bring me back to England. Now, when we land—”
“—we go in hard. Kitsune and Grant, they’re both warriors. If they’re able, they’ll be right beside us.” If they’re still alive, but she wasn’t about to say it out loud.
“Yes. We’ll be fine.” He leaned over and kissed her. “And I’ve got my own warrior to protect me.”
“Don’t you forget it and go cowboy on me, okay?”
He smiled, but, she realized, he didn’t answer her.
“Look down, Mike. There’s the boat.” He fell silent, and both of them stared. Unbelievably, a beautiful, large island suddenly appeared out of nothingness. It was astounding, hard to accept.
Rafael shouted over the headphone, “This is strange, usually the island doesn’t appear until I’m offloaded and ready to leave. I wonder why it’s early. But there it is. Magic, that’s what it is. And there’s the boat. We’re going to land.”
“I didn’t really want to believe it,” she said, staring at the island. “But it’s true. Still, it’s hard to believe what I’m seeing.”
He squeezed her hand. “True and amazing. You ready for a grand adventure?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
The Bermuda Triangle
Rafael set them down smoothly and glided to a stop. An old cargo ship appeared, motoring quickly toward them. The waves were not gentle, and Mike suddenly tasted black, bitter lake water in her mouth.
And Nicholas knew. He grabbed her hand. “It will be okay.”
“I’m fine, really.” Sh
e swallowed hard. “The thing is, Nicholas, I didn’t even know I was drowning. I would have died without having have realized what happened. Sorry, weird time for me to bring it up.”