Striker (K19 Security Solutions 6)

“Monk, you’re right. What we need to figure out now is whether there is a plane en route to Colombia. Once we’ve confirmed there is, we need to figure out who authorized its departure.”

“I’ll ask again, has anyone made contact with Yáñez?”

“Negative,” answered Razor like Mercer had in his absence. “I’ve attempted contact with all four we believe are on board—Onyx, Corazón, Tackle, and Halo. No response.”

“You believe to be on board? Have you seen the flight plan? What about the manifest?”

“Negative. There hasn’t been time,” Razor answered.

“How long since you spoke to Jimenéz?” Striker asked Razor, who checked his phone.

“Thirteen ten,” he answered.

“It’s thirteen-thirty-five now,” said Striker. “My answer, Monk, is we’ve been trying to figure this out in real time. We need your help.”

Monk nodded, picking up his phone.

“Gentlemen,” said Razor, motioning for everyone to leave the room. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we have several women upstairs who have been cooking for the last few days in order to serve a large group of people Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Understood. We’ll eat in shifts,” answered Doc.

“That’ll work,” said Razor. “I’ll let them know.”

Doc turned to Striker. “How is Aine?”

“Stable. I doubt anyone is letting her lift a finger.”

“I’ll head up and speak with Merrigan. Striker, who do you want to stay down here with you and Monk?”

“I’ll stay.” Mercer volunteered before Striker could answer. It would’ve been whom he would’ve asked for anyway.

“Gunner, let’s go.”

Before he followed Doc, he turned around and got closer to Striker. “You find out anything, you need anything, you say so immediately.”

Striker nodded. “Roger that, and thank you.”

Gunner grunted something Striker didn’t hear.

“Fuck,” he heard Monk say beneath his breath.

“What?” he asked, taking a seat next to him.

“It’s all here. Flight plan, manifest, departure log.”

“Out of Miami?”

“Atlanta.”

Striker was about to ask why, but did it matter? The four had been on the East Coast, and on standby. They’d never asked for anyone’s twenty. Everyone assumed that Monk would orchestrate this part of the mission when and if he was given the go-ahead.

“Where are they now?”

“That’s the thing,” he murmured, shaking his head. “They’re nowhere.”

“Come again,” he said, trying to maintain the same level of calm the others were.

Monk pointed first to one monitor and then the other. “That’s the last flight segment before they went silent. This is a hundred-mile radius.” He motioned with his head to the other two monitors. “These are five hundred and one thousand miles.”