was a flight leaving for London in two hours with seats still available. After a two-and-a-half-hour layover, another flight would take him to Kingston. The ticket price was outrageous but he could not have cared less. He paid with his credit card and obtained a day pass for the airline’s lounge.
Before settling down inside to wait, he bought a few toiletries. He should call Inna and see what she may have discovered, but what did it matter anymore? Everything he needed to know was here, inside the black leather bag. He looked like crap. He needed a shower and a shave, just like in the old days while on the hunt. Thankfully, appearances mattered little to a print reporter. The byline. That’s what counted. And where the story was positioned. Front page, above the fold, the Boardwalk and Park Place of the newspaper business, and he’d owned that real estate.
But those days were gone.
Never to return?
He thought of the woman in the car.
Was it possible?
He was actually tired, but he’d sleep on the plane. Once in Jamaica he’d rent a car and head to Falcon Ridge. A lot was at stake here. For himself and for others.
A war?
Was that Simon’s intent?
Something came to mind he read once while in the Middle East.
From the sacred
,
People believed that to the point of fanaticism.
Plenty enough to start a war.
———
ZACHARIAH WAITED WITH ALLE IN THE BAGGAGE CLAIM AREA. They’d made it to the car, where Rocha had been behind the wheel with the engine running, watching from across the street as Sagan found his car and climbed inside. They’d followed him out of town, his destination immediately obvious.
The airport.
So he called Vienna and told the charter service to fly the jet to Prague. The flight time was less than an hour. All he needed to know was Sagan’s destination.
Which Rocha had left to find out.
He spotted his man on the down escalator and watched as he walked over. He caught Alle’s apprehension.
“Not to worry,” he told her. “I spoke to him. He will not bother you again.”
Rocha approached.
“It cost me ?500 but the ticket agent told me Sagan booked the three o’clock flight to London, then on to Kingston, Jamaica. I have the flight times.”
Jamaica.
Why was he not surprised?
Rocha faced Alle. “I want to say I’m sorry for what happened in Vienna. I took things too far. I was only trying to do my job.”
He watched as Alle accepted the apology. He’d told Rocha what to do in the event that she was back with them and was pleased that his man had followed directions.
She seemed more at ease already.
“Our jet will be here soon,” he said.
“Sagan went through Customs, then security,” Rocha said. “He’s gone, waiting for his flight.”
Zachariah’s mind was on a greater problem.
Sagan would beat them to Jamaica. They’d have to refuel at least once, probably twice. Even with a layover, Sagan would arrive first. Which meant he had to have someone there, on the ground, ready and waiting.
And there was only one candidate.
“I have to make a call,” he said.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
BENE WAS AT HIS ESTATE, THE LONG NIGHT OVER, THE JAMAICAN morning barely beginning. Halliburton had returned home, too, and Frank Clarke was back in Charles Town. He’d changed out of his wet clothes, now outside at the kennel, where his dogs waited. They were glad to see him, Big Nanny especially. He petted them all and accepted their affection.
He thought about Grandy Nanny herself.
She’d managed to escape not long after arriving in Jamaica and took her five brothers with her. One set of
