in rich leather with dark blue carpet and matching curtains over the windows. The seats were white, the table tops as well.
Megadeth loaded their duffels in a compartment and shut the door. “Flight plan?”
Miles directed Charlotte to a pair of generously sized seats by an east-facing window. “New York first. Then London. Once we get to London, you’re free. I’ll take us on to Bucharest.”
Megadeth gave Miles a quirky smile. “No can do. Beatrice told me to stick with you for the entire ride. Said you needed someone to cover your backside.”
Miles set his cup on the table facing the chairs, seeming to ignore the last statement. “Go ahead and file the flight manifest. I want to look things over.”
“Don’t trust my evaluation of the plane’s readiness?”
“If I’m flying the plane, I’m doing an inspection.”
Megadeth raised a thick eyebrow and scratched his bearded chin. “Who said you were piloting this trip?”
Miles flipped him off and Megadeth headed for the front cabin, chuckling.
“ You’re flying the plane?” Charlotte said.
“Consider me a full-service provider.”
“You have a pilot’s license?”
“Don’t you?” His voice was teasing. “Let’s see. You can’t drive a boat or fly a plane. MI6 failed you, Agent Carstons.”
Charlotte sighed and looked out at the peach and pink stripes on the horizon. “In more ways than one.”
The sun was fully up by the time Miles completed his inspection. While she was waiting, Megadeth returned, a laptop, magazines and a couple of paperback books in hand. “The plane is equipped with Wi-Fi, and there’s a printer and other office supplies in the back,” he said. “If you need more coffee or some food, the galley’s stocked. Help yourself.”
“Does Miles fly a lot? Is he a good pilot?”
That quirky smile moved the man’s lips. “Don’t trust him?”
“Flying isn’t my favorite thing in the world.”
Megadeth produced a couple of airsick bags. “Keep these handy.”
So she was in for a rough ride. Great. “Thanks.”
“Don’t worry. As co-pilot, I’ll make sure the flight is as smooth as possible.”
Miles suddenly appeared. “We got company. Let’s move.”
Megadeth tore off toward the front of the cabin.
Charlotte looked out her window. “Who is it?”
“Don’t know,” Miles said, “but two black SUVs rolled up fast to the main office. Could be Feds, could be Bourean’s men. I didn’t stick around to find out. Buckle up. We’re out of here.”
He disappeared into the front. Craning her neck, Charlotte saw part of the main office behind them. Sure enough, the SUVs Miles had mentioned were parked at a weird angle to the private airport’s main building. As the Gulfstream’s engines roared to life under her, she saw the men emerge, looking in their direction.
The four men had short, slick-backed hair, expensive shoes, and the air of superiority. Not Nicolae’s .
Charlotte braced herself as the plane began to move in a slow arc heading toward the runway. The men picked up their pace.
Oh, God. They weren’t going to make it. The men in the suits would catch them, stop them.
She’d be screwed but good. Miles, too, for helping a fugitive.
What could she do? Give herself up to save him?
She couldn’t get off the plane even if she wanted to. They were already picking up speed, the runway only twenty yards away. The men were yelling now, running.
Charlotte’s heart jackhammered inside her chest. Hurry, hurry, hurry .
The plane pulled up to the long, straight runway.
…And stopped.
Her heart sank, blood running hot beneath her skin. He was giving her up.
Any sane man would .
She started to unbuckle herself, mentally preparing for the coming hours of interrogation, the real possibility she’d be in some dank, awful prison before nightfall.
Could she run? Outwit them somehow?
She was contemplating the idea when the engines kicked up, roaring loud. The plane began a quick acceleration.
Megadeth loaded their duffels in a compartment and shut the door. “Flight plan?”
Miles directed Charlotte to a pair of generously sized seats by an east-facing window. “New York first. Then London. Once we get to London, you’re free. I’ll take us on to Bucharest.”
Megadeth gave Miles a quirky smile. “No can do. Beatrice told me to stick with you for the entire ride. Said you needed someone to cover your backside.”
Miles set his cup on the table facing the chairs, seeming to ignore the last statement. “Go ahead and file the flight manifest. I want to look things over.”
“Don’t trust my evaluation of the plane’s readiness?”
“If I’m flying the plane, I’m doing an inspection.”
Megadeth raised a thick eyebrow and scratched his bearded chin. “Who said you were piloting this trip?”
Miles flipped him off and Megadeth headed for the front cabin, chuckling.
“ You’re flying the plane?” Charlotte said.
“Consider me a full-service provider.”
“You have a pilot’s license?”
“Don’t you?” His voice was teasing. “Let’s see. You can’t drive a boat or fly a plane. MI6 failed you, Agent Carstons.”
Charlotte sighed and looked out at the peach and pink stripes on the horizon. “In more ways than one.”
The sun was fully up by the time Miles completed his inspection. While she was waiting, Megadeth returned, a laptop, magazines and a couple of paperback books in hand. “The plane is equipped with Wi-Fi, and there’s a printer and other office supplies in the back,” he said. “If you need more coffee or some food, the galley’s stocked. Help yourself.”
“Does Miles fly a lot? Is he a good pilot?”
That quirky smile moved the man’s lips. “Don’t trust him?”
“Flying isn’t my favorite thing in the world.”
Megadeth produced a couple of airsick bags. “Keep these handy.”
So she was in for a rough ride. Great. “Thanks.”
“Don’t worry. As co-pilot, I’ll make sure the flight is as smooth as possible.”
Miles suddenly appeared. “We got company. Let’s move.”
Megadeth tore off toward the front of the cabin.
Charlotte looked out her window. “Who is it?”
“Don’t know,” Miles said, “but two black SUVs rolled up fast to the main office. Could be Feds, could be Bourean’s men. I didn’t stick around to find out. Buckle up. We’re out of here.”
He disappeared into the front. Craning her neck, Charlotte saw part of the main office behind them. Sure enough, the SUVs Miles had mentioned were parked at a weird angle to the private airport’s main building. As the Gulfstream’s engines roared to life under her, she saw the men emerge, looking in their direction.
The four men had short, slick-backed hair, expensive shoes, and the air of superiority. Not Nicolae’s .
Charlotte braced herself as the plane began to move in a slow arc heading toward the runway. The men picked up their pace.
Oh, God. They weren’t going to make it. The men in the suits would catch them, stop them.
She’d be screwed but good. Miles, too, for helping a fugitive.
What could she do? Give herself up to save him?
She couldn’t get off the plane even if she wanted to. They were already picking up speed, the runway only twenty yards away. The men were yelling now, running.
Charlotte’s heart jackhammered inside her chest. Hurry, hurry, hurry .
The plane pulled up to the long, straight runway.
…And stopped.
Her heart sank, blood running hot beneath her skin. He was giving her up.
Any sane man would .
She started to unbuckle herself, mentally preparing for the coming hours of interrogation, the real possibility she’d be in some dank, awful prison before nightfall.
Could she run? Outwit them somehow?
She was contemplating the idea when the engines kicked up, roaring loud. The plane began a quick acceleration.
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