be so alive. Back in the action.
He’d been stuck in the prep and flow of strategy for so long he’d forgotten how much he loved these heightened moments just before the kill.
Chapter Six
Zane locked his gaze on the target and slipped between the laughing, chattering, milling clusters of people. The ages of the passengers ran the gamut from frail seniors leaning on canes to a jostling crowd of college-aged males who’d staked out a section next to the wall and were tossing a football back and forth. A knot of Asians in three-piece business suits to the right were yammering away in Korean. To the left, another group of passengers with fair hair and light skin were decked out in colorful sweaters and denim jeans.
In some eerie way, deploying through the crowd felt like deploying through the ocean—but rather than the buoyancy of the waves, you were carried along by the rise and fall of voices.
Zane lost the tango when the blond hijacker faded into the crowd. He parked it, and waited for the asshole to move. From his position he’d know the moment the guy went right or left.
Within minutes his target lost patience and moved. He was easy to track. His head jutted a good six inches above most of the passengers and his white-gold hair shone like a beacon.
Zane had the advantage in this skirmish. For one thing, the jackass had been waiting at the back of the departure gate, with no exit behind him. To escape into the airport, and from there out to the street, he’d have to come forward—directly toward Zane. It was a serious tactical error. In tight quarters, the smart man buddied up to an exit.
The target slipped between the college kids and a cluster of Middle Eastern businessmen, and then turned toward the mouth of the terminal. Zane shifted over to block him.
No escape here, asshole .
The hijacker must have realized that himself. He abruptly pivoted and eased in behind the kids, who’d clumped together and were busy shoving each other amid boisterous slurs regarding sexual performances.
There was a ribbon of space between the boys and the wall. If Zane dodged left, the target would go right, skirt the kids, and break for the mouth of the terminal. If Zane went right, the guy would dodge left—with the same effect. From his smug expression the idiot apparently thought he’d acquired the upper hand.
Amateurs .
There wouldn’t be much risk if Zane used the students to fence the tango in. The asshole was unarmed, and these boys were in excellent shape. Considering the toy they were tossing back and forth, they were probably football players, which meant they had a rudimentary knowledge of blocking tactics. They’d do in a pinch. He stepped up.
“Guys,” he said loud enough to pierce the terminal’s din and capture their attention. A dozen pairs of eyes swung in his direction. “I need you to split this group down the middle. Step to the right and left. Use your bodies as a barrier. Do not let that asshole behind you get past.” When they stared at him with startled confusion, he injected steel into his voice. “Move. Now.”
They reacted instantly to the authority in his voice. The group split down the middle. He’d lucked out that they were football players, since they instinctively positioned themselves for maximum blockage.
The hijacker settled back on his heels and crossed his arms over his sweatshirt clad chest. With just the right amount of bewilderment, he watched Zane advance.
“Is there a problem?” the guy asked, confusion in his voice, but his eyes gave him away. They were too sharp, too focused. He knew exactly what was going down.
“I need a couple of you to strip off your shoelaces. The longer the better,” Zane said, without taking his eyes off the tango’s face.
“Who the hell are you to give us orders?” one of the college students asked, bravado quivering in his voice.
“Yes,” the hijacker agreed, his gaze assessing. “I’m rather curious of that myself.”
A
He’d been stuck in the prep and flow of strategy for so long he’d forgotten how much he loved these heightened moments just before the kill.
Chapter Six
Zane locked his gaze on the target and slipped between the laughing, chattering, milling clusters of people. The ages of the passengers ran the gamut from frail seniors leaning on canes to a jostling crowd of college-aged males who’d staked out a section next to the wall and were tossing a football back and forth. A knot of Asians in three-piece business suits to the right were yammering away in Korean. To the left, another group of passengers with fair hair and light skin were decked out in colorful sweaters and denim jeans.
In some eerie way, deploying through the crowd felt like deploying through the ocean—but rather than the buoyancy of the waves, you were carried along by the rise and fall of voices.
Zane lost the tango when the blond hijacker faded into the crowd. He parked it, and waited for the asshole to move. From his position he’d know the moment the guy went right or left.
Within minutes his target lost patience and moved. He was easy to track. His head jutted a good six inches above most of the passengers and his white-gold hair shone like a beacon.
Zane had the advantage in this skirmish. For one thing, the jackass had been waiting at the back of the departure gate, with no exit behind him. To escape into the airport, and from there out to the street, he’d have to come forward—directly toward Zane. It was a serious tactical error. In tight quarters, the smart man buddied up to an exit.
The target slipped between the college kids and a cluster of Middle Eastern businessmen, and then turned toward the mouth of the terminal. Zane shifted over to block him.
No escape here, asshole .
The hijacker must have realized that himself. He abruptly pivoted and eased in behind the kids, who’d clumped together and were busy shoving each other amid boisterous slurs regarding sexual performances.
There was a ribbon of space between the boys and the wall. If Zane dodged left, the target would go right, skirt the kids, and break for the mouth of the terminal. If Zane went right, the guy would dodge left—with the same effect. From his smug expression the idiot apparently thought he’d acquired the upper hand.
Amateurs .
There wouldn’t be much risk if Zane used the students to fence the tango in. The asshole was unarmed, and these boys were in excellent shape. Considering the toy they were tossing back and forth, they were probably football players, which meant they had a rudimentary knowledge of blocking tactics. They’d do in a pinch. He stepped up.
“Guys,” he said loud enough to pierce the terminal’s din and capture their attention. A dozen pairs of eyes swung in his direction. “I need you to split this group down the middle. Step to the right and left. Use your bodies as a barrier. Do not let that asshole behind you get past.” When they stared at him with startled confusion, he injected steel into his voice. “Move. Now.”
They reacted instantly to the authority in his voice. The group split down the middle. He’d lucked out that they were football players, since they instinctively positioned themselves for maximum blockage.
The hijacker settled back on his heels and crossed his arms over his sweatshirt clad chest. With just the right amount of bewilderment, he watched Zane advance.
“Is there a problem?” the guy asked, confusion in his voice, but his eyes gave him away. They were too sharp, too focused. He knew exactly what was going down.
“I need a couple of you to strip off your shoelaces. The longer the better,” Zane said, without taking his eyes off the tango’s face.
“Who the hell are you to give us orders?” one of the college students asked, bravado quivering in his voice.
“Yes,” the hijacker agreed, his gaze assessing. “I’m rather curious of that myself.”
A
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