I’m in love with Marren Lattimer.
Lattimer gestures with his weapon, hurrying him. Nolan turns, slowly, keeping his eyes focused on Lattimer. Finally he puts his hands, palms flat, on the fuselage. Eddie, still in the cockpit, is twisted in his seat, watching out the window.
Did I say I’m in love with Marren Lattimer? I can’t believe he’s here. My hands are shaking, still clenched on Keresey’s gun. My eyes swim with tears. I don’t have to shoot someone. I wasn’t sure I could and I’m tremblingly grateful I don’t have to find out. I’m only a reporter. I think for a living. And I think I want to get the hell out of here.
Keresey puts her arm across my shoulders, backing me away, as I lower the gun. “It’s over now, Charlie,” she murmurs. “You did great, sister. But why didn’t you radio for help?”
“Your radio was off. The gun wasn’t loaded. Are you okay?” I ask, my voice low. My heart is still racing. Every nerve is on fire. I know she’s right, it’s over, we’re safe, the cavalry has arrived, but tell that to my wobbling knees.
“I’m good.” She gives a weak smile and steadies herself on the pole of the wheeled metal luggage cart beside us. Sinking to the floor of the cart, she sits, stretching her neck and shoulders, one arm still wrapped around the pole. “Really. I’m good.”
Lattimer is approaching, his gun still aimed at Nolan. Lattimer’s smiling, but I figure Keresey’s in deep trouble. If I had done the pickup, as Lattimer ordered, she could have moved right in to nail these slimes. She’d have loaded her gun. And turned the radio on.
“I’ll take that now, Charlie,” Lattimer says. His voice is reassuring, even friendly, as he holds out a hand for the gun. He glances at Keresey, then back at me. His eyes narrow. “We don’t want civilians doing our job.”
“Right,” I say, with as much smile as I can muster. I still have both hands on the gun. And I’m thinking-it’s Keresey’s. Why isn’t she getting it back? Maybe this proves she’s in trouble. Maybe I can still protect her. “But Keresey was only trying to-”
“Now,” Lattimer says. He cocks his head at the Cessna. “This is not the time.”
True. I glance up at the plane. Short guy still plastered to the fuselage. Tall guy in the cockpit, watching through the tiny side window. I guess you don’t try anything when the feds have got you cornered with major artillery.
I feel Keresey move behind me, then she steps between me and Lattimer. “I’ll take my own weapon back, Lattimer,” she says. Her voice is ice. Demanding. She reaches her hand behind her, waggling her fingers. “Let’s have it, Charlie. My purse with the radio, too.”
“Don’t do it, Charlie,” Lattimer says. “Give me that gun. Now. ‘No’ is not an option.”
“Wha-?” I look at Lattimer, then Keresey, then Lattimer. I take a step away from Keresey. My fingers curl around the gun again. Aren’t we all on the same team?
“Charlie. Give. Me. My. Weapon,” Keresey demands. “Listen. Lattimer’s in on this. Why do you think he’s more worried about that gun than about the assholes with the plane? They’re his assholes. That plane is full of bags. I watched them load it. Give me the gun.”
“Bullshit, Stone. This is Keresey’s show, Charlie. She’s in on this. She set you up. She tried to keep you away from the pickup. That was all to lure you out here. She’s clearly not hurt. Her gun wasn’t even loaded. Her radio wasn’t on. Wonder why? Helping you was the last thing she cared about. You were going into that trunk. Give me that gun. I’ll take her-and her moron crew-into federal custody.”
One of these two is a fraud. One of these two is a counterfeit cop. One of them set me up. The other can save me.
“Bullshit, Lattimer,” Keresey sneers back at him. “You turned off the radio and unloaded the gun before you gave them to me. Why do you think he wanted you to do the pickup, Charlie? He wanted you dead. And that’s exactly what was going to happen. If you give him that gun now, we’re both done. He’ll kill us. Leave us here. Like the people he’s already had killed. We’d be victims in another failed raid.”
She holds out her hand, imploring. “The gun, Charlie. Let me use it. And this whole charade will be over.”
How do I tell who’s the real thing? How do I recognize the fake? The gun in my hand is the balance of power.
If I’m wrong, I’m probably dead.
Keresey edges closer to me. Almost pushing me away from Lattimer. “How did you know we were here, Lattimer? In this hangar? Did you get a call from your pal Katie Harkins?” Her voice is sarcastic, sinister, mocking. “Charlie, ever ask yourself why no one has ever seen that woman? No one but Lattimer here. That’s because she doesn’t exist. Lattimer made her up.”
“Listen, hotshot,” Lattimer says. “If you and your hotshot buddies-”
With a flash of memory and a stomach-lurching realization, my brain shifts into overdrive. How would he know the radio was off? The gun was unloaded? And in an instant, I realize that anonymous phone call, threatening me, was from Lattimer. That voice called me “hotshot,” talked about my “hotshot buddy.” The clicks were his infantile Rubik’s Cube.
My turn to fake.
Smiling, I look down at the weapon as if my decision has been made. “I guess I understand what you’re saying now, Lattimer.”
His shoulders relax. He glances at the plane.
I hand the gun to Keresey.
And I dive for the floor. With a blaze of light and a blast that ricochets through the shadowy recesses of the hangar, Keresey fires once, twice, and Lattimer slams to the ground. His gun is still in his hand. He’s silent. Motionless. He’s dead. Or he’s pretending.
Lifting my head, I watch Keresey walk toward him. She’s taking one cautious step at a time. Her arms are still outstretched, the gun braced in front of her. Pointed at her boss.
Suddenly, the whine of the plane’s engine starts again. Nolan grabs the door handle and swings himself into the cockpit. The noise of the prop muffles whatever he’s screaming at the pilot and the wheels of the Cessna slowly begin to move.
“Keresey!” I yell, scrambling to my feet. “They’re going!
“I hear it! Get that radio!” Keresey commands. Her voice is strident. She’s still heading, cautiously, toward Lattimer. He hasn’t moved. But I know that means nothing. He could be faking.
The clatter of the prop revs louder and louder, the whine of the engine speeds to a roar. Keresey’s voice rises, powering over the increasingly ear-splitting clamor. “Call in a mayday! Red button! Whatever freq’s open! We can’t let them get off the ground. Tell them it’s a code double alpha. Double Alpha. Got that?”
The plane’s wheels continue rolling, slowly, deliberately, across the hangar floor, the nose of the plane headed into the vast darkness of the tarmac. The noise is now deafening, the metal walls reverberating. I can see the two blue uniforms in the cockpit, headphones on, adjusting control switches above the windshield.
“Got that!” I flip a silver toggle to ON, and the slim black radio crackles to life with a burst of static and a high-pitched beep, green lights flashing. “Mayday. Mayday!” I push the red button, trying to keep my voice calm. Hoping they can hear me over the engine noise. Hoping I’m actually getting through to someone. “This is a code Double Alpha. General Aviation Hangar!”
There’s a crackle as I release the button, and then more static. The plane is halfway to the door.
“Roger that.” A voice comes back. Calm. “We copy your Mayday. Please specify which Gen Av hangar. Over.”
Dammit. Dammit. I have no idea which hangar. And the plane is still moving. It’s almost too loud to think. All I know is…“Behind Baggage Claim A!” I yell into the radio. “A white Cessna. Headed for takeoff! Code Double Alpha!” Which I hope means-stop the darn plane, there are bad guys on it.
“Lattimer’s clear,” Keresey yells. He’s still on the ground, facedown on the cement, arms behind his back. Keresey’s clicking him into handcuffs-his own? She’s tucked his weapon into the back of her Levi’s.