Adrianna was surprised at how easy it was. Two shots to his chest and Brian fell back, fell back, and then struck the railing, and—
Was gone. Just like that. Over the edge of the balcony -Brian was gone.
She lowered the pistol. Looked at the floor, picked up the spent shells, tossed her family photo into her bag, threw in the books, and then left the room.
She thought she heard sirens. She didn’t care.
It was set in stone. Nothing could stop her tonight.
Nothing.
Carrie Floyd got a taste of the MD-11’s power as she advanced the throttles slightly to taxi across the ramp, heading to the departure runway. In his co-pilot’s seat, Sean said, ‘Nice weather later today in Boston. Perfect for lunch. And other things.’
‘And other things?’
‘Like a yes,’ Sean said. ‘You do know how to say yes, don’t you?’
Carrie smiled. ‘Reminds me of a story I heard once.’
‘What’s that?’
‘About President Calvin Coolidge. Old Silent Cal. Supposedly, at some state dinner or function, a society woman was sitting next to him. She said to him, “Mister President, I made a bet with a friend that I can get you to say more than three words.” And you know what Cal said in reply?’
‘No, I don’t.’
“‘You lose.’”
Sean laughed, and Carrie said, ‘Takeoff checklist, please.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Something loud was screaming in his ears.
Something was poking him in his arms and shoulders.
Something… God, he hurt…
He opened his eyes.
Faces were looking down at him. There were lights, motion, more sound.
The faces… their lips were moving.
He opened his mouth. Grunted.
Blinked his eyes.
Focus. It was coming into focus.
One of the faces came closer and he heard ‘…luckiest man I’ve ever seen, by far…’
Brian Doyle closed his eyes, opened them again.
The screaming noise… a siren.
He was in the rear of an ambulance.
He looked again. An EMT and a police officer were there, sitting on each side of him.
‘What?’ was all he could say.
The Memphis cop — a young, tough-looking black man -said, ‘Sir, could you tell us who shot you? Who was it?’
Brian closed his eyes again. The pain was now taking root in different parts of his body. His chest. His back. His shoulders.
‘How?’
The EMT seemed to be checking Brian’s pulse. ‘You mean, how did you survive? First, you had a vest on, so those two rounds cracked a rib or two but didn’t penetrate. Second, you fell three stories onto a cafe awning. I’m sure you’ve got some hellacious bruises on your back. Nice trick, pal. Remind me to stick with you next time you buy a lottery ticket.’
The cop came back to him, more insistent. ‘Who shot you, sir? How did it happen?’
Adrianna. Iraqi father. Final Winter.
‘Airport.’
‘What?’ the cop asked.
‘Airport. You’ve got to get me to the airport… you’ve got to tell AirBox… no flights… there can’t be any flights tonight…’
Brian saw the cop look over at the EMT, who looked back and shrugged.
They don’t understand, Brian thought. They’re not listening… they’re not… Jesus, his back hurt…
‘Airport!’ he said above the siren noise. ‘We’ve got to get to the airport! AirBox… it has to be grounded!’
The EMT took a wet cloth, wiped down Brian’s forehead. ‘Mister, you’re ten minutes outbound from the ER, and that’s the only place we’re going tonight.’
The siren noise seemed to drill right into Brian’s head.
Adrianna pulled her rental car over to the side, just a few minutes after leaving the Hyatt. Her chest hurt from her labored breathing, but she felt she was calming down. It was happening. Even at this moment. It was happening.
She just had two things to do before the night was perfect. The first she had planned to do when she had gotten back to the hotel room, but Brian’s unexpected presence had taken care of that. But now seemed like a good time.
She opened her purse, dialed a certain number on her cellphone, and pressed the send button. The phone rang once and that was that. Good.
Adrianna put the phone back in her purse, eased her car out into the traffic. She looked at the dashboard clock.
It was 1:47 a.m. Thirteen minutes until the first AirBox aircraft took off.
Twelve miles away from Adrianna Scott’s rental GMC, a Ford Explorer on Interstate 40, heading northeast, suddenly exploded, sending flaming chunks of debris across three lanes of traffic. A tractor-trailer truck jackknifed in an attempt to dodge the debris, cutting off the final lane.
It would take the Tennessee State Police over an hour to remove the body of the driver from the Explorer, a body that was burned beyond recognition.
Next to her Sean said, ‘Tower, AirBox one-oh-seven, will be ready for takeoff at the end.’
In her headphones, Carrie heard the airport’s tower controller say, ‘AirBox one-oh-seven, hold short runway three six center.’
‘Airbox one-oh-seven, hold short three six center, roger,’ Sean replied.
As always, the jet felt sluggish as it maneuvered toward the runway. Carrie flicked her gaze to the well-lit runway, to the final approach path. No one was landing. The night’s clear weather made the lights of the airport and the surrounding area shimmer brilliantly. It was one of the few nice things about flying at night, the constellation of lights on the ground. She looked forward to the flight and going to Boston, and well… Sean was going to get his answer in Boston and she was sure he would be happy.
She started humming a tune, something garnered from an album collection hawked late at night on the cable channels, and then stopped herself. She didn’t want to tip her hand.
The tune, of course, was ‘North to Alaska’.
Instead, she just smiled as her jet approached the hold area.
Brian opened his eyes again. The pain had settled down some. His mouth was dry and he looked at his arms. An IV was running into the right arm, beside which the EMT was stationed. The cop was on his left side, still looking expectantly at him. Brian raised his arm, motioned with a finger. ‘Here,’ he whispered. ‘Come here and I’ll tell you who… who shot me…’
The cop leaned in and Brian raised himself up and the cop said, ‘Sir, who did this to you? Can you tell me—’
Brian let his hand snap down to the cop’s holster, grabbed his pistol, and pulled it away, and—
The EMT flinched and the cop struggled but Brian was quick, Brian was driven, and in a second he had muzzle end of the pistol jammed up against the cop’s lower jaw. Brian said, ‘Take it easy, now.’
The cop said, his voice strained, ‘There’s no round in the chamber. And the safety is on.’
‘Maybe so,’ Brian said. ‘But maybe I’ve got the safety off, and maybe you’re lying about having no round in the chamber. You don’t want to have your jaw blown off, do you? Ready to gamble that, officer?’
The EMT said, ‘What… what do you want?’
‘Stop this ambulance. Now. I’m getting off.’
The EMT said, ‘Sir, you’re injured, you’re not thinking right, you’re—’
Brian said, ‘This ambulance doesn’t stop the next ten seconds, I’m splattering this cop’s brains all over the ceiling. Understood?’
It seemed like the EMT got it. Edging past them so he didn’t seem to get too close to Brian and the cop, he moved to a small sliding glass partition between the ambulance bed and the driver and pounded on the window. ‘Emergency, Carol — you’ve got to pull over. Now!’