“How big?”
“I have no idea, but he hasn’t been linked to a crime since 2008. Prior to that, he was an Interpol regular. Never anything big, but busy enough. Suddenly he’s the focus of Berg and Shelby?”
“Berg’s involvement stands out,” said O’Reilly. “From the little I know of him.”
“Right. And if my read of the situation is correct, he’s not working with Shelby on this, which is what scares me the most.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Just a feeling,” Sharpe said. “Berg was demoted when True America swept in, while Shelby was put on the fast track to becoming our country’s top intelligence community director. Two polar opposites in pursuit of the insignificant. That’s what scares me. There’s more to this than meets the eye.”
“Then let’s pull back the curtain a bit,” said O’Reilly.
“Discreetly,” Sharpe reiterated.
She grinned. “Of course.”
PART TWO:
BLACKLIST
Chapter 16
Daniel squeezed Jessica’s hand as the Learjet crossed the boundary between Lake Michigan and Chicago’s northern suburbs. The jet had approached the airport from the east, passing a few miles north of the iconic Chicago skyline. Through his window, the sprawling tangle of high-rise buildings slowly drifted aft. It wasn’t the prettiest city from the sky, or the ground for that matter. He recalled the familiar sight from his younger days, prior to meeting Sanderson, though he couldn’t recall the last time he had landed at O’Hare. Seemed like a lifetime ago.
A quick glance across the aisle through Jessica’s window had brought a few back into sharp focus. The familiar shape of Northwestern University’s Lakefill expansion was visible beyond the aircraft’s sleek wing, further north along Lakeshore. The two of them had spent hundreds of hours on the lakefront together, walking, jogging, and picnicking, among other less public activities. The three years he had spent with her there had been the best.
Jessica continued to gaze absently out the window, her mind preoccupied with her mother. When another gentle squeeze didn’t soften her thousand-yard stare, he let it go for now. She had more than enough on her mind. Enough to ensure that he’d be their only reliable set of eyes and ears once the flight landed. He leaned his head back against the plush leather headrest and closed his eyes for the few remaining minutes of the flight, reviewing the plan.
They’d chosen to land at O’Hare instead of a more private jetport in the Chicago area to give them the best chance of arriving discreetly and keeping their visit anonymous. If Jessica’s mother’s illness was a ruse, the most obvious and easy-to-watch point of arrival would be one of the numerous smaller airports that catered to private or chartered jets. O’Hare International Airport was a different story altogether.
With hundreds of private flights arriving daily from destinations spanning the globe, O’Hare provided them the best chance to disappear into the Chicagoland area. Even a sophisticated and extensive government surveillance operation would find it difficult to locate and track the Petroviches once they disembarked the aircraft.
They had cleared customs at New Orleans International Airport, paying cash on the spot for a luxury sedan to drive them to Lafayette Regional Airport, where a second Learjet awaited them. The lengthy ride gave them ample time to determine if they had been followed out of New Orleans. They were alone from what either of them could tell, though U.S. authorities were no doubt aware of their arrival.
They used their own passports to enter the country, a calculated risk under the circumstances, but one designed to keep their most recently acquired counterfeit identities intact. If things went sideways on them in Chicago, they would flee the country using a leftover set of U.S. passports and identification from a few years ago. Once out of the U.S., they would switch to freshly minted Spanish papers, granting them visa-free access to nearly every nation they could possibly reach by sailboat. The trick would be getting back to their boat in Anguilla. Of course, they could always buy another boat. There was no shortage of cruising sailboats on the market.
A bump of mild turbulence brought Jessica’s hand across the aisle to his. Daniel met her glance and was treated to an apprehensive smile. Better than no smile. She’d remained detached, almost trancelike since learning about her mother’s condition, and coming to grips with a reluctant but irresistible desire to seek closure. From start to finish, he knew this would be a rocky trip on every level for her. Another round of turbulence underscored the thought, and her hand tightened around his wrist.
Twenty minutes later, after a featherlight landing, their aircraft taxied into position in front of a modern glass and steel building. GLOBAL AVIATION’s terminal handled three-quarters of O’Hare’s private flight arrivals, making it an ideal choice for their disappearing act.
“Ready?” he asked, standing up in the tight cabin.
“Yeah,” Jessica replied.
He offered her a hand, helping her out of her seat.
“It’s not too late,” said Daniel. “We can be back in the air within the hour.”
“I wish I could,” she said, a strained look on her face. “But I can’t.”
He nodded, knowing not to push any further. She was resolved to put this part of her life to rest, even if her mannerisms suggested that Chicago was the last place on Earth she wanted to be. His only mission at this point was to get her back to the airport by tomorrow morning to board the jet that would return them to Anguilla and the new life she so desperately needed. Nothing about the next eighteen hours would be easy.
“I know,” he said, kissing her gently on the forehead.
Daniel turned toward the cockpit, holding her hand. The dark-haired copilot stood next to the forward exit door, peering through its small oval window. Through the forward-most passenger window he caught a glimpse of the black canvas-covered structure that would shield them from the public eye and any surveillance teams closely watching flight arrivals. A silver SUV arrived a few moments later, pulling next to the tarmac end of the ramp.
“We’re almost ready,” said the copilot. “They’re connecting the walkway to your vehicle for maximum privacy.”
“Thank you,” replied Daniel, edging forward down the tight aisle.
While the pilot released the door handle, Daniel removed a hard-case carry-on piece from the storage compartment next to the door.
“I can take your bags to the vehicle,” offered the pilot.
“We can manage,” said Daniel.
He placed Jessica’s suitcase next to his, then pulled two thick rubber-banded rolls of cash from an interior coat pocket. When the copilot turned his attention back to the Petroviches, Daniel handed him one of the rolls.
“A token of our appreciation for a smooth flight,” stated Daniel. “And your continued discretion with regard to the protection of our identities.”
The man smiled, accepting the money. “It’s not every day we get to transport such a striking blond-haired, blue-eyed couple. Nordic royalty from what I would guess.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Daniel.
He leaned through the cockpit door to deliver the second money roll, the pilot preempting him.
“Dolph Lundgren and Brigitte Nielsen lookalikes,” said the pilot.
“I don’t expect anyone to ask questions,” said Daniel, pressing the money into his hand. “But you never know.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve dealt with celebrity reporters,” said the pilot. “Or private investigators.”
“We appreciate the discretion,” said Daniel. “And I meant the part about the smooth flight. Barely felt the landing.”