Hidden Allegiance: A Jackson Quick Adventure Read online

I’d never known my mom to lie to me. She was, as far as I could tell, a straight shooter.

  “I mean, who remembers all of the bumps and bruises they collect growing up?” she said.

  I looked at the scar again. It wasn’t a scrape or a cut. It was scar from a serious injury. I’d bet my money it was a bullet wound. I was as taken off guard by her denial as I was that I’d never really noticed it before, though I wasn’t going to press.

  “I guess not,” I shrugged. No point in arguing with her. My parents clearly had secrets they wanted to keep. I had to assume they had good reasons for it.

  ***

  A whoosh of cold air and the soulful sounds of Chuck Mangione on his flugelhorn greet me at the entrance to Straight Line FBO’s terminal. The expansive space is essentially empty, the polished travertine floor reflecting the bright spotlights hanging high above. The half-dozen modern, low back, white leather chairs in the waiting area are empty. The magazines are fanned perfectly on the spotless glass tables next to each chair. My heart sinks, thinking Bella and Mack haven’t made it.

  At the far end of the terminal past the waiting area, a young businessman is manipulating a single serve Keurig coffeemaker. He’s spinning the lazy Susan next to the machine, presumably looking for the right flavor.

  There’s also a pilot sitting at a computer terminal inside an office adjacent to the coffee bar. His back is to me and he’s working a mouse with his left hand. A half empty twenty-ounce bottle of Mountain Dew Code Red is on the desk next to a crumpled cellophane wrapper.

  I swing to the left after pushing my way through the double doors and head to the main service counter. It’s alit with the led logo of Straight Line FBO across the front. Across the wall behind the counter are five digital clocks: one each for Los Angeles, New York, London, Tokyo, and Conroe, Texas. The local time is 9:54 PM.

  There’s a young woman in a dark blue blazer, her pressed white collar laying evenly on the lapel of the jacket. Her hair is pulled tightly into a bun, her tanned cheeks dusted pink with blush. It gives her the appearance of a business suit ballerina. She wasn’t the attendant at the desk when we landed earlier in the day, though I swear Mangione’s Feels So Good was playing then too. Maybe it’s on a loop of inoffensive, instrumental, medium rock.

  “May I help you?” She glances at the heavy duffel I’m lugging. She’s not nearly as warm as the trio of FBO attendants who treated us like celebrities upon our arrival. They greeted us on the tarmac, at the end of a red carpet, with chilled bottles of Fiji water and fruit. Their smiles were genuine, their hospitality appreciated despite the circumstances. This one in front of me is on the night shift for a reason, I imagine.

  “Yes. I’m looking for a young woman. Beautiful, dark complexion, about this tall.” I hold my hand at about Bella’s height.

  The woman narrows her glare and holds up the back of her left hand, revealing a nice-sized diamond on the back of her ring ringer. “Sir, I’m flattered. But I’m enga—”

  “Not you,” I shoot back, darkening the pink on her cheeks to an embarrassed red. “I’m looking for another woman, a passenger. She and a coworker of ours should be here.” I realize I should have described Mack from the start. “He’s an amputee, short haircut.”

  She purses her lips to an F sharp from Chuck’s flugelhorn and tugs on her jacket. “Oh, um…” she looks past me toward the tarmac and the hangars. “I apologize, Sir. I believe the two of them just boarded that aircraft.” She points to the familiar, oversized Global 5000 on the other side of the floor to ceiling glass framing the outdoors.

  Without turning back to thank the betrothed ballerina, I slug the duffel onto my back and bolt for the plane. A pair of automatic doors slide open as I approach and the smell of jet fuel swims into my nostrils. The engines are running, the beacon is on. Mangione is replaced with the high-pitched whistle of an idling jet.

  I eagerly jog to the front of the plane, excited and relieved that both Bella and Mack are aboard, and start to climb the retractable steps. I smile at the flight attendant and start to move past her. She stops me.

  “Sir,” she holds out her hand like a Supreme. “This is a private flight.”

  “I’m aware,” I say, stuck a couple of steps from the cabin. “I’m one the passengers.”

  “I don’t think so,” she says. “We have a manifest here with only two passengers and they’re on board.”

  It’s not even ten o’clock. Only two passengers? Were they going to leave me here?

  “I was on this flight on the way here,” I remind her. “You served me a Diet Dr. Pepper.”

  “Sir,” she says, “I cannot—”

  Mack appears from behind the flight attendant, his face brightening when he sees me. “Jackson? You’re alive?”

  “Yes, the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

  “Let this man aboard.” Mack motions to the flight attendant to get out of the way. She sheepishly moves to the left and I duck into the cabin.

  “You thought I was dead?” I ask, dropping the bag on the leather sofa.

  “We did. We heard it on the news. They said you were killed in a fire.”

  “Where’s Bella?”

  “Bella’s in the back of the plane, in the bedroom.” He motions to a part of the plane hidden by a door at the rear of the plane. “She’s…emotional…”

  I nod and start to walk to the back of thirty-foot cabin when a voice stops me.

  “Sir, would you like me to store your bag?” asks the co-pilot. He reaches for my bag and I wave him off.

  “I’m good. Just leave it there, thanks.” It’s probably not a good idea to have him handling the portable weapons cache.

  “Will do.” He salutes. “By the way, we’re fueled up and ready to go, but we can’t take off until we know where it is you want us to fly.”

  “Give me five minutes,” I tell him. “Just sit tight.” Then I think better of it. “On second thought, chart a course for Washington, D.C.”

  He nods and returns to the cockpit.

  I turn the handle to the bedroom door at the back of the plane and take a deep breath.

  ***

  The “bedroom” is small. It’s maybe eight feet squared with just enough room for a queen-sized bed and two nightstands. The light is dimmed and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the figure curled up in the middle of the bed, the cream colored duvet pulled over her. She’s crying softly.

  I’ve never before interrupted someone mourning my death.

  “Bella? It’s me.” I sit on the edge of the bed, my knees hitting the wall of the tight space.

  The whimpering stops and she throws back the comforter. Her eyes widen with confusion before blinking rapidly, processing what they’re seeing. She throws her arms around me, almost knocking me off of the bed. The whimpering turns into heaving sobs as she pulls tighter against me.

  Overwhelmed, an unfamiliar lump grows in my throat. My eyes well and my hands move from her shoulders to the small of her back. My eyes start to burn so I squeeze them shut to press the tears from them.

  “We thought you were dead,” Bella sniffles, her voice nearly unrecognizable. “We thought you died in a fire. They said you were dead.”

  “I know,” I whisper, “but I’m okay. I’m here.”

  She pulls away from me, her hands still on my arms. “What happened?”

  I laugh nervously. “Long story. I was there at the storage facility with Roswell Ripley. He picked me up at —”

  “Roswell Ripley?” she interrupts, the confusion consuming her face. “The guy who they said shot my dad?”

  “Same one,” I say.

  “Why him?”

  “I figured I could trust him,” I explain, thumbing a tear from her cheek.

  “Could you?” she sniffs.

  “I think so,” I nod. “He picked me
up not too far from where we separated and took me to the storage facility. He owns—uh—owned it. He had this armory of weapons in one of the units. He gave me a bag full of them. And when the troopers showed up, he helped me escape. I was gone before the fire started.”

  “I thought for sure you were…” she can’t bring herself to finish and throws herself into me again. I give her a minute before pulling away to look her in the eyes.

  “I’m okay,” I reassure her. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Right, like I believe that.” Her face hardens. “You left me, Jackson. I mean, right in the middle of a crisis, you just left.”

  “That’s not—”

  “I know you’re on this ‘You’re better off without me’ kick, or whatever, but it’s just not true. I can try to distance myself from you, try to emotionally shut myself down, but it doesn’t do any good.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Just shut up for a second,” she snaps. “I’m saying something important here.”

  I close my mouth.

  “You can’t keep believing that this is going to end with you running away from me. I’m not going to let that happen. I’m no safer without you, I’m not better off without you, and let’s be honest here, Jackson, I saved you too. You need me as much as I need you.” She licks the tears from her top lip. “It’s like a light bulb went off or something when I thought you were dead.”

  “Is that all it took?” I joke.

  “Seriously, whatever you think your plans are, they include me.”

  “Understood.”

  “Don’t placate me, Jackson. I get why we split up. I get that you think you’re bad for me. That’s not your decision to make.”

  “The two have nothing to do with one another, Bella. I understand what you’re saying about not wanting to distance yourself, that you want to be with me despite my fears that I’ll get you killed.”

  “So…”

  “So me splitting up with you in Houston was to protect all three of us. There was no way we’d make it out of there if we’d stuck together. We had to go our separate ways to give ourselves a chance.”

  She nods.

  “How did you get here?” I finally get around to asking.

  “Uber.”

  “What?”

  She looks at me like I have green horns growing out of my head. “Really? Mr. Espionage doesn’t know about Uber? The taxi service?”

  Well that escalated quickly. She went from heartfelt sentimentality to sarcastic derision in a split second.

  “No, what is it?”

  “It’s a person-to-person taxi service. It’s super cheap. I had the burner phone you gave me. I downloaded the app, clicked it, and ordered a ride.”

  “From whom?”

  “From Uber.”

  “No, who picked you up?”

  “Some woman in a Prius,” she says. “The location services on the phone gave her a location through the GPS. The app finds the closest driver. I picked the cheapest option and paid her cash.”

  “Did you have to give them a credit card or anything?”

  “No, just my cell phone number through a text. I left the burner in the car, Jackson. There’s no way to trace me or follow me or anything.”

  “How’d you know about it?”

  “Nanergetix invested in it,” she explains. “Goldman Sachs, Google, and some others were on board too.”

  “Is it really safe? I mean getting into cars with strangers?”

  “Less safe than having to escape from a burning storage unit?”

  “Point taken,” I concede. “What about Mack?”

  “I haven’t asked him. I was a little preoccupied with your death.”

  I smile at her and run my fingers across her forehead. She’s so beautiful. Even with reddened eyes, puffy from crying, she’s mesmerizing. She moves closer to me to offer a kiss when there’s a knock at the door.

  “Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt,” says the copilot. “We’ve got an issue. The pilot needs to see you before we take off.”

  ***

  “I’m your captain, Chris Secousse,” the pilot says when we step into the cockpit. He turns in his seat and reaches over his right shoulder to offer his left hand. “I’ve got a few questions for you, if you’re the one in charge.”

  Captain Secousse is young but confident. It’s obvious in the way he grips my hand, looks me in the eyes. He’s clean-shaven with a high and tight haircut underneath his captain’s hat. He’s chomping on a piece of gum in a way that reminds me of Matthew McConaughey accepting an Oscar. That, and he has a West Texas drawl.

  “I don’t think I’m in charge,” I say after the handshake. “But I’ll make the decisions.”

  “Ha!” Secousse laughs, a big smile revealing the neon green gum nestled between his molars. “I’m the one who makes the decisions compadre.” Definitely McConaughey. “This is my ship. However, you can feel free to make suggestions.”

  “Understood. What did you want…Captain?”

  “Well, we’re fueled up and ready to go, but I don’t know where you want me to head. That’s kind of an issue.”

  “Washington, D.C. I told your copilot.” I nod in the direction of the second in command, who’s standing behind me outside the cockpit entrance.

  “There are no fewer than twenty-two airports around D.C. I could pick one, but that doesn’t mean it’s where you want to go. And depending on which one you choose, there could be an FRZ.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A flight restriction zone. I have to have special clearance, with an access code, and I have to file the flight plan by physically talking with the good people at the Lynchburg Flight Service Station. It’s a real pain.”

  “Let’s try Washington Executive,” I suggest. I remember Sir Spencer mentioning it as a convenient landing spot with a lot of discretion among its workers.

  “Washington Executive is a tricky one. That runway isn’t really built for a plane this size.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, if we were in, say, a Citation Sovereign or some other nice mid-sized jet, we’d be good. This Bombardier is a beast by comparison.”

  “So you can’t do it?” asks the copilot from behind me. “I’ve seen these planes land there before.”

  “I didn’t say I couldn’t,” the pilot bristles, clenching the gum between his teeth. “I said it was tricky. And what do you know ‘newbie?’ You’ve had next to nothing in the way of flying.”

  “I have six hundred and seventy-three hours,” the copilot says.

  “Well then, Manfred Von Richthofen,” says Captain Secousse, “climb in and let’s get going.” Secousse winks at me and smiles. “We can make it happen, boss.”

  The copilot, red-faced after challenging his superior in front of me, squeezes by and maneuvers his way into his seat. I brace myself against the cockpit door.

  “Lone Star Clearance,” Captain Secousse says into the radio, “this is Global N seven hundred X-Ray Charlie. I’m at Straight Line Aviation with information Romeo and requesting our IFR clearance to Washington Executive.”

  There’s a crackle over the radio and the tower responds. “This is Clearance Delivery, Global seven hundred X-Ray Charlie. You are cleared to Washington Executive via the Alexandria Six Departure, as filed. Maintain four thousand and expect Flight Level four ten, ten minutes after departure. Departure control one one nine point seven, three two four six.”

  Captain Secousse reads back the clearance into the radio, repeating exactly what the tower just told him. He turns to the copilot and slaps his leg. “I didn’t mean to get snappy with you, boss. I apologize for that.”

  “No offense,” the copilot says. “I was out of line for questioning you in the cockpit.”

  “You were out of line,” Secousse laugh
s.

  “Global seven hundred X-Ray Charlie, read back correct contact ground when you are ready to taxi,” the tower requests over the radio.

  Secousse runs his finger down the notepad on his wheel and then flips a couple of switches. There’s a loud rumble and whir as the second engine ignites.

  “You can stand there for a few minutes,” Secousse says to me. “But once I get set to take off, you gotta go sit down and buckle up.”

  I turn around and see Bella and Mack sitting in adjacent captain’s chairs along the right side of the cabin. They’re talking to each other. Bella sees me looking at her and smiles weakly.

  “Lone Star Ground,” the copilot keys his mic, “Global seven hundred X-ray Charlie is ready to taxi.”

  “Global seven hundred X-Ray Charlie,” Control responds, “taxi to Runway Three Two via taxiway Golf.”

  “Global seven hundred X-Ray Charlie,” the copilot confirms, “taxi to Runway Three Two via taxiway Golf.”

  The plane lurches forward and I grab the doorframe to avoid losing my balance. It’s a short taxi, maybe a couple hundred feet from Straight Line to the end of the runway. The plane eases to a stop, its nose facing the flat stretch of concrete

  “Global seven hundred X-Ray Charlie,” says the copilot. “Ready for takeoff.”

  The tower responds, “Global seven hundred X-Ray Charlie, after departure, turn right heading Zero Three Zero. Cleared for takeoff Runway Three Two.”

  The copilot repeats the instructions and Captain Secousse pulls the wad of chewing gum from his mouth, sticking it on the wheel’s clipboard. “Here’s where you take a seat, boss,” he instructs without turning to look at me. You can leave the door open when you leave. Make sure you buckle up.”

  I go find a seat next to Bella. No sooner has the buckle snapped at my waist when the gravity of the accelerating jet presses me into my seat. Captain Secousse’s hand is on the throttle, like he’s about to shift into overdrive in a racecar. A few seconds later, we’re airborne and on our way to Washington.

  CHAPTER 8