Chapter 11 - The Last ChoiceFor one terrible second, the entire airport disappeared.
Ramirez ordered the mountain house locked down.
Nobody entered.
Nobody left.
Phones were collected for forensic review.
Adrian immediately handed his over.
So did I.
Rachel objected for twelve minutes because journalists apparently considered phones extensions of their souls.
Elena gave hers up silently.
Mara refused.
Everyone stared.
She smiled.
“I am sixty-three years old. If the government wants my phone, the government can ask politely.”
Ramirez sighed.
“May I have your phone?”
“Of course.”
She handed it over.
Even Adrian laughed.
The suspected mole had access to witness protection movements.
That narrowed the list.
Ramirez.
Her supervisor.
Three case agents.
Two analysts.
One deputy director.
Adrian looked at Ramirez.
She looked back.
“If it’s me,” she said, “we have bigger problems.”
“It isn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“You’re too irritated by me.”
“That is not evidence.”
“It should be.”
We built a trap.
Three different false relocation plans were created.
Only one person received each.
Plan A said Rachel would move to Colorado Springs.
Plan B said Elena would be taken to Chicago.
Plan C said I would be transported to a federal facility near Cheyenne.
Nobody actually moved.
We waited.
Six hours later, a vehicle associated with Rourke’s network appeared near Cheyenne.
Plan C.
Only one analyst had received that information.
His name was Daniel Price.
Ramirez’s face went cold.
“He’s been with me four years.”
Adrian said nothing.
“Four years.”
“I’m sorry.”
She stood.
“I recommended him for promotion.”
I understood the personal devastation.
Betrayal doesn’t hurt because the enemy lied.
It hurts because you believed the person was not the enemy.
Price was arrested at his apartment before midnight.
Inside, agents found cash.
Encrypted messages.
Photographs.
And something worse.
A list of targets.
Rachel.
Elena.
Adrian.
Me.
Beside my name was a date.
Tomorrow.
“What happens tomorrow?” I asked.
Nobody knew.
Then Rachel noticed something.
“The date isn’t tomorrow.”
We looked at her.
“What?”
She turned the page sideways.
“It’s a flight number.”
My blood went cold.
The same airline.
Same route.
Boston to San Francisco.
My original flight number.
Adrian understood first.
“Rourke is recreating something.”
“Why?”
“To send a message.”
“To who?”
He looked at me.
“Everyone.”
The FBI traced reservations.
A ticket had been purchased using my name.
Another under Adrian’s.
Two seats.
34B and 34C.
Economy.
A statement.
Rourke wanted us on that plane.
Or wanted people to think we were.
Then the airline reported a breach in its systems.
Passenger manifests were altered.
Security credentials copied.
The scale became terrifying.
“He’s planning something at the airport,” Ramirez said.
“Boston or San Francisco?”
“Both.”
Adrian looked at the flight time.
“Boston.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where Emma ran from.”
I hated that he understood Rourke’s psychology.
“He wants the story to end where it started,” Adrian said.
Ramirez mobilized teams.
Flights were quietly searched.
Security increased.
Rourke remained missing.
Then at 6:14 a.m., my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone looked at me.
Adrian shook his head.
Ramirez connected a recorder.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Rourke.
“Good morning, Emma.”
My skin crawled.
“What do you want?”
“You’ve caused me extraordinary inconvenience.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Adrian’s eyebrows lifted.
Rourke laughed.
“I understand Adrian married you because he believes old rules still matter.”
“They mattered enough to ruin your week.”
“Careful.”
“No.”
Silence.
The word felt powerful.
No.
I had spent years afraid to say it.
Now I almost enjoyed it.
Rourke’s voice hardened.
“I have someone you care about.”
My stomach dropped.
I looked around.
Rachel.
Elena.
Adrian.
Mara.
Everyone was here.
“Who?”
A second voice came through.
Faint.
Female.
“Emma?”
I froze.
No.
Impossible.
“Mom?”
Rachel whispered.
Our mother.
She lived in Florida.
Retired.
Separated from our lives partly because Tyler had convinced me not to tell her anything.
Rourke laughed.
“She was surprisingly easy to find.”
My knees weakened.
Adrian caught my elbow.
I didn’t pull away.
“What do you want?”
“You.”
“No.”
Adrian looked at me.
I continued.
“You already tried the drive. You tried Tyler. You tried Rachel. Now my mother.”
“Tomorrow morning. Logan Airport. Terminal C.”
“No.”
“Come alone.”
“No.”
His voice became cold.
“You think you have choices.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t.”
That sentence.
Tyler’s sentence.
Every controlling man’s sentence.
I felt something inside me become very still.
“Yes,” I said. “I do.”
I ended the call.
Everyone stared at me.
Adrian spoke first.
“We’re not sending you.”
“I know.”
Ramirez nodded.
“Good.”
I looked at her.
“We’re sending all of us.”
Adrian almost smiled.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“So was your plan at the warehouse.”
“Fair.”
We constructed the operation.
Rourke expected desperation.
He expected secrecy.
He expected me to hide the kidnapping because I feared for Mom.
Instead, the FBI involved airport security, local police and a tactical hostage-rescue unit.
Rachel contacted a trusted editor.
If anything happened, everything about Rourke would go public.
Adrian activated his old alliances.
Not for violence.
For information.
Within three hours, Rourke’s vehicles were being tracked by restaurant owners, shipping workers, parking attendants and people who had spent decades staying neutral.
The marriage had changed the board.
At 5:30 the next morning, we arrived at Logan.
I wore a coat over a protective vest.
Adrian stood beside me.
“Last chance to stay behind.”
I looked at him.
“You know better.”
“Yes.”
“Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
We entered Terminal C.
Passengers moved around us.
Announcements echoed overhead.
Everything looked normal.
That was the frightening part.
Then I saw him.
Marcus Rourke stood beside Gate 22.
My mother sat in a wheelchair beside him.
A gun was hidden beneath the coat across her lap.
He smiled.
“Emma.”
Adrian moved.
Rourke lifted one finger.
“Don’t.”
My mother’s eyes filled with tears.
“Baby, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Mom.”
Rourke looked at Adrian.
“Give me the drive.”
Adrian held up a small black device.
Rourke smiled.
“Now send your people away.”
“No.”
Rourke looked at me.
I answered instead.
“We’re done taking instructions.”
His smile vanished.
Then everything happened at once.
A man behind us drew a weapon.
Adrian pulled me down.
Gunfire cracked through the terminal.
Passengers screamed.
Federal agents moved.
Rourke grabbed my mother.
She fought him.
Adrian ran forward.
May you like
Rourke fired.
And Adrian fell.
