Forged in Fire by Trish McCallan Read Free Book Online Page A

moment in the dream. “Your dark-haired friend—” What had Zane called him? Simcosky. That was it. “Your buddy Simcosky said, ‘He agreed to Hawaii, for God’s sake. He’s whipped. End of discussion.’ And then your blond friend slapped you on the back and said, ‘Don’t know what you’re complaining about anyway. At least it’s not some Somalian rat hole. We’re talking beaches, Lieutenant, bikinis. We’ve been stuck in worse places.”’
    The green flecks in Zane’s eyes warmed, and he shifted his attention to Rawlings. “She heard you call Cosky Lieutenant and thought you were talking to me.”
    “You’re not a lieutenant?”
    “Lieutenant Commander.” His eyes turned distant as though he were thinking back to that moment, trying to picture her there. “I would have noticed her, if she’d been close enough to hear that,” he said after a moment, the comment directed toward his two friends. More of that non-verbal communication flowed between them.
    “I didn’t hear that exchange in the terminal. I heard it in the dream.”
    “Okay. Say I buy this.” Zane turned back to her, his gaze sharpening. “That still doesn’t give you my name.”
    Beth shrugged. “Well, your friends kept calling you skipper, boss or Zane. But I got your last name from your driver’s license.”
    Simcosky lifted his eyebrows. “You dreamed about his driver’s license?” he asked, his voice faintly mocking.
    Beth stiffened, and forced herself to hold his gaze. His eyes were hard, the color of concrete.
    “What I dreamed,” she emphasized, crossing her arms and gripping her elbows, “is that he was dead. They rolled him over and pulled out his wallet. They seemed to be confirming his identity.”
    Another few seconds of that intense, silent communication passed.
    Zane broke the silence. “Who are they ?”
    Beth took a deep breath, but it didn’t ease the tightness in her chest. She gripped her elbows harder. “ They are the hijackers. The men who take control of the plane and kill everyone in coach.”
    “Hijacking?” Zane froze for a second, glanced at his dark-haired buddy, then rocked back on his heels and shook his head. “You’re telling us you dreamed a hijacking? How are they going to accomplish that? Since 9/11, security at airports has quadrupled. And then there are the passengers. They aren’t as complacent. They band together and act now. Box knives and bombs aren’t going to control an airliner.”
    But there was an odd expression in his eyes. Watchful, rather than disbelieving.
    “They had guns, not box knives,” Beth retorted, squeezing her elbows so hard she knew they’d sport bruises by evening. “And they don’t try to control their passengers, they slaughter them. At least the ones in coach.”
    Zane ran a hand through his hair and frowned harder. Recognition kindled in his gaze. Something she’d said had struck a chord with him.
    Simcosky straightened from his slouch against the metal shelving. The ice had melted from his eyes, but his face hadn’t lost its impassiveness. “What you’re describing requires major firepower. We passed through the security gate. It’s state of the art. Maybe a single person carrying a single weapon could slip through undetected, but multiple men, smuggling multiple weapons? It stretches credibility.”
    “The guns are already on the plane. They’re beneath the seats. All the hijackers have to do is bend down and pull them out.” She paused, but forced herself to continue, her voice growing hoarser with each word. “Once the plane levels out, they grab the guns and start shooting. When the gunfire stops, everyone in coach is dead.”
    The screams still echoed in her head. Beth scrubbed her palms down her face, and pressed her fingers against her burning eyes. “I don’t understand it, though.” She dropped her hands. “Why kill them? It doesn’t make sense. PacAtlantic would negotiate for their release.”
    Zane studied her face, tilted