looking for us.’
Stanovich stayed quiet. He’d been that way all morning, keeping his thoughts to himself. The Middle Eastern man took a bite of pizza, leaving a smear of oil across his lip.
‘That means we need to be ready for when they come.’
Stanovich looked at him for a moment but didn’t respond. The guy with the broken nose looked up at the South African, who took another bite of pizza and checked his watch.
It was 10:04am.
Then they both glanced at a holdall full of equipment sitting next to them on the floor beside the pizza box.
T he Middle Eastern man took a last bite and tossed the half-eaten crust at the open box, his bad mood overpowering his patience.
‘Enough pizza. Time to prepare .’
SEVEN
The British Airways Boeing 747 left New Y ork right on schedule at 6:20am. Located towards the front of the plane, the Club Class seating was separated into spacious pods, positioned in pairs with screens between the seats to afford some privacy.
Archer and Josh were in a pair of seats on the left of the cabin, Marquez and Shepherd in the middle of the cabin with an aisle either side. Despite what lay ahead and the fact that they were flying into daylight hours, Josh and Marquez managed to doze off early in the journey, their bodies making up for the sleep they’d missed during the night. Beside the sleeping Marquez, Shepherd was hard at work, studying Stanovich and Payan’s files whilst taking occasional sips of strong coffee, figuring out a plan of action when they arrived in London.
In his seat by the window in the pod beside Josh, Archer was also awake, looking through the small gap in the blind at the white clouds and Atlantic Ocean far below. Now they were in the air, time seemed to have slowed right down. Seeing as they were flying into a different time-zone, the flight was due to land at 6:15pm UK time which meant they’d have lost half a day, twelve more hours to move a kidnapped woman whose current location was still a mystery. Although he knew worrying about it wouldn’t do anything to help their situation, he felt that radius of where Vargas could be widening every second.
Twelve hours.
Shit.
By the time they landed, she could be almost anywhere.
Feeling restless, Archer unclipped his seatbelt and rose, walking down the cabin towards the partition between Club Class and Premium Economy. The curtains on both aisles had been drawn across, allowing passengers some further privacy, and a stewardess was standing in the space between, placing several stubby cans of Heineken onto a tray from a compartment and tucking plastic glasses on top.
She smiled when she saw Archer, her uniform as pristine as her make-up.
‘Can I get you something, sir?’
He shook his head, forcing a smile in return. Continuing with her work she pushed the compartment closed and moved down the cabin with the drinks, disappearing down the aisle on the opposite side.
Turning, Archer stood with his back to the curtain and folded his arms, watching the cabin in front of him. Including Josh and Marquez, three or four other people were asleep, another absorbed in a movie, two others working on laptops. Despite how anxious he felt, he was reassured that his colleagues were here with him; he thought back two years to another plane journey, that occasion flying in the opposite direction from London to New York. Someone had killed his father and he’d spent a dangerous week tracking that son of a bitch down; although he’d had a degree of assistance he sure could have used Shepherd’s, Josh’s and Marquez’ help back then too.
The plane suddenly shuddered as they hit a brief patch of turbulence, the movement waking Marquez, who stirred. As she opened her eyes, came to and stretched, she noticed Archer standing further down the cabin and smiled. After a quickly-stifled yawn and smoothing down her hair, she unclipped her seatbelt, rose to her feet and walked down the aisle to join him, getting some blood flowing
Learning to Kill: Stories