As in most parts of the world, money was a universal language when you wanted a few laws or rules broken. Then again, maybe he was putting too much stock in the ground crewmen. After all, they’d failed to open the gate and—
His thoughts were cut off when Chelsea slammed out of the van at the same time Zoelner slid open the cargo door. Dan found himself staring into the wide-eyed faces of the crewmen. He didn’t know if they were more taken aback that he hadn’t simply called them to open the gate, that the van they were in was riddled with bullet holes, or that three out of the five passengers inside were bloody and bruised while one of the passengers—Zoelner—was making no bones about the weapon in his hand.
Chelsea ripped open the van’s rear doors, shouldering his backpack, her satchel, and Penni’s purse and trotting toward the steps of the King Air. Dan urged Penni from the van and hopped out after her. The first thing he noticed was the wind. It was absolutely howling. And the lights of the airport showed ominous black clouds roiling overhead, obscuring the tops of the surrounding mountains. Great. Perfect. Another case of fuck-all bad timing.
Hunching deeper into his jacket, he turned to Penni. “Get on the plane,” he yelled above the turboprop’s rumbling engines. The ground crew had come through with that part of the deal, at least. So he hadn’t thrown all his good money after bad. Another silver lining. He was two-for-two in that department this evening.
“I’ll stay—”
“I’ll be right behind you!” he promised.
She searched his face and he could tell she wanted to stick by his side.
“Go on.” He grabbed her shoulder, turning her and swatting her ass toward the plane.
She yelped and rubbed her delightful derriere while scowling over her shoulder. “It’s a good thing I like you, you big Neanderthal!”
He winked and watched her trot toward the King Air, the wind blowing her silky hair every which way. Chelsea met her at the top of the plane’s stairs, ushering her inside. Once he was satisfied she was safe and sound, he turned to see Zoelner shove at Winterfield.
“Move it!” Zoelner yelled.
Winterfield adamantly shook his head, remaining glued to the bench seat. Zoelner shoved his pistol into the traitor’s face and thundered, “Out of the vehicle, asshole!”
“Fuck you!” Winterfield screeched. “If I get out of this van, I’m a dead man!” And like a toddler refusing bath time, Winterfield curled his fingers around the lip of the bucket bench and braced his sneakers against the seats in front of him.
Despite the wind whipping Dan’s shaggy hair around his face, he saw the look Zoelner shot him. It said, Can you believe this guy?
“Time for a few come-along techniques,” Dan advised, ducking his chin close to the mic on his jacket so he wouldn’t have to yell. “A little well-placed pain always goes a long way.”
Zoelner bobbed his chin and dug a thumb in the wound on Winterfield’s arm. Winterfield screamed like the spineless sissy he was, but refused to release his hold on the seat. And it was like the world was conspiring against them, because right at that moment, the sky opened up. Frigid rain sheeted from the dark heavens and cut like sharp icicles into the exposed skin on Dan’s face and neck.
Okay. Enough is enough!
“Jack Bauer his ass!” he hollered at Zoelner. “We don’t have time for this shit!”
Zoelner gritted his jaw and twisted his thumb in Winterfield’s injury. When that didn’t work, he clocked Winterfield in the jaw. That did it. Winterfield howled, releasing his hold on the seat, and Zoelner shoved him out the door. But before he could hustle the traitor toward the waiting plane, the strangest thing happened. A black truck Dan was pretty sure he’d seen parked on a side street near the square—it was memorable because its bed was stacked with all manner of garden equipment, rakes, and hoes, and whatnot—came screaming toward them down the tarmac.
But that wasn’t the strange part.
Or…at least it wasn’t the strangest part.
The strangest part was the guy hanging out the driver’s side window. His face was obscured by the buckets of rain pelting him unmercifully, but what wasn’t obscured was the weapon he was aiming right at them…
Chapter Thirteen
The lizard part of Dan’s brain registered the danger ahead of his rational mind. His Bersa was out and in his hand before he had time to think about making the move. He had already pulled his trigger when their mysterious assailant’s first round slammed into the side of the van not six inches from Winterfield’s head.
Winterfield screamed. Zoelner cursed. And the sound of gunfire had the three crewmen diving beneath the van.