Virginia wasn't answering.
That was typical.
Shannon couldn't sit. She'd been standing the last few hours, mostly walking back and forth, mostly trying to talk to Virginia, mostly not getting many words back.
Typical.
What wasn't typical was this situation. This room. This room was beyond abnormal to her normal way of living. Virginia was abnormal. Apparently Shannon was abnormal. Did that make this normal? Was it some sort of self-fulfilling circle? Since she was abnormal, everything she did wasn't abnormal but normal—because she was abnormal?
Being here, working with Virginia on this mission, could jeopardize her career at USI.
It came down to one thing: Virginia was her friend.
Shannon watched the blip on the zoomed map speed across the screen. Virginia was at thirty thousand feet, flying through a storm on a plane full of treacherous people. Shannon was the only one who knew where she was. That was a scary thought. If something went wrong, Shannon would have to do something about it. She wasn't sure if she was even capable.
She wasn't exactly a Virginia.
Not by a long shot.
It was dark in here. And cold. Shannon hugged herself. She'd only brought the thin sweater she was wearing. It wasn't stopping her nose from running. She sniffled, watching the screen, the only light in this large and dank room.
*****
Virginia was halfway down the aisle, beginning to pass the passengers who were densely located in the center of the plane. This flight was like a pre-meeting for them, before they landed and had their main meeting where they would be joined by additional rich and powerful lords of evil. She was holding the large wad of towels to her chest, smiling as she passed.
When she passed them, she turned around and cut into their conversations. "I am so sorry, gentleman. I spilled and made a mess back there. I'll have your drinks shortly." They all nodded and smiled back to her amiable smile. Virginia turned to continue toward the front but then turned back around. "Your friend, Mr. Reynolds, is taking a long time in the bathroom. Just a word of warning, you might want to give the bathroom a few minutes before using it."
They all laughed.
She turned back again.
Continued to the front.
She stepped past a partition, into the open bar area. There were four body guards here. One she hadn't seen before, not in her reconnaissance before this mission and not since she'd been on the plane. The three she recognized fit the generic mold: one was bald-headed. They were all burly and had big hands. None of them looked educated. None of them looked like they could hold an interesting conversation for more than two seconds.
The new guy did. The new guy was about 5'10, Virginia judged. She was 5'7 and was currently wearing three-inch heels, and he was her height.
He was across the room from her, about fifteen feet, leaned against the plane's wall. The other bodyguards were making conversation, seated at the bar. This new man was off to the side, by himself, and seemed content.
He had close-cropped hair, tanned skin, and a two-day beard. He was wearing an expensive suit, whereas the others were wearing cheap and ill-fitted suits. He looked like he'd stepped out of GQ. The only thing that had tipped her off that he was a bodyguard was the slight and mostly indiscernible bulge under the right part of his jacket—his gun. As well as a slight bulge on his right calf—a knife. She could have been wrong, sometimes was, but his countenance and softer features, the way his hair was slightly parted, the way he stood—all of it suggested an educated man. Someone who might just be more interesting than the tip of his nose.
Virginia was walking past the bar now. But he caught her eyes at the last moment. His eyes were brown and soft and seemed to see right through her. It was strange, and Virginia had never encountered such a simple and confusing exchange.
She was so struck by the short, little look that she stopped around the corner for just a second. Then continued walking to her storage bin. She tilted her head side to side, as if to clear it from stray thoughts. As if to focus.
It had been about fifty seconds.
There were twenty-seven people, other than Virginia, on this plane: a pilot and copilot, the ten main men, the ten bodyguards, the bartender, a Spanish-speaking translator, and three women sitting next to their respective owners (three of the warlords).
Apparently, though, there were twenty-eight people on this plane. She wasn't sure of the new guy. And she was realizing now that the only reason she assumed he was a bodyguard was because he was in the room with the bodyguards and because of his concealed weapons. Those things didn't mean he was a bodyguard. He could have been anything.
Twenty-eight people. The pilots were beyond the door in this room. The door was closed. They weren't headed for the bathroom. Good. None of the bodyguards at the bar seemed to have been moving or stirring. Good. It was any of the passengers in the fuselage that could, at any moment, head for the bathroom. She'd announced to them Reynolds was in there. She hoped it was enough.
Opening her storage compartment, she pulled out her small suitcase. Unzipping it and folding it out, she removed a light jacket. She replaced it with the wad of blood-stained paper towels and zipped them into the bag. Keeping her back turned to anyone who might wander in, she put on the jacket and zipped it up to her neck. Then she opened a front pocket on her medium-sized bag, pulled out a roll of dental floss. Put the bag back in its compartment.
*****
Jake had seen her walk past and he saw something different than he had seen all day. She was dressed like a stewardess, a form-fitting red dress, like a throwback to Pan Am or something. She was holding paper towels over her chest as if she'd spilled something or had had a deep cut. More likely the former. When she'd looked at him, he'd seen something. He knew he needed to find out who she was. He'd poured over the details for this assignment and hadn't seen anything about a stewardess. He'd been in the cockpit the entire time with the pilots. He'd stepped out just two minutes ago. He told himself that the most interesting thing about the woman was the slight bulge against her right leg—a knife. But it was her eyes that had truly caught his attention. The strikingly beautiful and haunted green eyes. There were a few good reasons to introduce himself to her, but it came down to one of the simplest reasons that any decent man would have—when you see a woman so wholly striking, in looks, manner and spirit, with eyes like hers, with a demeanor like hers, you can't help but want to meet her. It was only a matter of courage. He had plenty of it. He walked through the doorway just before him and saw her closing a storage bin.
"Hello," he said, "I don't believe we've been introduced."
She stopped, her green eyes moving up and down. He could tell she was Mexican, but she'd died her hair a color of blonde, which didn't work well with all dark skins—but her skin color and the blonde she'd chosen matched like the Louvre matches France. The blend was accentuated and brought home by her green eyes, which were now looking past him.