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As Julius's eyes trained on the moon rippling across the water, a chilling thought surfaced. |
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What if something happened to me? And Claire? We're the only ones that link the president to Black Flag. Even if word of the boy and Black Flag gets out, there's nobody who knows Morgan Reese was part of the project, that he oversaw the financial operations and so was also culpable. Nobody, that is, except McDermott and DeVoe . . . |
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Julius Wick felt the jet go into premature descent. He had no hint of the urgency in the cockpitnot until he became aware of an oddly sweet odor. Jet fuel. |
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At first it barely registered on his consciousness. It wasn't until he noticed the orangey glow reflected off the wings that the moment telescoped his horror. His first thought was exterior lights or reflections from cities below. But there was too much flickering for that. Something else. |
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Suddenly the smell filled his head. Flames were fluttering beneath the wing. |
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He had to alert the pilot. As his hand released the tongue of his seat belt, Claire opened her eyes. "What's wrong?" |
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"Lousy bastards!" he pushed to his feet. |
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But he never reached the cockpit door. And the last thought that bloomed in his mind was . . . "clearing track." |
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The next moment exploded into a concussion of light. |
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