Chapter Five

Thirty-six miles west-northwest of Scott Air Force Base, Alexi Nikolos sat leafing through a magazine in the first class lounge at the Lambert-St. Louis International Airport, killing time. She wore a form-fitting red silk blouse under a black leather coat that fell to mid-thigh, and tight black trousers slung low over her narrow hips. The trousers flared to accommodate the leather boots beneath.

Three men and two women had hit on her on the flight from Greece to Chicago, and another man and one very cute flight attendant on the short hop from Chicago to Saint Louis. Shame about that one. She’d been back in the U.S. barely two days, just long enough for her briefing from Theo, done in secrecy at his home. She was still a bit jet-lagged, though she normally functioned quite well on only a few hours of sleep.

She checked her watch. It was just after ten a.m. They should be leaving the base now, and arriving in forty minutes or so. That would give her a half-hour to study Special Agent Skip Topping before they got on the plane.

Theo suspected that it was one of the three D.C.-based FBI Special Agents on loan to Chicago—either Topping, Dombrowski, or O’Rourke—who was behind the leaks to the mob. They were working the case with WITSEC as part of a Joint Task Force on Organized Crime, and had access to the information that had been compromised.

Thirty minutes at the gate and then two and a half hours on the plane should be enough time to gauge something about Topping, she figured. She was also curious about what her observations would tell her about the witness he was protecting, Blayne Keller, a.k.a. Elizabeth Weaver. She had a dossier on the woman and one on Topping, compliments of Theo. Both files were in the leather satchel at her feet, with much of the information already committed to memory.

Topping was supposed to deliver Blayne to the U.S. Marshals Denver District Offices as soon as they landed. If there were any threat to Blayne en route, or any sign that he was the dirty one, Alexi would intercede.

It was time to take up a position at their departure gate. The lounge had been cozy, but she needed to clear her gun with the airline so she could carry it on board with her, and even for a U.S. Marshal, that always took a few minutes these days. Besides, the passengers for Mid-Knight Airlines Flight 23 to Denver would be starting to check in soon and she wanted to study each one as they arrived.

Once they reached the Only Ticketed Passengers Beyond This Point security checkpoint, Agent Wright’s replacement left and Blayne was stuck with Topping. The concourse they were in was jammed with people hurrying to their flights, stopping for a bite of lunch, or shopping at one of the vendors for a souvenir St. Louis Gateway Arch or paperback to read on the plane

“There are so many people,” she remarked shakily as they neared their departure gate. “It doesn’t seem safe. Isn’t there a better way to get me there? Less public?”

Topping rarely answered any of her questions, so she was a bit surprised this time when he did.

He stopped walking and faced her but didn’t look down at her. He was constantly scanning the area around them for trouble as he spoke. “Yes, there are other ways, but the Salvatore family knows how we usually operate. That’s why we’re leaving from Saint Louis instead of Chicago, and why we’re going commercial. It’s easier to get lost in a crowd.”

“I see.”

He glanced at her. “Our flight has only 64 ticketed passengers on it. We’ve vetted every one of them, along with the flight crew, cleaning crew, and vendors servicing the plane.”

Blayne breathed easier as they resumed their trek to the gate, but as long as he was in the mood to answer questions, she’d shoot him the one that had popped into her head. “What about late arrivals? People paying to get on at the last minute?”

“None allowed on this flight.” His clipped tone indicated that was all the information she was going to get.

“What happens when we get to Denver?”

He ignored that question completely and kept walking. She dropped her bag and stood her ground.

The pair looked to Alexi like a puppy running after its master, the tall agent with the walrus moustache striding purposefully toward the departure gate, used to using the bulk of his body and height to intimidate. Always aware of his charge out of the corner of his eye, he seemed just a hair away from showing his annoyance at her persistent nipping at his heels. Agent Topping, Alexi concluded, was an arrogant asshole, who appeared competent at his job but neglected to include a touch of human compassion.

Yes, he seemed vigilant enough, constantly looking around, as if expecting trouble. His gaze was everywhere, and in a subtle way, not exaggerated, nothing to draw undue attention.

Now the witness—she was another story. Blayne Keller was not at all what Alexi had expected. Her first thought was that the dossier she had on the woman certainly must have gotten her birth date wrong. She looked 20, not 30. Her second thought was poor kid, what the hell have they done with you? I think they went way over the top this time. You look ludicrous.

But she was a feisty thing, despite the crazy get-up. Not the typical lamb of a female witness being taken into the program, though she had to be just as scared and uncertain as the rest of them. Apparently that was not enough to keep her from standing up for herself with Agent Topping.

Alexi watched with interest as Blayne dropped her bag and then waited patiently for Topping to rejoin her, and he did, irritation making his moustache twitch. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their body language told her that Blayne was questioning Topping and growing increasingly perturbed when he kept brushing her off.

After a rather heated exchange, Topping got his charge started again toward the check-in counter. She looked anything but happy about it.

Topping was anxious to board. Alexi could see that in the way he was pushing the witness along, and in the nervous movements of his hands. Jingling his keys one minute, clenching and unclenching one fist the next.

His growing impatience with the young woman he was guarding was evident, too, in his stern expression and rigid posture as they stood at the counter. She was obviously still trying to get him to talk to her and he was totally shutting her out.

Blayne Keller certainly was persistent, Alexi had to give her that. She wouldn’t stop trying.

The two of them took seats twenty feet away, near enough that Alexi got a good surreptitious view of both over the top of her magazine.

The witness was all jangled nerves and no longer hiding it well. She kept her head down, eyes on her feet, as if afraid of being recognized, and she fidgeted constantly with her clothes, almost telegraphing the fact that they were not her own and that she wasn’t the least bit comfortable in them.

Alexi kept an eye on the uneasy pair while still doing quick assessments of the other passengers now congregating at the gate. Everything looked normal so far, but she never let her guard down.

A Mid-Knight Airlines gate agent, a curvaceous redhead with great legs, opened the door to the gangway that led to their plane, and then announced over the loudspeaker that boarding for first-class passengers and those with special needs would begin momentarily. As soon as she began talking, Topping said something to his charge, and they both got up and headed toward the gangway door. Alexi made no move to immediately follow. She knew where they would be sitting and she wanted them to get settled before she got on board herself.

Flight 23 was aboard an Airbus 340whose eventual destination was Hawaii. It would be pretty full during the final leg of its trip between Denver and Honolulu, but it was nearly empty during this initial hop from Saint Louis to Denver, which was precisely why the FBI had chosen it. Topping and Blayne had seats together in the left rear, near the tail, and there were a number of empty seats all around them in every direction.

Alexi had booked a seat on the aisle in the section just ahead of them, near the wing, and she’d made sure there was no one ticketed right next to her as well.

She waited until the final boarding call was announced before she picked up her satchel and headed toward the gangway.

Eduardo Sanchez had awakened that morning to the same problems that had been plaguing him for nearly two years. How to keep from losing his home, his wife, and his kids when he spent most of what he earned as a Mid-Knight Airlines baggage handler on gambling. He was about to take care of all those problems, at least for a long while. He kept telling himself that so he didn’t have to think too hard about the small black valise in his hand, and what might be inside.

The telephone call that morning had been brief and to the point. If he agreed to put a bag on a certain flight, he would receive fifty thousand dollars, half of it up front. It would be difficult with the increased security measures enacted after 9-11, but he had been at his job for more than two decades and knew how to get around them. So it didn’t take him long to agree. But now, with a thick wad of cash safe within his pocket, he began to think he might be making a mistake.

He couldn’t help but wonder what the suitcase held and whether he would ever be able to go to confession again if his action lead to the kinds of consequences no one could forgive.

Too late for second thoughts now, he told himself. Just do it. He added the black valise to the luggage in the cargo hold of the Airbus 380 and secured the door.