Eight minutes from takeoff, they were climbing above ten thousand feet and had turned northeast toward New York City when the copilot turned around in his right seat. “You guys are good to go,” he called back.
Chip connected with the internet and began his search while Ben replayed Cassy’s frantic phone call one more time. When he was finished, he brought up the photograph of the Russian kidnapper.
He stared into the man’s eyes for a long time, his anger barely below the surface. Whatever happened before, starting at this instant in time the Russian was a walking dead man.