Michael Hanks shifted uncomfortably in his first-class seat as he tapped away at his iPhone. His failure in allowing Icarus to escape after such a brazen operation to rescue him was something he’d not yet had to face up to with the Daedalus high command. Failures and setbacks were tolerated if justified, but to have the man in his custody only for him to slip through his fingers was frankly unforgivable. Flying back to the US was the right thing to do, and he was not about to compound his blunder by contacting them directly on an unsecured line. Especially considering the entire Western intelligence apparatus would be scouring communications chatter so soon after the attack on Parliament. Two fuck-ups like that in less than twenty-four hours and he would find himself on the end of a long rope. His team had spent hours combing the port city of Calais for that shit Icarus, with no success. What did he expect? The assassin was trained too well to be caught, and with safehouses and stashes all over the world he was probably halfway to God knows where by now.
Hanks knew the only way to redeem himself in the eyes of his seniors was to capture the psychopath, and even then he would still have Bauer to contend with for the mess he’d made.
Hans Bauer.
Hanks wasn’t sure who was more dangerous, Icarus or Bauer. Bauer could be brutal, even by his own standards, but he was competent, and if a job was given to him it always got done to the letter of the instruction. Hanks was now hoping that the instruction that had been given wasn’t to make him pay for such a foolish mistake. To have Bauer as a colleague was fortuitous, but as an enemy… well, that was a death sentence.
“Excuse me, sir, but you’ll have to turn off your phone during take-off.” A blonde-haired stewardess leant over him, smiling pleasantly as she pointed at the mobile in his hand “You can turn it back on when the seatbelt sign turns off.”
Hanks replied with a nod, but then realised she wasn’t leaving until he complied. With a final tap to send his message he held in the power button. Only once the screen went black did she stand back up, satisfied.
“I wasn’t sure I’d get a flight given the Parliament attack,” Hanks said, hiding the smug pride he felt at knowing more about it than the authorities, let alone some air stewardess.
“I believe we are one of the last flights to leave. I’m told all further flights are being grounded. You’ve got good timing, sir.”
Yes, Hanks thought, knowing how close the timing had been. Even with the search for Icarus he had made sure he was already boarding when the news began to pour in over the news channels.
“Just terrible,” the stewardess went on, shaking her head solemnly, “but you can rest assured that this flight is safe and secure. We also have sky marshals on the plane for added security.”
“I feel safer already,” Hanks said as the stewardess smiled again. “You just never know who you’re sat next to these days.”
The stewardess patted him on the shoulder reassuringly and then headed down the cabin to help a young woman with her bag as Hanks settled back into his seat. He’d been coordinating tracking teams to find the tremendous thorn in his side that was Icarus, but as yet it had proved fruitless. Christ, the man was a ghost, and a dangerous killer. Hanks had no problem with torture or murder, hell, it was part of the trade, and he loved it, but not when it involved their own. Icarus might have been a psychotic cold-blooded killer, but he was their cold-blooded killer, and could the poor bastard really be blamed for turning on everyone given what had happened? Still, it was strange. He was so unlike the others.
Hanks settled into his seat. With some free time on his hands until he could turn his iPhone back on, he began to consider his story. Of course he would take the blame for the escape, but how it happened would go a long way to shifting some of the blame. Within seconds he had decided that Davies would be the fall guy. The man was dead, so what difference did it make? Hanks now set about concocting a reasonable tale. Perhaps Davies had made the mistake of loosening Icarus’s bindings during the act of his torture, or perhaps his carelessness had allowed the assassin to escape. Either way he had some time to formulate the story, one that would present him in the best light possible, before reaching the US.
He allowed the worries and fears he had to wash from his mind. The Parliament attack had been a success, and plans were moving forward. Even though Icarus possessed cunning and great expertise it would count for little as the whole weight of Daedalus was now free to bear down on him. Something told him that he would be seeing the assassin very soon, and when the moment came he would deal with it personally, and this time swiftly.
Hanks closed his eyes and rested as the behind him more stewardesses swanned around, speaking to the other passengers reassuringly. None of them seemed to notice the man sat in the back row of first class. He raised his hand and immediately a male attendant moved over to him.
“Can I help with anything, sir?” he asked, smiling amiably.
“How long will the flight take?”
“Flight time to Atlanta should be just under nine hours, sir. Are you connecting from there?”
“Not sure yet,” the man replied, smiling again. “I’m meeting an old friend.”
“Sounds nice. Catching up?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds like fun.” With a final smile the attendant headed back towards the cabin as the man pulled a dark set of sunglasses from the leather case next to him and slipped them on before staring at the crown of Hanks’s head, just visible over the top of his seat.
“Yes, it does. It really does.”