Thirty thousand feet in the sky, Boone sat in the bulkhead seat and turned her phone over and over in her hands, compulsively.
Check signal. Nothing. Of course nothing. Even cheating on airplane mode wouldn’t help at this altitude.
She turned the phone, turned it, turned it…and checked again.
No signal.
She was on Wi-Fi, but it wouldn’t let calls through.
Land this bitch already. The thought rose with such intensity that she almost shouted it aloud. Containing frustration was always a struggle for her. Once more, she was passive, Detroit all over again, sitting at the gate and waiting, waiting, waiting. Back then, unknown to her, Amandi Oltamu was already dead, and Boone had been reduced to waiting, clueless.
Tara Beckley wasn’t dead, though. She was coming back. But did she know a single thing that might help?
Boone’s phone vibrated, and for a glorious second, she was sure that the signal had somehow pierced the clouds.
Wrong. It was just an e-mail slipping through on the wireless network. She knew that it wouldn’t matter, but she checked it anyhow, needing something to fill her time. When she saw the sender, she caught her breath.
It was Pine.
I have been trying to call for the past twenty minutes. Your phone goes straight to voice mail. I am assuming and hoping this is because you are in the air and en route. Tara is not only alert, but she has memories of the night. Specific and clear memories. There is also a difficulty with her sister, who appears to have been contacted by someone other than you, someone with knowledge of the danger in this situation. Knowledge that I don’t have. She has lots of questions about Dr. Oltamu’s phone. She seemed unsurprised to learn of your agency’s interest, but she will not tell me why or who has provided her with whatever information she has. It is imperative that we have guidance on this situation. I am going to give you a little time, but then I feel it’s essential to contact local authorities.
Boone nearly jammed a thumb in her hurry to respond.
Keep her safe, keep her quiet, I am inbound, almost there.
She hit Send, leaned back in the seat, and stared out the window. Lightning flashed below them, entombed in the clouds, giving an otherworldly quality to the night sky.
Shannon Beckley had lots of questions about Oltamu’s phone? Why? If Tara Beckley remembered the phone, that was one thing. But her sister? Who had been in contact with her sister? And if someone had told her sister so much about the situation that she understood things at the level Pine seemed to suspect, then there was a much bigger question: How was she still alive?
The intercom gave a burst of static, and Boone let out a relieved breath, anticipating the message—they were beginning their descent into Boston’s Logan Airport, please fasten seat belts and prepare for landing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you might have noticed the lightning outside your windows,” the pilot began, and Boone tensed.
No, no, do not tell me we are being delayed or diverted, not tonight…
“What you’re seeing,” the pilot continued, “is part of a series of supercell thunderstorms that are moving north-northeast at the moment, and they’re delaying operations at Boston Logan until that weather clears.”
“No!” Boone said aloud, drawing stares from the flight attendants in front of her. She shook her head, closed her eyes, and clamped her molars together as the pilot kept babbling.
“We’re going to be in a holding pattern for just a bit, hopefully not more than fifteen to twenty minutes,” he said. “I’ll let you know as soon as we get word from the folks at Logan that we are cleared for descent. We don’t expect it to be a long wait, so just sit back, relax, and enjoy. The good news is that all the turbulence is below us, and the storm seems to be moving fast.”