Three men exited the jet and walked inside the hangar. The man in front was carrying a briefcase. The two behind him looked like the muscle. The massive door clicked and began to roll down. Before it disappeared from sight, Sam took a mental picture of the tail number on the plane, just in case it could be helpful later: Z450XY. The hangar was about two hundred feet long and about half as deep. Sam would easily be able to hear everything being said. She would also be entirely caught in the cross fire if anything were to go wrong. Since she had no idea the nature of this meeting, she remained open to all possibilities.
“Who is she?” the front man for the trio barked as he pointed to Zhanna. His accent was Asian, and as he stepped into the light, Sam could see that he was in fact from somewhere in the Far East. Things were getting more complicated by the second.
Veronika took a step forward. “Do you have the samples or not?”
Samples? Alarms rang in Sam’s head. She obviously had no clue what they were talking about, but it sounded like things might be lining up.
“I was told that you would be the only one here,” the man said. “Open the door, we’re leaving.”
Veronika looked back over her shoulder at the three men standing guard. At the same time, Sam watched Zhanna slide her right arm around her back. Whatever this was supposed to be, it was about to go sideways. Sam edged to the end of the boxes and readied her gun. Her only immediate concern was making sure that Zhanna stayed alive. She could give a damn about the rest of these people.
“I’m not opening the door,” Veronika said. Her men all brandished handguns at the same time. “Hand over the briefcase. Then you are free to go.”
If everyone started shooting, there was no way Zhanna was going to make it out of there. Sam took in her surroundings. She looked beyond everyone at the back wall of the hangar: nothing useful. Off to her left were some random storage boxes. As she glanced up at the hanging lights above them, out of the corner of her eye she noticed the two men behind the guy with the briefcase as they moved their arms.
This was going down.
Sam turned her gun toward the ceiling and fired a couple of shots at one of the hanging lights. The sound of her gunfire echoed in the open hangar, and the sizzle of the ruined light sparked above them. Sam had given Zhanna her window to find cover, and as Sam dropped to her stomach behind the boxes, she hoped when she popped back up that she would find Zhanna had taken advantage of the opportunity.
In a blink, the quiet hangar sounded like a war zone as a hailstorm of gunfire erupted. The boxes in front of Sam took some hits, and so too did the wall behind her. Through a small break in the boxes, she watched as Zhanna fired at the three men behind her from a prone position on the ground. Sam slid herself over to the left side of the boxes and fired on the men who had come into the hangar from the plane. One of them dropped from her shots, and the other beside him went down from someone else’s gun.
The gunfire stopped. Sam popped up to a crouched position. She needed to take inventory of who was left. Then she heard a woman’s voice shout something in Russian. Sam didn’t know what was said, but Zhanna’s raspy voice was unmistakable.
Sam peeked above the boxes. Gunshots came her way. Sam was able to see that there was no one left standing in that hangar.
“Zhanna! Stop shooting!”
Everything went quiet. Sam finally located Zhanna ducked beneath the wing of the prop plane.
“Is everyone dead?” Sam asked.
“Not yet,” Zhanna said. Her Russian accent seemed less heavy than when Sam last spoke to her a couple of years ago. “How do you know my name?”
“Zhanna, it’s Sam Harrison. I’m coming out. Don’t shoot.”
Sam stepped out from behind the boxes. Zhanna duck-walked out from under the wing of the plane, her gun still pointed in Sam’s direction.
“Sam?” Zhanna finally recognized her and pulled her gun down by her side. “What are you doing here?”
“Was going to ask you the same thing.”
As Sam began walking toward her, something caught Zhanna’s attention and she whipped her head in the direction of Veronika lying on the ground. Sam jogged over and watched Zhanna crouch beside Veronika as she picked up her phone. Zhanna hit the speaker button and gave Sam the index finger to the lips.
“Veronika!” a man shouted from the phone; then the line went dead.
“She had someone phoned in during the entire thing,” Zhanna said. “We must go. Now.”
8
Barrow, Alaska, 9:00 a.m.
A pounding sound pulled King from the dark depths of sleep. His eyes shot open yet found nothing but black. He slid his hand under his pillow to grab his Glock as he rolled to a sitting position and grabbed his phone. The time was nine, but since it was pitch-black in the room, he was still confused. The knock came again and snapped him to his feet. He rushed over to the window at the front of his small rental. He pulled back the blackout curtain, and as he looked at what seemed to be twilight, it all flooded back to him: where he was and why it was dark at nine in the morning.
King shifted to his right and could see the back of a winter coat standing outside his front door. Though it had occurred to him he was in Alaska, the implications of opening the door in his underwear had not. Suddenly standing in front of him was Cali, bundled in a winter coat. The sting of the subzero wind against his bare chest nearly knocked him backward. Cali rushed forward and slammed the door behind her.
“Still not used to living in Alaska, I see.” Cali’s face was covered by a black bandana, but he could tell by the shape her eyes took that she was smiling. Most likely laughing at the noob new to town.
King kept the gun behind his back as he backpedaled toward the couch. He had no clothing in sight, so he was going to have to indulge the awkward moment.
“You can put the gun down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
King gave her a sheepish grin and revealed the gun. “Sorry. I was disoriented.”
“Is it a habit where you’re from to grab a gun when someone knocks on your door?”
King had to think fast. “No, but when someone threatens you at a bar the night before, and you’re new to town, you really don’t know what might happen.”
Cali took down her fluffy hood and removed the bandana from her face. She was beautiful. Her smile was enough to warm the cold air that had blown in. “Makes sense, and that’s why I’m here actually. To apologize for what happened.”
“Mind if I put on some clothes?”
“If you must.”
She was flirting. At least he thought she was. A couple of years ago King would have already pulled some one-liners in an attempt to be charming. It had been a while, and he was off his game. Faking your death, living in hiding, and chasing terrorists can often get in the way of your sex life.
“I think I must.” King walked into the bedroom and tucked the gun back under the pillow. He grabbed a long-sleeved tee from a pile on the desk in the corner and threw on some joggers.
“You didn’t have to come by,” he said, raising his voice so she could hear from the other room. “What happened last night wasn’t your fault.” King checked his hair in the mirror. Though it was a bit longer than he would have liked, his thick brown hair was rarely out of place, even after sleep. He ran his fingers through it and walked back out into the living room.