Chương 7
Owen's voice stayed flat.
"That's what you want me to say?"
"That's what happened."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
Even now.
Even after pushing me with his own hands.
He was already building the version of events he needed.
Marcus reached for the device.
I held on.
The audio returned.
Jonathan was crying.
Not loudly.
The sound came in short breaths.
"I tried to catch her."
Owen said, "Keep the gun pointed away from me."
"I tried."
"Jonathan."
"She was depressed."
"Put the gun down."
"She was under pressure."
"Put it down."
"Everybody knew."
The lies came more easily with each sentence.
I listened until my stomach turned.
"Enough."
Marcus muted the stream.
Dana checked my blood pressure.
"We're eight minutes from the dock."
"How long to the hospital?"
"Ambulance is staged."
"I need to go to the airfield."
"No."
Marcus and Dana said it together.
I looked at both of them.
"I'm not asking."
Dana actually laughed.
"Wonderful."
She tightened the blood pressure cuff.
"You can fire me after your obstetric team clears you."
"The agents need me."
"The agents have evidence."
"Jonathan thinks I'm dead."
"Exactly."
Marcus's voice hardened.
"That is currently our biggest advantage."
I hated that he was right.
I hated more that lying on a rescue boat while other people handled the confrontation made me feel useless.
A stupid feeling.
A dangerous feeling.
The same feeling that had put me into the helicopter.
I stared down at my wet hand resting over my daughter.
She moved again.
Stronger this time.
My anger changed shape.
"I want the live feed."
Marcus looked at Dana.
Dana shrugged.
"If it keeps her lying down, give her the whole damn Pentagon."
He unmuted the audio.
The helicopter was lower now.
Owen's breathing sounded rough.
"Tower wants us on runway two."
Jonathan snapped, "No tower."
"We can't land without communicating."
"Tell them electrical malfunction."
"They can see our transponder."
"Then shut it off."
"I already told you what happens."
Jonathan cursed.
A metallic sound struck the microphone.
Owen grunted.
I flinched.
"He's hitting him."
Marcus nodded once.
"Agents know."
"Can they intercept before landing?"
"Not safely."
"What if Jonathan shoots him?"
"Then we have a different emergency."
I looked at him sharply.
Marcus did not soften the answer.
That was why I trusted him.
The telemetry showed the helicopter descending through nine hundred feet.
My stomach twisted.
"What does Jonathan think happens after he lands?"
Marcus leaned against the rail.
"He thinks he controls the first narrative."
"With Owen alive?"
"He may expect to intimidate him."
"Or kill him."
"Yes."
"And then what?"
"Grieving husband."
The phrase made my mouth taste bitter.
"He'll cry."
Marcus looked at me.
"What?"
"At the airfield."
I stared at the moving line on the screen.
"He'll cry before anyone asks him anything."
Marcus's expression narrowed.
"Why?"
"Because that's what he does when he's rehearsed something."
A memory surfaced without permission.
A charity dinner three years earlier.
Jonathan had forgotten the name of a donor whose husband had died.
On the drive there, he had practiced condolences until the sadness sounded natural.
He had cried at the table before the widow did.
At the time, I had thought it meant he cared.
Now I wondered how often Jonathan had mistaken performance for feeling.
The boat slammed over a wake.
Pain shot through my back.
Dana grabbed my arm.
"Stay with me."
"I'm here."
"No dizziness?"
"Some."
"Nausea?"
"Yes."
"Contractions?"
I froze.
Another tightening moved across my abdomen.
Not pain exactly.
Pressure.
Dana saw my face.
"When did that start?"
"Now."
She placed both hands lightly against my stomach.
"Tell me if it comes again."
Marcus's attention snapped from the phone to me.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Dana gave him a look.
"Don't make her answer questions."
"I'm right here."
"Then practice silence."
Normally I would have enjoyed seeing someone speak to Marcus that way.
I could not find the energy.
The helicopter telemetry dropped below five hundred feet.
The audio burst alive again.
Owen's voice was louder.
"Landing in ninety seconds."
Jonathan breathed into the microphone.
"Remember."
Owen did not answer.
"She jumped."
Silence.
"Say it."
"I need to land."
"Say it."
Owen's voice changed.
Something small, almost imperceptible.
Submission.
"She jumped."
Jonathan exhaled.
"Good."
Marcus looked at me.
I understood.
Owen had given him what he wanted because the aircraft was almost down.
My daughter shifted beneath my hand.
The tightening in my abdomen eased.
Then the audio filled with rotor noise and tower chatter.
A second screen appeared on Marcus's device.
Live airfield surveillance.
The helicopter descended toward the tarmac under white floodlights.
Black tactical vehicles waited beyond the hangars with their lights off.
Agents remained hidden.
Jonathan could not see them yet.
Owen touched down.
The skids settled.
The rotors stayed turning.
For several seconds, nobody emerged.
Then the cabin door opened.
Jonathan jumped onto the tarmac.
Even through the grainy feed, I saw him turn back toward the helicopter.
The pistol disappeared into the waistband beneath his jacket.
He staggered three steps.
Then he dropped to his knees.
His hands covered his face.
And exactly as I had predicted, he began to scream.
"Help!"
The sound came through the airfield microphones distorted by the rotors.
"My wife!"
He bent forward until his forehead nearly touched the concrete.
"She jumped!"
I felt nothing at first.
Then something colder than anger settled through me.
Jonathan lifted his face toward the approaching ground crew.
"She's dead!"
The floodlights came on.
For one second, Jonathan remained frozen on his knees as the airfield turned white around him.
The expression on his face changed before his body did.
Grief vanished.
Calculation replaced it.
Then the black SUVs moved.
Doors opened almost simultaneously.
Men and women in tactical gear spread across the concrete.
A voice boomed through a loudspeaker.
"Step away from the aircraft and put your hands where we can see them."
Jonathan looked toward the helicopter.
May you like
Owen had not moved from the pilot's seat.
Another command came.
