46. Antonio

“What the fuck happened?” I bark at Will on my way downstairs. “That plane came from London today. It was supposed to be under your control.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, quietly. “So sorry.”

You fucker.“That’s it? I’m sorry?”

“Samantha’s father was on that plane too,” he bites back, “so don’t insinuate that I didn’t take every necessary precaution.”

Samantha.

I blow out a breath. “I’m not insinuating anything. I’m trying to figure out what the hell happened.” And I’m fighting a murderous rage. “Was there a mayday call?”

“No warning. It’s too early to know what happened.”

No mayday call means the plane exploded.

Exploded right out of the sky. Maybe it’s better if they didn’t see it coming.

I stop on the bottom step to pull myself together before I have to face anyone.

“We have rescue crews headed to where we last heard from them,” Will continues.

“Double whatever you have going out there. Send me a complete manifest. I want to know everything about everyone who was on that plane, and anyone who had access to it. And send me the coordinates. I’m on my way to the site.”

“There is no actual site, Antonio. Not yet. We don’t have enough information.”

“Don’t care. I’m not sitting around stroking my dick, praying for good news.”

“I would tell you not to come, but I’m the last person to give that advice.” He pauses for a beat. “Antonio, I’m going to tell you what I told my wife. Brace yourself for bad news. It doesn’t look good.”

That’s the last thing I want to hear. And I don’t want anyone else to hear it either. Once people think it’s a recovery mission, rather than a rescue, the urgency wanes.

“I don’t give a shit how it looks. Save the prophecies for your wife. We keep our foot on the gas, and we don’t let up until we find them.”

“Agreed.”

Cristiano and Thiago are waiting for me out front with the car.

“You know, Will, you keep dumping this shit on me, but explosions seem to be following you around, too.”

“Oh, this was personal. A message to both of us.”

“Why, though? We don’t share the same enemies.”

“No. But we help each other out from time to time. Not that long ago, I delivered a package to you. Some might say a package with a lot of value.”

“You’d be surprised how little he’s been missed.” I know I’ve been.

“But he was in the Kremlin’s pocket, and they’re pissed—all the way up.”

“They’re not happy. But the Russian government isn’t coming after me because of some chump I disposed of. Nikitin only wants me in an attempt to get back into his president’s good graces, to save his ass—and maybe for some revenge. There’s no way his behavior is sanctioned from high up. Not at this point. I just don’t believe it.”

“I don’t either. But I keep going back to something you said the other day. The reason it’s so hard to identify the enemy is because the attacks seem to be coming from more than one direction.”

It’s true. Maybe truer today than when I originally said it.

I climb into the back of the SUV. I’m done navel-gazing. I want solid answers, not speculation. “I’ve gotta go. Keep me updated. And get me those coordinates.”