The Export J.K. Kelly (best way to read e books .TXT) 📖

of the time often left most to think he was just an average guy doing an average job for an average wage. He preferred it that way.

He left the hotel very early that morning, and four hours later, he returned the car and checked in for the flight home. He was never sure if he’d watch movies the entire time, read, or sleep the whole way. As well-rested and re-energized as the mountain air and the invigorating exercise had made him, he was now in need of bagging a bad guy. No more time off. He texted Dale before taking off.

NEED TO GO HUNTING

She would know what that meant. In her world, she’d be able to offer him the pick of the litter, his choice of targets. Her list had no end. He couldn’t wait to get home.

Unfortunately for him and the 200 other passengers on the flight, someone ruined their party. At the mid-point of the trip, high over the Atlantic Ocean, a flight attendant suddenly dropped to the floor. Within seconds, the attendant working one end of the food cart dropped as well. Passengers near them fell asleep in their seats while others began screaming.

Travelers with window seats raised their shades and let sunlight in. Perhaps they were praying to be over land, but the cold, choppy sea far below gave them little hope. As an attendant from the First-Class galley ran past his seat toward the commotion, Matt yanked off his Bose headphones, unclipped his seat belt, and stood up in the aisle. He saw row after row of passengers lose consciousness, and the wave was coming forward to him and the rest of the luxury travelers.

He knew what was happening. It had to be in the air. He charged toward the galley and yelled to the flight attendant who was on the phone to the cockpit, “Drop the oxygen now!” he shouted. “There’s nerve gas on the plane!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Down they came. Within a second of the message being delivered to the cockpit, the tethered breathing devices dropped from the ceiling. Pilots were trained to react and respond to a multitude of incidents, and luckily, the flight attendants were as well. Other than a fire, compromised air or a lack of it was the biggest fear aboard a plane. Well, that and crashing. Passengers who were still able to grab them and knew how to use them did so. Matt stepped back to his seat and reached for his. He looked across the cabin and saw another man standing at his seat, oxygen mask in place, gun drawn. Matt didn’t sense a threat so stood his ground.

“Sky marshal,” the man called out through his mask. “You?”

“FBI!” Matt returned.

Both men exchanged a nod and put their game faces on, but Matt knew the other man was as scared as he was. They’d been trained to deal with threats, but an unseen one, the uncertainty of what it was and who had discharged it, sent them into high gear fast. Traveling at nearly 600 mph over the ocean, whatever they could do to help needed to happen now.

Matt turned to the flight attendant who had been using the phone. She had pulled an air pack from a compartment in the galley, slung it over her shoulder, and affixed the mask to her face. The pilot had begun to reduce the plane’s altitude from their current 38,000 feet to 10,000 feet. His protocols were clear in an incident like this. Contact flight control and descend as quickly and safely as possible. Find the shipping lanes and locate the nearest vessels. Everyone had trained for this, except the passengers.

The pilot made a quick announcement, his voice confident but hurried.

“We are in contact with flight control and the TSA command center and are working this situation. Please remain as calm as possible, breathe through your oxygen masks, and stay seated with your seat belts on.”

For many, that was easier said than done. But, luckily, there were enough portable oxygen tanks aboard to allow Matt, the man with the gun, and at least four others to strap them on and assess the situation. Matt called out to the masked attendant to bring one device to him and the other to the man standing across from him. She complied. She already knew the sky marshal. They always boarded before everyone else, but hearing Matt call out that he was FBI and acted the part made it easy.

“Ask the captain to have any doctors on board raise their hands but stay in their seats for now. We need help assessing the people who are down. I can’t tell from here if they are just unconscious or–”

She winced. “Right.”

Matt gestured for the marshal to meet him in the forward galley. They would be able to speak through their masks, but their hushed tones, meant to hide what they had to say from the passengers, made it difficult. They quickly compared notes.

Neither had seen, heard, or smelled anything out of the ordinary, from the boarding process all the way to the sound of the first scream for help. Nobody had acted in a strange or suspicious manner; the only nervousness either had observed had been from the usual first-time fliers and those scared of flying.

The marshal stepped back and peered down the aisle toward his side of the cabin. He saw a middle-aged man stand up from his seat, open the overhead bin, and try to pull down his suitcase. He shook his head and turned back to Matt. “Some dumbass just reached for his bag. Guess he thinks it’s time to get off. He’s harmless, just scared like the rest of us.”

“Sit down!” Matt shouted at the man, “Sit down now!” and then looked to the marshal for action. “Point your gun at him, now!” he ordered, and so he did.

“This is no place to be screwing around or taking things for granted!” The marshal nodded his head, and with