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

the gun now pointed in his direction, the passenger quickly dropped back into his seat. Matt turned to the flight attendant controlling the phone. “Remind everyone that they must stay seated. Anyone getting up will be arrested and turned over to the authorities when we land!” She followed his instructions, delivering the message in both English and in French, as was customary on Swiss flights, and that got everyone’s attention and compliance.

“Now, if we can just get this bird on the ground,” he whispered.

To Matt’s relief, and seemingly to everyone’s surprise, whatever was in the air that had spread through the central part of the main cabin subsided as quickly as it had emerged. The area around the food cart, three seats to the left and right of it and three rows in front and behind it, lay littered with 38 unconscious souls. The rows of people past those who had been knocked out had at first attempted to escape the immediate area, and now reported feeling nauseous, having blurred vision, or were short of breath. Once the oxygen masks had dropped and people took in the safe air, many turned to attend to the others who were in dire need of help.

A flight attendant checked the photo ID of the three doctors who had raised their hands. They were each handed an oxygen tank and facemask and were asked to begin checking victims of the gas. Some were already beginning to regain consciousness, a few had thrown up, but one man, in particular, drew their immediate attention. An elderly man had suffered what appeared to be a heart attack and was immediately attended to.

Matt watched from the front of the plane while countless medical kits and equipment were pulled from compartments and carried to the sickest patients. IV bags were hung, and even a cardiac defibrillator was set out to use if needed. Matt hadn’t noticed any odd smells during the incident, but now he picked up the subtle scent of a solvent of some sort.

“The first wave seems to have cleared the area, but I’m concerned that the recirculating air has moved much of it through the rest of the plane,” the marshal offered.

“Yeah, but it might have been diluted by the amount of air we’ve got in this really big tin can,” Matt responded. Without a physical threat, a suicide bomber, crazed terrorist, or a drunken tourist to deal with, the two law enforcers continued to work the problem. While the marshal again called the TSA command center in the United States to bring them up to speed, Matt asked the lead flight attendant if he could speak with the captain.

“We’re not opening that door for anyone or anything,” she responded in no uncertain terms. Ever since the attacks of 9/11, all cockpit doors were to remain closed, no matter what was happening on the passenger side of it.

“Agreed,” Matt replied. “I meant by phone.” As he waited for the attendant to speak with the captain further before handing the device over to him, Matt noticed a woman sitting in the first row, just a few feet from him. She appeared elderly and gray-haired, perhaps in her late 70s, and she was tightly gripping a Christian cross she had taken from her handbag. Their eyes met. Matt took a very deep breath, removed his mask, walked towards her, and knelt down in the aisle beside her.

“We’re going to be okay,” he assured her. “This happens all the time,” he told her with a smile. She looked at him as if he was crazy. No mask and nothing to worry about? Matt could read her expression very easily.

“Some dummy back in Zurich probably left a jug of cleaning solvent open inside the food cart, and it fell over while they were serving the chicken or pasta back there.”

“That doesn’t sound quite right, young man, FBI or not,” she told him in a stern voice, the fear replaced by a touch of resentment. “I may be old, but I’m not stupid!”

“No, seriously. It happened just last year on a flight to the U.S. that had taken off from Heathrow.” He smiled and placed his hand over hers. “You just hang in there. We’ll have this bird down safely on the ground before you know it.” The tone of his voice, the look on his face, and the words he used must have sunk in. Her lips cracked a smile, ever so slightly.

“You’ll have to have a whiskey with me when we do.”

Matt squeezed her hands slightly. “Deal.” He stood up and began to walk back to the galley and his conversation with the pilot. But he turned toward the woman again, leaving the mask off his face as he turned the screw to shut off the oxygen.

“Keep an eye on those headphones for me, please. I’ll need them for the rest of the ride.” The slight smile broadened, and Matt watched as some of the other passengers in the front cabin began to check the air.

The attendant handed Matt the phone, and he introduced himself to the pilot, giving his FBI ID number and suggesting the co-pilot check him out as the incident and the contingency plans were being laid out.

“We’re going to run back up to 25,000 feet and make a hard turn to the right. We can pick up the jet stream in a few minutes and ride it to Reykjavik and land there in another 30 minutes or so,” he told Matt, his French accent briefly reminding Matt of his new Canadian friends.

“Works for me. Just wish it wasn’t summer so I could finally get to see the aurora.”

The captain laughed. “I’m glad you’re taking this lightly.”

“I’m not, skipper,” Matt assured him. “This was either a stupid mistake, or someone was testing a new nerve agent, watching how the crews react to an emergency, or maybe there’s a disgruntled employee behind this. Either way, once you get this bird on the ground, we can get some