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

“You don’t sound like you’re wearing your mask,” the captain questioned, speaking through his.

“No, sir, I shut it off just in case we couldn’t land and I needed the oxygen later in the flight. I’m going to walk the cabin to see if anything or anyone sticks out. See you on the ground.”

Matt returned the phone to its mount and slung the facemask over his shoulder. He walked past the older woman, smiled at her, and started down the center aisle. He listened as the pilot informed the passengers of the emergency landing scheduled for Iceland and suggested that, while he preferred they keep their oxygen masks on, they might notice that some members of the flight crew had determined the air quality seemed clean enough to breathe without them for now.

“I know it is easier said than done,” he continued. “But try to remain calm, and we’ll be safely on the ground shortly.” He then repeated the entire message in French.

Less than an hour later, the very last passenger deplaned and climbed aboard one of the many airport buses that had been dispatched to the spot where the plane was led by airport police. Matt and the marshal shook hands and formally introduced themselves. The lead flight attendant and the captain joined the two men at the foot of the passenger stairway and thanked them for their help.

Dozens of EMTs continued to evaluate the passengers and crew who had lost consciousness and checked the vitals on everyone who walked or was carried off the plane. Matt called Dale in Washington to confirm that she had been made aware of the situation in the air. An FBI team had already been dispatched by government jet to Reykjavik and would be on the ground within four hours.

“You okay?” she asked. Matt heard the concern in her voice.

“Just another day at the office, little lady,” he responded. “I’ll get back whichever way is quicker, your jet or this one, but I’ll be ready to go the minute my boots hit the ground.” After the call ended, Matt jumped into one of the local police’s squad cars and was driven to the arrival terminal to collect his belongings and wait to hear what the airline might have in store for him and the rest of the detoured passengers.

“Want to buy a girl a drink?” a familiar voice called out as someone tugged on Matt’s shirtsleeve.

He looked down to find a smiling little woman, his new friend from the front row, staring up at him. He laughed and extended his arm for her to latch onto, and then he led her away from the crowd and to the first bar they could find.

It took only one hour of investigation to determine that Matt’s guess about a spilled cleaning solvent in the food cart had indeed been the cause of the disturbance.

“So you’ll no doubt have the authorities pick up everyone that was involved with catering and cleaning this plane back in Zurich?” Matt asked, looking to the pilot, co-pilot, and the local official who claimed to be in charge on the ground. There was no response, and that frustrated him, almost as much as the delayed action of the sky marshal toward a man reaching for a bag in the overhead. He turned and walked away from the group, calling Dale to suggest that she push a few buttons with the agency’s contacts in Zurich and with the airline to ratchet up the enthusiasm for finding out who did this. “It’s been a long time since 9/11,” he reminded her, “and the bad guys are watching as people lower their guard year after year.” She agreed and went about making the calls. As he headed for the transport to the terminal, he said aloud, “Private jets, I love private jets.”

After spending a night in the airport hotel room provided by the airline, Matt climbed back aboard the jet and retook his seat. He had opted to forgo a more expensive luxury hotel so he could stay close to the older woman, who clearly appreciated his concern and attention. Hours later, they landed safely in Washington, and a short taxi ride later, he was back in his condo, sound asleep. A text from Dale had let him know what was next. He’d be hunting again, this time in Venezuela, but when his phone startled him awake at four in the morning, his world changed forever.

“Have you seen the news?” Dale asked.

“No, why? What’s going on?” he said, rubbing his face and walking to the window to look down on the Potomac.

Dale wiped the tears from her left cheek and uttered the words she knew would break Matt’s heart. “Helene’s dead!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Matt was stunned. With the exception of his time at Zermatt, this last week had already been an emotional roller coast. And now, instead of setting out to terminate a troublesome bad guy in another hemisphere, he needed to board yet another flight and fly west to bury one of the last remaining members of his family.

Helene Coleman, holder of one of the most powerful offices in the nation and the woman who helped raise him after his mother died when he was in elementary school, was gone. He checked flights to Jackson Hole and decided to bypass the faster private jet charter and go for a First Class ticket on a commercial airline instead. Now he just needed to get dressed and to the airport in record time. His slick Mercedes and the early hour provided an unimpeded race to Dulles. Had this been a stroke or heart attack, he would have already been on the private jet, but Matt knew there was nothing he could do to comfort her now. The most he could do at this point was go there, find out what happened, see to her disposition, and say good-bye.

By ten-thirty local time, he drove his rental