Chapter 5 - THE MAN WHO BOUGHT OUR TICKETS
Arthur Cole had been beside me for fourteen years.
He was there when Elena died.
He carried her coffin.
He held Norah while I stood beside the grave because I couldn’t.
And two weeks ago, he had personally booked this trip.
“London will be good for both of you,” he said.
I had believed him.
Now Elena’s hidden files were accusing him of putting us on Flight 718.
My stomach turned.
The captain looked at me.
“Who is Arthur Cole?”
“My business partner.”
That was the version civilians could hear.
The truth was uglier.
Arthur ran operations I never discussed near Norah.
Money.
Territory.
Men.
Violence.
If he had betrayed me, half Chicago could already be moving against the other half.
But none of that mattered at thirty-five thousand feet.
My daughter mattered.
The people aboard mattered.
The aircraft mattered.
The first officer spoke.
“We’ve located passenger 2C.”
I turned.
“Where?”
“Lavatory near the rear.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Is it Ward?”
The captain hesitated.
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
Cabin crew brought the man forward under controlled supervision.
He was maybe fifty.
Gray hat.
Expensive coat.
Terrified.
“I didn’t do anything.”
I recognized him from Norah’s description.
“You gave my daughter the note.”
He went pale.
“A man paid me.”
“Which man?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“Describe him.”
“Older. Gray hair. Scar near his mouth.”
Elias.
“Where is he?”
“He got off before departure.”
Everyone went still.
The captain frowned.
“That’s impossible. How could he make the announcement?”
The passenger shook his head.
“He gave me a small device.”
“What device?”
“I left it in the lavatory.”
The crew retrieved it safely.
It appeared capable of transmitting audio into a compromised internal connection.
Not magic.
Not a ghost.
Preparation.
The captain looked toward me.
“So Ward may not be on board.”
“Or he wants us to believe that.”
Then my satellite phone—kept for business emergencies—vibrated.
One message.
From Arthur.
Still alive?
I stared at the screen.
A second message came.
You should have stayed in Chicago.
My blood ran cold.
Then a third.
A photograph.
Norah at O’Hare.
Taken from above.
From the mezzanine.
Arthur had been watching us.
And beneath the picture:
Elena died because she trusted Elias. Don’t make Norah die because you do.
I typed one reply.
What do you want?
May you like
His answer came immediately.
THE LEDGER ELENA HID IN LONDON.
