Page 23 of Mastermind

“I don’t have a passport to get on the plane.”

“We’re going to steal one.”

“A passport?”

“No. A plane.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

FLIGHT PLAN

I’ve never been in a tornado, but twenty minutes next to Jessica Blackwood is as close as I ever hope to come. I’ve watched her commandeer three cars, take out two armed police officers, and evade an entire commando squad while dragging my weak-ass self along with her. And I still don’t know why.

Blackwood’s eyes are on the road, never wavering. “Those men were with Information Data Retrieval,” she explains.

“What’s the difference between data and information?” I ask.

She blinks and looks at me for the first time since we took this car. “What?”

“Why not call it IR or DR? Never mind . . . I guess they just like the acronym.”

“I need you to focus, Dr. Cray.”

“Theo. Just Theo.”

“Okay, Theo. We need to steal a plane. I need you to go along with what I do. Okay?”

“Why not just grab the key from under the floor mat? That’s worked really well so far,” I reply.

“I couldn’t arrange that.”

“Oh. So we didn’t steal this car?” I ask.

“What? No. Not quite. Focus, please? We’re not technically stealing the airplane, either. We’re just re-requisitioning it.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“The details don’t matter. But the men who were after us, IDR, they used a government jet to get here. We’re using that jet to get out.”

“And how do we do that?” I ask. “Superior firepower?”

“No. Paperwork. I filed a maintenance request right after they landed. I then had it rescinded. Their replacement plane is supposed to be in Thailand, but it actually got diverted to the Philippines. Understand?”

“Not really. But I think I get the drift.”

Blackwood pulls onto a road that runs along a metal fence separating us from a runway. At the end of it is a small guard gate. A man with a thin mustache and a military uniform steps out and asks for our paperwork.

Blackwood shows him her FBI badge. He makes a gesture that looks like an eye roll, then lifts the gate and lets us pass. We drive through a row of hangars and park the car in a small lot at the edge of the tarmac. A Gulfstream jet is waiting in the otherwise-empty airfield.

“One more thing,” says Blackwood. “I need to have you cuffed. At least until we get onto the plane.”

“What?” I’m trying to figure out what kind of a trick this is.

Blackwood gently lifts my wrists. “It won’t be tight. It’s just for show.”

“Are you sure?”

Click.