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Every hand went up.
“Happy fucking Thanksgiving,” grumbled Gunner.
“You’re not—”
When Gunner shot Striker a look, he shut up.
“You don’t know anything if you think I’d sit here on my ass.” He walked out of the room, shaking his head. “Who put him in charge?” they heard him mutter.
“I did,” both Doc and Razor answered when Gunner pushed past them.
Striker sat down next to Monk. “You tell me. What should we do?”
“Best if we split into teams. One to Bogotá and one closer to where the plane lost contact,” he answered.
“Flying into Maracaibo would make the most sense, but would it even be possible with Venezuela’s power grid down?” Striker asked.
Monk shook his head. “The closest we can get is Aruba.”
“Cope can arrange for aircraft and pilots,” Doc told them after ending his call.
“No one is going anywhere until tomorrow at the earliest,” said Monk, pointing to a different radar report on the monitor.
While it was late in the season and both Aruba and Colombia were below the hurricane belt, in order to get to either, they’d have to fly directly through the eye of an impending storm.
Not only would it ground them, it would make any search for the aircraft and its occupants exponentially more difficult.
“It’s Cope again,” said Doc, looking at his phone. He walked into the hallway to take the call.
“Where’s the fucking plane?” muttered Striker.
“Tabon?” he heard Ava call out from the stairwell.
“Monk, is there anything else we can do right now?”
He shook his head.
“Go eat, then.”
Monk didn’t acknowledge that Razor had said anything to him.
“He means you,” said Striker.
Monk turned and looked into Striker’s eyes. “I need quiet to do this.”
Striker nodded and motioned for everyone to head out.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said to Monk.
“I’ll let you know if I need you.”
“Not a word about this,” Doc unnecessarily warned everyone in the room.
Striker heard murmurs of agreement anyway as he followed the group upstairs.
When he reached the top, he saw Aine seated on the sofa. Her back was to him, yet he could still feel the anxiety emanating from her. He understood and agreed with Doc’s mandate not to discuss the missing plane; however, he had to tell her something or she’d be eaten up with worry. His guess was Ava, Quinn, and Zary would feel the same way. Merrigan had likely already been read in.
Striker came around to where Aine sat and held his hand out to her. “I hear it’s time to eat.”
