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“I think you have a nasty bump on your head from the staircase. That probably accounts for the missing past hour.”
For a second I thought I was bleeding, but I ran my hand over my hair and I didn’t feel any gashes or cuts. No blood.
“Hour? I was out that long?”
“Yeah. A lot happened.”
“Is-is it over?” I asked.
He tilted his head to the side. “For now.”
“What does that mean?” I searched his eyes.
“It means we have one handler in custody. The other is dead. The two flight attendants have been taken into custody as well.”
“And Beechum?” I ventured.
AJ exhaled. “He didn’t show. He slipped out before we could get eyes on him.”
“Who did this?”
“I hope we can get that answer once we question everyone. Right now we don’t know.”
“And Jelly Bean Jack?”
“We’re no closer to him either. I haven’t debriefed with the agents yet. There is still a lot I have to fill them in on. They’re going to need you for that too. When you’re ready,” he added.
I realized I still didn’t know where we were. “Where did we land?”
“D.C.,” he answered.
“All of that and we landed in D.C.? That doesn’t make sense.” Why would someone go through all that trouble to hijack a plane and return it to its original destination?
“To a bunch of mad men it makes complete sense. That’s the scary thing, Syd. Monsters like this operate in their own measure of morality. Their own criminality. It’s a level that’s a brutal mind game.”
Talking about Jelly Bean Jack reminded me of the marketplace and my laptop. “Oh shit. My bag. My equipment.”
He grinned. “Don’t worry. We’ve got it.”
“All of it?”
He nodded. “Every last microphone and recorder. And your laptop.”
The fear spiked under my lungs. “Are they taking it? Are you taking it? I can’t lose those recordings. They’re priceless to me. My leads are on there. They’re about my m—”
“Hey. Hey. It’s yours. I know it’s important to you. I made sure the agents did a sweep of first class and brought it here. No one is going home with that bag, but you.”
“Thank you.”
The hangar had to contain at least fifty FBI agents. They were in and out of the jet. Walking along the perimeter. Some on phones. Some head to head, taking notes. They weren’t paying attention to us, not now that I was awake.
I slid my hands along AJ’s neck.
“You need stitches. You know that?”
“Flesh wound.” He curled a hand to my waist. “What about you? Want me take you to the hospital?”
It made the most sense, didn’t it? Two people who had been beaten and tortured. Locked away. Prepared to die. Two people who needed medical attention beyond first responder triage.
