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“Jack?” I was on edge immediately. I sensed fear in her voice. “I’ve been trying to reach Dinara like you asked, but I can’t get hold of her. Or Feodor Arapov. I can’t reach anyone at Private Moscow. It’s as though they have all disappeared.”
CHAPTER 78
MY HEART SANK. There could only be one explanation for this. I took a moment to digest the news and collect my thoughts.
“Jack?”
“It’s Alekseyev,” I responded. “He must know what’s happened here in Beijing and has taken them for leverage.”
“Oh, Jack, you can’t go there,” Justine protested. “Not after last time.”
Under any other circumstances I would have said she was right, but I owed my life to Dinara and Feo, and if Alekseyev had taken them, they needed me more than ever. None of us would ever be safe again with a man like him targeting us.
“I have to,” I replied. “I want you to call Erin Sebold. She is the Agency head of section at the embassy in Moscow. See what kind of help they can give us.”
“Jack …”
“I have to go, Justine. I can’t leave them.”
It sounded as though she was crying.
“I know, Jack. I know you can’t leave them, but you are taking a piece of my heart with you.”
“I love you, Jus.”
“Love you too,” she replied before hanging up.
“What’s up?” Zhang Daiyu asked as I slid my phone into my pocket.
“The entire staff at Private Moscow are missing,” I replied.
“Alekseyev?”
I nodded grimly.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Morgan,” said Fen.
“Can you see if your people have heard anything useful in Moscow?” I asked.
“We don’t have operatives in Moscow,” she said firmly. “But I’ll see what I can do,” she added with a conspiratorial smile.
“You ready?” I asked Hua. He nodded.
We said goodbye to Fen, who thanked us again before allowing us to take the van out of the underground parking garage and cross the police cordon.
Hua took us to the workers’ hostel where I collected my stuff before we headed for Beijing Nanyuan airport to the south of the city, a military base that also offered commercial facilities. I could see a fleet of executive aircraft on the stands surrounding the large terminal.
I don’t know whether it was Zhang Daiyu’s doing or if Fen had pulled some strings, but we were waved through the gate at the edge of the airfield and told to proceed directly to stand 47,where we found a Gulfstream G650 waiting. The pilot stood by the aircraft, not far from a customs officer behind a collapsible table. When we pulled up and stepped out of the van, the officer called me over, checked my passport, and performed a fingertip search of my holdall. When she was satisfied, she waved me on.
The pilot, a cheerful man in his late forties, had an air of easy confidence, the calm of someone who’d been flying for decades. He greeted me warmly before climbing the airstairs to complete his pre-flight checks. I turned to face Zhang Daiyu and Hua, who had waited a short distance away.
“You sure you don’t want me to come?” she asked.
“I’m sure. You’re needed here. I have friends in Moscow who will look after me.”
“Not as well as us,” Hua countered.
“Maybe not.” I smiled. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. Both of you. I’ll call you when I’ve found Alekseyev.”
