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“Unbelievable,” Rossiter said after a moment. “Your serial killer is running with our cyber terrorist.”
Now it was Monck who looked at his watch.
7:55 p.m.
Five minutes until Cloke’s follow-up communiqué.
Four hours until Ryan’s “surprise” arrival?
We waited as this unending Saturday waned, the room so silent I was certain the others could hear my heart pounding.
The email landed on the OTD computer precisely at eight. Rossiter had it on his MacBook Air four minutes later.
Rossiter did the zillion key thing, then he and Reid leaned into the screen.
Looking like a man just given a cancer diagnosis, Rossiter swiveled the laptop toward us.
Fear hit like a bazooka round to the chest.
35
8:04 P.M.
Cloke’s second email consisted of a coded list.
DL 1313 ATL 6:15 STT 10:26 Boeing 757
BA 2113 LGW 5:40 ANU 10:08 Boeing 777
AF 0009 CDG 4:40 SXM 10:19 A330
AC 2107 YUL 7:55 PLS 11:44 A220-300
“These are the planes this asshole is threatening to hijack?” asked Monck, voice masking his horror.
“Yes.”
“All are flights coming into the Caribbean. Delta from Atlanta to Saint Thomas, British Airways from London Gatwick to Antigua, Air France from Paris to St. Martin, Air Canada from Montreal to Provo. All landing between ten and midnight tonight.”
“All in the air right now.” Monck.
“I know a passenger on AC 2107.” My chest was ice, my lips barely able to form the words.
Three faces swiveled toward me.
“I have to warn him.” Reaching for my phone.
“We can’t allow you to do that,” Reid said.
“Allow me!?”
“One leak could compromise our whole operation.”
“You have anoperation? You can’t even manage to find your own agent! You can’t trace his goddam emails!”
“We have people on it.”
“Jesus! You’re the freaking FBI!”
