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“There she is,” Ice whispered, squeezing Indy’s hand gently as they glided past an empty gate, two gates down from the spot Jack had circled on that digital map. A massive Boeing 747 was parked and ready.
The logo on the tail clearly said AIR INDIA.
Ice exhaled, thanking Jack under his breath. He slowed as he got closer, leaning forward and peering through the plastic windscreen towards the plane’s underbelly.
Those summers working baggage at JFK all those years ago paid off now as Ice noted with exhilarated relief that the conveyor belt was still attached to the open baggage hold but there were no workers present. Exactly what he’d hoped for, wished for, maybe even prayed for.
He checked his watch. An hour before takeoff. International flight, which meant most passengers would already have checked in—and that meant most of the baggage had already been loaded. The ground crew had left the conveyor belt in place to load up straggling baggage from any late check-ins or standby passengers cleared at the last minute.
Ice waited a few minutes, scanning the perimeter to make sure it was clear. Then he steered them past the Air India plane, stopping the cart off to the side, out of the aircraft’s way, beneath the covered passenger jetway. Hopefully it would stay unnoticed until the aircraft pulled away from the gate. After that Ice didn’t give a shit. Once they were airborne, the plane wasn’t stopping until its wheels touched down on U.S. soil.
Fifteen hours flight-time, Ice thought as he switched off the cart, then reached for his duffel bag. He’d raided the hotel mini-bar, stuffing three large bottles of water along with snack-bags of nuts and dried fruits and some strange-looking Indian curly crispy things that were probably delicious if not nutritious.
“All right, we’re moving.” Ice squeezed Indy’s hand, then led her out of the cart onto the tarmac. She stumbled as she stepped off, but Ice steadied her against his body, making damn sure his fingers were still locked tight through hers. He waited a beat, scanned the area one last time, then focused directly on the unattended conveyor belt until everything else faded away to blurry background. “Come on.”
Ice led them straight to the open underbelly, making sure he paced it just right that the movement wouldn’t look rushed to a casual observer. No sudden moves, he warned himself. Pretend like you belong here, like this is your aircraft, like this is your airport, your conveyor belt, your baggage compartment, your story.
The story spun through Ice’s swirling senses, his heart slowing down when they got to the conveyor belt without hearing cries of STOP or its Hindi equivalent.
Without pausing to thank the gods, ghosts, spirits, angels, and demons for getting them this far, Ice flicked the switch on the conveyor engine-base to turn on the heavy-duty belt, lifted Indy into his arms, then hopped onto the belt and let it carry them up into the gaping maws of this grinning metal monster.
Darkness had never been more welcome, and Ice exhaled in a rush when they got to the top of their magic carpet ride and he got them both off without a hitch and found the conveyor belt switch at the top end of the machine and turned it off.
And suddenly they were there, safe in the dimly lit baggage hold, surrounded by silent luggage of all sizes and shapes, soft-skin leather and hard-shell plastic, Louis Vuitton and Samsonite, odd-shaped tubes and drop-cloth draped cases.
Now Ice relaxed his extreme focus, exhaling again as he scanned the silent space for a spot to set up camp.
But then something broke the safe silence.
Ice tightened immediately, snapping his head towards the far reaches of the cavernous baggage hold. He listened, praying it was just the sounds of passengers trudging through the aisles above their heads.
It wasn’t.
The sounds were definitely coming from way back in the baggage hold.
Baggage workers shifting luggage around?
Maintenance crew inspecting something?
Random terrorists who’d selected this flight out of every other possible flight on every other possible day?
Ice cursed inwardly, savage amusement accompanying the thought that hell, the third option might actually be the best—if they were terrorists, Ice could just break their necks and stow them away in the back, no problem, no harm done to real humans.
Workers and crew were a different matter.
Shit.
He should have known it wouldn’t bethiseasy.
“Easy,” he whispered when he felt Indy try to pull her hand away, like she was coming out of her stupor. Yeah, Ice desperately wanted to see the light come back to her vacant eyes, but maybe not for another few minutes. “Indy, I need you to stay—”
Ice stopped when he saw that light flicker in her eyes, and when she tugged at his hand again, Ice realized she wasn’t trying to pull away from him.
She was trying to lead him.
Lead him towards those strange scuffling sounds.
“All right, but I go first,” Ice said quietly, holding her hand firmly, pulling her back and switching positions so he was in front of her, shielding her from the unknown beasts in the dark.
