Greg Rucka - Critical Space

"Such as?"

"Such as Mr. Keith was expelled."

"We knew that."

"Yes, but we did not know why."

"And why was he expelled?"

"He brought a weapon to school."

"What kind of weapon?"

"A knife."

"Knife how?" I asked, ignoring the look that Corry was shooting my way and wishing he would get back to watching the road. "Knife pocket? Knife switchblade? Knife machete?"

"Knife as in it was confiscated and I'm looking at it right now," Bridgett said. "It's one of those big movie things, long blade, serrated edge. It's got a handle that you can unscrew and store things in."

"And what was he doing with the knife?"

"Brandishing it at a Together Now meeting. He did not actually threaten anyone with it, but it was enough to get him booted. The college has a very firm no-weapons policy."

"Sensible. I'm assuming no charges were filed?"

"That is correct. Mr. Keith did not appeal his expulsion, either, which to me indicates that he knew he shouldn't have been waving the knife around to begin with."

"Anything else?"

"Well, it was only two years ago, so I'm thinking that maybe a couple of the students who were present at the incident and who knew him might still be attending classes. I'm going to take a look around, see if I can find where the Together Now crowd hangs out, and ask some more questions."

"Good," I said. "You're at work?"

"We're in transit."

"I'll call if I find out anything more."

She hung up and I slipped my phone back into my jacket pocket. Corry said, "Well?"

"Keith waved a knife around school once two years ago," I said. "He was expelled for it."

"Predisposed toward violence."

"Maybe. Maybe he was just showing it off to friends."

Corry made a face. "Like you for a second believe that."

We were in Passaic County now, and there was no other traffic on the road but for our two cars, and I almost relaxed. The Benz took a turn off the main road, and we followed, passing a sign with a picture of an airplane on it. We were working our way uphill, through scattered forest, pretty much approaching as middle-of-nowhere as one could get in New Jersey. After another twelve minutes, the Greenwood Lake Airport came into view.

It had been Moore's idea to keep Lady Ainsley-Hunter from arriving at any of the major area airports, and he'd been pleased with how Natalie and Corry had handled the advance. The two of them had scouted out the smaller fields in the New York/New Jersey area and rejected almost all of them for one reason or another – usually because most of the airfields couldn't handle small jets. They'd settled on Greenwood Lake because of its ability to handle a small jet landing and because of its seclusion. We'd taken the roundabout way to reach it; our return trip would be more direct. Corry and Natalie had made all the arrangements for our presence on the field themselves.

Lady Ainsley-Hunter had arrived in the United States almost three hours earlier, her flight from Heathrow landing at Logan Airport in Boston rather than New York in order to keep her final destination secure. After clearing customs, Moore, Her Ladyship, and Chester – the PA – had waited to board a chartered Lear for the final leg. At the time Moore had requested the plan, the security had seemed a tad excessive.

Now I wasn't so sure.

The airport was one or two bad days from being dilapidated, a small terminal building with a closed coffee shop that, in part, occupied a garishly painted and presumably gutted DC-9. A handful of single- and dual-prop planes were parked on the tarmac, and farther along the main runway was another long, low hangar. We skirted the building, turning onto the tarmac, and Dale came to a stop ahead of us. I watched Natalie get out of the Benz and run to the hangar at the side. She came back out in under a minute followed by two men, each looking to be in their late teens to early twenties, and each wearing jumpsuits with a faded eagle painted on the back over the words "Eagle Charters."

Over my earpiece, I heard Natalie say, "Tower says they're inbound on final, three minutes."

"Confirmed," I said.

Natalie climbed back into the Benz as the two in jumpsuits pulled back the gate. One of them waved at us as we drove past. From his expression I could tell he knew who we were.

"What'd you tell them?" I asked Corry.

"Who?"

"Those two. When you and Natalie arranged all this, what'd you tell them?"

"Nothing. Just that we were a security team and that we'd be picking up a VIP."

"He recognized you."

"Not me, man. Natalie."

"She ought to dye her hair or something," I said.

"That wouldn't solve the problem. Gaining fifty pounds and wearing baggy clothes, that would solve the problem."

"I'll tell her you said that."

"You do and I'll be forced to harm you."

We were out on the tarmac now. Corry parked beside the Benz, nose facing the field, keeping the engine running. In the rearview, I could see the two men in their jumpsuits taking their time to join us.

"They're for the luggage," Corry told me.

"I knew that." I unfastened my belt and got out, moving to meet Natalie as she exited the Benz. Like Corry, Dale was staying behind the wheel. Over the sound of the cars I could hear the plane, distant but coming closer.

"Ready for this?" Natalie asked.

I nodded, thinking that in fact, I was. Even with everything that had happened, everything that could possibly happen, I felt good, and fairly confident. One of the pleasures of working with such a small group of colleagues is that I had no doubts about our individual abilities or commitment to the job. There comes a point in every protective effort when all the planning and all the preparations must give way to the event itself, and to the randomness that comes from simply living in an ever-expanding universe. Those things that we could control were actually very small, and we had already exerted as much power over them as we could. From here on out we were game on, and would have to take each complication, each situation, as it arose.

The plane touched down at the end of the runway with a puff of smoke from the tires and a rising whine from the engines as the pilot played with the throttle, slowing down. Natalie and I watched as the Learjet passed, burning off the rest of its speed. For a moment I thought the plane wouldn't stop in time, that it would sail off the end of the runway and into the frees rimming the hilltop, but it was fine, and the jet turned at the opposite end of the field, taxiing back our way.

Natalie thumped on the roof of the Benz, and Dale started forward, moving to greet the plane as it came to a halt. He brought the Benz around so the trunk was presented to where the plane had finally come to rest, and then Corry moved the Lexus up and around, taking the lead position for the egress. When the car was in place, Natalie turned and waved the two men forward, pointing them to the fuselage. We watched as they opened the baggage compartment and began moving the luggage from the plane to the Benz. It took them four trips to fill the Benz, and there were still bags left over.

I pressed the button in my palm, spoke to the mike on my lapel. "Corry, we're going to need the Lexus's trunk, too."

"Gotcha," he said.

Natalie directed the two to load the remaining bags in the other car. When they were finished they headed back to the gate without a word, leaving the trunks open. I shut the Lexus first, then the Benz, then moved around the passenger side and did another check of the perimeter. Aside from the two still heading back to the gate, there was no one visible in my line of sight.

My earpiece crackled slightly, and then Moore came on the net, saying, "Check, Check, this is Hook, how do you read, over?"