running toward the back doors. The private schoolers were gathered together at the southern end of the room, pushing toward the windows, staring, one of their chaperones waving her hands to get them to stay put.
Xander ignored everyone around him but Chalk, tuned them out, lasered his focus. “What’s the issue, did he say?”
“No. He’s justifiably concerned.”
“Think it’s directed at him?”
“I don’t know, but we better be ready for anything when that plane lands.”
“If it is, they knew we were on him. They waited until we left to make a move.”
“That’s pretty fucking sophisticated. I haven’t seen a tail, or anything to indicate we were being observed.”
Xander nodded. “Me, either. Could his itinerary have leaked? He’s a good target, we both know that. The threat assessment showed plenty of people who want him dead.”
“If so, someone inside his senior staff or the folks he met with did it. No one else knows he’s here.”
They jogged through the doors, went straight to the back and out onto the tarmac. With the hullabaloo, no one thought to stop them. So much for being inconspicuous, though.
“Sam is going to skin me alive if I don’t get home tonight.”
Chalk shot him a grin. “Cheer up, lover boy. If our principal goes splat, you can get right on the next plane south.”
“If our principal goes splat, we’re done for. You take the terminal, I’ll meet the plane. Cover my six.”
He would be totally exposed, but there was no help for it. Chalk disappeared into the shadows behind him, and Xander stood with the other employees, his arms crossed, staring toward the empty tarmac. He listened hard to the charter employees. Apparently, the engine lights had flashed red, and the pilot wasn’t about to try a transatlantic flight with possible trouble. It could be a simple mechanical issue.
Xander had a feeling that wasn’t the case. Just a small frisson of something, up the back of his neck. He scanned the area. Murmured, “All clear,” into his mike.
A few moments later, the Gulfstream came into view.
Xander stepped to the side, out of earshot, and phoned James Denon, who answered sounding rather panicky. “What’s happening? They won’t tell us what’s happening.”
“We’re here, sir, we’re waiting on you. There’s nothing apparent on the ground. Are you all right?”
“I am. What in bloody hell is going on?”
“They’re saying it was an engine problem. Chances are, that’s all this is. You just sit tight once they land. If they force you to disembark, make sure you come out last. I’ll be waiting for you at the foot of the stairs. We can follow the same protocol as before, staying out of sight, but right now, I think we should stick close.”
“I agree. Something feels off.”
“Roger that, sir. You hang tight inside as long as they’ll let you.”
Xander hung up and casually turned, scoping the building behind him. He still had his shades on, eyes roving right, then left. He couldn’t see Chalk, which was good. His adrenaline was surging, running hard through his body, so hard his hands were fighting the urge to shake. Breathe, Xander. Breathe.
The Gulfstream touched down, a small puff of white smoke rising from its tires. It headed toward the terminal, then suddenly altered course and began taxiing toward the southern hangar instead of the terminal. A radio crackled on the hip of the employee standing nearest him.
“This is Gulfstream 890. Got another warning light, we’re leaking oil. Gonna head directly into the hangar. We’ll disembark the passengers before we go in. Better find another plane, looks like we’re going to be out of commission for a while.”
There were sharp curses from the assembled crowd, but Xander ignored them.
The hangar.
A hundred yards away.
Xander had eyes on it, but he wasn’t close enough to scope it properly. He scanned the building rapidly, looking for anything out of place. There was something, near the roof, twenty degrees to the right. A shadow. As he watched, the shadow pulled back slightly, and there was a flash. A mirrored flash.
His adrenaline shot into overdrive, and he clicked on his comms unit.
“Chalk, buddy, we got a shooter on top of the hangar.”
“Roger. Can you take him?”
“I need to get closer, and higher. If I start heading his way, he’ll know I saw him. You’re gonna have to end around, let me get into position.”
“There’s a metal ladder behind me, runs up the side of the terminal building. The two buildings are about the same height. Should be the right angle.”
“This might draw some attention to our client.”
“Better attention than dead. I’ll cover Denon, you take the shooter. Out.”
Xander heard the whine of the engines. He was out of time. He broke with the employees and quick-walked to the edge of the terminal. Went up the ladder, wishing like hell he had his M4. He’d have a better chance of taking the guy out that way.
His mind was preternaturally calm, clear, crisply assessing everything. Wind speed, atmosphere, angle. The lack of a load in the SIG, the best place to take the shot. Up on the roof now, and of course there was very little to hide behind.
He’d lost eyes on his target, but he scooted to the north edge of the roof, and found him again. The assassin was low now, crouched against the concrete buttress. Relaxed, but ready, a M2010 ESR trained on the crowd below. Xander recognized a professional at work, and his heart sank.
Xander clicked his mike. “I’m in position. Son of a bitch has an M2010.”
Chalk whistled. “Can you take him out?”
Xander took off his sunglasses. Laid on his stomach, inched to the edge. The terminal’s high roof was a boon; he had a down angle on the shooter.
“Xander? Talk to me, buddy. What’s happening up there?”
“Shh. I’m concentrating.”
Chalk’s voice raised slightly. “Concentrate faster, the plane door’s opening.”
God, he would kill for a set of binoculars, or even a range finder. He made the distance between the two buildings, from the end of his muzzle to the shooter’s head, at just under a hundred yards.
Doable.
Xander shut his eyes, then opened and refocused. Modulated his breathing. Rolled onto his knees. Braced, got his grip perfect. Ignored Chalk in his ear saying, “Tick tock, buddy, time’s running out. They’re making them all disembark. I’ve counted three, that’s the staff. Denon’s
