Joe maneuvered the rental car into the Seattle morning rush-hour traffic.
"Get off your phone!" he bellowed at a Prius refusing to speed up to merge. Joe floored the Impala and zoomed around it. "Typical," he grunted after catching a look at the driver.
"Don't even think about making some racist comment," Callie said, giving Joe a dirty look.
Joe placed a hand on his chest, pretending to be offended. "I can't believe you think so little of me. I would never imply that driving skills are based on race. It was because she was a woman."
Joe raised his arm to defend himself from Callie's slaps. After her unsuccessful attack, she settled back down in her seat and opened a notebook.
"Okay," Callie said. "Let's think this through logically."
"But that's Frank's job" was on the tip of Joe's tongue before he realized what he was about to say. He swallowed, a lump forming in his throat.
"Option 1," Callie continued, "the bombing was intended to target Ducroy Air, maybe related to the insider trading, possibly to intimidate your dad."
"The more I think about it, the less I think it was targeted at Dad." Joe said, cutting across three lanes of traffic as Callie closed her eyes and squealed. "He said that Frank and Vanessa switched onto the flight last minute after the previous flight was overbooked. The option to move to the next flight was offered to everyone. The bomber couldn't have known Frank would take it."
Callie nodded. "That makes sense, I agree. Option 2, the bombing was meant to kill someone on board."
"Sneaking a bomb through airport security seems like an overly difficult way to kill someone," Joe pointed out.
"Option 3, the bombing – Joe, brake lights!"
Callie braced herself against the dashboard as Joe maintained his speed with no regard for the stopped vehicles in front of him. He swerved onto the shoulder and passed six cars before rejoining the traffic lane.
"I am driving from now on!" Callie shouted.
"You have to be aggressive when you drive in big cities," Joe said, taking his eyes off the road to swallow some coffee from a travel mug.
Callie balled her hands into fists. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, trying to slow her heart rate. "As I was saying, option 3 is that the bombing was meant as a general terror attack."
"No terrorist groups took credit for the crash until the FAA revealed it was a bombing yesterday," Joe pointed out. "Then three different ones did."
"I still don't think we can rule anything out at this point."
Joe nodded. "I agree, but I still think Mills is the key. Doesn't it strike you as odd that he wants to review anything we find?"
Callie shrugged. "Your dad said that was common in these corporate type jobs. Legal departments don't want anything in writing that could expose them to liability."
Joe harrumphed. "Still feels like he's hiding something."
The bomber made a move to stand, but Frank was already hurdling over the counter. He hit the bomber in a flying tackle. Frank, the bomber, and the barstool crashed to the floor. Frank landed on top and quickly delivered a karate chop to the base of the bomber's neck. He went limp.
Frank looked up to see a wide-eyed young boy staring at him from the living room of the open concept area. Behind him, a brunette in jeans and a leather vest over a long-sleeved black shirt dashed over and grabbed a hunting rifle from under the sofa. Frank raised his hands and remained on his knees. He noticed the bomber had a long splint on his left leg.
"This isn't what it looks like," he began.
"You made it." Tortoise's voice floated in from the mud room as Frank heard him toss his boots to the floor with a thud. "I assume you want to-" Tortoise stopped as he entered the kitchen and saw the scene. "Honey, what's going on?"
"This man just attacked Nick for no reason," the woman said, keeping the rifle trained on Frank. Vanessa stood behind the counter, her hands also in the air.
"I can explain," Frank said.
"Better start," Tortoise said, taking his revolver out of the holster.
"How do you know this man?" Frank asked.
"Same as you. His plane crashed. Found him caught in a tree with a busted leg." Tortoise said.
Frank supposed the fact that Tortoise still had his firearm at his side and not pointed at Frank was a good sign.
Frank shook his head. "His plane didn't crash; he blew it up. We were on the same one. The Ducroy flight that crashed east of here. I assume you heard about it."
"I heard something about it on the radio. I assumed bad weather made his plane crash the same night too." Tortoise's eyes narrowed. "How do you explain the fact that both of you parachuted off an exploding passenger jet?"
As Frank tried to formulate a believable response, Nick groaned. He opened his eyes haltingly to see the standoff. Nick grabbed Frank around the waist, but Frank slipped from his grasp and knelt on his back. Tortoise ran around the counter and put himself between Frank and what Frank assumed to be Tortoise's family. He was pointing the revolver at Frank now.
Nick began to convulse. Frank stood up, getting off Nick's back as his body squirmed on the ground for several moments before becoming still. Frank rolled Nick over to reveal a blue face.
"You killed him!" Tortoise shouted.
Frank sniffed Nick's mouth. It smelled strongly of almonds.
"No, I didn't." Frank said grimly. "He poisoned himself."
Tortoise told his wife and son to go into the bedroom and lock the door. He made Frank stand with Vanessa on the other side of the counter while he investigated Nick's body. Tortoise grimaced as he opened Nick's jaw and peered inside.
"You're right," Tortoise said. "Looks like he crushed a cyanide pill in his mouth." Tortoise rose and stared at Frank and Vanessa. "It's time to tell me who you two spooks really are."
"Spooks?" Vanessa asked, confused.
"It's a slang term for spies," Frank said. "Tortoise thinks we're government agents."
Frank quickly explained what had happened. Tortoise furrowed his brow.
"Seems a little far-fetched," Tortoise said.
"Would any other explanation be less far-fetched?" Frank asked. "We can prove it. You can Google the conference we were at."
Tortoise shook his head. "I don't have the internet. I try to stay off the grid here. Assuming I believe you, and you're really high school students, who is this?" He nudged Nick's body with his foot.
"I honestly don't know," Frank said. "Some terrorist."
Tortoise frowned. "I don't want alphabet boys crawling all over my property, but they will when they find out a terrorist was here."
"I've got an idea," Frank said. "Vanessa and I take the parachutes and his body out of here to the nearest town. When we get there, we'll tell the authorities what happened but leave you and your ranch out of it. We'll say we landed somewhere else."
Tortoise slowly nodded. "Works for me. I suppose that's the best option. First thing tomorrow morning we'll help you to Rocky Ford; it's the nearest town." He looked at them and hesitated. "You two should be fine there."
"Can I borrow a phone?" Frank asked. "Also, where exactly are we?"
"We're in northwest Montana, close to Idaho." Tortoise said. "I don't have a phone either. Like I said, off the grid. Electricity is the only service I have up here. Everything else we're self-sufficient."
After Frank and Vanessa showered, Tortoise laid out two sleeping bags in a spare room for them.
"Sorry about the accommodations," he apologized. "I'm also going to tie your door closed. Knock if you need to get out. If my family wasn't here, things would be different."
Frank and Vanessa understood. They lay down in the sleeping bags and quickly fell asleep.
Joe grimaced as he knelt and scrubbed the toilet bowl. "What are they feeding these people?" he thought to himself. He heard the door open and, through the gap under the stalls, saw two sets of legs walk in and stand at the urinal.
"Hey Tim, how's it going?" a voice said.
"Roger, haven't seen you in a while." Tim replied. "I don't have to deal with the mess surrounding the crash so I can't complain. You?"
"Good. I don't have to deal with it either. Hey, you know who has that brand-new red Tesla?"
"That's Mark's. He also just bought a new house in Queen Anne."
"You don't say? Wow, they're really paying you guys well over in cybersecurity."
Tim chuckled as the men walked over to the sinks.
"I wish. He must have family money or something. It's weird though, I never got the impression that he was well-off before now."
Joe pulled out his phone to text Callie as the men left. "Someone with access to the computer networks is suddenly flush with cash?" Joe thought. "That's certainly suspicious."
Joe finished cleaning the bathroom and pulled his supply cart out into the hallway. He looked up to see a man in the elevator as the doors were closing. He was short, with balding gray hair and a forgettable face.
Joe's eyes widened. What was the Gray Man doing here?