Chapter 7: The First Sign of Trouble
(Sydney)
Another day, another plane. Coach isn't so bad with Sark at my side but still my legs are cramped and my head spins with the numbing inactivity. Who knew being on the run would be so sedentary. Sark bought me a sleep mask for travelling. I don't wear it. It reminds me of other things.
We were seated in the back, so we are the last ones off the plane. I step out first, grab my backpack from the overhead bin and slip it on my shoulders as I walk down the narrow aisle. I can't wait to reach real air.
"Hello, Julia."
A voice, connected to a man standing at the exit, holding a gun aimed at my chest. I stop, unsure what to do.
"I'm sorry, you must have mistaken me for someone else," I respond with an English accent. Sark was several feet behind me. He isn't visible yet to this man that I don't recognize.
"Perhaps you're more comfortable with a different name, Ms. Bristow."
I hear the pilots in the cockpit, oblivious to our exchange. Where in hell are the flight attendants? I am unarmed, and I don't dare look back to Sark.
"What do you want?"
"I think you should come with me."
"Over my dead body."
"That can be arranged," his eyes narrow as he cocks the gun. I drop to the ground and aim a kick at his hand. He fires but hits the ceiling. Sark charges out of nowhere with a fire extinguisher, and beats him over the head with the metal base. There is a sickening thud and a sound like a dropped melon splitting open. The fire extinguisher is not dented, but the base is ringed in blood. I do not look at the man's head.
"We have to get out of here," Sark fairly yells, pocketing the man's gun, grabbing my hand and dragging me to the back of the plane. He expertly opens the door and engages the escape slide. We hit the ground running.
This is familiar: the burn in my lungs, the ache in my legs. I pull a water bottle from my backpack before I drop the bag behind. It's slowing me down. I push to a sprint to catch up to Sark as he heads down the row of planes.
(Sark)
I glance behind to make sure she's following. I see her, minus the backpack, and gaining. I slow my pace just slightly and in seconds she's at my side, breathing hard.
"There, up ahead," I pant, and gesture to the next plane. They are loading the cardboard meals for the next flight. We scamper up the scaffolding and knock out the workers, disengage the vehicale from the plane and head in. The two pilots are already inside.
"We can't hijack a flight!" she hisses at me.
"We don't have to. We'll have them take us exactly where they're scheduled to go. We'll just sit with them in the cockpit," I explain. It's not the best plan, but I prefer taking my chances here than inside the airport. There are bound to be more waiting for us.
"There are two of them. And we only have one gun."
"You take the gun. I think I can scare the other into submission."
We storm the plane, a scant five minutes before the flight attendants arrive. The cockpit door is closed securely. The pilots are suitably scared. And the plane is headed for Miami.
(Sydney)
We walk off with the rest of the passengers. Balls and luck: the only two reasons we're alive right now. I hit a payphone in downtown Miami.
"Dad," I whisper, as soon as he picks up.
"Sydney, are you alright? Where are you?"
"We were ambushed as we got off a plane in Houston. We don't know who did it. I need you're help."
"Could it have been a Covenant splinter?"
"Maybe. Sark didn't recognize the guy. We got on a plane to Miami, but we didn't exactly do it quietly. The authorities will be looking for us soon."
"You have to get out of the country."
"I know! But where do we go? We can't go back to the Miami airport. They'll arrest us."
"Sydney, go to the CIA office. They'll take you into custody but you'll be cleared if you tell the truth in debrief."
"And Sark?"
"Save yourself. Please, don't get yourself killed with that man."
"Dad, I won't leave him to save myself. Please, just give us another option."
He sighed, and there was a long pause before he spoke again.
"Go to the Peacock Bar and ask the bartender for a dirty martini and a meeting with Big Jim. Tell him Jack sent you. He did a favor for me once. He can get you passage to Cuba. From there enough money will get you anywhere you want."
"Thank you, Dad."
"Be careful, sweetheart."
I composed myself and turned to Sark.
"What are the chances that the Covenant heard that conversation?"
"Jack's cell phone…your only living relative. I don't know."
"Do we follow his instructions or do we head off in the opposite direction?"
"From Cuba we can go anywhere. But if they did hear that conversation, we'll be dead before we get there."
"What if we find a boat to take us North, to Bermuda. Money will get us almost as far there as in Cuba," I suggested. Sark chewed on his bottom lip, considering.
"Sounds good. Or a charter flight. I'm sure we can find an unscrupulous pilot in one of the smaller airports, maybe with a seaplane so we don't even have to arrange for runway time at an airport on the island."
"Right. Seaplane it is, then."
(Sark)
This is not what I wanted for us. We find a fleabag motel in a seedy area of town, where they charge by the hour and don't ask for names. I bolt the door and jam a chair under the knob. Sydney sits heavily on the sagging mattress. I hear a mouse scamper across the room but don't see it.
I join her on the bed, and my watch to wake us in five hours. I have a contact North of the city, who says he will arrange for us to fly out tonight after midnight. We just have to lay low for a few more hours.
Sydney's shoulders shake as if sobbing. But when I lift her face towards mine her eyes are draw and a passable smile is plastered on her face.
"We'll be okay," I whisper into her ear. She nods and rests her head against my shoulder, her arms snaking about my waist.
I don't mind this life for myself. But this is not for Sydney. Her pain twists inside my gut. I feel largely responsible for our situation. But everything we did was the correct course of action at the time. We have done everything right. Sometimes your best just isn't enough.
But the game isn't over yet.