Chapter 3 - Flight to Seattle
The Gulfstream G650 tore through the midnight sky at forty thousand feet, leaving a trail of jet fuel and impatience above the clouds.
Inside the cabin, the lighting was dimmed to a low amber glow, reflecting off the polished walnut veneer of the interior tables.
Roman sat alone in the leather swivel seat at the front of the aircraft, a crystal glass of untouched scotch sitting beside his open laptop.
On the screen was a detailed dossier compiled by his intelligence network over the last two hours of their sudden flight.
Sienna Croft was now living under the name Clara Vance in a sleepy, fog-shrouded harbor town called Port Townsend.
She had rented a small cottage overlooking the water and had taken a position managing an independent bookstore and rare print shop on Water Street.
There were three surveillance photographs attached to the digital file, taken by a local operative from across the rainy street.
Roman zoomed in on the first image, his breath hitching painfully in his chest as her face filled the high-resolution screen.
She was wearing a thick cream-colored knit sweater, her chestnut hair pulled up into a loose clip that let soft strands frame her face.
She looked thinner than she had in Chicago, her cheekbones sharper, but there was a calm, resolute strength in her posture as she carried a box of books.
She had survived him, she had rebuilt her life from the ashes of his rejection, and she looked devastatingly peaceful without him.
Nikolai stepped out of the cockpit area, holding a fresh cup of black coffee which he placed silently next to Roman’s abandoned scotch.
“We land at Boeing Field in forty-five minutes,” Nikolai said, his voice keeping low so as not to disturb the heavy silence of the cabin.
“I have a local security team waiting with two clean, untraceable SUVs to take us across the Puget Sound.”
Roman did not look up from the photograph of Sienna’s face, his finger tracing the cold glass of the monitor over her lips.
“No local security team,” Roman commanded softly, his tone leaving no room for professional debate or tactical modification.
“We take one vehicle, just you and me, and we do not draw any attention until I know what situation we are walking into.”
“Roman,” Nikolai began cautiously, his loyalty compelling him to speak even when the boss's orders bordered on reckless exposure.
“The Sokolov remnants are scattered, but our intelligence confirms Mikhail’s youngest nephew is still unaccounted for on the West Coast.”
Roman closed the laptop with a definitive snap that echoed sharply through the pressurized quiet of the luxury jet.
“If any man touches a hair on her head, Nikolai, I will personally burn this entire state down to the bedrock.”
May you like
He leaned his head back against the dark leather of the seat, closing his eyes as the plane began its long descent into the Washington rain.
The king of the Chicago underworld was arriving, but for the first time in his life, he had no idea if his crown meant anything at all.
