Flight 12: A Sloane Monroe Thriller (Flight 12 Begins Series Book 4) (7 page)

“I’m calling 9-1-1,” I said.

“No,” Cesare said. “Not yet.”

Dashner stood. “I have some medical supplies in the hall closet.”

My hands were sweaty, my heart pumping a series of rapid thuds throughout my chest.

“Sloane.” Maddie squeezed my shoulder. “What do you want him to do?”

“Yeah … yeah … get your kit. Maddie, go with him.”

Maddie and Dashner disappeared into the hallway.

I turned to Cesare. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You were so … horrible to me.”

He attempted a faint smile. “How do you think I lasted this long?”

I flattened my hand, pressed it down over his. “I’m sorry I shot you.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

“How did you end up here—working for Giovanni?”

“His brother, Carlo, was my friend. We worked a few cases together. As far as I know, I was the only other person who knew who Carlo was—his background—where he came from. I promised to look after his family if anything ever happened to him.”

“Do they know who you are?” I asked.  

“Giovanni does. He knew you’d try to escape today. He asked me to follow you.”

“They’re planning something.”

“Who?”

“Rocco’s family. Something big. Giovanni and Daniela, they’re both in danger.”

“Let Giovanni worry about them. We need to make sure Dashner gets on that plane tonight.”

“Why can’t we just turn them into the guys heading the investigation?” I asked.

“And leave the final piece of the puzzle, the biggest piece, unsolved?”

“Can’t they interrogate him, get what they need from Dashner himself?”

“It’s not that easy.”

Maddie and Dashner returned. He went to work on Cesare. Maddie attended to me.

  “How bad is it?” I asked the doctor.

“He’ll survive,” Dashner replied, “but he needs to get to the hospital. I can only do so much.”

“No hospital,” Cesare said. “Not yet.”

“But son, you have to—”

Cesare reached up, his hands gripping the front of Dashner’s perfectly ironed, crisp, button-up shirt. “I appreciate what you’re doing for me, but if you don’t start talking about where these drugs are going and how they’re getting there, I’ll put a bullet in you myself.”

Cesare released Dashner, who removed his glasses, wiped his brow. A genuine sadness covered his face.

“You don’t understand,” Dashner said. “None of you. I’m not who you think I am.”

“You’re a doctor,” I said. “Aren’t you?”

He nodded.

“And you’re helping Rocco?”

He nodded again.

“Tell me what I’m missing—what we’re missing. Right now, I fail to see it.”  

“I’m not a bad guy, a bad person. I’m a legitimate doctor. I’m only helping him because I have no choice.”

“Of course you have a choice,” I said. “You always have a choice.”

“Do I? They have my son.”

“Who has your son?”

“Rocco. And if I don’t do what he wants, not only am I dead, my son’s dead too.”

Cesare extended a hand to Dashner. Dashner hesitated at first then stretched out his own hand, and the two shook.

“By shaking hands, we’re making a deal. I know you’re scared. I know you don’t trust anyone. I know Rocco has warned you not to talk to anyone. I’m telling you right here, right now. You can trust me. I’ll do everything in my power to find your son.”

For his part in the family drug creation and exchange, Rocco needed a doctor with access to fentanyl to mix with the heroin coming in from Colombia. Dashner was an excellent choice for several reasons. He had both the means and the transportation to deliver supplies without causing the same kind of red flag a normal passenger would. While Dashner flew to Rome on a small plane with fellow doctors, Rocco flew on a separate plane, ensuring the two were never tied to each other in public. Having someone else transport the drugs kept his hands clean.  

Once Dashner arrived in Rome, he offered medical assistance to migrants and those seeking asylum. Without the proper paperwork, many people entering the country were detained for a lengthy period of time while the proper identification was obtained. Sometimes it was obtained, other times it wasn’t, at which point those entering illegally were deported, kicked out of the country.

Among those waiting, certain diseases persisted. Many migrants entered the country already afflicted with a pre-existing condition, such as tuberculosis and chagas. This is where Dashner and his colleagues came in, working as part of a mobile medical team to care for the afflicted.

Only that’s not all he did.

During Dashner’s previous two visits to Rome, he made an additional stop while on one of his breaks. He met up with Rocco in the back room of a hole-in-the-wall café, handed over the fentanyl, which had been packaged and labeled as a variety of various over-the-counter remedies for things like headaches or an upset stomach.

I’d asked Dashner what proof he had that his son was still alive. He said he’d been granted one phone conversation the last time he made a delivery. This time, in addition to payment, Dashner was promised his son would be returned when Dashner came home from his trip. As long as Dashner agreed to continue offering his assistance when needed, no further harm would come to his family. I wasn’t sure I believed it.

It was eleven o’clock when I drove into the short-term parking lot at JFK airport. Dashner’s plane was departing in one hour, Rocco’s thirty minutes after that. I wanted to make damn sure both of them made their flights.

“Rocco always calls me to check in before the plane takes off,” Dashner said, “to make sure I’m holding up my end of the bargain. What am I supposed to say if he asks about Vincent?” 

“Tell him the truth.”

He raised a brow. “Are you crazy?”

Most days? Definitely. That was beside the point. 

“Not the entire truth. If he does know something and you lie about it, you’ll raise his suspicions even more. Don’t give him a reason not to get on his flight. Your usual exchange must take place tomorrow evening in Rome as planned. Understand?”

“If he knows Vincent is dead, what should I say?” Dashner asked.

 “Say a man came to your house, someone you’ve never seen before. Tell him there was a struggle between the man and Vincent, during which time you managed to get to your car and head to the airport. If he asks about the precious cargo you’re carrying, tell him it’s just fine, that it was already in your car before the man arrived.”  

“Do you think that will work?”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

With my own boarding pass bound for Salt Lake City’s airport in hand, Maddie and I snaked our way through a security line two rows behind Dashner. This allowed me to keep an eye on him without anyone seeing us together. He was nervous. Too nervous. We didn’t need another screw-up.

As much as I wanted to breathe, to be in the moment for a few, glorious seconds, it wasn’t in my nature to assume I had even one reason to feel this was over yet. The end seemed like the beginning, a beginning I wanted to forget.

I glanced at Maddie. “Let’s call Daniela, check in.”

We found a courtesy phone. Dialed. Daniela didn’t answer. I tried a few more times. Nothing.

“Let’s call Giovanni,” Maddie said.

“Let’s not.”  

Maddie grabbed the phone, dialed his number anyway. “Something’s wrong, Sloane. You know it is. She always picks up.”

“We don’t know anything.”

Even though I’d said it, I wasn’t convinced myself.  

“Giovanni, this is Maddie. We’re at the airport. We’ve been trying to call Daniela, and she’s not—”

I heard his muffled voice on the other end of the phone. Maddie clutched my arm, squeezed. I snatched the phone from her hand.

“Giovanni, what is it?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

He muttered something so unreal, his words just hung there, like a dark cloud on a rainy day. Giovanni’s house was burning in flames.

“Where’s Daniela?” I asked.

“She left in the ambulance about fifteen minutes ago,” Giovanni replied.

“Is she all right?”

“She will be.”  

“And your son?” I asked.

“Marcelo is alive.”

“Your wife?”

There was a long pause. Too long.

“Giovanni, are you there?”

“Valentina was outside, safe, except for a small gash below her left eye. As she watched the fire burn, she became frantic, raving on and on about her grandmother’s jewels. They were locked inside a safe in our room. I tried to ease her mind, reminded her the safe was fireproof, the jewels would be okay. When I noticed Daniela being looked after by one of the medics, I rushed to her side. In my absence, Valentina slipped back inside the house.”

I clasped a hand over my mouth. “What happened?”

“One of the wooden beams from the ceiling dislodged, collapsed on top of her. She was trapped.”

I didn’t need to ask what happened next. She may have made it out, but from his tone, I knew she wasn’t alive. “I’m so sorry, Giovanni.”

“She wasn’t even supposed to be there. Rocco asked her to come over. He said he’d bought another horse, wanted her to see it. She left, but then came back when she realized she’d forgotten her phone. I suppose Rocco intended to spare her life, even though he didn’t.”

“Do they know how the fire was started?”

“The point of origin is still being determined. They believe it started in Daniela’s bedroom.”

Benny.

It had to be.

Acting on an order given by his brother.

If I was right, he hadn’t been drugged at all—he’d faked it the entire time.

“Benny?”

“Dead.”

“If Benny was responsible for setting the fire, how did he end up trapped inside?”

“I never said he died in the fire.”

He was right. He hadn’t.

“Did you … kill him?”

There was a pause and then, “I’ll say this—I’ve always found it fascinating the things a person will say when they think there’s a sliver of a chance you’ll spare their life. He may have gone to the grave tonight, but he went there singing.”

Only the tune was much different than before.

“You killed him.”

“It’s because of Benny that Valentina is dead,” he stated. “That Marcelo will grow up without a mother.”

A part of me understood. A part of me didn’t. Murder was murder, no matter what the justification.

“Where are you now?” Giovanni asked.

The raised hairs on my arm made me reluctant to tell him. I did anyway. “Following Dashner to his gate.”   

“Wait there. Do not approach Rocco, and do not talk to the feds.”

A monitor inside the airport displayed the terminal number for Skyway Airlines Flight 12. It was all the way on the opposite side of the airport. I checked the time. Rocco would be boarding in the next ten minutes.

“Maddie, stay here until Giovanni arrives then call me. Tell him I went to the ladies room or something. I’ll be right back.”

“After you check on Rocco, you mean?”

“I have to know,” I said. “Or else all of this will have been for nothing.”

“Go. But be safe. And hurry.”

I hopped on the next train. By the time the doors slid open and I stepped back out again, I’d shielded my hair beneath a beanie cap I’d stashed inside my carry-on bag. Fifty feet from the gate, I spotted Rocco, dressed in a suit and standing with the first-class passengers preparing to board. I backed against a wall, flipped open a discarded magazine I’d found on the train, pretended to read about the various ways I could fight off stubborn belly fat.

Rocco placed his ticket beneath a scanner. The woman at the flight desk nodded. Said something. He smiled. She smiled. He glanced around, a smug look on his face like all his worries were over. For a moment, it seemed as if his eyes rested on me.

Be normal.

Act normal.

Only nothing felt normal about it.

Seconds later, he turned and boarded the plane. I breathed.

I texted Maddie, asked if she’d seen Giovanni yet. Her response: no. I replied back saying I was staying until Flight12 was safely in the air. She wasn’t surprised.

After the first-class passengers had boarded, a second line formed for all those sitting in the cheap seats. A man entered the line. His tall stature, sleek ponytail, and thick glasses made him stand out amongst the others, but I was focused on something else: his well-manicured, stick-like fingers. They gave him away. I walked up, stood next to him like we were getting on the plane together.

“You never meant to meet me,” I said. “You just wanted to make sure I was out of the way.”

“When is your flight?” Giovanni asked.

“Soon,” I replied. “Did you really think you could wear a wig and I wouldn’t notice?”

“The disguise isn’t for you.”

“I know. It’s for Rocco.”

“I’m going to tell you something, and this time you’re going to listen. I only married Valentina because my father was friends with her father. It’s what my father wanted. What they both wanted.”

I crossed my arms in front of me. “I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.”

“You lied about Valentina, about your daughter, your son.”

“I love Marcelo. But he’s
not
my son. Not by blood anyway.”

“Whose son is he?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I looked him in the eye. “Don’t get on the plane. The FBI is organizing a team in Rome to track where the drugs are being made once Dashner delivers the fentanyl.”

“I know.” He stared forward. The line in front of him had slimmed down to three passengers. “I have to go.”

“No, you don’t. You should be here with your sister, not chasing some personal vendetta you have for Rocco.”

He lowered his voice, leaned in. “I can’t allow him to live after what he’s done.”

“As soon as the government has what they need, they’ll arrest him. He’ll be convicted, go to prison.”

“He’ll pay with the government’s form of justice. Not mine.” Giovanni handed his boarding pass to the woman, glanced at me. “Go home, Sloane.”

“Fine. I guess this is goodbye then.” 

“I suppose it is.”

I stepped to the side, turned. He caught hold of my wrist. “Are you happy—in your life?”

“I’m … working on it. You know me. Constant work in progress.”

“And the lawman. He makes you happy?”

My thoughts turned to Cade. I smiled. “He does.”

The overhead speakers announced the final boarding for Skyway Airlines Flight 12 to Rome.

Giovanni stuck out a hand. I suppose he felt after all I’d been through, it was the only thing I’d accept. But we were past all that now. I was past it. I wrapped my arms around him, watched the ticket lady mouth something to Giovanni about the gate getting ready to close. He needed to board. Time had dwindled from the hourglass. Now there was nothing left.