Alone.

That’s how Shannon felt. She wouldn’t be able to communicate with Virginia until she found a way to get in contact without the call being tracked. She didn’t know where she would go.

She knew that there was nowhere she could go—there was no one to go to. USI and the CIA would be looking for her. Her boyfriend would be looking for her.

Alone.

Brandon was still out cold.

Virginia had almost gotten the plane level. It was a fight. Loads of turbulence. She pictured Jake back in the fuselage—she hadn’t heard any gunshots sound off in the past minute. She imagined the warlords were strapped into their seats for dear life.

The bodyguards would be the problem.

Were the problem.

Ten of them and one of Jake.

Virginia took a deep, sharp breath and held it in, keeping her hold on the yoke. Long seconds passed and she leveled out the plane.

Lightning and thunder were falling with the rain. A gust of wind threatened the plane back to its side, but Virginia held against it, overcorrecting.

“Brandon!” she yelled.

He woke up with a gasp of breath, gripped his head as an instinct, looked to her, looked to Chad’s carnage on the floor between them. Saw the blood and brain splatter all over the interior of the cockpit. He was getting dizzy, Virginia could tell.

“Hey,” she said. “Stop.”

“Oh my gosh—”

“Stop. Focus. I need you to steer.”

Gust of wind.

The plane tilted and shook.

“I—I can’t.”

“You can,” said Virginia. “Unless you want to be dead, you’ll steer.”

He was in shock. Virginia wasn’t sure if she could trust him at the helm, but she didn’t have much of a choice. Jake wouldn’t be able to hold off ten men alone.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Alone.

Jake got to his feet. He’d been thrown against the side of the plane. So had all the loose passengers. That included the men with the guns. But the plane was level, and they were coming at him.

He shot one.

There were nine left.

FOUR YEARS PRIOR

Alone.

Senator Joseph Hart. Most of his colleagues in the senate referred to him as Hart. His enemies branded him Senator Hart-less. He stood in his office on Capitol Hill, surrounded by mahogany, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling window into the cloudy day.

He thought about his daughter. She’d passed field training with flying colors for USI. He’d heard nothing but great reports. But he didn’t like her being in the organization. It made him feel better that he oversaw it to some extent. He was on the classified committee that determined USI’s structure and missions. In fact, he was chairman of the committee.

Still, USI was set up in such a way that the committee didn’t have full control. USI had an autonomous “section.” Black ops.

He knew, even with his power, he couldn’t keep her safe. It would be up to her. He had let her pursue a career at USI because she’d wanted it more than anything. He’d learned over the years she was difficult to dissuade—impossible—when she set her heart on something. He also knew she’d be a great agent. Invaluable.

But he always knew there was something dark about her, no matter how much she smiled. He always knew she was hiding something. He couldn’t shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach. The one that told him Virginia was being haunted. He knew it was illogical. But it was a feeling he often had.

He picked up the coffee mug from off his desk and returned to the window. Rain began falling. He took a few sips. He had two minutes before he had to leave for the Senate floor.

Introducing a new bill.

Hart told himself everything would be okay. He simply had single-father syndrome. Not only was he a single father but Virginia was his only daughter. He was distressed always by the thought of losing her or something happening to her. It wasn’t a new feeling.

He took a big sip of the coffee and let the warmth assuage his fear. Still, as he threw on his overcoat and left his office, he couldn’t shake the feeling.

CURRENT TIMELINE

Cockpit. Virginia and Brandon.

“Fine,” said Brandon. “I’ll do it.”

The way he said fine.

Virginia pictured her father. When she’d first brought up the idea of joining USI, he’d gotten angry. It had taken years to gain his approval. Not that she needed it. She was going to join USI whether he wanted her to or not. She’d mentioned the idea before entering college, and it took five years of college, of which she excelled to the top of her graduating class, for him to finally approve.

He’d said, “Fine.” But he always talked about having a “feeling.”

And, in fact, he never did shake the feeling.

Not even to his grave.

The rain on the window, the all-encompassing sound of the storm around the cockpit—it receded into the back of her mind as she pictured her father’s demise. Then, with a crash of thunder, the present returned in sharp and all-too abrupt focus.