Dahlia pulled up next to Alexei’s plane.

There should be a radio I can use to contact the Sultan. I should know his emergency frequency. It’s too quiet here.

She climbed the stairs and entered the plane. The pilot bolted upright. He looked anxiously behind her.

“Where’s Alexei? Are we ready to leave?” the pilot asked.

“He’s dead, and I’m ready to leave.”

“Anyone else coming?”

Dahlia took a piece of paper from a pocket and handed it to the captain. “Fly to these coordinates.”

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Dahlia took a seat and covered her eyes. The pilot didn’t make a move to do anything.

“We’re not moving! What’s wrong?” Dahlia said.

“I . . . need authorization from the owner of this craft.”

Dahlia closed the distance. Dahlia didn’t react when the man’s sharp, musky odor assaulted her nostrils. Her lips caressed the outside of his ear. She heard the man’s quickness of breath, and she placed a hand on the man’s chest. His heart raced. I think he is ready to fly now. In a single motion, she pressed the sharp end of a blade at the pilot’s throat.

“Fly!”

Within minutes, the airplane was traveling just west of the island. Dahlia picked up a phone that connected her to a satellite uplink.

“I’m coming to you, Nas.” The clouds were thick, but they revealed patches of ocean below. “No—the mission was a failure. We need to regroup. I’m executing the Siloed Initiative, so make the preparations. That old bastard will not rule the world by himself . . . not on my watch!”