“Hi, Tempest. I’m Jane. Let’s get you inside.”

  The Arab said, “This is against protocol⁠—”

  “If you had the day she had, you’d understand.” It was a familiar voice, coming from behind Jane. Jane stepped aside and Safira appeared.

  Tempest calmed significantly upon seeing her. “Hey there. Good to see a familiar face.”

  Safira nodded. “Jefferson wants me to secure the case, right away.”

  Tempest considered the request. It made sense. “Chaucer’s got it. At a Filipino joint four blocks to the south.”

  Safira smiled. “I know the one. I’ll go get the case, and Chaucer.”

  And with that, Safira left.

  Jane led Tempest into the main section of the safe house. Down the well-lit hall, Tempest saw a small medical facility, a briefing room, several dormitories, and a kitchen, where Jane stopped.

  Jane said, “Can I get you some tea?”

  Tempest lightened up. “You got any whiskey?”

  Jane nodded. “Will Suntory do?”

  Tempest exhaled a deep breath, looking into Jane’s smiling eyes. “Suntory will always do.”

  CHAPTER 57

  Chaucer was shocked by the size of the meal that they brought him at the Filipino place. What he thought would be a pupusa, was some kind of huge pastry filled with dark, savory pork meat.

  But eight minutes had passed, and he hadn’t heard from Tempest yet. Despite his stomach’s rumblings, Chaucer had no appetite.

  Then the phone rang. He saw it was Tempest, and he picked up on the first ring. “Yeah?”

  “All good in the hood,” said Tempest. “Safira was here, and she’s coming to meet you and pick up the package.”

  Chaucer asked, “They got food there? I’m starving.”

  “I’m sure they got something. They’ve definitely got Japanese whiskey!”

  Chaucer smiled. That was a weakness for Tempest. “Well, don’t get too wasted until I get there. I’m going to grab a bite here, and I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  Chaucer hung up the phone and dug into the pork pastry. It was phenomenal. Maybe it was that he hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours, but this was one of the best impromptu meals of his life.

  When Safira showed up a few minutes later, he couldn’t even say hi. His mouth was so stuffed. Safira shook her head and laughed. “You are a mess.”

  Chaucer tried to choke down the food enough to speak. “I’m a work in progress.”

  Chaucer handed her the backpack containing the case.

  Safira took it and asked Chaucer, “I’ve got to get this to the airport. Want me to drop you at the safe house?”

  Chaucer shook his head. “It’s four blocks. I’m going to finish the best meal of my life and walk it off a minute.”

  Safira nodded and headed out quickly.

  In the safe house, Tempest settled herself in the lounge area on a soft, welcoming couch. A moment later, Jane swung by with the aforementioned glass of Suntory, a single perfect ice cube clinking in it.

  “Ah! Thank you, thank you, thank you. Mama’s had a long day.”

  Jane laughed. “Well, kick your feet up and relax. Jefferson wants a debrief, but I think we can wait a few hours on that, don’t you?”

  Tempest smiled. “Absolutely.”

  She breathed in the whiskey's aroma from the top of the glass. It was, in a word, perfect. She took the first sip, letting the whiskey settle on her tongue and slowly burn its way down her throat. “Aaaah.”

  She closed her eyes and let the magic elixir do its trick. She felt her whole body, which had been on high alert for days on end, relax.

  She thought about Chaucer. About what he’d been through these past few days. She realized everything was harder for her ex, but she didn’t always give him credit for it. He had performed about as well as any partner she had ever had in the field, and in most of the tasks he faced on this mission, he was horribly outmatched.

  He was amazing.

  She took another long sip of the Suntory. Bliss.

  If she had to do it all over again, she’d probably marry Chaucer again right now.

  Whoa.

  That thought came out of nowhere and scared her. She took another sip of the elixir, trying to get her back into a calm state. But that wasn’t to be. Something was wrong.

  What was it?

  Her thoughts were getting away from her. That much she knew. But this was hardly the first time that had ever happened.

  She decided to get up and splash some water on her face, but she found it very hard to get up from the soft couch. Was she really that exhausted?

  No. No, this was worse than that.

  She’d been drugged.

  She called on all the adrenaline her body could produce and forced herself to standing. She pulled the SIG from its side holster and staggered in the direction Jane went.

  The world was spinning. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

  She saw someone coming this way. She wanted to yell, but her throat wasn’t working right.

  It was the Arab guy at the security station. She didn’t think she knew his name. He shared her confusion and called out, rushing over. He grabbed Tempest as she realized she was falling. He got her just before she collapsed completely.

  She stared up into his worried eyes. He was saying something, probably yelling something, but for some reason she couldn’t hear it.

  Her peripheral vision grew dark. She was going down.

  The last thing she saw was Jane standing over the Arab, putting a pistol to the back of his head.

  CHAPTER 58

  Chaucer’s phone rang. The call was from Tempest’s burner. He picked it up. “Everything good?”

  “Not exactly. No.” It was not Tempest’s voice. It was Chaban.

  Chaban stood next to Jane, over the body of the Arab at the safe house entrance. Tempest lay unconscious at his feet. He kicked her once, hard in the back. He respected Tempest too much not to make sure that she was unconscious.

  “I have something you want. You have something I want.”

  Chaucer’s mind raced. “You hurt her, and I will destroy you.”

  “Then you’re just going to have to destroy me. Because I intend to hurt her. I intend to harm her immediately. Unless you bring me what is mine.”

  Chaucer said, “The package is gone.”

  Chaban ignored the comment. “I’m going to give her a taste of what only you and I know. In my technique, I compress the first six months of our ego-destruction journey into six hours. If you get me what I want within the first hour, she will be harmed, but nothing permanent. If you get me what I want in the second hour, she will have lasting effects for the rest of her days, but she will be able to rebuild. If you take three hours to deliver to me what you’ve taken, well, we both know the result of that. Walking wounded at best. Total destruction at worst. I have to tell you, during my days in the hut, Po experimented on people like her. Assassins. Stone-cold killers. He found them surprisingly…brittle. Call me on this phone when you have the package.”

  Chaucer yelled, “I don’t have the package! It’s not in the country! Chaban! Chaban, I will kill you!” But it was too late. The line was already dead.

  Chaucer ran to the end of the alley, where a lorry driver nearly ran him over. The air brakes hissed as the truck screeched to a halt, its bumper inches from Chaucer’s head. The driver got out of the cab, throwing his hands in the air and yelling at Chaucer. Chaucer pulled out his silenced pistol and put it to his head. The driver dropped his argument immediately and ran down the street yelling for help.

  Chaucer climbed into the cab, studied the controls for a moment, and threw the truck into gear.

  It was a dump truck loaded with metal. And it handled like a pregnant yak on a steep mountain pass. As Chaucer drove, he got on his phone and dialed Safira.

  Safira picked up on the second ring. “Chaucer, is everything okay?”

  Chaucer calmed his breathing. He willed himself into a calm, collected state. “Everything’s fine. Just being paranoid. Is the package safe?”

  Safira waved to the security guards at the airport entrance as her vehicle pulled through.

  “Very safe. I can see the plane now. We’ve got flight clearance. We should be airborne in ten minutes.”

  “Excellent,” said Chaucer. His lie of the day. He hung up the phone.

  Not excellent, thought Chaucer.

  Chaucer threw the truck into a higher gear as he pulled onto a very familiar highway heading for the airport. By his rough estimate, he was about ten minutes away. He slammed his hand on the dashboard, willing the truck to do what it was not designed to do.

  CHAPTER 59

  Safira brought the case personally to the plane. The pilot and copilot welcomed her aboard. The flight attendant offered a drink. Safira asked for tamarind juice, if they had it. As it happened, they did.

  Safira heard the engines move from idling to a higher pitch. The plane was already moving by the time she found her seat.

  Chaucer swerved around a double-decker truck, three cars long, just like the one he rode atop earlier. This truck was one of a line of them traveling too slowly for his needs. A BMW Seven Series honked loudly, flashing its lights. Chaucer was not supposed to be in the fast lane. He ignored the driver and checked to make sure that the accelerator was completely on the floor.

  Up ahead was the gleaming tower of Kuwait City Airport. Sweat beaded on his brow as he wondered if he would be in time.

  Tempest awoke to the sharp, bitter smell of smelling salts. Her head jerked back involuntarily, and she opened her eyes. She was in a small room, cinderblock walls and a metal roof on a wooden frame. Wherever it was, it was brutally hot. She was chained to a metal chair, with her head and neck leaning forward over the chair back. Her shirt had been removed, but not her bra or other items of clothing. She did a quick inventory. So far she was not injured.

  She felt a rage grow within her. Drugged. She was drugged. How? She tried to remember.

  Jane. The bitch poured her the Japanese whiskey. She drugged the goddamn Suntory. What a sacrilege. Tempest didn’t know why, but that mattered. Tempest wanted to be clear on the ‘why’ before she killed that bitch.

  Chaban stepped out in front of her and tossed the smelling salts aside. “I want you to know, everything that is going to happen has reasons.”

  Tempest spat at him. Despite the arid climate in the room, she happened to have quite a lot of spit in her mouth, and she fired it like the expert she was.

  It hit him on the cheek. She hissed, “Save your breath. I’ve heard your bullshit already. You’re a broken toy who spends every day trying to convince himself he’s not broken. You’re pathetic.”

  Chaban didn’t bother wiping away the spittle. “Then what does that make your boyfriend?”

  “Chaucer? Chaucer knew he was a broken toy. He deals in truth, not fantasy. That’s what makes him braver than both of us put together.”

  Chaban pursed his lips, parsing the new information. “Perhaps. Perhaps I am delusional. Or perhaps my ordeal was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. You’re going to be able to tell me. As I said, I have many reasons for this. This is not sadism. This is science. This technique was designed for normal people. Untrained. We have converted a few military officers. But never a trained operative like yourself. Frankly, the process is not designed for you. It may convert you, just as it has so many others. Or it may break you. Let’s begin.”

  Chaban brandished a scalpel in his right hand.

  Tempest did not like the look of it. “You gave me one reason, pal. I thought you said there were reasons. Plural.”

  Chaban smiled and tutted. He knew exactly what she was doing. “Looking to buy another moment, another few seconds before the pain begins? I know everything you’re going through because I was right there, in that chair. And I experienced a hundred times worse. To answer your question, the primary reason for this is that I’m a man of my word. Chaucer is going to retrieve the package for me. The speed with which he does so will be urged on by your pain.”

  “You could just fake it. I’m very convincing. Go on, turn on your phone. I’ll scream like a banshee.”

  Chaban smiled. “I like you. You’re funny.”

  Then he jabbed the scalpel into the back of her neck.

  CHAPTER 60

  The airport tower grew larger and larger as the lorry barreled down toward Kuwait International Airport. The airport exit was dead ahead, and Chaucer had some serious questions whether or not the truck would stay on the road at the exit ramp.

  His foot never wavered. He kept the accelerator on the floor as he took the truck into an arcing turn that passed under the highway and then paralleled the runway to his right. The metal in the truck bed was extremely heavy and sufficient to keep the truck on the road.

  Chaucer tried to remember where the entrance for the private hangars was, glancing to his right, trying to recognize something.

  He did.

  He didn’t recognize the turnoff, nor the hangar, but he recognized the plane. The same plane he was brought in on. It was far ahead, nearly at the very end of the runway.

  There was one plane ahead of it, and it accelerated quickly toward him, lifting gracefully into the air and disappearing overhead. The next plane—his plane—turned onto the runway proper and positioned for takeoff.

  Chaucer was too late.

  He wouldn’t intercept them at the ground station, at the hangar, or on the taxiway. At this distance, he couldn’t hear it, but he knew the jet engines were revving up, building thrust that only the plane’s brakes held at bay.

  He suddenly had a flashback to another airport, in North Dakota last year. Tempest making an insane choice, a truck playing chicken with a plane. He remembered thinking to himself that he would never⁠—

  Chaucer pulled hard on the wheel, yanking the truck to the right. It jumped the curb and turned into a twenty-foot chain-link fence at the border of the airport. The front of the truck dragged a section of the fence for only ten feet before it ripped right through it and trampled over the remains.

  Chaucer was traveling perpendicular to the runway and perpendicular to the second fence.

  Blam.

  He hit a fence post head-on, and it hopped up and splintered the windshield in front of him. This fence too dropped and fell under the wheels of the lorry just in time for the concrete Jersey barriers to appear.

  The truck’s massive weight and momentum reduced them to rubble, but it cut into his velocity. Steam poured out of the engine compartment ahead. A cracked radiator. With a truck this size, in this heat, that could quickly spell his doom.

  Chaucer downshifted and stomped on the accelerator again, hoping to regain the momentum he had lost.

  To the left, the plane—his plane—accelerated down the runway. He was on a collision course with it. The question was whether it would be airborne before he reached it.

  He felt the truck’s high gear gain just that extra bit of speed, and in the distance he saw the lights of police vehicles converging. They would be minutes late.

  The plane accelerated quickly, moving faster and faster. Chaucer had a hard time calculating its velocity, and for his purposes, the point of intersection. He realized he had overestimated it and yanked the wheel to the right.

  The plane was still a quarter mile to his left, but he knew if he had any chance of intercepting it, it would happen farther down the runway than planned.

  The truck jumped over the first taxiway. It gained no air, treating it like an annoying speed bump, but it jostled Chaucer fiercely in the cabin. He kept the truck on its course.

  The second taxiway was smoother going, and it didn’t slow Chaucer one bit.

  The runway loomed ahead. Fifty meters away.

  Chaucer glanced to his left, wishing the plane to be slower than he knew it would be. The plane was nearly past him already. Its flaps deployed, and its front landing gear extended as it began to lift off.

  Inside the cockpit, the pilot and copilot suddenly saw the truck coming right at them. They had been doing a hundred other things in preflight and didn’t realize until too late that the truck was barreling toward them.

  The pilot panicked. “More power!” and yanked on the yoke as he tried to get the craft airborne.

  The lorry rumbled onto the runway as the plane passed by. For a sickening second, Chaucer thought he had miscalculated.

  Then the right corner of the lorry smashed into the plane’s tail.

  For the lorry, it was a minor collision, turning it slightly right, so it faced down the runway. For the plane, it was cataclysmic.

  The plane skidded to its left, the momentum of impact tossing it over onto its left wing, which promptly bent and broke in half. Aviation fuel spilled across the runway, and the sparks from the plane skidding on its side ignited it.

  It left a trail of fire as the plane skidded off the runway and slowly came to rest in the sandy ground to the right of the runway.

  CHAPTER 61

  Chaucer fought to control his breathing as he stomped on the brakes and brought the lorry to a halt next to the crashed remains of the plane, lying on its side in the dirt.

  He said a silent prayer that he hadn’t just killed his own people.

  He got out of the lorry and ran for the fuselage, which he could see had cracked in half. He was relieved to see that there was no smoke in the cabin.

  The flaming aviation fuel stopped about fifteen feet from where the crash now lay, soaked up by all that sand.

  Chaucer stepped into the cabin. It was lying sideways, so he was climbing over rows of seats like runner’s hurdles, searching for the case.