This part of the operation was the trickiest. Whipping out their weapons at an airport was a surefire way to get noticed. If a bogey were to make a move now, they would have to counter it with subtle, quick and meaningful brute force.

Xander was fine with that. It had been ages since he’d been in an honest-to-God fight. He wouldn’t mind sinking his fists into a bad guy’s face.

It wouldn’t happen today. The job had been simple, straightforward. James Denon was well-liked by his people, his company and his country. There had been no signs of trouble all week. The people who hated him were half a world away, and the trip had been on close hold, so they had no idea he was in the States.

They’d timed their arrival well. The wait was short; after only fifteen minutes, their principal’s flight was ready. This was the beauty of Teterboro, New Jersey’s private airport. The crowds were smaller, the people waiting for private flights and charters. The usual program—parking, security, long wait times at the gates—wasn’t at all the same.

Good for the principal, but more difficult for Xander to fit in. They’d been lucky today; there was a group of private high schoolers being ferried to Canada, and they were creating quite a bit of distraction. Enough for Xander to find a spot along the periphery and look like one of their chaperones, exhausted already by their energy.

Behind the mirrored lenses, he watched the small crowd. Their principal began making his way toward the doors. Xander gave Chalk the nod, stood, stretched. Moved toward the double glass doors to the tarmac, gave things a look-see. All clear. He spoke quietly into his hand mike. “We’re a go. Plane’s here.”

Chalk, standing four feet away, touched the principal on the shoulder, gestured unobtrusively toward the door. Xander kept watch while the principal and his people dutifully paraded out the door, across the tarmac and into the plane.

Five minutes later, it was done. The flight attendant had closed the door, and the plane pulled away, engines purring.

“A final all clear,” Xander said, and felt the tension of the past few days leak away.

Chalk strolled toward the exit, and Xander followed, cautious to watch their backs. No reason to get made just because the operation was over.

They met up in the parking lot. They had rented two cars. They’d take them back to JFK, drop them and the job would officially be over.

“That went well,” Chalk said.

“It did. And now he’ll tell all his friends. Let’s get to JFK. I want to go home.”

Chalk’s phone rang. He answered with his usual, “Hoo-rah.” A moment later his face turned white.

Xander instinctively put his hand on his weapon at his belt, a sweet little SIG Sauer he preferred for close-up work.

“What is it? What happened?”

Chalk didn’t answer, just made a helicopter with his finger and about-faced smartly, back toward the private terminal. Xander stepped next to him. A moment later, Chalk hung up.

“That was Denon. They’re turning the plane around, some sort of mechanical problem. Looks like you and I aren’t done just yet.”

They were at the entrance now, and there was a lot of activity inside. Xander saw four airport employees running toward the back doors. The private schoolers were gathered together at the southern end of the room, pushing toward the windows, staring, one of their chaperones waving her hands to get them to stay put.

Xander ignored everyone around him but Chalk, tuned them out, lasered his focus. “What’s the issue, did he say?”

“No. He’s justifiably concerned.”

“Think it’s directed at him?”

“I don’t know, but we better be ready for anything when that plane lands.”

“If it is, they knew we were on him. They waited until we left to make a move.”

“That’s pretty fucking sophisticated. I haven’t seen a tail, or anything to indicate we were being observed.”

Xander nodded. “Me, either. Could his itinerary have leaked? He’s a good target, we both know that. The threat assessment showed plenty of people who want him dead.”

“If so, someone inside his senior staff or the folks he met with did it. No one else knows he’s here.”

They jogged through the doors, went straight to the back and out onto the tarmac. With the hullabaloo, no one thought to stop them. So much for being inconspicuous, though.

“Sam is going to skin me alive if I don’t get home tonight.”

Chalk shot him a grin. “Cheer up, lover boy. If our principal goes splat, you can get right on the next plane south.”

“If our principal goes splat, we’re done for. You take the terminal, I’ll meet the plane. Cover my six.”

He would be totally exposed, but there was no help for it. Chalk disappeared into the shadows behind him, and Xander stood with the other employees, his arms crossed, staring toward the empty tarmac. He listened hard to the charter employees. Apparently, the engine lights had flashed red, and the pilot wasn’t about to try a transatlantic flight with possible trouble. It could be a simple mechanical issue.

Xander had a feeling that wasn’t the case. Just a small frisson of something, up the back of his neck. He scanned the area. Murmured, “All clear,” into his mike.

A few moments later, the Gulfstream came into view.

Xander stepped to the side, out of earshot, and phoned James Denon, who answered sounding rather panicky. “What’s happening? They won’t tell us what’s happening.”

“We’re here, sir, we’re waiting on you. There’s nothing apparent on the ground. Are you all right?”

“I am. What in bloody hell is going on?”

“They’re saying it was an engine problem. Chances are, that’s all this is. You just sit tight once they land. If they force you to disembark, make sure you come out last. I’ll be waiting for you at the foot of the stairs. We can follow the same protocol as before, staying out of sight, but right now, I think we should stick close.”

“I agree. Something feels off.”

“Roger that, sir. You hang tight inside as long as they’ll let you.”

Xander hung up and casually turned, scoping the building behind him. He still had his shades on, eyes roving right, then left. He couldn’t see Chalk, which was good. His adrenaline was surging, running hard through his body, so hard his hands were fighting the urge to shake. Breathe, Xander. Breathe.

The Gulfstream touched down, a small puff of white smoke rising from its tires. It headed toward the terminal, then suddenly altered course and began taxiing toward the southern hangar instead of the terminal. A radio crackled on the hip of the employee standing nearest him.

“This is Gulfstream 890. Got another warning light, we’re leaking oil. Gonna head directly into the hangar. We’ll disembark the passengers before we go in. Better find another plane, looks like we’re going to be out of commission for a while.”

There were sharp curses from the assembled crowd, but Xander ignored them.

The hangar.

A hundred yards away.

Xander had eyes on it, but he wasn’t close enough to scope it properly. He scanned the building rapidly, looking for anything out of place. There was something, near the roof, twenty degrees to the right. A shadow. As he watched, the shadow pulled back slightly, and there was a flash. A mirrored flash.

His adrenaline shot into overdrive, and he clicked on his comms unit.

“Chalk, buddy, we got a shooter on top of the hangar.”

“Roger. Can you take him?”

“I need to get closer, and higher. If I start heading his way, he’ll know I saw him. You’re gonna have to end around, let me get into position.”

“There’s a metal ladder behind me, runs up the side of the terminal building. The two buildings are about the same height. Should be the right angle.”

“This might draw some attention to our client.”

“Better attention than dead. I’ll cover Denon, you take the shooter. Out.”