Having decided there was no one worth spending any more time inspecting, I settled into my chair and pretended to relax. I just needed to walk through economy and take a look upstairs, if they’d let me. Then I could fully relax.
The last few passengers boarded, and the crew made the final flight checks. The bustle of noisy activity washed over me, waves on an immovable rock. I thought things over, re-planning my route to the Paris hotel. I’d memorized the location of the safety deposit box and would go there as soon as possible to collect my guns.
Alexandra
I had watched Cruz walk down to business-class, wishing I could have upgraded his ticket to first-class, but there was no room left. Resigned, I sighed and settled into my seat, getting comfy in my mini-suite as an attendant asked if I would like some food or drinks.
My mind flicked back to Cruz, sitting on his own down in business-class. I couldn’t stop thinking about him and felt a desperate need to be near his big protective frame. I so badly wanted to know more about him.
Needing something to do rather than just sitting around thinking about him, I decided to take a quick shower in the suite, applying a bit of makeup and brushing my hair afterwards. As I dressed, I left my top button undone, deciding to show a hint of cleavage. And then, unable to resist, I headed down to business-class.
When I got there, Cruz’s seat was empty. My shoulders slumped slightly, and I crossed my arms, wondering how I had managed to lose my bodyguard. He wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.
I surveyed the rest of the cabin, feeling the eyes of a few men on me, though none of them were Cruz. So I decided to sit in his seat and wait, fiddling with the controls of the entertainment system.
Cruz
I wandered back into economy after a while, trying my best to not look suspicious as I headed for the rear bathrooms, hoping the cabin crew would assume the other cubicles were occupied.
I walked down the plane on the right, surveying the passengers along the way. No one caught my eye until I reached the end of the plane.
Sneaky bastards…
There were three men sitting in a row on the right near the end of economy. All three looked hard and grim-faced. Eastern European or perhaps Russian, it was hard to tell. They all spotted me as I’d been walking up the plane and were trying their best to look nonchalan
t. But I wasn’t fooled.
The words of one of my contacts rang in my ears—the warning I’d been given about a Russian crew out to get their hands-on Alexandra’s dad’s software. Possible high level organized crime, or even secret military.
My gut told me these guys were serious. That they were mean, scarred, and vicious.
Why would three Russians be heading to Paris from San Francisco? Flying right at the back in economy, no less. As far as possible from my seat as they could get.
I looked around. The majority of the people near me were asleep or watching a film. I approached the three men, putting my hands on the seats on either side of the aisle in front of them.
“Having a nice flight, comrades?” I said.
They looked up at me, their expressions blank. One of them smiled cruelly for a second, letting me know he’d understood. The Russian in the aisle seat waved his hand at me dismissively, saying something in Russian that didn’t sound very nice.
“What’s that, Dmitry? Got a problem?” I paused and leaned forward toward him. “Because if you do, that means I’ve got a problem. And I don’t think you’ll fucking like that very much,” I said, grimacing menacingly, feeling the adrenaline pump into my muscles. I tensed my arms, gripping the seats tight.
My gaze flicked to the bathrooms on either side of the aisle. Both were unoccupied.
The Russian rose to his full height, a good few inches shorter than me. He didn’t look intimidated. He shrugged as if to dismiss me and pushed me in the chest. He turned his back and headed for a cubicle, likely thinking I was just a random angry American who didn’t like Russians.
Well, he was right about the latter, but my approach wasn’t random.
As he stepped into the cubicle, I swiftly forced my way in, locking the door behind me. In the small confines, he was no match for my brute strength. I lied into him savagely with body blows, a series of powerful punches to the chest, abdomen, and stomach with one final uppercut into his solar plexus. He collapsed, winded and pained.
“Listen, you fuck,” I spat, my finger an inch away from his face. “I know why you’re here. I know what you want, and you ain’t getting it. If I see you or any of your friends again, you won’t be breathing next time.”
He nodded, gasping for air and clutching his chest.
I pushed the cubicle door open to find the other two Russians staring at me. They made no move, aware that now wasn’t a good time for them to show their true colors.
I snorted at them derisively and walked back to my seat, my blood boiling.
As I walked away, I heard the door of the cubicle open. After a moment of bemused silence, the two Russians started laughing heartily at their colleague, who was presumably still half collapsed on the cubicle floor.