The Lear jet flew silently through the cold, dark night. In bright blue fluorescent numbers the digital thermometer indicated that the outside temperature was -40 degrees. Inside the snug, leather lined cabin, Martin held the joystick tightly in his hands and stared out into the sky ahead.
He was flying high above the thin, scattered clouds, the sea far below him. It was fifty minutes since he had taken off from Miami airport, and with the slight headwind, it would be at least another thirty before he landed.
A voice spoke into his earphones, the control tower in Miami handing him over to the air traffic controllers in the Bahamas. He was out of American airspace now.
Martin felt himself relax, his hands slackening their hold on the joystick, the muscles in his arms and wrists losing some of the tension that had gripped his body for the last two months.
No, it was more than stress. Far more than that.
More like fear. Constant fear.
How long could a person live under such tension before having a heart attack? He thought about the other members of his research team, now dead, and his grip on the joystick tightened again.
His eyes scanned the instrumentation panel, registering that everything was okay. The almost full moon drew his attention, and he glanced upwards admiring its beauty.
After the company takeover, the six most important scientists in his team had refused to make the move from Florida to the new corporate headquarters on the West Coast. Not everyone wanted to live in California anymore. Who needed the congested freeways and overpriced real estate? Not to mention the pollution.
No thanks. Florida was just fine.
Until his friends had begun to die.
Or disappear. Like he was doing just now.
A string of 'unfortunate suicides', as the police had officially described them, caused by severe depression brought on from losing their jobs with their company.
From a team of six, in the space of one week, four had become so unhappy that they had all decided to kill themselves?
Not likely.
Martin had known them all. None of them were quitters, and none of them were so unhappy.
Stressed, yes, but for a different reason.
Martin knew exactly why members of his team were dying. They were being silenced, one by one.
Only Alex Swinton and himself were still around from the team that started the Orlando Project and then refused to move to California.
Then this morning Alex had left a message on his private number at work.
“Martin. You'll be next. Get out while you can…”
Was it a threat or a warning? Either way, for Martin it was enough.
It had taken the rest of the day to finalize and assemble the protection he would need for the future. Thankfully, a few days before, he had successfully managed to download all the information he needed about the Orlando Project… just before his network privileges had been revoked…and now he had enough to enable anyone else to repeat the research and the work they had done.
The trip to the airport had been fine. Although he had been on edge all the way from the office to the plane, half expecting to be mugged, or shot, or stopped by someone en route, it had been surprisingly straightforward to load up his plane, fuel it and take off.
He almost wished that he had not taken the last minute precautions: he had been so scared of something happening to him, that he had bundled up the files on the Orlando Project, and put them in a parcel in the post. That way at least, the information would be protected, and if anything happened to him, he would have something to bargain with.
He looked at his Rolex again.
Twenty-eight minutes to go.
It was beginning to look like he had managed to escape safely. Perhaps it would have been better if he had kept the file with him after all.
--------------------
Park Place Apartments
Washington D.C.
After the phone conversation, Kerrin couldn't concentrate. He had never heard his sister so scared before. She never cried. Never. She was the strong one in the family, the one that was always in control and looking after the other siblings, seldom showing emotion, no matter what trouble they’d all got themselves into. Growing up, she was his rock.
Her words reverberated around his mind, “I need you here…”
He hit the 'save' button on the computer screen, and stored the first three paragraphs of the story. The CEO of Small Holdings had just been granted a last minute reprieve. For now.
Opening up his web browser, Kerrin began to search the internet for flights to the Bahamas. The last flight to Nassau that evening had already left, but according to his favourite travel site, there was another one leaving from JFK at nine the next morning. Kerrin selected a window seat and after putting in his credit card details, he printed off the confirmation and his ticket. He picked up what was left of his rum and coke and walked into the TV room.
Dana, his wife, had nodded off again while watching the Letterman show. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and she stretched and woke up, throwing Kerrin one of her fantastic smiles.
Just then the phone rang again. Dana spun her wheelchair around and rolled over to the phone table.
“Elizabeth? Is that you? …Yes, Kerrin’s right here…”
She held the phone out to Kerrin, covering the mouthpiece as she spoke.
“She’s crying her eyes out! Something’s wrong…”
He took the phone from her outstretched hand.
It took a while before Kerrin could get his sister to talk calmly. She was babbling almost incoherently.
“…He’s dead, Kerrin!…He crashed into the sea!…According to the flight control centre, one minute he was on the radar screen, then the next he wasn’t…He just vanished without a trace! Kerrin, they killed him, just like they killed the others! …”
Chapter 3
Day Six
Sunny Cove
New Providence Island
Bahamas