This was getting stranger by the minute.
First, I’ve got Charlie nearly peeing his pants in his excitement over my leaving for the States. He personally came to my rooms not long after Kate had helped me finish packing and inquired if I needed any further assistance. That alone would’ve been enough to bowl me over, but then I discovered that he wasn’t going to sedate me for the trip, as he usually did. Instead, I was going by myself.
I recalled the last time Charlie and I travelled together, and it wasn’t pleasant. It was one thing to not want me to have knowledge of where we were headed before we arrived, just in case. I understood that. But to knock me out with sedatives at the beginning of every assignment until we landed (or docked, whatever the case may be) had been getting really, really irritating. At that point, I had decided I was done with it.
“I’m done with it. I’m not taking that.”
“Yes, you are, Isabella. I will not have this assignment compromised because you don’t want to feel left out.”
Charlie was an imposing man, to be sure, but I was putting my foot down about this. He had desensitized me to the point that his hulking figure no longer intimidated me, and his flat glares no longer had any effect whatsoever. He could blame this on my feelings all he wanted and nothing would change the fact that I was just plain fed up with being treated like a ragdoll.
“This isn’t about me feeling left out. This is about the fact that you need to learn to trust me at some point. I’m not sure why you just can’t get over this feeling of having to have control over everyone you come in contact with.”
I don’t know why I was surprised by the sharp jab of a needle in my neck, but the familiar slide into unconsciousness rendered me unable to reply when I heard him say, “I trust no one, poppet, and neither should you.”
So, needless to say, it was pretty damn curious that he was putting me on one of the organization’s private charter planes, by myself, as opposed to knocked the hell out in the back of a huge C-130 that probably had stains on the floor from all the times I vomited after the rocky landings would jostle me awake. But here I stood, on the tarmac of the Exeter International Airport, getting ready to board a beautiful Gulfstream V that was rounding its way out of one of the private hangars. The plane was elegant and sleek, a sparkling champagne color that faded into mottled patches of reds and oranges where the sunset reflected off the finish. It rolled to a smooth stop about fifty yards from where I stood, and I picked up my bags as an attendant rolled one of the boarding stairways into place. The door opened, and a very young-looking girl dressed in a tailored sheath almost the exact color of the plane itself stepped out onto the platform, bright-eyed and smiling despite the late hour. I approached the stairway and the airport attendant who had rolled the platform into place made to take my bags. I allowed him to take the larger rolling suitcase, but kept a firm hold on my case of medications and the tote bag I had thrown my files into. Best not to leave that to chance – everything had been going so smoothly so far tonight that my luck, I’d hand the case over and he’d drop it down the stairs. As I took the first step up, I looked back towards Kate. She remained standing where I had been, having accompanied me on the short drive to the airport. I raised my hand in farewell, and she did likewise. It would be hard, being away from her for such a long period of time, but I knew that I would be seeing her again soon enough, so I tried not to let the mild feeling of melancholy turn into anything deeper. It was very difficult for me to feel emotion at all, so usually when I did feel something I allowed it to grow as far as it would. It was rare enough to be novel, but not so much that I could enjoy feeling sad.
The flight attendant, who appeared even younger up close, ushered me into the cabin of the plane with a sweep of her hand. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly strong for such a small frame.
“Welcome aboard your flight, Miss Swan. My name is Jane. May I take your case?” She reached a hand for the box I still carried.
“No, thank you, I’ll stow it. I will have something to drink before we take off, if you have it available.” I glanced around the cabin as I spoke. Nice. A girl could get used to this.
“Absolutely. Mr. Swan requested that no alcohol be served on board, but I can offer you anything else you’d like.”
No alcohol. Thanks, Charlie. “I’ll have a Ribena, if you’ve got it.” She nodded in affirmation and headed toward the back of the plane, presumably to the galley to fetch my drink. I took the opportunity to really look around the cabin at what would be my surroundings for the fourteen hour non-stop flight. The interior was positively luxurious, with leather seating arrangements here and there, dark-stained wood mouldings and tabletops. It was very similar in feel to Charlie’s offices, in fact, and I wondered if this was the plane that he used to travel. It was likely, and I supposed that he would expect me to show proper gratitude for the loaner when I returned.
Not a bloody chance.
I wended my way through the first grouping of seating areas, which consisted of captain’s chairs stationed around small drop-leaf tables, to the long leather couch situated along the port side in the middle of the plane. Settling my case into a storage compartment directly opposite the couch, I sat down just as the attendant emerged from the curtained back area. She had a glass and napkin in one hand, and the bottle of Ribena in the other. I smiled as she sat the items down beside me on an end table, and she smiled back sweetly.
“Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss Swan?”
“No, that’ll be all. I’ll ring if I need you.”
She inclined her head slightly towards me, in a bit of a mock bow, almost. I had to contain the snort that threatened to bubble up. How imperious of Charlie. He probably trained that little one there to fear him so much that she held anyone in his circle with a certain degree of reverence. It was almost ludicrous, the way that he held people in awe. I shook my head and kicked off my black flats, tucking my feet up underneath me and pulling the soft red chenille throw down off the back of the sofa and over my lap. I had dressed for comfort, after showering quickly before leaving home. I had been forced to allow my hair to air dry, and the lack of styling products left it flying around my face in its habitual semblance of not-quite-curly. Kate had tossed the clothing in to me, which I promptly countered with “I can dress myself, mama!”, but secretly I was pleased that she still felt compelled to take care of me, even in this small degree. She had chosen a white long-sleeved knit tunic and black leggings, which despite the casualness of the outfit was probably as dressy as I got. I ended up getting pissed about my hair flying around on the way to the airport, so it was now gathered up on top of my head in something resembling a rat’s nest.
Finally situated, I bypassed the glass Jane had sat next to me and picked up the bottle of Ribena. It was cold, and I was glad I could bypass ringing for a glass of ice. I took a long healthy swig, just staring off into space and enjoying the peace and quiet. After several minutes, the plane began to taxi down the tarmac towards the runway. Jane’s lusty voice came over the loudspeaker, reminding me to buckle myself in and prepare for takeoff. It was then that I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I had been sentient during takeoff, and I began to panic.
Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshitohshit.
I quickly placed my drink on the table long enough to pull myself into the captain’s chair seated just forward of the sofa’s domain. I grabbed the bottle back up and the glass as well, placing both on my lap between my legs as I snapped the buckle of my lap belt into place. My mouth was dry, but the thought of another sip of my drink was enough to make me feel slightly nauseous. Some vodka would not have been remiss right then, and I mentally cursed Charlie up one side and down the other as the plane suddenly stopped. I looked out the window next to me and saw that we were poised at the end of the long runway, and just as I pressed my forehead to the glass to try and see further in front of the plane, I was forced back into my seat as the plane’s engines roared to life and we began moving forward at a startling pace. I allowed myself to go with the flow of gravity here, and pressed my head back into the chair’s headrest, closing my eyes tightly as we moved faster and faster. I silently berated myself, because I knew it was stupid and that flying was safer than driving, not to mention I had flown quite a bit in the past. But it was a completely different experience when you were conscious, and I couldn’t get past the fact that this massive machine, which should not be able to stay in the air due to its weight alone, was going to be hurtling me across the Atlantic and twenty five hundred miles of American soil.
As I clutched the armrests with white-knuckled fingers and my drink with my thighs, I could feel the nose of the plane lifting. I cracked my left eyelid enough to see the ground whizzing past me, black and orange runway markers blurring with the grass and concrete. Rather unceremoniously, the plane angled higher and the back wheels left the ground with a final jostle and bump. And then… we were floating.
I could still feel the pull of the earth, trying to keep as little space between my bum and its surface as possible, but the plane continued upward. Releasing my death grip on the chair, I flexed my fingers and rubbed my knuckles as I looked out the window, totally enthralled. Today had been gray until the last minutes before I boarded the plane, and now I could see the brilliant red sunset that once reflected off the plane reflecting off the waters of the English Channel. It was breathtaking. Suddenly dying of thirst, I grabbed my drink and took an unladylike gulp as my eyes remained glued to the scene unfolding before me. The plane was still climbing steeply, and I watched as the fingers of land below me grow smaller as the waters of the Atlantic began taking up more and more space. We passed through what remained of the cloud cover, and my vision was obscured by the fog for a few seconds. When we cleared the ever-present layer, I was in awe of what I could see.
I could see everything.
We were chasing the sun with our westerly course, but I could already tell we were not going to be fast enough to keep up with it. Space hung above us as the plane leveled out, dark and mysterious. Myriad stars began making themselves known as the fading light from the sun moved further and further away. I had completely forgotten where I was and any fear of physics I was having until the pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker in slightly broken English. From the heavy accent, I assumed he was probably one of the Volturi’s pilots from Italy.
“Good evening, Miss Swan. My name is Dmitri, and Felix and I will be flying you to San Diego tonight. Our expected flight time is about fourteen hours, but if the weather cooperates, we could make it in as little as twelve. Jane is at your service for the duration of the flight, and if you should need anything, please feel free to ring her.
“We are currently cruising at an altitude of 32,000 feet, travelling at 488 knots. It is currently eleven pm Greenwich time, and we will be arriving in San Diego at nine pm local time. Do you have any questions for us?”
I was so surprised at the fact that he expected me to answer that I stuttered a bit. “Uh, no. Thank you.”
“Very good. We will turn off the intercom for now to allow you privacy, but if you need anything at all, just tap one of the call buttons located along the port side wall. Enjoy your flight.”
The intercom turned off with a static-y click and in the sidebar across from the sofa, a seventeen-inch LED screen rose up out of the table-top. Displayed on the screen was an image of a plane on a map, with a red-dash trail behind it. Our beginning point was, of course, Exeter, and a green-dash trail extended from the front of the plane and ended in San Diego. How clever. Above the map were several statistics, including information Dmitri had already given me such as elevation and cruising speed. Flight time left was also displayed, and I noted that we were only about forty minutes into the journey.
The ‘fasten seatbelt’ sign had turned off as Dmitri turned off the intercom, and so I stood up to move back to the couch. My legs were still a little weak from holding myself so stiffly for so long. I shook them a little as I walked the few steps back, wiggling my toes and flexing my feet to get the blood flowing again. The carpet was soft and thick beneath my feet, and once again I wondered at how I managed to land something swanky and corporate as opposed to the usual military-grade. I lifted the red throw off the couch and sat back down, gathering up the things that had slid out of my tote bag when we took off. I had been in such a hurry to buckle myself in that I had failed to properly secure my other items. My small make-up kit and hairbrush went back into the bag, as did the wallet Kate had loaned me that contained my newly-minted US driver’s license as well as several hundred dollars in cash. The large folder that had slid out I left on the sofa, and I eyed it warily as I traced the rim of my bottle with my index finger. I hadn’t thought much more about the assignment, given the rush I had been in ever since the information came into my possession. Now, however, I was at leisure to review the dossier and I couldn’t see any reason to put it off further.
Opening the thick folder, I smoothed over the worn front page just as I had earlier in Charlie’s office. The dim lighting in the cabin threw every crease in the paper into stark relief, and I continued to trace the top of the bottle absently as I contemplated the list in front of me. An entire family. Sure, Charlie had told me that they were eager to see us dead themselves, but I had recently come of the opinion that not everything Charlie had told me was truth. I couldn’t explain why I suddenly began feeling that way, but as I got older I began to really think about my position in life and how I had gotten here. I hadn’t known anything else, as Charlie had pretty much already carved the course for me. Rebellion was something I never really gave serious thought to, but as I gazed upon this much-loved list of people, I wondered if it wasn’t time to maybe think before pulling the trigger. There was a deeper motive than our organization’s security here, and I wasn’t coming up with anything satisfactory to explain it.
Flipping the list page up, I looked at the next. This one contained all the information pertaining to my flight, written in the same neat script as the names on the first page. I flipped this one over and was almost shocked when my eyes met two sets of bright, blazing green ones. There were two photos here, the first one of a man in the camouflaged garb of a United States Marine. His dark hair was cut short, and he was sitting atop the hood of a seven-ton truck in the middle of the desert, an M4 slung carelessly across his lap and a serious look upon his face as he gazed sideways out of the photo and into the distance. I could only assume this was taken in the Middle East somewhere, and immediately thought of the crossed off name on the list. Emmett Cullen. Poor fellow. The second photo on the page was the same man, but the only thing that gave it away was the similar structure of his face and the bright, beautiful eyes. This time he was smiling, his lips curving upward gently. He had dimples, and they lent a certain amount of boyish charm to the harsh lines of his face. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, and he looked genuinely happy here. His hair was much longer, too, a mess of many shades of brown, red, and everything in between. His lean arms were slung around a slight little thing, who was sporting an almost similar haircut and also smiling happily. I immediately felt terrible for Emmett and the girl he obviously loved, and was about to flip the page when a name in italics below the photos caught my eye.
Edward Masen
date of birth: June 20, 1980
Hmm. So this was target number one – the nephew. He didn’t appear threatening, by any means. The picture of him in the desert might have given me pause, but the one of him with the girl had a more recent time stamp, so it appeared that his time home may have softened him up some. I read further down the page, my eyes darting back to the photos every so often. Charlie was always very thorough in his research, and this project was no exception. In fact, there might have been more information listed here than I’d ever seen on any of my previous targets. Nothing about Edward Masen was a secret to me now. He was born at Northwestern Memorial Hospital to Edward, Sr. and Elizabeth Masen. A strapping eight pound, twelve ounce baby, his medical records apparently remained clean throughout his childhood. Amazing. Charlie was really losing his mind here. Why this was relevant, I had no idea, but I read on anyway, entranced by the face in the photos. He excelled in music and linguistics as a child and a teen, and spoke fluent French, Italian and German as well as some Arabic. He played cello in his high school’s symphonic band and apparently was on the drum line in the marching band, as well. That would have been something to see, I’m sure. I’d only seen marching bands as James flipped past the college football segments on ESPN, but never really paid much attention to them. I absently resolved to rectify that at my earliest opportunity.
Continuing down the page, I skimmed over the high school and collegiate academic records. I did note, however, that he graduated with a degree in biology from the University of Chicago, and had apparently applied with success to the school’s medical program, although it appeared he did not actually attend. Instead, he enlisted in the US Marine Corps as an O-2, or First Lieutenant. Attended boot camp at MCRD San Diego, and entered Officer Candidacy School directly afterward. He served two and a half years straight in Iraq and Afghanistan, with only small periods of leave here and there. As I reached the bottom of the page, I saw that he was now home, having been medically discharged although no reason was listed. He was teaching world languages at UCSD and apparently living the life of your average university professor. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that I could see that would provoke Charlie’s wrath. Until I saw the note at the very bottom of the page.
Scrawled underneath the last typed line, again in Charlie’s tight writing, were the words ‘government language specialist’. Well, fuck, Edward. I thought I was going to be able to let you off the hook.
I sighed, sliding my finger over the image of Edward and the unknown girl. I hated that I was going to be taking him from her, as they both looked so happy together. But, that was life, and you didn’t always get what you deserved. No one knew that better than me.
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