Free The Ghost Pattern by Leslie Wolfe Page B

Steve. Blake was there to see her.
    “OK, let’s talk scenarios,” she managed to articulate.
    “Yes! Thank you!” Blake said, hugging her tightly. “I knew you would hear me out. What do you want to know?”
    Where the hell do I even start , Alex asked herself bitterly.
    “Umm…” she said, “what do you think could have happened to that plane?”
    “I don’t know,” Blake answered with sadness, “but I just need you to consider the possibility that it hasn’t crashed in the Pacific, and start looking for it.”
    “That I can do,” Alex replied, “but why do you think that’s even possible? You think the entire world that’s looking for it is just plain wrong? Everyone’s looking for it in the middle of the Pacific.”
    “Where they fail, you can succeed. I have that much confidence in you, Alex.”
    Oh…OK, no pressure, she thought, a little flattered by his confidence, yet feeling overwhelmed.
    “Blake, I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted.
    “Maybe…but you’ll think of something. I’m willing to bet a ton of money that by the end of today you’ll have a few ideas. Only you can find her.”
    She smiled. “Thank you for your vote of confidence, Blake. I hope I’ll earn it.”
    “You will, and I will help you. Any resource you need, you got it. All my money, all my influence, you can use at will, no questions asked. I will sign blank checks, I’ll do anything.”
    “Anything?”
    “Just name it,” he confirmed.
    “Park your plane somewhere and let’s go to Tom’s. I need breakfast, and I need to think. You need to come with me,” she added, feeling embarrassed for manipulating him like that. “Just in case I have questions or I need resources, or something.”
    “Done,” he replied, then turned toward the plane and signaled his pilot.
    Minutes later, he was fast asleep in Alex’s car, as she drove on the Pacific Highway, heading north in the dawn’s brisk light.

...16
    ...Sunday, May 1, 10:49AM Local Time (UTC+10:00 hours)
    ...Undisclosed Location
    ...Russia
    ...Four Days Missing
     
     
     
    The massive door unlatched noisily, startling them.
    One of the armed men walked in, his weapon hanging loosely, strapped on his shoulder. It was the one they called One-Eye. He still had both his eyes, but a long, purplish scar extended from his left ear to under his left eye, putting a deep ridge into his cheek, making them wonder how his eye survived that terrible knife wound.
    One-Eye extended his hand, holding a small packet with insulin vials.
    “Insulin,” he spoke harshly.
    Dr. Gary Davis stepped forward, grabbing the box.
    “Thank you,” Gary said, then opened the box. “Hey, this is just two days’ worth,” he said, showing the man the four vials.
    One-Eye shrugged and replied dryly. “If you all behave, she’ll get more.” Then he turned and left, latching the door behind him.
    He rushed to Dr. Crawford’s cot, while Dr. Adenauer brought a hypodermic and some alcohol on a piece of gauze. Dr. Crawford sat with difficulty on the side of her cot, preparing her insulin shot.
    “Thank you,” she said, speaking weakly. “This will help.”
    She shot the insulin into her thigh, then massaged the spot gently, while everyone kept their backs turned to give her some privacy.
    “Thank you,” she repeated, “I’m done.”
    They all huddled around her cot except the pilot, who remained crouched on the floor, not moving much or saying anything since they’d entered the makeshift lab. Lila, the flight attendant, kept as great a distance from the pilot as physically possible, quiet and grim, crying at times.
    “Do you understand what they want us to do?” Dr. Crawford asked. “I was a little out of it and I couldn’t focus,” she explained apologetically.
    They stood silent for a few seconds, looking at one another, various degrees of concern marring their expressions. It was as if the nightmare would become more real if one of them would put it into