Chapter 58 658 p.m. EST
“Congratulations are in order!” Robin said to Allie. “We must bury a bottle of white in your honor. I’m a schmuck for romance
and so love a good elopement. I’m sorry you didn’t get one, dear. You could be headed to the South of France or Venice or
Crete, but unfortunately you’ll be celebrating your nuptials with cold drizzle and bad food.”
“The in-flight drinks cart is probably the greatest invention in aviation since they moved from biplanes to single-wing aircraft,”
Van said, and introduced himself to her.
“I wouldn’t want to dirty one of the happiest nights of your young lives with cheap airline plonk,” Robin said, and reached
into the giant beaded bag stashed beneath the seat in front of her. “Not when I’ve been to the duty-free.” She held up a bottle
of white wine. Allie looked once—and then again. It was from a Napa vineyard called Dragon Yard. A green ribbon bound a complimentary
corkscrew to the neck: a silver, handsome instrument with a dragon unwinding itself around the handle. Allie threw a wild
look at Van and they both erupted into ever so slightly hysterical laughter. Robin produced a pleasant, puzzled little frown.
“It’s a pinot gris,” Van said, “which I jauntily called penis grease on our first date and then wondered why Allison didn’t
call me back.”
This was a bald-faced lie, but Allie admired how smoothly it came off his tongue. His gift for invention was really underutilized
in his life as a journalist, where he was, on occasion, forced to traffic in facts.
“Your betrothed already mentioned your elegance with language,” Robin said.
“It’s a gift.”
Allie’s knit satchel was by her feet, and as the plane turned for the runway, something thrummed inside it. She almost didn’t
notice—the whole plane was thrumming. But a minute later it thrummed again, and this time it caught her attention. She pulled
the bag into her lap and dug through the contents for her flip phone. She had 1 VOICEMAIL.
She frowned, flipped the phone open, and pressed the star button to hear her voicemail. The plane began to accelerate.
It was Colin. His tone was brisk and calm, but not without urgency.
“Allie. I’m sorry I missed your calls. I was at Langley today, and they take my phone when I check in. I’m only going home
now. Listen: Horation Matthews won’t be traveling under that name—it’s the baptismal name he received from his church. You
want to look for a Randy Mathers. That’s his birth name, that’s what’ll be on his passport. If he’s using his passport. I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he managed to lay his hands on false papers.” He breathed out
and said, “I have it from Donna that you are going to try and get on the plane with him and that Van is going to join you.
That for some reason you believe if you’re on the plane, King Sorrow can’t attack it. That isn’t true. You cannot protect the plane by being on it. Get off that flight. Let whatever happens happen. This isn’t our fault. We couldn’t have known. Delete this message after you’ve listened to
it. And call me when you can.”