Chapter 4 - The Burner Phone
I shoved the envelope deep down into the lining of my purse, my heart hammering violently against my chest.
Millions of dollars in untraceable diamonds were currently sitting on my lap, planted right under my nose.
If Tyler had put them there before he left for the airport, this entire scenario had been planned for weeks.
He knew my terrible habit of using this specific oversized tote bag whenever I traveled with Mason.
But why would he frame his own wife as a smuggler if he was already hijacking the plane?
Mason tapped his fingers on his tray table, completely bored by the lack of inflight entertainment.
"Mom, can I please play games on your phone now?" he whined loudly, drawing the attention of a nearby passenger.
The armed man next to me shifted his weight, his elbow lightly bumping my ribs as a silent, lethal warning.
"Not right now, buddy, Mom's phone is almost dead," I whispered, desperately trying to keep him calm.
Mason huffed and crossed his arms, leaning forward to grab his own small backpack from under the seat in front of him.
"Fine, I will just draw another picture for Dad," he muttered, unzipping the main compartment.
He pulled out his sketchbook and his little plastic box of crayons.
As he yanked the crayon box out, something heavy wrapped in black duct tape tumbled out onto the floor.
I gasped softly and quickly kicked the mysterious object under my seat before the armed man could notice.
Pretending to drop my own chapstick, I leaned down carefully and scooped the taped object into my palm.
It was a cheap, prepaid burner phone, heavily modified with a thick battery pack.
I hid it between my thighs, keeping it completely out of sight from the window seat.
My hands shook as I pressed the small power button on the side of the device.
The screen lit up brightly, instantly displaying a single, unread text message.
"Sarah, if you found this, it means my cover is blown and Valerie's men are on the plane," the message read.
I stared at the glowing words, my mind struggling to process the sudden influx of contradictory information.
"The proposal was a code phrase to the FBI to let them know the cockpit is locked and secure."
Tears pricked my eyes as I read the next line, which changed absolutely everything.
"I am flying us to a military base, but the co-pilot is one of her cartel members, and he just pulled a gun on me."
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Before I could even type a response, a loud, agonizing scream echoed from the front of the aircraft.
The reinforced cockpit door suddenly burst open, and a bloodied body was thrown violently into the first-class aisle.
