Dante’s Girl (2 page)

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Repeat.

I might die. 

Seriously.

I listen impatiently as the flight attendants give their safety spiel and motion toward the exits like they are NFL referees with dumb tiny scarves around their necks.  I just need for them to get on with it.  Just let us taxi out and take-off and then I will be perfectly fine once we are in the air.  My hands get clammy and my ears start to roar.  Why am I such a freak?

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Repeat.

You freaking flight attendants.

Hurry.

Up.

I’m just getting ready to shove my earbuds back in to distract myself when Dante appears next to me like a savior or an angel or something of equal beauty and importance.

“Is this seat taken?” he smiles and I notice a dimple in his right cheek that I hadn’t noticed before.  How had I missed a dimple?

“Um, not that I know of,” I answer weakly, trying not to die from heart palpations.  “But the seat belt sign is on. You’re not supposed to be out of your seat.” 

Fabulous. Now I sound like a hall monitor with a heart problem.

Dante shrugs without seeming worried. 

“I think it will be okay,” he answers.  “We’re not even on the runway yet.”

“Good point.”

“Can I sit here?  I’m bored up front.”

I nod, my palms instantly clammier.  “I hope you brought your blanket.  You won’t get much back here except for a bag of peanuts.”

And now I sound like a cheap hall monitor with a heart problem. I’m presenting myself better and better by the moment.

Dante smiles yet again and sits next to me.  He brings his charming accent with him and the scent of his amazing cologne.  I take a deep breath.  He smells far better than the stale airplane air. 
Far
better.  I fight the urge to jump into his lap and inhale his neck, a maneuver that just might make me appear slightly insane.

“You look pretty pale,” he observes as he buckles up. “Are you afraid to fly?”

“Is it that obvious?” I ask quietly.  “As much as I’ve flown in my lifetime, I should be used to it.  But I’m afraid that’s never going to happen.  Once I’m in the air for awhile, I’ll be fine, but until then… well, I’m terrified. I admit it.”

“Don’t worry,” Dante tells me quietly, his voice calm and reassuring.  “There’s nothing to be afraid of.  You’re more likely to get into a--”

“Car crash rather than die in a plane crash,” I interrupt.  “Yes, I know. I’ve heard.  Where are you from?” I ask curiously, half out of genuine curiosity and half out of the need to distract myself.  “You have the most interesting accent.”

He smiles, his teeth brilliantly white.  I decide on the spot that I could watch him smile all day long.

“Caberra,” he answers, reminding me that I had asked a question.  “It’s an island near Greece.  And you?”

“Like you don’t know that I’m American,” I chuckle.  “I know it’s written all over me.  I’m sure you’re a fan, right?”

“Of Americans?” he raises a golden eyebrow.  “Of course. I love them.  I have no reason not to.  They bring a lot of tourist dollars to Caberra.”

“Well, we are a land of excess,” I admit.  “But that’s usually what foreigners seem to hate about us.”

Dante stares at me for a moment and then smiles.  “Well, I can’t speak for all foreigners, but I don’t hate Americans.  And you’re not in America right now, are you?”

I shake my head.  “No, I am most certainly not.”

“Well, then.  You’re the foreigner now.”  He grins and I can’t help but smile back.  He has a point.

The pilot gets on the intercom and his nasally voice drones on and on, but I am able to tune it out as I engage in conversation with a boy who is surely a direct descendent of the gods.  There is no other plausible explanation for his good looks or charm. I barely even hear the words that come out of Dante’s mouth, because I am so mesmerized by the shape of his lips as he moves them.  Pathetic, I know, but true. 

One thing about me:  I don’t lie to myself.  I might stretch the truth for my parents from time to time when necessary, but never to myself. And I’m pathetically fascinated by this boy.

Finally, the aircraft shudders a bit and noses forward and I startle, gripping the arms of my seat. My fingers turn white and I am certain that I am leaving permanent indentions in the cracked vinyl arm-rests.

“Don’t worry,” Dante says quietly, unpeeling one of my hands and grasping it within his own.  “It will be fine.”

The feel of his hand distracts me.  Strong and warm, it cups my own carefully, like he is holding something very fragile.  I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling. I only have a couple of minutes to soak it in, however.

As the plane moves down the runway in preparation for take-off, something happens.  Something isn’t right. 

Our plane rocks a little, then quivers, like it is being moved by a strong gust of wind.  I feel it a brief moment before Dante tightens his grip on my hand, a split second before light explodes from outside of my eyelids.  I open them to discover fire tearing down the runway past my window.  Before I can react or even scream, all hell breaks loose.

Chapter Two

Things start happening more quickly than I can even register, all of them occurring in a huge colorful blur.

First, it is as if things are in slow motion as I struggle to make sense of what had happened. 

Flight attendants rush around the plane as fire continues to blaze around us.  The pilot speaks into the intercom again, but I can’t hear him now because of the din in the cabin.  Everyone is chattering nervously, wondering what had just happened as sirens immediately begin to wail in the distance.  And then, when the sirens start, a hush falls over the plane.  And even in the fog of my shock and confusion, I have to give the emergency workers credit for their quick response time.

I gather up my courage and look out the window.  From the edge of the runway, half in and half out of the grassy dirt, the skeletal remains of another airplane burn.  I can see the white shell of its tail melting away and revealing the metallic bones of the aircraft.  Black, toxic smoke billow from it into the heavens but perhaps the most troubling was the absence of one thing. 

The rescue slide doesn’t emerge from the side of the plane.  The carcass is still and silent, with only grotesque, loud popping noises coming from the flames.

“Oh, my god!”

A woman in the back of our plane breaks the eerie silence when she starts screaming.  She cries, pointing out of her window, her hand shaking.  The people on the burning aircraft are clearly dead.  We can’t see them, but we know.  There is a pall in the air, a shocked and unspoken sentiment that ripples through every passenger on our plane.

“What happened?” a little boy across the aisle asks his mother. 

His mother is ghostly white, all color leached from her face as she stares outside of her window. Shaking her head grimly, she slides her plastic window-shade closed.  Glancing my way, her eyes meet mine for a scant moment, before she lowers her head.  We just witnessed a tragedy. The problem is, I’m not sure exactly what kind.  I’m not sure of anything at all.

“What happened?” I ask Dante frantically.  “What happened to them?  Were they taking off or landing?”

He peers at the wreckage.  “I don’t know,” he admits.  “I can’t tell.”

The men in suits appear out of nowhere by Dante’s elbow. 

“Come, Dante.  We need to move.”  A tall man with a blonde buzz cut and tanned skin commands Dante urgently.  “We can’t stay here.”

“What?” Dante answers blankly, staring up at the man.  “How are we going to go anywhere?”

Buzz Cut grasps Dante’s arm, his fingers thick like sausages. 

“There’s no time to discuss.  We have to move.” He leans down and murmurs something into Dante’s ear.  The only word I catch is “terrorists.” 

I gasp and Buzz Cut looks at me, his flat blue eyes solemn.  Raising a beefy finger, he pushes it to his lips, cautioning me to be silent.  I bite my lip and Dante turns to me.

“Get your bags, Reece.”

“What?” I ask in confusion.

“Just grab your things,” he says quickly as he stands up. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Grasping the handle of my carry-on as I heft my purse onto my shoulder, I file down the aisle quietly and quickly after Dante.  I don’t even know this guy but for some reason, in this moment, I trust him.  I’d definitely rather be with him than out here on this flaming tarmac.  That much is certain.

The flight attendants close around us in a protective barrier as we wait by the door.  Behind us, I can hear the dismay of the other passengers as they loudly voice their concerns over why we are able to leave and they aren’t.  It’s actually a valid question and one that I don’t know the answer to.

As the airplane taxies slowly across the tarmac toward the opposite side of the airport, I stare out the window in shock. 

Pieces of the burning aircraft are scattered everywhere.  Small twists of metal, bits of clothing, burned rubber.  My gaze flies to the aircraft itself and I find that a jagged hole has been torn into the belly of the plane.  I gasp again and tear my eyes away. But that doesn’t help.  For one thing, I catch a glimpse of a blackened doll lying in the grass by the airplane’s wheel, its face melted away.  For another, the images have been seared into my mind, probably forever.  I squeeze my eyes closed and wait for the plane to stop moving. 

A few minutes later, we draw to a stop.  I open my eyes once again and find that we are docked in a quiet, dark area of the airport. 

Buzz Cut moves quickly to open the aircraft’s door.  Glancing outside, I find that a tall mobile staircase has been dragged out to the airplane, the same kind as you would see the president climbing for Airforce One. 

I gulp. 

How is Dante able to garner this kind of special treatment? 

But there is no time to ask.  The men in suits are hustling us down the steep stairs and it is all I can do to keep up, to keep my feet moving so that I don’t fall.  These guys clearly mean business.  I can hear the loud protests of the passengers still on the plane, right up until the door is clicked closed behind us.

“It’s alright,” Dante tells me quietly as we walk toward the terminal. “Don’t be afraid.”

“Where are we?  Where are we going?” I ask. “Why are you taking me with you?”

“I didn’t want to leave you back there,” he explains calmly.  “No one knows what happened.  They think it was terrorists.  They’re locking the airport down.  You could be here for hours or even days.  I don’t want that. We’re in a secure, unused terminal.  I promise you that you are safe with me. We’re going to cross back under Schiphol through a security tunnel and then we’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

“Well, where are
you
going?”

“I
was
going to join my father in London,” Dante says, his eyes slightly concerned.  “But now I will probably return home.”

“But how?” I ask in confusion. “You just said they’re closing down the airport.”

“I’m not sure,” he answers. “Russell?  How will we be getting home?”

Buzz Cut turns around. 

“Private helicopters are en route to meet us as we speak.  We’ll fly to Thessaloniki, then charter a boat to Caberra.  We’ll be home in no time. And we’re not making any detours, Dante.”

“Home?” I cry out, before I can stop myself. “As in,
your
home?  Caberra?  My father is going to kill me.  Can’t you just drop me off? I can take the Chunnel.” 

I’ve always liked riding the train underneath the English Channel, anyway.  And it’s name, Chunnel, is fun to say.

Buzz Cut is already shaking his head. 

“Obviously, if the airports are closed down, they’ll close the Chunnel down too.  I’m guessing that all public transportation will be closed until they ascertain if this was a terrorist attack.”

Dante stares at Buzz Cut.  “We have to drop Reece off,” he says calmly.  “Her father will be worried.”

“It is not that simple,” Buzz Cut answers.  “I’m sure the ferry won’t be running.  Your father wouldn’t want me to detour, Dante. I’m sorry. Your safety is what I’m paid for.  We will all travel home.  Reece can call her father from there.  End of story.”

“Russell,” Dante begins, his gaze turning icy.  “You do not get to order me.  I wish to drop Reece off safely with her father.  Make it happen.”

“Mr. Giliberti,” Russell replies formally.  “I do wish I could accommodate you. But we have specific evacuation procedures in place to ensure your safety.  Per your father’s direction, I am never authorized to deviate from the plan in these situations.  I apologize.  In this situation, your father’s order trumps yours.”

Dante stares at him silently for a moment with daggers in his eyes.

“Very well,” he finally answers with icicles dripping from his words.

Yikes.  There is no love lost between these two.  That much is apparent.  Should I be worried?  This guy isn’t in the witness protection program or something, is he?  And these guys are his handlers?  What the eff? 

Dante turns back to me, the tone of his voice changing to congenial and charming.   

“Reece, I apologize.  It appears that we must return to Caberra per safety protocol.  I assure you, however, that we will get you to your father at the soonest available opportunity.  I give you my promise that you will be safe with us.”

I nod and gulp, a loud sound in the silence. And then I remember my cell phone.  This is the twenty-first century.  I can call my father. 

Right now.

And if I am, in fact, traveling with a psychopath or criminal, my father can come and get me. I mean, he works for the NSA. He has to have connections of some sort and satellites to track down my exact location.  Yanking my phone out of my pocket, I power it on and slide my finger across the screen to unlock it.  I punch in my father’s number with shaking hands. 

No dial tone. 

I try again.

This time, I connect with an automated message which wavers in and out, first in Dutch and then in English.  
All circuits are currently busy.  Please try your call again later.