The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(51)

“I swear I’ll try harder, Poppy.”

She cupped his face between her hands. “I am so glad you and your team are safe. Now, you’re not to worry, all right?” She turned to Nicholas and Mike. “Is it true what everyone was talking about? You two actually went down in the chopper that was struck by a giant rogue wave?”

Nicholas nodded. “We were lucky. The pilot, not so much.”

Poppy shook her head. “Mr. Fentriss was very relieved you two survived, too. He really didn’t want to have to report your deaths to the FBI. Now come and sit down, both of you look ready to fall over.”

Mike said, “Any news from the rescue?”

“It’s ongoing. So far, all is well. As I told Grant, the team is all right. I’m going back to Kuala Lumpur to retrieve them and bring them home.”

Grant said, sounding half-asleep, “Poppy, I should go with you to get the team. I need to assess the situation, try—”

“What you need to do, Grant Thornton, is give your sorry arse a good sleep. I’ll handle Kuala Lumpur. Mr. Fentriss wants you to stay with Mr. Broussard. We’ll be sending you fresh teammates in Lyon. Yes, Mr. Fentriss’s orders.” He started to speak but she held up a hand. “No, no arguments. You almost died—again. Expect Mr. Fentriss to preach protocol.”

Mike asked, “Protocol?”

Grant shrugged. “Not what it sounds. It’s a debrief. A very thorough debrief. Mr. Fentriss is a stickler for them.”

The pilots, different ones than on their trip down to Malaysia, handed over hot coffee and tea, and Poppy said, “I’m leaving you in their very capable hands. This is Mr. Paul and Mr. Peters. Gentlemen, get them safe to Lyon, then you’re expected in Brussels. Report in from France.”

Mr. Paul, tall and skinny with a sharp jaw and shrewd eyes, said, “Yes, ma’am.” Peters, who was wearing mirrored aviator sunglasses and looked straight out of Top Gun, added, “Yes, Miss Poppy, ma’am,” in a soft Southern drawl. She gave him a wink and Mike suspected there might be a little more going on between these two.

Poppy shook Mike’s and Nicholas’s hands. “I am very glad you made it.” She glanced at Grant. “Mr. Thornton, I expect you to stay in touch, but not until you no longer look like the walking dead.” She disappeared down the steps. Peters sealed the door, then took his seat in the cockpit while Paul readied the cabin.

“Anything you need, let me know, but the bar’s open. We reloaded everything. There’s food in the fridge, fruit and cheese, all kinds of healthy stuff. Don’t tell Peters, he’s a health nut, will be back here scolding you, but there’s also a stash of M&M’s under the counter, third drawer. Help yourself to whatever. Wheels up in five.”

He disappeared into the cockpit, and Grant and Mike took their seats. They both sipped from their cups. Mike was worried for a moment her waterlogged hair might ruin the buttery-soft leather seat, then decided who cared, and snuggled down. She said to Grant, “I assumed we’d be with the same crew. How many planes and pilots does Blue Mountain have on call?”

“Several. As Poppy said, Mr. Fentriss is a stickler for redundancy, and for not exhausting the pilots if he can avoid it, so we always have a couple of crews on hand. I’ve flown with these two before, they’re good.” Nicholas had followed Peters to the cockpit. Mike heard him say, “We’re in a hurry to get to Lyon. What’s our estimated flight time?”

Paul looked over his shoulder, glasses flashing, and drawled, “I hear you four seem to be daredevils, so you’ll be pleased to know we’ve laid in a route that will let us push this honey to her limits.” He slapped the ceiling of the jet. “We’ll be traveling at Mach 0.9, which is just shy of the speed of sound, about 685 miles per hour, and we’ll be right at the outer limits of our fuel capacity getting you there. It’s nearly six thousand miles to Lyon, and we’ll be there by around three in the morning local time. We’re going backward, so we gain a few clock hours. So hang on tight and get some sleep.”

Mike said, “Wicked,” and they all laughed. “What? I like planes. Much better than helicopters.”

Nicholas asked, “What about the typhoon? Is it going to affect us?”

“No, but we’re getting out at the right time. Another few hours and they’ll be grounding all aircraft. It’s going to make landfall in Singapore and sweep up the strait.”

The pilot glanced at Grant, who’d paled. “Yes, you would have had a rocky night. But all’s well. We received word the crew of The Griffon has been rescued and are also back on land. By the way, I heard Peters here talking about the M&M’s. Don’t blame me if you feel awful tomorrow, but you probably deserve some sort of reward, so I won’t yell at you too much. Ready? Off we go.”

Once they were all settled and seat-belted in, Broussard said, “Before I crash, I’ve got to call in. I want to speak to Nevaeh.”

Mike said, “Jean-Pierre, please, let us keep your whereabouts quiet a little longer.”

“At the very least, I must be allowed to speak to my secretary, Claudette Bourget. She will be discreet, she is trustworthy.”

Nicholas said, “You thought Dr. Patel was trustworthy, too.”

They all saw the moment Broussard registered doubt. A good start. He sighed. “Claudette is utterly loyal to me. And I’m not asking your permission.”