Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(47)

A bench seat upholstered in the same buttery gray leather as the captain’s chairs runs the length of the opposite wall until it meets a gray-veined black marble wet bar at the other end. Glasses are suspended on racks on the underside of a cabinet above the bar, which is topped with more bottles of liquor than there probably are people on this plane at the moment.

And surprise—Uncle Samuel is holding up the wall next to the bar, glass full of amber liquid in hand. Well, he’s certainly on the right plane—this must be heaven for him. Across from the bar, behind the chess players’ section, are two more forward-facing rows of captain’s chairs, and in the last row seated next to the window is my mother. A white cloth is stuffed into her mouth and tied behind her head in a makeshift gag, but other than that, she appears no worse than when I last saw her back at Petrov’s brownstone hideout. I let out a relieved sigh, then check over my shoulder to make sure Vasili wasn’t close enough to hear. I don’t want to show any more weakness or vulnerability than I already have, don’t want to give them any more leverage to hold over me.

When I turn back to my mom, she meets my gaze with a pointed look I can’t quite decipher. I wish I were better at reading looks. Or minds.

Vasili nudges me toward the back of the plane and pushes me down into the window seat in front of my mother. Then he steps over to the bar to join Uncle Samuel in pouring himself a drink. No sooner do I have butt in seat than Will appears in the cabin door with Niko herding him along like an animal to the slaughter. When they reach us, Will shrugs off Niko’s hold on his shoulder, and the larger man retaliates by punching Will in the kidney, hard. Will grunts in pain and drops into the seat next to me with his elbow pressed protectively against the side where Niko punched him.

Vasili meets Niko in the aisle with a half-filled tumbler, and together they head for the seats surrounding the chessboard. Uncle Samuel follows but lumbers past them to plop haphazardly down on the far end of the bench seat. He keeps his eyes downcast, like he’s too ashamed to make eye contact. And well he should be.

A beefy, dark-haired man I haven’t seen before now emerges from the cockpit and moves to shut the cabin door. There’s no sign of Petrov. Is he already on board and tucked away in some other section of the plane? Is he not coming with us? No one else seems to notice that he’s not in the room, which means they must know where he is, whether he’s on the plane or not. The idea that he could be in some other section eats at me. I don’t like the idea that he could sneak up on me again.

Except now, I’m already his prisoner, so it doesn’t really matter if he gets the drop on me.

Muscles goes back to the cockpit, and a few minutes later, the heavy whirring of the engines begins to build. Uncle Samuel is still drowning his shame in his cup, and Niko and Vasili are heavily involved in their game.

I take advantage of their distraction and the growing noise outside the plane to turn to my mother and peek at her through the gap between Will’s seat and mine. “Are you okay?” I whisper.

She nods and tries to say something around her gag, but all that comes out is a muffled, garbled mess of grunts and disconnected syllables. Her expression is both sad and earnest, and it occurs to me that she might be trying to apologize.

“This isn’t your fault,” I tell her. Her eyes glass over, and she shakes her head sadly.

“She’s right,” Will confirms. “Petrov is the one to blame here. Petrov and his lackeys.”

My mother nods, but I can tell by her expression that there’s so much more she wants to say. Unable to do so around the gag, she turns to look out the window as we begin taxiing down the runway. I do the same.

Darkness stretches on the horizon, made even darker by the light inside the cabin. Where are we? Where are we going? My future seems just as dark, just as mysterious as the world outside this plane.

…

We’ve been flying over water for hours. It’s full daylight and has been for quite some time before we’re over land again. Petrov must be taking us to someplace in Europe. Someplace where he has power. The landscape we’re now flying over is a checkered pattern of green pasture, farms, and fields in various shades of greens and browns, with the occasional building cropping up here and there.

My eyes are gritty and ache from lack of sleep. I dozed off a couple of times during the flight, despite my best efforts not to, but each time, it only lasted for a short while before fitful dreams jarred me awake again. Will is awake and staring past me out the window, glassy-eyed. Has he been awake all this time?

Uncle Samuel is passed out with an iron grip on his umpteenth glass of liquor. How he can be unconscious and still hold his drink perfectly upright is beyond me. Vasili is nose deep in a thick book, and Niko is equally involved in some game on his phone.

I turn to check on my mother, but a door behind us opens and I drop back into my seat facing front. A heartbeat later, Petrov strolls past us, looking fresh and fit, as if he’s slept peacefully all night. That’s probably exactly what he was doing, I realize. His black slacks and yellow polo are precisely pressed, not a wrinkle in sight. Even his black loafers look freshly shined.

I sink lower in my seat in a futile attempt to become invisible. Then Will settles his hand over mine, where it clutches the armrest between us. I still haven’t forgiven him, but his touch is comfort and strength, and I use it to muster all the bravery I don’t feel right now. Which turns out to be completely unnecessary as Petrov passes us and heads straight for the cockpit without even so much as a backward glance in our direction.