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Out of all the scenarios Inspector Ackhart had run through during the short, out of control sprint to the airport, none of them included the situation which met him when he closed in on the gate leading to the airport's apron. As he smashed through the gate, closing his eyes when the car made impact, he saw Sam Becker, free of the leg restraints. He was pounding across the tarmac in his socks, one of the massive, purported FBI agents thirty meters away, bearing down on him with a gun. Ackhart couldn't see the other guy, and he wasn't sure which one he had in his sights. He'd tried to remember their names on the dash to the airport, but every time his mind fogged over. Tossing the old Renault to the left, his headlights illuminated the agent, the guy truly was a behemoth. Gunning the
