18
Miranda wondered at her own naiveté.
Oh, you have a sign with my name on it? Of course I’ll follow you without asking any questions.
Neither the driver nor the man who’d been holding the sign and was now seated in the front passenger seat had been of any help.
“No ma’am. All we know is to pick you up and escort you to a meeting.”
“No ma’am. We don’t know what meeting or with whom.”
“No ma’am. We’re not at liberty to say where.”
At a stoplight, she surreptitiously tried opening her door. They must have disabled the back door handles as if she was no more than a child.
A child? Or a kidnap victim?
Why would anyone want to kidnap an NTSB agent? That just might be a first.
She’d landed at Dulles, and they were heading east toward DC, so that was a good sign, but nothing else was.
