Page 26 of The Hitman's Omega Priest
He hoped.
After their break, Bishop turned on his phone and the GPS. Less than an hour later, he pulled up at a private airstrip King had used more than once to charter small flights, and not always legally. A burly man with white hair and a cigar clenched in his teeth showed Bishop where to park his car inside a small hangar. Bishop and Kensley collected their things and followed their guide to a larger hangar, where a pilot was waiting with a manila envelope.
The envelope had their passports, as well as a copy of their flight plan. Just as Bishop suspected, they were going to a private island near the Bahamas, in the greater Lucayan Archipelago. King had “inherited” it from a previous competitor, and Bishop had gone on vacation there a handful of times. It was secluded, with private security on land and in the water, and King paid handsomely for the privilege.
Their passports were obviously assumed names, but King had gone a step further and made them a married couple. No one would look at that and suspect one of them was a priest. When he showed them to Kensley, Kens began giggling in an adorable way. “Gosh, however will we pretend to be such?” he whispered, careful the pilot didn’t overhear.
Bishop winked. “How indeed?”
“I’ve never been to the Bahamas or anywhere close.”
“All the islands down there are beautiful. And other than some security, we’ll have our island all to ourselves. Private villa, private beach.”
“King mentioned a market?”
“If we need supplies, we can take a boat to a larger island that has an open air market.”
“Got it. Just, um, one other thing?”
“What is it?”
“I’ve never flown on a plane before. Not a big commercial jet and definitely not a small plane like this one. I’m not afraid of heights, but I don’t like enclosed spaces.”
“Well, this is a private plane, but it’s about the same size inside as the cabin’s living room. We won’t be cramped. My boss travels in style, remember? This isn’t a rickety, hollow puddle-jumper. I’ll even hold your hand.”
“You are definitely holding my hand.”
“If you’re both ready?” the pilot asked. He indicated the short set up steps up to the plane’s interior.
Bishop clasped Kensley’s hand and led him inside.
Flying over the ocean was one of the most humbling experiences of Kensley’s life. He’d been terrified during takeoff, and he hadn’t released Bishop’s hand until the small plane had leveled out. Then he’d dared to look out the window, and he’d marveled at how tiny everything below was. Patches of green and brown and gray. Mountains and farmland and small cities, and other things too tiny to identify.
He’d felt infinitely small himself, finally getting a view of the world the way Heavenly Father might see it. If he believed Heavenly Father existed, which he didn’t. He believed in thingslike fate and karma, and maybe even in soulmates, but not that one all-powerful creator was responsible for everything. Life was too infinite and varied for that.
Bishop found a stash of food and drinks. Nothing fancy, but Kensley still accepted a cold cola, and they snacked on cheese and dried salami with crackers. “If King was on this flight,” Bishop said, “it would have been stocked with good Scotch and smoked salmon. But this is better than canned ravioli.”
Kensley laughed and enjoyed another cracker.
The flight over land was briefer than he expected, and soon they were flying over a vast panorama of different blues: the darker blue and white of the ocean, and the paler blue of the sky, dotted with the occasional fluffy cloud. As a child, Kensley had gone to Ocean City, New Jersey, with his mother, but this was wholly unique. He couldn’t touch the ocean, smell the salt air, or feel the moisture on his skin, but he wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.
When the pilot announced their descent, Kensley buckled back into his seat and closed his eyes, once again squeezing the life out of Bishop’s hand, so he missed the new scenery. All Kensley could do was breathe and hope they landed safely—which they did, and Kensley didn’t open his eyes until they’d come to a complete stop.
“Hey, we’re here,” Bishop said. “My fingertips are going to fall off if you don’t ease up.”
“Sorry.” Kensley’s own fingers ached from his tight grip, and he shook his hand out. “Hopefully, I won’t be such a basket case whenever we fly out of here.”
“I mean, I don’t mind the handholding, but I do need circulation.”
“Noted.” Kensley looked down at his loose, borrowed sweats. “Um, how warm is it going to be outside?”
Bishop’s easy smile melted briefly into a leer. “Warm enough you’ll want out of those as soon as possible. Come on, there should be a golf cart we can drive over to the house, and then we are on our own for the better part of two weeks. You can walk around the villa naked if you want.”
His cheeks heated. “Um, we’ll see about that. But there is one thing I’ve always wanted to do.”
“Which is?”
“Nighttime skinny-dipping.”
