Chapter Seven: A Premonition

Ron Cage sat by the rear of a square table, and opposite him was his wife. His two daughters both sat in traverse directions, facing each other. They were in this classy restaurant, the name of which he had no idea.

 His wife looked beautiful in her silk black skirt and camisole short gown under the dim night light of the restaurant. His two daughters looked magnificent too. 'What a wonderful family I have got!' he thought to himself. He felt delighted, feeling he must be the most fortunate man on earth. So he perceived.

 It had been a while since they had lunch together, especially since the girls had moved to school and he had busied himself with work. Besides, they seldom saw much of each other lately.

 He smiled at the varieties on the table; French fries, salad, and some seafood, along with some juice and a bottle of wine to wash it down. He was so delighted that he couldn't remember the last time he had such a classic treat with his family.

 He picked up a fork and pinched the salmon. He was about to take a deep bite when he heard a sound that he was familiar with, and it was the sound of a gunshot from somewhere inside the restaurant.

 He dropped the cutlery quickly; his wife and daughters ducked under the table quickly, but he sat still. He couldn't afford to be a coward in the presence of his wife and daughters, he thought to himself. He drew out his pistol, an auto 45 from its case and aimed in the direction.

 He stared hard for a brief moment, but something seemed to be wrong with his sight, as everything in the restaurant seemed to be blaring and dim now.

 The shooting continued. However, if he shot back, he might hit a civilian, he thought. "Why must my sight be failing me at this crucial moment?" he mumbled.

 If he were sensitive enough, now was the right time to duck, but the thought of his wife and daughters seeing him as a coward worried him. However, he held firmly to his gun while trying to fight his sight problem.

 Suddenly he heard a bang, and it hit him hard on his chest. The second slug hit him on the shoulder, followed by a third.

 He slumped and fell down, and as he hit the ground, he saw his wife and daughters under the table, weeping and pleading with him not to leave them, with tears in their eyes. He shut his eyes and went into unconsciousness.

"Ron!" he heard a voice call out to him. "Wake up! It's time to go now." He opened his eyes wearily and saw Agent Colt standing above him. "Wake up, you sleepyhead," he said.

 'So it's all a dream? Or was it some kind of premonition?' he thought to himself. "How long have I dozed off?" he asked Colt wearily.

"About fifteen minutes now," Aaron replied, staring calmly at him.

"What a terrible dream," Ron muttered to himself as he stood up and stretched out. He noticed Peter standing by the door, and he seemed to have changed a bit, for he looked a little different now.

 Hugo and Duff were also inside, working at lifting the chest to a special trolley designed for it.

"Are they coming with us too?" Ron asked while walking toward Peter, who still stood by the door and made no attempt to come in.

"They are the airport engineers," he replied in a cold tone that sounded a bit harsh. "They'll be fixing the chest to a secured clip designed for it inside the plane. There will be another two to unclip it on the other side when we land," he explained without looking at Ron.

"What a change of personality," Ron thought to himself. One moment he was all cool and sociable, and the next, he was something else. Well, maybe some temperament, he perceived.

"Well, we better be going now!" Peter said firmly. He moved away from the door and took the lead, with the others following him.

 Meanwhile, inside the plane, Hugo and Duff fixed the chest to the clip device under the supervision of Aaron and Colt. After fixing it, Hugo pushed a button attached to a device at the side of the clip, making sure that the two Feds agents weren't watching him.

 In a few minutes, they had finished fitting the chest.

 The two Feds agents bid them goodbye and went to join Ron, who was already settled inside the classy first-class plane. The aircraft prepared to take off.

 Meanwhile, outside on the runway, Hugo and Duff watched the aircraft as it taxied into the thin air, on a journey of no return.

"We have to go now!" Hugo said sharply, turning to face Duff. "Smith will soon be there waiting for us at the bar. Boss said we must do him tonight," he explained.

 Duff turned to him with a worried expression. "Must we also kill another innocent man?" he asked anxiously, with consternation all over his face, for he was already beginning to regret getting involved in the first place.

"Except you want to be on the run yourself," Hugo retorted firmly. "He knows too much. One word from him and you will have the cops up your tail to deal with."

 Duff shrugged at him, and they both walked toward the airport parking space. Hugo walked to his big jeep and hopped into the driver's seat. Duff stood undecided on the other side, for he never bought the idea of killing Smith. Besides, he never saw why he must join Hugo to watch the act.

"Don't just stand there and watch!" Hugo yelled angrily at him. "Hop in and let's go. Besides, it's already getting late," he pointed out.

"Honestly, I'll tell you! This is one reckless mistake that's going to bring us all down," he said in a dismayed tone, as he opened the front passenger door and hopped in, sitting beside Hugo.

Hugo grunted at him briefly, then ignited the car and accelerated into the dark night, heading toward the 57th Avenue bar.

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