Baldwin paced through Amsterdam’s Schiphol airport. His flight to London had been cancelled. Everything into the U.K. was grounded for the foreseeable future.

He alternated trying Taylor’s cell with calls to Memphis. Neither one was picking up, and he was ready to pull his hair out.

He had to get to Scotland. It didn’t matter that the airports were closed. Taylor needed him.

He couldn’t drive, obviously.

It was time to call in the big guns.

He called Atlantic.

“Good job on Julius. Is there something else you need?”

“I need to get to Scotland. Just outside of Edinburgh.”

“Impossible. The airports are closed.”

“Atlantic, it’s an emergency. So help me God, if you don’t get me there, I will go public with your little operation.”

Atlantic chuckled, his laughter cold.

“You’d be dead before you uttered a word, Baldwin. But let’s not go there. I think of you like a son. And since it’s so vital that you reach your destination, get yourself to the following coordinates. And be prepared for a bumpy ride.”