Edge of Tomorrow (36 page)

“Absolutely not! You know all about my
programs. There were no Sky Marshals on that plane!” harrumphed the
Attorney General.

“I’ll confirm that,” said the FBI Director.
“After we escorted those two to a waiting car as instructed, I
checked everyone on that plane against the passenger list. They
were all accounted for! Those two were not on the list!”

“The question is, who were they, and how did
they get on that airliner?” asked Frank Finley, the CIA’s
Director.

The FBI Director grumbled, “We don’t know who
they were—a thickset man and a tall, thin red-haired woman—and I
don’t think we’re supposed to find out.”

He looked at the President when he said that,
then he continued, “We went over the plane with a microscope—so to
speak—and found two strange things. On top of the fuselage there
was a small hole which had been welded closed, and a two and a half
foot diameter piece of fuselage, also welded shut. Don’t ask any
questions because I have no answers. We’re talking to the Boeing
people to see if they did it. No response yet, but it is the middle
of the fucking night.”

“Did you get any info from interviewing our
courier, or the passengers and crew?” asked Admiral Cranberry.

“They all said they went unconscious for a
short while. The two pilots awoke before anyone else and were told
by the redhead to get moving—takeoff and head for Miami. She said
she was their guardian angel! We used a very advanced meter to test
for various knockout gases inside the plane—nothing. Another
strange thing: the highjackers were still unconscious when the
plane landed, even though they were gagged and bound. Their weapons
were unloaded and stacked outside the cockpit door. Whoever those
two were, they were very, very professional!” said Fred
Williams.

Before anyone could ask another question,
Williams continued, “Another mystery arises when we listen to the
audio tapes of conversations between the tower and the airliner. At
one point, the plane captain stopped responding to the negotiator
in the tower. The Cubans got spooked and were considering firing on
the plane. Then a woman started yelling—it turns out to be a
dialect of Farsi spoken in Eastern Iran—threatening to blow up the
plane if they started firing. The Cubans backed down when they
heard her say ‘bomb’ in accented English a few times. The real
mystery is: none of the highjackers was a woman. Who made that
transmission? And we found no explosives on board.”

There were too many mysteries for Admiral
Cranberry.

“Do you know who those people are, and how
they got on that airliner, Mr. President?” he asked gruffly.

The President was angry with the Admiral’s
audacity, but could not much blame any of them for being mystified.
He was, too.

Thank God that Bob insisted on giving me
deniability! I can at least answer that question honestly.

“No to both questions,
Admiral
!” the President replied,
emphasizing the fact he was not calling him “Tom” as he usually
did. “I don’t have a clue! I think that’s enough for now, I’m
exhausted. I’m going to bed now. Don’t forget to brief me on that
document, Fred. And, Jim,” he turned to the Secretary of State, “I
want a position paper on what could happen in Italy if that
document is authentic. See you all this afternoon.”

He got up and left the room.

He knows something that
he’s not saying! What’s he hiding?
thought the
Director of the FBI.

The President had thoughts of his own.

I have to be more careful if I ever use that
Blue Phone again! I can’t involve others, it raises too many
questions. Most of them, I can’t even answer anyway. Somehow, it’ll
just have to be me and Bob the Mysterious. He’s more resourceful
than my entire fucking cabinet!

Klaus Haus, Marco Island, Florida

Saturday, August 11, 2001

4:15 A.M.

They all assembled in the library at Klaus
Haus when they returned from Cuba. Shirley and Bruno had arrived
shortly after in the Bell 430, which had been standing by for them
in Miami. Packy had picked them up at the American Airlines
terminal and driven them to the Triple Eye hangar where the chopper
was waiting for them.

Mrs. Chamberlain had magically produced a
spread of assorted sandwiches. Sara was there even though she
should have been in bed. She was excited by the perfect execution
of her hostage rescue plan. The first thing they all did was hit
the bar and make themselves stiff drinks and toast their
success.

Syd was still keyed up, although she had
contributed the least to the success of the mission as it pertained
to active participation. Smitty’s flying—hovering over the 757
while Carlos did his magic with the laser machine—had been
breathtaking. Getting the Cuban soldiers under control had been
quite a feat, so she felt she had done her part. She took two large
swigs of her vodka and tonic to slake her thirst.

“Any problems on the plane?” Hatch asked
Bruno and Shirley.

“None to speak of,” answered Bruno. “I was
sweating those pilots waking up in time though.”

“So was I,” giggled Shirley nervously. “I was
afraid to give them a second shot of the antidote.”

“It was nervous time when those Cuban
soldiers looked like they were going to shoot us up before we could
get airborne,” added Bruno.

“You can thank Syd’s quick thinking for
defusing that,” said Hatch. “She made like a hysterical Arab and
threatened to blow up the plane if they didn’t back off.”

They lifted their glasses in Syd’s direction
and she lifted hers in acknowledgment, then she wandered over to
check on Sara, who was chatting with Smitty.

“Great plan, Sara! Wish you could have been
there to witness it. Smitty did fly that thing like a butterfly,”
laughed Syd.

“And he didn’t have to land it on my butt!”
Sara laughed back.

“I could have if I had wanted to,” drawled
Smitty with a smile, patting Sara on the butt. “You can be on my
team anytime, Syd.”

“Thanks, Smitty! I really appreciate that
coming from you!” Syd answered. She looked at Sara.

“It’s over now, Sara. You should get to bed.
You shouldn’t be up this late at all,” chided Syd, as Smitty
wandered off.

“I’m too keyed up! But you’re right. I’ll go
as soon as I finish my libation. Speaking of bed, are you going to
take Hatch to yours tonight?” she teased.

“That’s my plan!” Syd said with unexpected
frankness, tired of dodging the obvious. “That is, if something
else doesn’t drag him away! He’s slippery as an eel!”

“Good luck! And … I
am
jealous!”

Syd wandered back to join Hatch, Shirley, and
Bruno, who were still discussing Shirley and Bruno’s exit from the
757.

“Those FBI agents sure wanted to hold us, but
the senior guy took charge and escorted us out to Packy’s car. I
don’t know how you knew that part of the plan would really work,
Hatch,” said Bruno.

“Nothing is ever
sure
, but the probability was high that it would
happen as planned,” shrugged Hatch. “If it hadn’t, I would have got
you back some other way.”

At that point, Hatch’s pager began vibrating.
He looked at it and raised his eyebrow. Syd sucked in her
breath.

Not again! You had better
not leave me tonight! I won’t allow it, no matter who that
is!
thought Syd.

“The President again. I was sure we had
finished up on my last call. I had better see what he wants. We
don’t need any loose ends on this mission,” he said.

He retrieved his Blue Phone and punched in
the correct numbers.

“This is Bob, sir.”

“Thanks again, Bob, for being so prompt.
Also, my thanks again for the unbelievable job you did! I just
finished a meeting with some of my key advisors, and they all asked
a lot of questions I couldn’t answer. Like, how did I know about
those two people who got off the plane with the New York Yankee
duffel bag—all the passengers were accounted for, you know—and why
did I send a news chopper to Cuba? I didn’t tell them about
you—whoever you are—or the Blue Phone. They are very suspicious of
me, of course. We got our diplomatic pouch. The document I was
waiting for may pose a very difficult international problem which I
may want to discuss with you at some future date, if you don’t
mind. You seem to have unusually potent problem-solving powers,”
said the President.

“Call me anytime, sir,” Hatch responded, then
he saw Syd’s glare, and added, “next week. I’m taking the rest of
the weekend off.”

He smiled at Syd, and her glare softened.

“I may do that, Bob. Goodnight.”

Hatch put his phone away and winked at
Syd.

“I think I should get you home, Syd. You must
be exhausted,” he said.

“I am. Let me go get out of this flight
suit and I’m
ready
!” she
answered, intending the double entendre.

• • •

They arrived at Syd’s place after five in the
morning. Hatch had never been inside before so he took a quick tour
of the one bedroom condo. It was not much larger than the suite Syd
used at Klaus Haus, but it had a fireplace with a gas log in the
cozy living room.

“Why don’t you start my gas log while I fix
us some hot rum drinks?” asked Syd.

“A fire in the fireplace in Florida
in
August
?”

“The A/C has been on all day and it’s cool in
here.”

“Air conditioning and a fire. You are
strange, Dr. Z.”

“I thought it would be romantic. Aren’t you
the least bit romantic, Mr. Lincoln?” she said from the
kitchen.

He thought of a similar place to this in West
Berlin, sitting on the couch with Kat, in front of a roaring fire
sipping hot rum drinks. But that had been in the middle of a snow
storm.

“I’ve been known to be at times. I’ll start
the fire and crank up the air conditioning,” he laughed.

He took his briefcase—which contained
toiletries and a few clothes, not business papers—and dropped it in
her bedroom. He took his trusty Zippo lighter and lit the gas log,
adjusting the flame to a lazy flicker. Syd brought two steaming
mugs and sat them on cork coasters on the coffee table in front of
the fire.

Déjà vu
all
over again!
thought Hatch.
Please forgive me, Kat, but I am going to get on with my
life. Wish me luck!

Syd picked up the remote to her CD
player and pointed it at her entertainment center, causing soft
music to fill the room. It was a year-old CD of Andrea
Bocelli—
Romanza
—one of her
favorites. They both sat down on the couch, clinked mugs, and
sipped their hot buttered rums.

“Before we do anything else, would you turn
off your damned Blue Phone and pager, please? I don’t want you to
have any excuses to leave me for at least the next 24 hours. Can
you do that for me?” she asked with imploring eyes.

“For you, anything,” he replied as he took
his pager and phone and put them on the coffee table. “They’re now
turned off.”

“Thank you,” she said, opening a drawer in
the coffee table and putting them in it. “Out of sight, out of
mind. Now, where were we?”

She took off her boots and stockings for the
second time that night, then stood and stripped to her underwear,
putting her clothes over the back of the couch.

“Those aren’t needed in front of this fire.
Feel free to get comfortable.”

She then got up and padded barefoot to the
bedroom and returned with some hangers, handed some to Hatch, then
hung up her skirt and blouse. He stripped down to his blue boxer
shorts and hung his clothes on the hangers. She took them all to
the bedroom and put them in her closet. He watched her supple body,
both going and coming back.

“I know you must be exhausted after the day’s
events—a very long day at that—but I’m still running on adrenalin.
If you’re really giving me 24 hours, we can let this play out any
way you wish. We don’t have to rush anything,” she stated.

“Have I told you what an amazing woman you
are, Syd? You are simply incredible! Come sit next to me, please,”
he answered.

She sat on his left and he put his arm around
her. He picked up his drink and sipped it, enjoying the closeness
of her, the fire, and the ambiance. She sipped hers and stared at
the fire, feeling the terrible tension slowly leave her body.

“I’m nearly afraid to enjoy this,” she said.
“I keep thinking something will happen to ruin it for us.”

“I won’t let that happen. Not this time. Look
at me.”

She turned her face toward him and he gently
kissed her lips, then smiled at her. She smiled back,
wistfully.

“I wish I could put your damned GS-V in that
drawer with your phone! It’s going to take you away from me again!”
she exclaimed, looking into his eyes.

“And it brings me back, too,” he answered.
“Forget that for now. I promised you the weekend and that’s what
you’ll—we’ll—have.”

“I need a shower!” she said abruptly.

“Oh, no! Not that game again!” he moaned.

“No, no games! I thought you could join me,
and we could become acquainted with each other’s bodies. Wouldn’t
you like to rub soap all over me?” she replied coyly.

“You do come up with some good ideas now and
then! I do need a shower. Lead on, McZ,” he said
enthusiastically.

“Bring our drinks to the bathroom and I’ll
get some towels.”

He picked up their drinks and followed her to
the bathroom. As he sat them down on the vanity counter, she got
two large bath sheets out of a cabinet and ran them through a
chrome ring outside the shower door. She opened the frosted glass
door and turned on the water.