“I’m just a humble former FBI director,” Conley said.
Conley was still in New York, and he was furious. He’d been forced to stay overnight and attend some stupid worthless “emergency meeting” that Tower had foisted upon him. Then the private government jet that Tower had put him on had developed mechanical problems, and now he’d been stuck in that damn plane on the tarmac for five straight hours. Sitting in a bolted-down stuffed chair at a worktable in the main cabin, he’d been staring into a computer screen and answering bullshit emails for over three hours. He was now in a blind rage. He’d not only gotten the runaround from the asshole Tower and his drunken chain-smoking closet-dyke sister, he was now held up on the runway like he was flying commercial.
Like he was a fucking citizen.
He’d never had a private government jet held up for this long. This was unacceptable. He was the Former Director of the Fucking FBI. He felt like arresting that cretin of a captain and clapping his ass in Guantanamo just for pissing him off.
“Captain,” Conley roared once again at the cockpit. “What the fuck is the holdup? Did the engine fall out of the plane?”
“No sir,” the uniformed captain said, hurryng back to Conley’s cabin. “I’m so sorry, but we have no flight attendants. Both of them are down with the stomach flu, and we can’t fly without at least one. It’s against FTC regulations.”
“There’s a lot of flu going around,” Conley admitted grudgingly. “My stomach doesn’t feel so well either. But goddamn it, can’t you at least—”
Suddenly, a tall statuesque flight attendant opened the ramp-hatch and entered the plane. She had indigo eyes, her hair was long and lush—so incredibly light it looked almost platinum—and she had a smile like the end of the rainbow. Decked out in a short blue skirt, black high heels and black stockings, and with the top three buttons of her white blouse enticingly undone, she was showing enough cleavage and leg to take Conley’s breath away.
But now she was strolling straight into his cabin, staring at him as if she owned him, as if she owned the whole plane, coming at him, her eyes unwavering, unblinking, locked on him the whole time.
“I heard you say what you said about your stomach, Director Conley,” she said. “Let me get you something for it.”
She had a slight accent, which he couldn’t place, and the name on her flight badge was Helena. He thought she might be Estonian.
“Scandinavian?” Conley asked.
“Further east.”
“Finland?”
“Further.”
“Russia?”
“St. Petersburg originally. But I’m American now through and through.”
Conley gave her his best smile.
“We’ve been having some dealings with Putilov lately,” Conley said, trying to sound serious, important. “Since you’re Russian, you must have an opinion of him.”
“He’s a great man,” she said simply.
“He and I are friends, you know,” Conley said, smiling now, “close friends.”
“Then you must be a very important man,” she said.
“I’m just a humble former FBI director,” Conley said.
“Which means you’re someone very important, and I love big powerful important men. I find them so … stimulating.”
“Perhaps you could instruct me on how the Russian people view their leader.”
“And I’m sure I could learn so, so much from you.”
“Well I’m glad you two are hitting it off,” said the captain, returning from the cockpit. “Even better, Helena has rounded out the crew and we’re cleared for takeoff.”
“Great news,” Helena said. “Let’s drink to it. Not you, Captain. You have to fly. But our friend, the director, could use a drink. He’s been under so much stress with this endless wait. Mr. Director, you must have gotten tense, sitting on this runway. Maybe I could get you some good Russian vodka and untense you a little.”
“I’ll bet you could,” Conley said, his voice growing thick.
“I can, and I will. But first a little drink. I have some orange-flavored vodka you’ll never forget—Russian vodka.” She rolled the R and pronounced the v as if it were a w. “I’ll add a splash of OJ for good measure. When you finish that, maybe we can go into the rear cabin, get comfortable and have a nice private undisturbed conversation.”
“I’d love nothing more.”
“You would not know it but I’ve traveled widely. In my own way, I’m a real female Odysseus. I’ll tell you the story of my travels.”
“I can’t wait,” Conley said.
“I’ll make you feel like you’re traveling with me. I will make you experience every inch of my journeys.”
“Any place special you want to take me?”
“Oh, I’m going to take you all the way … around the world. I will show you … everything.”
Conley felt so hot he feared he might faint.
“But first let me get you that drink.”
Turning, she walked over to the galley, swinging her ass like it was a diamond mine.