Chapter Forty Three

 

The doors to the elevator opened. Vicky, Lauren and Geoffrey moved through the opening doors and walked across the immaculately polished granite floor. Parker Griffin, the doorman attired in a long gray coat and cap, greeted her.

“Good evening, Miss Vontgomery.” He tipped his hat to the entourage.

“Good evening, Parker.”

Vicky felt a sense of urgency as she herded her group toward the waiting cab.

“And where would you like to be going to this evening?” the cab driver inquired in a thick Indian accent. Vicky glanced down at the license ID card on the back of the front seat, and attempted to reconcile the appearance of the bearded man wearing a turban in the picture with that of her driver. Satisfied it was probably the same individual, she confidently replied, “Reagan National.”

“Ah yes, ma’am,” he responded. “To de airport right away. Please to let me notify my dispatcher, and we will be underway.”

The tires of the black Lincoln squealed as the limousine came to a halt a few feet behind their cab. The abrupt arrival of the car filled Vicky with a sense of apprehension. Her anxiety was confirmed as she turned and saw Wakefield Trotter and Mike Lynchburg hurriedly exit the limousine. She turned her head to obscure her identity, and waited for them to approach her cab.

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, she looked over her right shoulder expecting full well to see Mr. Trotter reaching for the door handle in an effort to extricate her from the cab. What she saw instead was the two men engaged in a rather heated argument with Parker as he appeared to be preventing them from entering the lobby elevator. Although they were very animated in their protestations, Parker was not shirking his security duties. She surmised he was attempting to call her on the front desk phone to get authorization for the men to go up to her condo.

“Could we please get going, Lawrence?” Vicky looked at the name on the license card. “Lawrence Majwhatamanpour,” she thought as she struggled to pronounce the last name.

“Oh, so sorry to delay our departure, ma’am,” Lawrence politely apologized. “We are going to be on our way to the airport just now. And please to call me Larry.”

Vicky felt a sense of relief as the cab drove away from her former home. She took one last glance back at the confrontation taking place in the lobby. It was obvious that Parker was not going to permit the two men to enter the building. He struck a pose as if to say there was nothing else he could do, and gestured for them to leave. They appeared to be doing just that, but Wakefield suddenly delivered a series of martial arts type blows to Parker, and he collapsed. Mike grabbed the doorman before he hit the floor as if he expected this chain of events to occur, and quickly dragged him behind the security desk. The two men calmly walked down the hall and summoned the elevator.

As the cab merged into the nighttime Georgetown traffic, Vicky retrieved her cell phone from her purse and dialed the number Wayne Bankhead had given her.

“Johnny Hobson,” the voice replied.

“Uh, yes,” Vicky stammered. “I’m a friend of Mr. Wayne Bankhead. I believe you are supposed to help me with my travel plans this evening.”

“Yes, Mrs. Vontgomery,” Johnny said. “Tell your driver to take you to the JetCorp FBO at Reagan National.”

“It’s Miss.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s Miss Vontgomery.”

“O.K...Miss Vontgomery. Are you clear on the name of the FBO?”

“FBO?”

“FBO,” Johnny reiterated. “Never mind. Can you hold on a minute? Tim, the brakes are set. Take care of the rest of the checklist, and refuel for six hours.”

“Who’s Tim?”

“He’s my copilot,” Johnny replied. “We’ve just parked at the airport, and should be refueled and ready to go by the time you arrive.”

“I’m not sure my driver can find an FBO,” Vicky confided. “He seems to struggle with our language, if you know what I mean.”

“Well, have faith Miss Vontgomery,” Johnny replied. “These things have a way of working themselves out.”