“Fasten your seat belt, folks. We’re cleared for take-off.”
Cammy sat rigidly in her seat and pulled the belt even tighter across her lap. She gripped the arm rests and took a couple of deep breaths.
General Landsdale glanced over at her from his seat across the aisle of the military jet. “You okay there, kiddo?” he asked in a fatherly tone.
“I just don’t like . . . to fly,” she said, gritting her teeth as the plane began to taxi toward the runway.
“I remember you said that, but this is a good plane, Cam. And the pilots are first-rate.”
“Uh, right,” she whispered. At least she was surrounded by familiar faces, her Q-3 team, the radar and satellite specialists, the general. If the plane crashed, she’d go down with friends. It wouldn’t be like flying on a commercial jet where the only souls sharing a tragedy were total strangers. She shook her head to clear the macabre thoughts.
She tried to refocus and picture the scene in New Delhi where she would see Hunt once again. She conjured up his image, the deep blue eyes, the straight line grin, the whole rugged look. She thought about the way he had touched her face their last morning together. A gentle touch can be as erotic as a strong embrace, she reflected. But she could use either one right about now.
When she had left the White House the day before and returned to her office, it looked like total bedlam. Austin Gage had called General Landsdale who in turn had called an emergency staff meeting to announce their departure for India. Everyone was scrambling to get the equipment ready to be transported on the vans that were already heading their way. Melanie had been briefed about a news blackout and given instructions on what to say if any hint of their trip leaked out.
It was probably good that Cammy had been so busy getting ready that she hadn’t been able to dwell on the idea of flying across the Atlantic. She had tried to intellectualize the situation and tell herself that she was safer flying in the air than driving on the beltway. But then, she got that nervous sensation again as she approached the building labeled Terminal.
Now, as the plane lifted off the runway and made a steep climb, she tried to relax and look out the window. The sun was a frosted bulb in the sky, its glow obscured by a foggy mist. At this steep rate, they would climb through the haze pretty quickly and fly above it all.
A pain shot up her arm. She tried to massage it away. She was wearing a small brace that she had picked up at the drug store. She hoped that by keeping her wrist straight, it might increase the blood flow and cut down on the pain and occasional numbness in her fingers.
When they leveled off, the general asked the team leaders to gather at the back of the plane and go over their plans to set up and synchronize their equipment. Their conference then segued to a discussion of the defense bill and the committee’s sudden show of support. They talked about how Cammy had utilized Q-3 to redirect the drone and nail the terrorist, and how Metcher had then turned into a one man cheerleading squad.
They also had a sober conversation about the tragedy of losing Ben and of Raj’s betrayal. The general said he was so outraged at the man’s actions, he couldn’t imagine working with him again.
Cammy had agreed with him in principle, but made the point that they were going to India to try and prevent a disastrous attack, so they’d all have to put their personal feelings on hold. The general had merely scowled. Then he suggested they all take a break and try and get some rest.
“Cam, what’s that thing on your wrist?” Landsdale asked as they moved back to their seats.
“With all the computer simulations, my arm’s been bothering me a bit. I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” she said, settling back in her window seat.
The general sat down next to her. “When we get back, why don’t you see a doctor about that? You don’t want it to get worse.”
“I know. I’ll try. It’s just that we’ve been so swamped.”
He patted her arm and said reassuringly, “I know. You more than most. But with your latest performances in the lab and then against that damn drone, after this trip you’re going to deserve some time off. And speaking of time off, now that our appropriation is coming through, maybe Nettar Kooner will take some time off himself and stop bugging everyone on the committee to dump us and favor his production line.”
“Kooner was pressuring the Hill?” Cammy asked.
“Of course. Guy’s a real pro when it comes to lobbying. Even though both of our companies will get R&D money this year, he will just get enough to keep his current line in production, not funds for future research. So I wouldn’t put it past him to try and line us out next year, even after we go through our field test. Then again that’s a long way off. We’ve got enough to worry about right now with this trip to India.”
He got up, went back to his seat across the aisle, pulled his briefcase onto his lap, extracted his cell and keyed into the on-board wi-fi system. He then activated a new app with an updated audio feature.
“I’m going to record some notes,” he said. “I’ll try not to talk too loud. Why don’t you try to rest for a while? We’ll be refueling at Shannon in a few hours. Not much you can do between here and there.”
She nodded and leaned her chair back. Maybe she could doze off before they landed in Ireland. At least there wasn’t any turbulence. She closed her eyes and listened to the hum of the engines. She tried to breathe deeply, tried not to think about where she was. But instead of lulling her to sleep, the engine noise permeated her thoughts, and she imagined her father’s plane once more. He was in his cockpit, checking his gauges, getting ready to fire his missile. No. She opened her eyes. Not again. This isn’t his plane. This one doesn’t have a missile. Nothing’s going to explode, and we’re not going to crash. She kept repeating the words over and over, almost, but not quite believing herself this time.
When they landed at Shannon, everyone got off to walk around a huge building filled with shops. She was surprised there were so many of them. Then again, the area catered to international passengers who were all taking a break from long flights and had nothing to do but wander around. She saw stores that were selling watches, perfume, leather goods. Finally, she spotted a small boutique next to a liquor store. She walked inside and saw a rack of silk negligees. Hunt. I’ll see Hunt. Maybe . . .
She pushed a number of hangars aside until she found a lovely French silk gown. It was black with tiny straps and a deep V-neck bordered with fine lace. She checked the size and price tag and was amazed that it was such a bargain. Duty free, she reflected.
She also checked her watch and realized they were scheduled to take off again in about fifteen minutes. She slid the gown off the hangar, took it to the cashier, pulled out her credit card and signed the receipt. She might be a scientist on a mission for the White House, but she was also a woman. And after all that had been going on, she wanted to feel like one.
She got back on board. Once again, they took off and headed east. She was feeling a bit better now that the first leg of the trip was out of the way. She was given a box lunch even though it was her dinner time. She ate the fruit and took a few bites of the sandwich. She wasn’t very hungry. It was hard to eat when she was still so anxious about the flight and what they’d find when they reached their destination.
She found a copy of Aviation Week in the seat pocket and flipped through it. There was an article about Sterling Dynamics’ contract with the Japanese for a line of defensive systems. Sterling. Why do I have to be reminded of those people all the time, she wondered. Even the general had talked about them. He said Nettar Kooner was still on their trail. Of course, he would be. He was their major competitor. And now with the success of Q-3, at least in the lab and against the drone, he’d be working harder than ever to knock them out of the box. She was sure of that.
Nettar Kooner. Nettar Kooner. N. K. N. K. Something about the initials jogged her memory. She pushed her food aside, leaned down and reached for the shoulder bag she had stashed under her seat. She checked the side pocket, pulled out the little slip of paper and read the letters. “Get NK BA FLD TS.”
She’d been pondering that entry for days. The entry on Hunt’s calendar for a day about two weeks away. Suddenly it began to make sense. “Get NK” Get Nettar Kooner. Get Kooner what? BA FLD TS. She stared at the abbreviations. Could BA stand for Bandaq? And if it did, that meant the rest of it stood for Field Test. “Get Nettar Kooner Bandaq’s Field Test.” My God, that’s it. Give that damn CEO the results of my test. Hunt had said he wanted to be there. He’d come and he’d watch everything I did and then feed it to their competitor. Could that possibly be true? Could he be planning to do such a thing? How could he? How could he be so two-faced? How could I be so stupid? He had taken her into his home. He had organized FBI protection for her. Of course he had. He wanted to keep me safe. He wanted to learn how I operated. He wanted Q-3.
Her hands were shaking as she shoved the scrap of paper back into her purse and dropped it on the empty seat next to her. It was the Ken-doll all over again. The charm. The pursuit. The endearing touches. The hopes. Her hopes for some sort of a relationship. She shook her head. At least I didn’t sleep with him. She sat still for a long time and gazed out the window again. Through the darkness, she could imagine the clouds below. Hopes are like clouds, she thought. The more you build them up, the more they turn into great big storms and dump all over you.
After several minutes, she turned toward her boss across the aisle. “Jack. We have to talk!”