The flight out to Seattle’s Boeing Field went smoothly, though Susan complained most of the way that she was bored out of her skull. For all of her adult life, she’d surrounded herself with people.
On movie sets with camera operators, soundmen, makeup and costume people, set dressers, directors, and the occasional VIP fans and sometimes more than one boyfriend or husband at a time.
On-location shoots with the same numbers of moviemakers along with sometimes big crowds of extras, plus the onlookers at the fringes.
And although Hammond did enjoy her company in and out of bed, sometimes she was a royal pain in the ass, and he told her so.
An hour or so out of D.C., she had gone into the private sleeping compartment at the back of the plane and took a couple of lines of coke. To calm her nerves, she explained, and when she came forward again and sat down across from Hammond, she was animated but reasonably pleasant.
“I don’t like being cooped up,” she said.
Hammond poured her a glass of Krug. “I’m not going to put up with your bullshit much longer.”
“I know that I can be a super bitch if I think shit’s not going my way. But you’re right about one thing.” She looked out the window.
“What’s that?”
When she turned back, she managed a weak smile. “We haven’t heard from your number two, which means he’s probably failed.”
Hammond had realized the same thing last night. “It’s one of the reasons I decided to back off for a bit.”
“Why don’t you just forget about it altogether?”
“It’s too late. McGarvey won’t let it go.”
“I know. And that’s what worries me the most. We’re not going up against an amateur. This guy is good.”
“It’s me, not we.”
She smiled. “That’s very noble of you, Tom. But not normal. What gives, or is it that worriers want to hide under a porch alone so that they can lick their wounds in private?”
Hammond had thought about the advice Tarasov had given him at the beginning. “If you want the deal, there’ll have to be a quid pro quo. But if you go ahead, don’t change your outward lifestyle. Don’t go into hiding somewhere. Stay out in the open with your circle of friends and lovers in full view. Make it a game if you like, but understand that once you start, you won’t be able to go back. You’ll have to make sure that he dies.”
And it had become a game in his mind before he’d hired Slatkin, a man he was sure would fail.
But now that they were in the middle of it, he was beginning to get a case of cold feet. And yet he had to keep telling himself that a man, even one as good as McGarvey, could not keep up against a constant stream of attackers, each one better than the last. Sooner or later, McGarvey would make a mistake. And in the meantime, the game was getting as interesting as climbing the north face of the Matterhorn without safety ropes except for his wealth, to which he wanted to add something significant.
He forced a smile. “Even I get to be noble every now and then,” he said.
She raised her glass to him and took a drink.
Tarasov’s advice was to continue as normal.
“Anyway, I have a surprise for you once we land.”
She brightened. “Friends to meet us?”
“Something you like even more than that.”
The landing went smoothly, but it wasn’t until they had taxied across the field to Clay Lacy Aviation’s private terminal and Susan spotted the KOMO television remote truck and the cameraman and woman reporter waiting out front that she became her old self—or at least her public self.
“You son of a bitch!” she shouted, laughing and unbuckling.
“I thought you’d like a little publicity,” Hammond said.
“I do, but I look like the Wicked Witch of the West.” She jumped up and headed to the rear. “Give me five.”
Toni Hopkins, the pretty stew, came from the galley. “Looks like your call made a hit,” she said, grinning.
“The lady does like to be in front of the camera. Any camera.”
“Captain Bellows would like to know if we should take the plane back to LA.”
“Yes. And you guys can have a couple of weeks off. We’re taking the boat up to Anchorage.”
“Supposed to be spectacular this time of year, if a little isolated.”
“Something new,” Hammond said, and he didn’t know why.
Susan had done her face, fluffed up her blond hair, which she’d had colored last week, and put on a pair of skintight designer jeans with bangles up the seams, a very low-cut white blouse, and spike heels. “How do I look?” she asked, coming forward.
“Stunning as usual, Ms. Patterson,” Toni said sincerely.
“Give that girl a raise.”
“Consider it done,” Hammond said.
The copilot, Joe Barnes, had opened the forward hatch and stood aside, and Eddie Bellows, the pilot, had turned in his seat.
“Good flight, guys,” Hammond said.
“Thank you, sir,” both men said.
Hammond took Susan’s arm as they descended the steps to the tarmac.
“It would have been better if at least a handful of fans had shown up,” she said.
“A handful would have been tacky, sweetheart, and it was too late to arrange for more.”
They walked across to where the reporter and her cameraman were waiting, and Susan struck one of her hipshot poses.
“Susan Patterson, still as gorgeous as ever,” the reporter said.
“Well, thank you, darlin’,” Susan said. “It’s lovely to be back in Seattle.”
“A little bird told me that you might be here scouting out locations for an upcoming project. Any truth to the rumor?”
“You know I can’t reveal too much about what might or might not be in the works, whoever the naughty boy was who let the cat out of the bag, but let’s just say that Seattle has always been in my heart as one of the most photogenic cities on the entire planet.”
“A beauty in the heart of beauty,” the reporter said, and Susan lapped it up, practically purring.
Mac was due from Canada in two hours, and Mary and Pete were out back having a glass of wine and talking when Otto was coming downstairs.
“A possibly interesting development,” Lou said.
Otto didn’t stop. “The Moscow airport search?”
“No. I thought I might turn up something if I were to search backward to all of Mac’s contacts over the past four years.”
“Yes, go on, please.”
“The business in Cannes after the attack on the AtEighth pencil tower on East Fifty-Seventh Street in Manhattan brought Mac in contact with a number of people.”
“I know this. Please elaborate.”
“Two of the principals who helped Mac gain access to the pencil tower across from the UN are being interviewed on television at this moment.”
“Where?”
“An ABC affiliate in Seattle. You might want to watch the playback.”
“What is your confidence that this may be of some significance?”
“Less than 20 percent.”
Otto pulled up short on the last step. “How much less?”
“Two percent less, so eighteen percent total.”