Edge of Tomorrow

by Wolf Wootan

  “I guess your time in the spotlight has arrived. Shall we go on down?” asked Hatch, rising. “And remember, don’t try and drag me into a lot of pictures.”

  “I know. The reclusive and evasive Mr. Lincoln.”

  She removed her feet from the desk and slipped into her expensive shoes. They had been died to match her suit. She stood and smoothed her skirt and tucked her blouse in until it was smooth over her chest. She retrieved her suit coat from the coat tree. Hatch helped her into it, then she turned to face him.

  “How do I look?”

  “Delicious.”

  She punched him lightly on the shoulder and laughed, “I meant CEOish.”

  “That, too. A regular iron ass.”

  They went to the private elevator and Hatch pressed the Down button. The door opened immediately and they stepped into the small car.

  “I’ll be leaving right after this soirée, Jane. First stop Florida,” Hatch said as the car started its descent.

  “Tell Sara that I’ll stay out of her business, whatever it is. I’m jealous that she gets more of your attention than I do. Is she under the No-fuck Rule, too?” chortled Jane.

  “Of course. At least I follow my rules,” he laughed. “Where are you going for your birthday weekend?”

  “I have nothing planned. Not much time to go anywhere. I have to be in the office early Monday morning to deal with my new crew,” she groaned.

  “Start thinking like a CEO now, not Monday. Grab the GS-IV and go somewhere and relax for the weekend. Get a baby sitter and take Jeremy somewhere for a romantic getaway. Show him how sexy his 40-year old wife can be,” he laughed.

  “Can I do that? There’s all the paperwork …”

  “What paperwork? You control the GS-IV now. Just call Flight Operations and tell them what you want to do. You can be on the beach in Maui in the morning. Or if you don’t want so much flying time, you can try Miami, San Diego, the Caribbean.”

  “It still needs justification of some sort, doesn’t it? For tax reasons?”

  “As CEO, you’re required to be on call—on the job—24/7. Anything you do is during your working hours. Besides, there’s a section in the Policy Manual—for tax reasons—that states that relaxation is a required and legitimate company business for the CEO. Also, there’s a Triple Eye office close to any place you might go. We’ve had no trouble with the IRS over this. We pay too much in taxes as it is.”

  “Shit! I can’t believe this! It all hasn’t sunk in yet!” she glowed. “I might do that! I’ll plan something right after the party. Maybe drop the kids off in Chicago with my parents first. They’re always complaining they don’t get to see their grandkids enough.”

  “Now you’re cooking! Take a big breath. It’s time to make your entrance, CEO Forbeson.”

  • • •

  At 7:01 P.M., Hatch boarded a company helicopter on the roof of the building and was whisked to the Richmond International Airport where his personal Gulf Stream V was waiting for him. Hatch had stepped down as CEO of Lincoln Computers and Lincoln Communications some time ago. He could now apply his full concentration to the daily operation of Lincoln Research and Development, a place where his heart had been for some time. Version five of his super-stealth helicopter—Shadow-5—was undergoing operational testing at the Florida compound, and he was anxious to see it. He no longer received any excitement from the mundane administrative duties of running one of the top companies in the world. Jane would find great excitement in the job and bring new enthusiasm to it. He could now concentrate on many more interesting things. Very interesting things.

  Chapter 10

  Marco Island, Florida

  Wednesday, August 1, 2001

  12:15 P.M.

  Hatch Lincoln's table on the patio deck at The Blue Grotto restaurant was at the railing and had an unrestricted view of the water. This was his favorite restaurant in Marco Island, Florida, and he tried to come here at least once every time he visited the Triple Eye office in this area.

  It was a comfortable place which catered to both tourists and locals, many of whom were retirees; others were “snowbirds” who came down for the winter months. The tables were covered with sea blue linen table cloths, and the table setting included cut crystal water and wine glasses. A vase in the center of the table contained real flowers. The decor was more New England sea coast than Hawaii, the latter being preferred by many of the restaurants in the area. His wine glass was still half full of a good White Zinfandel and he was enjoying a favorite here, crab cakes with cole slaw and fries. The fries were always cooked at the time of the order, so they were always crisp and fresh, not soggy and greasy.

  He enjoyed another sip of his wine and looked over the other customers for the umpteenth time. He liked people-watching. It was a habit left over from his spy days, a time when he had to keep looking for people watching him. Or obviously not watching him. Also, thinking back to his unabashed ogling of Jane Forbeson last Friday, he knew it was time to release his growing sexual tension. Since Kat Klaus’s death, he had never found a new, lasting relationship with a woman, so he seemed to drift from one sexual liaison to another—terminating it if it started to get serious. He normally preferred to use one of his many aliases when looking for a quick sexual tryst, because he found that Van Lincoln’s bank balance skewed how women viewed the relationship. Unfortunately, he was rather well known as Van Lincoln here, so his chances of picking up a beautiful woman for a short relationship were not good. It was always fun looking, however.

  He glanced from person to person, stopping for a second to checkout the body of a short blonde woman. Her breasts were way too large for her stature. He wondered how she could stand up without falling over. He moved on, checking out and rejecting several others when he saw the waiter ushering a tall, black-haired woman to a table at the railing only two tables from his.

  Now, there’s a knockout! Her body is perfect. And that face! Those legs! She is gorgeous! She can’t be a model, her tits are too big, but she could be any magazine’s centerfold!

  She had long black hair tied back in a pony tail that reached below her shoulders, and was wearing tan shorts, a light blue, scoop-neck tee shirt that was tucked in—emphasizing her breasts— and tan strapped-on sandals. She sat down and took the menu from the waiter, who seemed to know her, and started looking at it.

  I haven’t seen her here before. But I haven’t been here for a while. Maybe she is a tourist. Although, the waiter treated her more like a regular. Hmm. Dare I pursue this, or just look and suffer?

  He took another bite of his crab cakes, chewed for a moment, then had a sip of wine. He looked out at the water for awhile, watching small white and multicolored sails in the distance. Then he continued his scan of the customers. There was a couple, both white-haired, sitting next to the black-haired woman. They were drinking martinis—straight up, one with onions, the other with olives—and smoking filtered cigarettes. It reminded him of his parents and their peers. He remembered when he used to come home from college, and they would throw a party for him. Everyone would sit around and drink martinis and smoke. Today’s generation had replaced straight-up martinis with gin or vodka on the rocks. This reverie made him want a cigarette very badly. He wondered if quitting was worse than going ahead and smoking. His eyes moved on, and then he froze on two men sitting at the far end of the deck. They seemed to be sneaking furtive glances at the dark-haired beauty he had been watching. They also seemed out of place here at lunch time. They were dressed in dark suits and had dark complexions. All the other diners were dressed casually in light, bright summer clothes. Although most of the customers had tanned skins, none had the facial features of those two. He thought they easily could be Arabic. The one on the left looked at her again, then leaned across the table and spoke to his companion. They both seemed nervous, squirming a lot in their seats.

  Trying to get up enough nerve to make a move on the pretty one? Or something else? I’ve never seen any Arabs around this
part of Florida before. And why the suits? They have to be sweating their balls off in this heat. Hardly anyone wears suits and ties here at lunch time. And if they do, they are light-colored linen suits. Hell, I’ve been in the antiterrorist business too long. I’m getting paranoid.

  The waiter delivered a glass of wine to the “gorgeous one,” as he was now calling her in his mind. She smiled a beaming smile, showing beautiful white teeth, and thanked the waiter. Hatch caught the waiter’s eye and pointed at his wine glass. The waiter waved and nodded his head, and went back toward the bar. Hatch had decided to find out what he could about the beautiful lady. His horniness was getting in the way of his good sense.

  The waiter came to his table with a fresh glass of wine balanced on a tray. Hatch drained the last of his previous glass and put it aside. The waiter put the new glass in front of Hatch and picked up the empty and put it on his tray.

  “Can I do anything else for you, Mr. Lincoln?” asked the waiter with a trace of a Latino accent. “More sauce for your crab cakes?”

  “No, Carlos, thank you. Oh, one thing. Is that dark-haired beauty you just served a regular?”

  “Sort of, sir. She’s been coming here off and on for at least three months. I think she moved to this area about then.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “Sir, there is such a thing as waiter-customer confidentiality!” he said with mock indignity.

  “Could that confidentiality be broached by a fifty-dollar tip?” Lincoln laughed.

  “Really, sir! Do you think my integrity can be bought?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re right. Her name is Sydney Steppe,” he smiled. Then he added, “Ms., if you’re wondering. According to her credit card, she spells Steppe differently.”

  He spelled it for Hatch.

  “Thanks, Carlos. Your lack of integrity has earned you a big tip!” Hatch chuckled, happy that she was apparently not married.

  Carlos the waiter began to walk away, then heard Hatch say, “Carlos, one more thing. What do you know about those two men in the dark suits over there near the palm tree?”

  Carlos did not look at the men, but looked only at Hatch as he said, “Nothing, sir. I’ve never seen them before. And they are very strange. Wearing hot suits in this weather and drinking only coffee. They haven’t ordered anything to eat yet, either.”

  “Have they said anything to you? For example, have they asked anything about Ms. Steppe? As I did?”

  “No, sir. Only ordered coffee. They have heavy accents—not a Latino one. Their English is very poor.”

  “Thanks, Carlos.”

  As Carlos ambled over to another table to check on a customer, Hatch retrieved his Blue Phone and called his Florida office, which was not too far from the restaurant. When the call was answered by the receptionist, he asked for Sara Smith.

  “Sara, this is Hatch. I’m having lunch at The Blue Grotto …”

  “Alone?” she interrupted.

  “Yes, alone! My meeting ran later than expected. However, there is a gorgeous lady sitting not far away. Maybe I’ll see if I can pick her up! Bring her home to Mother Sara to be interrogated!”

  He laughed, and so did Sara.

  “Look, Sara. This gorgeous lady has two swarthy guys eyeballing her. They look Middle-eastern to me and Carlos says they talk with a heavy accent. They’re wearing hot, black suits. It doesn’t compute. Can you check with the Terrorist Desk in Virginia and see if we have a record of any of our Hot List creeps coming into Florida? I’ve got one of those feelings about these guys. Maybe you should send someone over here with a telephoto digital camera so we can get a picture of these guys to compare against our data base. Also, run a check on the woman. Her name is Sydney Steppe.” He spelled it for her.

  “You are a fast worker. Got her name that fast? OK, Hatch. That ‘feeling’ of yours is correct more times than not. I’ll get Danny on the way over there with his camera, then I’ll call the Virginia office,” Sara replied.

  “Thanks, Sara. Call me, one way or another. Tell Danny these guys will be easy to spot. They are presently east of my table and are wearing dark suits.”

  “Wilco,” she said and hung up.

  Hatch put his sunglasses on so he could watch the two more easily without being noticed. Carlos delivered lunch and another glass of wine to the lady and she began to eat. It appeared to be a pasta dish from where Hatch was seated. The two men kept glancing her way. Occasionally, they would glance over their shoulders, nervously.

  Even if they are not terrorists, there is something fishy going on here. They are stalking that woman, I think. After Danny gets here and gets their pictures, I’ll see what I should do about this. There is nothing the police can do, or would do, based on my suspicions. I’ll just wait and see what, if anything, develops.

  He noticed that the woman had finished her lunch and had signaled Carlos for another glass of wine. Carlos acknowledged her order and headed back to the bar. She then arose, picked up her purse, and strode across the deck in the direction of the restrooms, which were around a corner and out of sight of Hatch’s table. Hatch loved the way she carried herself!

  Shit! he thought. No sign of Danny yet. I can’t keep her in sight and still watch the two creeps. Do I follow her or watch them?

  That question was answered immediately as the two men got up and followed the Steppe woman toward the restrooms. As they passed his position, Hatch got up and followed, but not too closely. Ms. Steppe disappeared around the corner, and the men quickened their pace. So did Hatch. The pair disappeared around the corner about ten steps ahead of Hatch. About eight steps later, before he had rounded the corner, he heard a woman’s voice yell out.

  “Hey! What are you doing, assholes!”

  Hatch dashed around the corner and saw that each man had grasped one of her arms, and they were trying to drag her through an archway that led to the employees’ parking lot. A white-haired woman came out of the Ladies’ Room and screamed when she saw the woman being assaulted.

  The two men looked up at the screaming woman, startled. With a quickness and smoothness that surprised Hatch, and certainly her assailants, Ms. Steppe stomped the instep of the man on her left, which caused him to loosen the hold on her left arm. She whirled to her right and sent her left knee into the crotch of the man holding her right arm. He doubled up in pain and let go of her. Her back was to the man whose instep she had crushed, and she did not see him draw a six-inch dirk from a scabbard on his left hip. She was too busy delivering a knee to the face of the bent over man. She then chopped his right shoulder, breaking his collar bone, and he fell to the ground. When her knee had smashed his nose, blood spurted everywhere. She had heard him scream in Farsi, “Kill her now, Ali!”

  When she saw the blood, the white-haired lady screamed again.

  The man called Ali grabbed a fistful of Ms. Steppe’s long, black ponytail and yanked her head back, then moved the knife toward her exposed throat. By now, Hatch was there. He put his left hand on the back of Ali’s head, grabbed his chin with his right, gave a sharp jerk, and Ali’s neck snapped like a match stick. Ali released his hold on her hair and dropped the knife as he fell to the ground. Sydney Steppe spun her head toward Hatch to see what had saved her from getting her throat slit. She saw Hatch step back as the limp body dropped to the ground like a sack of grain.

  While she stared in amazement at Hatch and the dead Ali, the bleeding man on the ground picked up the knife with his left hand and lunged upward at her.

  “Look out!” Hatch yelled. “The knife!”

  She quickly spun back around, grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the knife with her left hand and pushed it to her left, grabbed his left elbow with her right hand and twisted the arm in one powerful, smooth motion. This maneuver sent the point of the knife, not into her as intended, but into the man’s right chest. He screamed as it went into his body up to the hilt. Blood came out of his mouth as he crumpled to his knees, then fell to the ground on
his face. She took her toe and rolled him over. Red foam was bubbling out of his mouth.

  “Asshole!” she growled furiously as she stomped his crotch.

  Hatch knelt down and felt his throat for a pulse. There was a very weak one, but he knew this man would not live much longer. The internal wounds were bleeding him out rapidly.

  Carlos had run to the scene as soon as he heard the woman scream, and had seen most of the incident.

  “What’s happening, Mr. Lincoln?” he gasped.

  “Call 911, Carlos. Cops and paramedics, and an ambulance! Now!” Hatch said calmly, but firmly, as if giving orders in the field was nothing unusual for him. Carlos scurried away to do his bidding.

  Hatch glanced at Sydney Steppe. She seemed more in a rage than scared to death as most women would have been. But he had seen her demonstrate that she was far from an ordinary woman.

  He asked her, "Are you all right?"

  “Thanks to you I am. Mr. Lincoln? Is that what Carlos called you? I owe you my life! I can't believe I let those two camel drivers get the drop on me like that. I'm usually not that careless.”

  “Do you know who they are? Are you implying you know they’re Arabs?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t know them. I’ve never seen them before. I know they are Arabic because this one,” she pointed to the one with the knife in his chest, “yelled in Farsi to the other one to kill me,” she answered. “Based on his accent, I would say they were Iranians.”

  Hatch saw a flash in her dark-brown eyes that could be anger, or something else. He wasn’t sure what it meant. She was obviously not a random target. She was highly trained in hand-to-hand combat and understood Farsi well enough to discern accents. He had never seen that maneuver she had used to turn that man’s knife back into his chest, and he thought he knew most useful defensive techniques in existence.

  “Shit! I got that bastard’s blood all over my shirt! And it’s one of my favorites!” she exclaimed, looking down at her breasts, which were splattered with blood.