by Wolf Wootan
“Yes, sir,” answered Frank Finley of the CIA. “We’ve turned it over to Fred’s people so they can put it through the lab and authenticate it—paper age, et cetera.”
“Good! Let me know as soon as you know anything, Fred,” said the Chief Executive.
“I will, Mr. President, but I have a whole bunch of unanswered questions about how we got that airliner back,” replied the FBI Director.
“So do I,” agreed Secretary of State Washborn. “Like, why did you have me call the Cubans and twist their arms to let that Channel 7 news chopper go into Cuban airspace and film the incident?”
“I didn’t know anything about that!” interjected Admiral Cranberry. “What’s that all about?”
The President did not know exactly how to answer the question. He could not mention Bob and the Blue Phone. He had to dance around the truth if he could, plus, he was not sure what the truth was.
“I thought seeing what was going on through the eyes of an American news crew might be important. Particularly, since none of my august advisors,” he swept his hand, taking them all in, “had a clue as how to get that plane back.”
He thought putting them on the defensive might help his cause.
“Did you get a copy of the tapes from that news crew, Fred?” the President continued.
“Yes, sir. We’ve reviewed it, and it doesn’t give us a clue as to what happened. Who were those two Yankee fans you told us to escort out?” asked Fred Williams.
“What’s this?” queried Elton Crenshaw, the NSA. “Just what is going on here? Carole, do you have a secret Sky Marshal thing going on that you forgot to tell me about?”
“Absolutely not! You know all about my programs. There were no Sky Marshals on that plane!” harrumphed the Attorney General.
“I’ll confirm that,” said the FBI Director. “After we escorted those two to a waiting car as instructed, I checked everyone on that plane against the passenger list. They were all accounted for! Those two were not on the list!”
“The question is, who were they, and how did they get on that airliner?” asked Frank Finley, the CIA’s Director.
The FBI Director grumbled, “We don’t know who they were—a thickset man and a tall, thin red-haired woman—and I don’t think we’re supposed to find out.”
He looked at the President when he said that, then he continued, “We went over the plane with a microscope—so to speak—and found two strange things. On top of the fuselage there was a small hole which had been welded closed, and a two and a half foot diameter piece of fuselage, also welded shut. Don’t ask any questions because I have no answers. We’re talking to the Boeing people to see if they did it. No response yet, but it is the middle of the fucking night.”
“Did you get any info from interviewing our courier, or the passengers and crew?” asked Admiral Cranberry.
“They all said they went unconscious for a short while. The two pilots awoke before anyone else and were told by the redhead to get moving—takeoff and head for Miami. She said she was their guardian angel! We used a very advanced meter to test for various knockout gases inside the plane—nothing. Another strange thing: the highjackers were still unconscious when the plane landed, even though they were gagged and bound. Their weapons were unloaded and stacked outside the cockpit door. Whoever those two were, they were very, very professional!” said Fred Williams.
Before anyone could ask another question, Williams continued, “Another mystery arises when we listen to the audio tapes of conversations between the tower and the airliner. At one point, the plane captain stopped responding to the negotiator in the tower. The Cubans got spooked and were considering firing on the plane. Then a woman started yelling—it turns out to be a dialect of Farsi spoken in Eastern Iran—threatening to blow up the plane if they started firing. The Cubans backed down when they heard her say ‘bomb’ in accented English a few times. The real mystery is: none of the highjackers was a woman. Who made that transmission? And we found no explosives on board.”
There were too many mysteries for Admiral Cranberry.
“Do you know who those people are, and how they got on that airliner, Mr. President?” he asked gruffly.
The President was angry with the Admiral’s audacity, but could not much blame any of them for being mystified. He was, too.
Thank God that Bob insisted on giving me deniability! I can at least answer that question honestly.
“No to both questions, Admiral!” the President replied, emphasizing the fact he was not calling him “Tom” as he usually did. “I don’t have a clue! I think that’s enough for now, I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed now. Don’t forget to brief me on that document, Fred. And, Jim,” he turned to the Secretary of State, “I want a position paper on what could happen in Italy if that document is authentic. See you all this afternoon.”
He got up and left the room.
He knows something that he’s not saying! What’s he hiding? thought the Director of the FBI.
The President had thoughts of his own.
I have to be more careful if I ever use that Blue Phone again! I can’t involve others, it raises too many questions. Most of them, I can’t even answer anyway. Somehow, it’ll just have to be me and Bob the Mysterious. He’s more resourceful than my entire fucking cabinet!
Chapter 22
Klaus Haus, Marco Island, Florida
Saturday, August 11, 2001
4:15 A.M.
They all assembled in the library at Klaus Haus when they returned from Cuba. Shirley and Bruno had arrived shortly after in the Bell 430, which had been standing by for them in Miami. Packy had picked them up at the American Airlines terminal and driven them to the Triple Eye hangar where the chopper was waiting for them.
Mrs. Chamberlain had magically produced a spread of assorted sandwiches. Sara was there even though she should have been in bed. She was excited by the perfect execution of her hostage rescue plan. The first thing they all did was hit the bar and make themselves stiff drinks and toast their success.
Syd was still keyed up, although she had contributed the least to the success of the mission as it pertained to active participation. Smitty’s flying—hovering over the 757 while Carlos did his magic with the laser machine—had been breathtaking. Getting the Cuban soldiers under control had been quite a feat, so she felt she had done her part. She took two large swigs of her vodka and tonic to slake her thirst.
“Any problems on the plane?” Hatch asked Bruno and Shirley.
“None to speak of,” answered Bruno. “I was sweating those pilots waking up in time though.”
“So was I,” giggled Shirley nervously. “I was afraid to give them a second shot of the antidote.”
“It was nervous time when those Cuban soldiers looked like they were going to shoot us up before we could get airborne,” added Bruno.
“You can thank Syd’s quick thinking for defusing that,” said Hatch. “She made like a hysterical Arab and threatened to blow up the plane if they didn’t back off.”
They lifted their glasses in Syd’s direction and she lifted hers in acknowledgment, then she wandered over to check on Sara, who was chatting with Smitty.
“Great plan, Sara! Wish you could have been there to witness it. Smitty did fly that thing like a butterfly,” laughed Syd.
“And he didn’t have to land it on my butt!” Sara laughed back.
“I could have if I had wanted to,” drawled Smitty with a smile, patting Sara on the butt. “You can be on my team anytime, Syd.”
“Thanks, Smitty! I really appreciate that coming from you!” Syd answered. She looked at Sara.
“It’s over now, Sara. You should get to bed. You shouldn’t be up this late at all,” chided Syd, as Smitty wandered off.
“I’m too keyed up! But you’re right. I’ll go as soon as I finish my libation. Speaking of bed, are you going to take Hatch to yours tonight?” she teased.
“That’s my plan!” Syd said with unexpected frankness, tir
ed of dodging the obvious. “That is, if something else doesn’t drag him away! He’s slippery as an eel!”
“Good luck! And … I am jealous!”
Syd wandered back to join Hatch, Shirley, and Bruno, who were still discussing Shirley and Bruno’s exit from the 757.
“Those FBI agents sure wanted to hold us, but the senior guy took charge and escorted us out to Packy’s car. I don’t know how you knew that part of the plan would really work, Hatch,” said Bruno.
“Nothing is ever sure, but the probability was high that it would happen as planned,” shrugged Hatch. “If it hadn’t, I would have got you back some other way.”
At that point, Hatch’s pager began vibrating. He looked at it and raised his eyebrow. Syd sucked in her breath.
Not again! You had better not leave me tonight! I won’t allow it, no matter who that is! thought Syd.
“The President again. I was sure we had finished up on my last call. I had better see what he wants. We don’t need any loose ends on this mission,” he said.
He retrieved his Blue Phone and punched in the correct numbers.
“This is Bob, sir.”
“Thanks again, Bob, for being so prompt. Also, my thanks again for the unbelievable job you did! I just finished a meeting with some of my key advisors, and they all asked a lot of questions I couldn’t answer. Like, how did I know about those two people who got off the plane with the New York Yankee duffel bag—all the passengers were accounted for, you know—and why did I send a news chopper to Cuba? I didn’t tell them about you—whoever you are—or the Blue Phone. They are very suspicious of me, of course. We got our diplomatic pouch. The document I was waiting for may pose a very difficult international problem which I may want to discuss with you at some future date, if you don’t mind. You seem to have unusually potent problem-solving powers,” said the President.
“Call me anytime, sir,” Hatch responded, then he saw Syd’s glare, and added, “next week. I’m taking the rest of the weekend off.”
He smiled at Syd, and her glare softened.
“I may do that, Bob. Goodnight.”
Hatch put his phone away and winked at Syd.
“I think I should get you home, Syd. You must be exhausted,” he said.
“I am. Let me go get out of this flight suit and I’m ready!” she answered, intending the double entendre.
• • •
They arrived at Syd’s place after five in the morning. Hatch had never been inside before so he took a quick tour of the one bedroom condo. It was not much larger than the suite Syd used at Klaus Haus, but it had a fireplace with a gas log in the cozy living room.
“Why don’t you start my gas log while I fix us some hot rum drinks?” asked Syd.
“A fire in the fireplace in Florida in August?”
“The A/C has been on all day and it’s cool in here.”
“Air conditioning and a fire. You are strange, Dr. Z.”
“I thought it would be romantic. Aren’t you the least bit romantic, Mr. Lincoln?” she said from the kitchen.
He thought of a similar place to this in West Berlin, sitting on the couch with Kat, in front of a roaring fire sipping hot rum drinks. But that had been in the middle of a snow storm.
“I’ve been known to be at times. I’ll start the fire and crank up the air conditioning,” he laughed.
He took his briefcase—which contained toiletries and a few clothes, not business papers—and dropped it in her bedroom. He took his trusty Zippo lighter and lit the gas log, adjusting the flame to a lazy flicker. Syd brought two steaming mugs and sat them on cork coasters on the coffee table in front of the fire.
Déjà vu all over again! thought Hatch. Please forgive me, Kat, but I am going to get on with my life. Wish me luck!
Syd picked up the remote to her CD player and pointed it at her entertainment center, causing soft music to fill the room. It was a year-old CD of Andrea Bocelli—Romanza—one of her favorites. They both sat down on the couch, clinked mugs, and sipped their hot buttered rums.
“Before we do anything else, would you turn off your damned Blue Phone and pager, please? I don’t want you to have any excuses to leave me for at least the next 24 hours. Can you do that for me?” she asked with imploring eyes.
“For you, anything,” he replied as he took his pager and phone and put them on the coffee table. “They’re now turned off.”
“Thank you,” she said, opening a drawer in the coffee table and putting them in it. “Out of sight, out of mind. Now, where were we?”
She took off her boots and stockings for the second time that night, then stood and stripped to her underwear, putting her clothes over the back of the couch.
“Those aren’t needed in front of this fire. Feel free to get comfortable.”
She then got up and padded barefoot to the bedroom and returned with some hangers, handed some to Hatch, then hung up her skirt and blouse. He stripped down to his blue boxer shorts and hung his clothes on the hangers. She took them all to the bedroom and put them in her closet. He watched her supple body, both going and coming back.
“I know you must be exhausted after the day’s events—a very long day at that—but I’m still running on adrenalin. If you’re really giving me 24 hours, we can let this play out any way you wish. We don’t have to rush anything,” she stated.
“Have I told you what an amazing woman you are, Syd? You are simply incredible! Come sit next to me, please,” he answered.
She sat on his left and he put his arm around her. He picked up his drink and sipped it, enjoying the closeness of her, the fire, and the ambiance. She sipped hers and stared at the fire, feeling the terrible tension slowly leave her body.
“I’m nearly afraid to enjoy this,” she said. “I keep thinking something will happen to ruin it for us.”
“I won’t let that happen. Not this time. Look at me.”
She turned her face toward him and he gently kissed her lips, then smiled at her. She smiled back, wistfully.
“I wish I could put your damned GS-V in that drawer with your phone! It’s going to take you away from me again!” she exclaimed, looking into his eyes.
“And it brings me back, too,” he answered. “Forget that for now. I promised you the weekend and that’s what you’ll—we’ll—have.”
“I need a shower!” she said abruptly.
“Oh, no! Not that game again!” he moaned.
“No, no games! I thought you could join me, and we could become acquainted with each other’s bodies. Wouldn’t you like to rub soap all over me?” she replied coyly.
“You do come up with some good ideas now and then! I do need a shower. Lead on, McZ,” he said enthusiastically.
“Bring our drinks to the bathroom and I’ll get some towels.”
He picked up their drinks and followed her to the bathroom. As he sat them down on the vanity counter, she got two large bath sheets out of a cabinet and ran them through a chrome ring outside the shower door. She opened the frosted glass door and turned on the water.
“I’ll show you mine, if you’ll show me yours,” she said, mimicking a small girl.
“Deal,” he said, dropping his shorts.
She looked at his crotch as she dropped her bra to the floor and stepped out of her black bikini panties, exposing her full naked body to him for the first time.
“You’re really going to let me lather that entire gorgeous body? That may be more than this old man’s heart can stand!”
“Only if you let me do the same to you! The water is ready. Let’s get in there and get started!”
It was a large shower with a built-in, tile-covered bench. They entered the steaming spray of water and got wet. She took a bar of soap and handed it to him.
“You can do me first. Don’t miss any spots!” she giggled.
He took the bar of soap and lathered up her back, then down over her firm butt. He turned her around and slowly soaped her breasts, lingering over the areolas and nipples,
worked his way down her stomach, then reached her pubic area. While he was doing this, Syd looked into his eyes longingly.
Is this really happening to me? Hatch Lincoln, the richest, most exciting person in the world in my shower naked, feeling every part of my body? Nothing this good has ever happened to Sydney Steppe before! If it’s a dream, I hope I don’t wake up!
She was stirred from her reverie when he said, “Sit on the bench and I’ll get your long, beautiful legs, and your feet.”
She obeyed and he knelt before her and began on her legs; however, he had a hard time concentrating on them because her parted legs exposed her mons venus to him in all its glory. When he finished her feet, she stood up and let the water wash the soap from her body.
“My turn. Hand me the soap, please,” she said huskily.
She repeated the process on him and finally reached his private area. He was now very erect as she lathered him for awhile down there. When he sat on the bench to have his legs done, it stood tall right in front of her face. When she finished, he stood and washed the soap off, then embraced and kissed her frantically. She felt his erection against her stomach.
“I assume we are going to do it finally,” he rasped.
“God, we’d better! I can’t wait any longer! I have no intention of wasting this time getting us ready! I can tell you’re ready!”
“Do you want to do it in the shower?” he asked hoarsely.
“I’ve never done that! Sounds delicious! Wherever you want! I’m yours tonight! Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
She left the shower and returned in a couple of minutes.
“Now we’re safe,” she whispered.
He brought her under the water spray with him and they again locked in an embrace, tongues darting. This time she reached down and guided him into her. He took hold of her firm butt and lifted her to her tiptoes and thrust into her deeply. She thought she might die from the pleasure.
• • •
When Syd awoke, she checked the digital clock on her bedside table: it was 12:36 P.M. They were in the spoon position and Hatch’s arm was over her body, his hand on her left breast. She lay there for a moment, and if she were a cat, she would have purred. She slowly removed his arm and padded to the bathroom. When she returned, Hatch was still on his side, but was awake and watching her come toward him, her breasts bouncing slightly as she walked.