Edge of Tomorrow

by Wolf Wootan

  “Now who’s laying on the shit?” laughed Syd.

  “Touché! I’ll see you for lunch?”

  “Yes. Can I bring Sara Smith with me? Whatever I do, I’m going to need her.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  With that, he hung up and left Syd to figure out how to get the GS-V scheduled. She found the number easily by using the search feature on her Blue Phone. She talked to the captain—Roger Farnsworth—and Syd agreed to be at the Miami Airport at 10:30 A.M.

  “Let’s pack our overnight bags, Sara. We’re having lunch with the mysterious Marty Winsocki. I’m sure we won’t get back tonight,” announced Syd.

  “Wow! You move fast, Syd! I wonder what he’s like.”

  “We’ll soon know. Be a dear, Mrs. C., and tell the chopper pilot we need to be in Miami by 10:30. Sara and I have to pack! It’s a good thing I left some of my clothes here. Also, could you give my regrets to General and Mrs. Lincoln, and see that they’re settled in? You probably know them better than I do anyway.”

  “The chopper is in Miami, dear, but I’ll have the pilot zip over here and get you. The Lincolns are still at the hospital. I’ll take care of everything, dear. Don’t you worry.”

  • • •

  The chopper settled down on the tarmac near the GS-V. Sara and Syd deplaned and walked toward the GS-V, whose crew stood near the aircraft’s entry door. The three pilots were dressed in their standard blue suits with the Triple Eye logo on the left shoulders and gold wings over their left coat pockets. Janet was dressed similarly, except she wore a short blue skirt instead of trousers. Janet ran toward Syd and Sara, then hugged both of them.

  “We’re all so devastated, Syd!” Janet exclaimed, nearly in tears. “How are you guys holding up?”

  “Not well, Janet, but at least the operation went smoothly,” replied Syd, and she gave them a short update.

  Janet said, “Let me introduce you to today’s crew. This is Senior Pilot Roger Farnsworth—whom you know, of course—and these two rascals are Lloyd Stanford and Juan Montana.”

  Farnsworth touched the bill of his cap and said, “We’re at your service, Ms. Steppe. We need to be doing something.”

  “None of this ‘Ms. Steppe’ crap, guys. Please call me Syd. I really appreciate this. I hope I’m not wasting everyone’s time with this trip, but I have to keep doing something to find the person who did this to Hatch!”

  “We’ll help anyway we can, Syd,” said Farnsworth. “We’ll fly you anywhere in the world, if necessary. Let’s get on board and head north. Our flight plan has been filed and she’s fueled and ready to go!”

  • • •

  At Richmond Airport, Farnsworth taxied the GS-V to the Triple Eye hangar area and shut down the engines. A black limo was parked about twenty yards away. The driver—a tall, thin man—walked quickly toward them and introduced himself as they deplaned.

  “Good afternoon, ladies. My name is Jensen. Let me take your bags, please. Mr. Winsocki’s car is over there.”

  “We’ll be right there, Jensen. I need to talk to the crew,” said Syd.

  She turned and thanked the crew, who had deplaned after them.

  “I don’t know our schedule, guys. Is it too much to ask for you to be ready to takeoff on short notice? I might get news about Hatch and have to get back to Miami quickly.”

  “No problem, Syd. We’ll refuel and hang out close by. Just page me,” answered Farnsworth.

  “Thanks, Roger,” replied Syd.

  Syd and Sara walked toward the black limo and Sara said, “Even Hatch doesn’t have a fucking private limo and driver! He always rents them as needed.”

  “I guess Winsocki has a permanent address. Hatch doesn’t. None I know of, anyway. He travels too much! Shit! I wish we were traveling somewhere together right now! I’ll never complain about his schedule again!”

  • • •

  On paper, Lincoln Industries leased half of the third floor of the Triple Eye Headquarters building outside Langley. In the northeast corner, a large room with a separate reception area housed Martin Winsocki’s office complex. The rest of the space was divided into smaller office complexes housing Winsocki’s small cadre of worker bees and advisors: CPAs, real estate brokers, stock and securities analysts, investment counselors, et cetera. Even though Hatch’s main lawyers—Griswold, Henry, and Nance—were housed in New York, Winsocki kept three tax lawyers onsite. Most people would not believe that a multibillion dollar empire was managed from these somewhat modest—and minimal—facilities.

  At 1:33 P.M., Jensen parked the limo in the back of the building and opened the rear door for Sara and Syd. He took them to a door and opened it with a key.

  “This is Mr. Winsocki’s private entrance to his private elevator,” explained Jensen. “I’ll keep your bags in the car until later.”

  They entered a small room and Jensen pushed the “UP” button next to a small elevator door. When it opened, they stepped in and pressed the “3” button. The elevator arrived at the third floor and Sara and Syd stepped out into a room similar to a hotel room: bed, couch, chairs, coffee table, small refrigerator, and wet bar. A bathroom was on the north side of the room.

  “This is Mr. Winsocki’s home away from home. His office is through this door,” said Jensen as he opened the door. “He’s expecting you, ladies.”

  Syd and Sara entered the room from which the far-flung Lincoln empire was managed.

  • • •

  Martin Winsocki was a handsome man: 6 feet tall, 176 pounds, 56 years old, thinning sandy hair combed straight back, sparkling blue eyes, and a clean-shaven Clark Kent jaw. He had never married—his hectic life style had never allowed much time for such a commitment—but he was a notorious lady’s man. Sara knew this from in-house rumors, and various tabloid articles, and though she had seen his picture in the media many times, she was unprepared for the impression he made in person. The sight of him as he rose from his desk chair to greet them—great smile, white, perfect teeth—took her breath away. She wondered immediately if she could become one of his conquests! Captain Charles Rossini of the Royal Guard faded from her memory.

  The dashing Martin Winsocki was born in Framingham, Massachusetts—just outside Boston—in April 1945. By the age of 25, he had a law degree and MBA from Harvard, both summa cum laude. He had offers from several prestigious law firms, but his fascination with numbers—and money—led him to Wall Street, where he had immediate success in picking some long shot stocks and he parlayed a few thousand dollars into $100,000 in a short period of time. By 1975, only five years later, he was a multimillionaire. He founded The Winsocki Company, an investment management firm, and over the next few years his personal worth soared.

  In 1992, the international wheeler-dealer tired of the game, and when offered the position of financial and economic advisor to President Clinton, he sold his company—to solve a conflict of interest, he told himself—and joined the administration. His net worth at that time was in excess of $800,000,000.

  Even though he enjoyed the new spotlight he was in as a personal presidential advisor, he found the pressure of politics much more stressful—and more unpredictable—than managing money. Subsequently, he had a heart attack in June 1995 at the age of 50. The doctors were able to save him, and after triple bypass surgery, he essentially retired from public life, gave up smoking, and began a regimen of diet and exercise. After a year of this, he lost 30 pounds, and was in better health than he had been in years—and was bored senseless. That was why he called Van Lincoln in 1996 and offered his services as an investment counselor. Hatch jumped at the chance and hired him on the spot. He knew Winsocki well, having used The Winsocki Company in the late eighties and early nineties to manage many of Lincoln Industries’ investments. He had also met him when he was with the Clinton administration.

  In 1997, the president of Lincoln Industries was killed in a skiing accident, and Hatch asked Martin Winsocki to take over the reins for him.

  Hatch had
said, “It doesn’t have to be a high stress kind of thing, Marty. Just watch the store for me. Play it safe on investments. As you know, I have enough money invested so that a low, safe return-on-investment is still a big number!”

  “OK, Hatch, I’ll give it a try. If I feel I can’t give you what you need, I’ll resign,” Winsocki had replied.

  The rest, as they say, was history. Martin Winsocki was now Mr. Lincoln Industries to most observers of the corporate world. Just the way the reclusive Van Lincoln liked it.

  • • •

  Syd and Sara shook hands with Marty as Jensen announced, “Ms. Steppe and Ms. Smith, sir, as you requested.”

  Marty approached them, gave them a head-to-toe look over, and took one of their hands in each of his.

  “What a pleasure to meet you two, finally! I can’t believe I haven’t met you, Sara, after all this time,” beamed Marty. An electric shock seemed to pass from his hand through Sara’s body.

  Wow! What a fucking hunk! I wonder if he comes under the ‘No Fuck Policy?’ I want to bed this guy! Actually, he’s not in my chain of command. I report directly to Hatch. Hmm.

  “Please take a seat, ladies,” he said, indicating a leather couch the color of peanut butter.

  They both sat. They were both dressed in stylish pant suits—Syd had insisted on proper clothing for this meeting. Syd’s was lime green with a white silk blouse, and Sara’s was light gray with a pink silk blouse. Sara wished she had worn a skirt so she could work some magic with her legs. She unbuttoned her suit coat and let it fall away from her breasts.

  There was a heavy oak coffee table in front of the couch and two chairs on the opposite side. They matched the couch in covering and comfort. Marty lowered himself into one. He was dressed in an Italian suit of light tan wool and an expensive white shirt—with cuff links—and a tie with alternating stripes of light and dark brown. The ring finger of his right hand sported a heavy gold ring with a blue stone in it.

  Marty said, “Now, I wasn’t sure what you ladies wanted to do about lunch. I have a reservation at a nice restaurant nearby, or we can dine in my private dining room. The menu is not as extensive as a restaurant, but it is ample for my simple needs. What’s your pleasure?”

  Syd answered, “Whatever suits your schedule best, Marty. I hate to be intruding as it is.”

  “Don’t be silly, Syd. Nothing I have to do is as important as meeting with you two. By the way, congratulations on your engagement. I’ve been remiss in not saying so until now. I just got an update on Hatch a few minutes ago. Everything is proceeding as expected. No glitches in his vitals.”

  “Thanks, Marty. I was going to check on him. Let’s use your dining room. Time is short,” replied Syd tersely.

  Marty thought, This is a take charge woman! I wonder what her background is. Hatch didn’t tell me much about her, only that she is a college professor. And he forbade me from running a background check on her! She’s a stunner, and so is that Sara! I’ve seen her ID picture and read her dossier, but I never knew she had such a body to go with that gorgeous face! I wonder if …?

  He was jolted from his reverie when Syd repeated, “Your dining room will be fine, Marty.”

  “Of course. This way please.”

  They arose and he led them through a door into a room that was 12 feet by 12 feet and had two round tables in it. One had a white linen table cloth on it and had three place settings. A small vase in the center of the table held fresh flowers. A waiter wearing a white linen jacket stood next to the table. Marty had called him and asked him to come in even though it was Sunday. He would be paid well.

  “We’ll be dining here, Stan,” said Marty. “Would you inform Jensen so he can cancel my reservation at the restaurant?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be back in a moment to take your orders,” said Stan as he exited through another door.

  A blackboard on an easel stood in one corner and had a short list of menu items written on it in chalk. The three of them sat down at the table. Stan returned and took their drink orders, and all three requested White Zinfandel. Stan returned with their wine and they all ordered the sole with new potatoes and steamed asparagus.

  “Remember, Stan, no sauce on mine,” said Marty.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “No sauce?” asked Sara. “That’s the best part.”

  “Ever since my heart attack, I’ve had to forgo anything that tastes good!” he chuckled. “At least, I let myself enjoy a little wine now and then. The two beauties at my table are a good excuse!”

  Syd sipped her wine and remarked, “Heart attack? I guess I don’t know anything about you, Marty. I suppose you know all about me and Sara, though.”

  “All I know about you, Syd, is that you are engaged to my boss, that you are in possession of his Power of Attorney, and that you are a college professor. I know a little more about Sara, since I have read her company dossier. I know she was a Marine Corps major and is currently manager of the training and operation of some Hostage Rescue Teams. However, most of what those teams actually do is missing in her file. That is by design, Hatch told me, so I can truthfully say—if called upon at an inquiry—that I have no knowledge of their activities. So, I guess, you are both ladies of mystery—and both very beautiful, I might add.”

  Sara blushed, but Syd ignored his flattery and continued, “No dossier on me, Marty? I thought you would have done a complete background check on me by now—especially since Hatch gave the mystery woman his Power of Attorney.”

  “Actually, I suggested that, but Hatch said no,” he replied with an arched eyebrow, wondering how she would react to his statement.

  “We’re on the same page on that, Marty. I suggested a strong prenup to Hatch, but he gave me the Power of Attorney instead. Now that things are like they are, I’m glad I have it, because it allows me to help the man I love. Hatch knows my entire background—as does Sara and several others in LRD. I would be glad to give you a quick synopsis,” replied Syd.

  “That’s not necessary, Syd,” said Marty.

  “It might help you prepare a dossier on me, which is what I want you to do. Check everything. I want you to be able to trust me. I’m sure all the company CEOs are shaking in their boots.”

  “Hatch asked me not to do a check, and I won’t. It isn’t necessary for me to trust you, you know,” replied Marty seriously.

  “It’s important to me, Marty!” exclaimed Syd.

  Sara interjected, “Are you afraid you’ll lose your job?”

  Marty laughed heartily. “Heavens no! You gals don’t really know me at all, do you?”

  Sara replied, “I’ve seen you on TV, and in magazines and newspapers. You’re a big mogul. What I meant, though, was you don’t want to disobey one of Hatch’s orders, even if Syd wants you to.”

  Marty sipped his wine, stroked his chin, then said, “I do want to know more about you, Syd—and you, too, Sara.”

  His blue eyes bore into Sara’s and she tingled all over.

  He continued, “Maybe a short summary of your background would be in order, but first let me tell you a couple of things about me, so you’ll understand where I’m coming from. Now, that sounds egotistical, doesn’t it?” He laughed. “First, I’m not afraid of being fired. I do not need a job. I do like this one, however. When I joined Hatch, I was already very close to being a billionaire. Yes, that’s with a ‘B.’ Now, of course, I am. After my heart attack in 1996, I retired, but after a year, I was climbing the walls. I needed to be doing something. Hatch rescued me, and now I’m a high-priced errand boy, but best of all, I am the public image of Lincoln Industries. As you might have noticed, Sara, from the number of times you’ve seen me in the media, I thrive on being in the spot light—Hatch does not. We’re a perfect match. Second, except for Hatch, I know the most about the details of all of Hatch’s holdings—secrets that no one else knows. Or, I should say, I know the road map to the places and people where the secrets are. I don’t think Hatch wants to break in a new man—
person. Now, Syd, tell me your deep, dark secrets, if you wish.”

  Syd now looked into Marty’s blue eyes for a few seconds, then said, “Marty, first, let me apologize. I understand you a little better now, and you are certainly no errand boy! You hold Hatch’s empire together so he can focus on things he prefers—like LRD. I can see now that I would never have met him if it wasn’t for you!”

  “That’s one way of looking at it,” he laughed.

  Syd continued, “Now, here are some things about me …”

  She gave him a quick review of her background, including a sanitized version of her stint in the MOSSAD. She did not tell him about any of the events involving Shadow choppers or Lincoln’s Liberators. Marty sat silently for a moment and toyed with his filet of sole, which had been brought in by Stan during Syd’s discourse. He looked back up at Syd, then Sara.

  “You knew this, Sara?” he asked.

  “Of course. She’s one fucking, amazing lady! I’ve been in action with her in situations that come under the umbrella of need to know—established by Hatch. Situations that are better for you legally if you don’t know too many details.”

  “How intriguing! I hardly know what to say!” he said.

  “Now you understand, Marty,” said Syd, “why we need your help. Help us find Hatch’s attacker. We’ll do the rest.”

  When Marty didn’t say anything, Syd smiled and added, “This fish is excellent, and the wine is superb! Could you pour me another glass, please?”

  • • •

  As the meal came to a close, Marty’s mind was reeling with a variety of thoughts. He knew of Hatch’s involvement in the CIA, even that he was a NOC agent for a few years. He also knew that some of the actions taken by Sara’s HRTs sometimes pushed the cutting edge of legality. He had been able to make intelligent guesses about some of those operations by comparing news reports with internal documents and his own knowledge of where in the world Hatch and Sara were. He was completely smitten by the aura of these two gorgeous, and obviously dangerous, women. He could see how Hatch was attracted to Syd. He wondered if he could get closer to Sara. She excited him tremendously! He decided to let things progress a little further before making a move on her.