Samantha burst out laughing and put down her fork. “So now you’re back on the prowl, huh?”
“Until Mister Right comes along, I guess I’m always on the prowl. But how about you? You haven’t been out with anybody.”
Samantha’s shoulders suddenly sagged, and she looked down at her plate. “I just don’t feel like it. You know that.”
Angela reached across the table and touched Samantha’s arm. “Hey, I know how tough it’s been since Dexter died. Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. But that was, what? Two years ago? I know he was a great guy, a good husband, and you sure had a great life together.”
Samantha looked up, her eyes glistening. “He was the best. And the way it happened. I mean, his falling like that.”
“I know. I know. It was a freak deal. You guys climbing the Tetons and all. You were both good climbers, but then that storm came up with the wind and all. You told me how he fell and landed on a ledge and you couldn’t get help for a long time.”
Samantha faltered as she remembered the horrible scene. She and her husband had reached a ridge and were just starting their next climb when huge gusts of wind hit them and Dexter lost his footing. When he fell, she was swept over the edge too. His body broke her fall as she cried out.
When she rolled to the side, she saw that he was lying at an odd angle. They were on a narrow outcropping some thirty feet below the trail. She had felt for a pulse. It was there, but very weak. She screamed but apparently there were no other hikers in the area. She grabbed her cell phone to get help. But by the time the medics made their way up the mountain and air lifted them both out, his internal injuries were too severe, and he had died at the Jackson hospital.
Ever since that horrible day, Samantha couldn’t bring herself to look down from any height. Whenever she even got on a glass elevator, she had to face the door for fear of bringing back the haunting vision of the man she loved fighting for his life. She took a sip of water and faced her friend.
“I know it’s been a long time. Maybe some day I’ll feel like getting involved again. But right now with all of the threats, the late hours, the bureaucracy screwing everything up all the time, I don’t know when I’d have time to concentrate on much of anything else anyway,” she lamented.
“Well, I’m still keeping my eyes open for you, kiddo,” Angela said in a soothing tone. She checked her watch. “Now I’ve got to be back. I think we still may have a meeting this afternoon with some Indian tribe looking for restitution for their land.”
“Why isn’t the Bureau of Indian Affairs at Interior handling those folks?”
“Don’t worry. After the groups try to get our attention, we’re usually able to kick them over to the proper agency. Maybe we’ll recommend another casino or something.”
“I just hope they’re not from Oklahoma,” Samantha said, pushing back from the table.
“At least over in the OEOB, we’ve got heat in the meeting rooms. Now, be sure to let me know how this gas line thing turns out. You’ve always been pretty prescient about things.”
“Well, I’m not sure how Delphic I feel today, but I’ll keep you posted.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
OKLAHOMA–MONDAY AFTERNOON
Simon Gonzales loaded duffel bags into the back of the rented SUV while his boss, Carlos Mendoza paid their bill in cash at the motel desk. When he came out, he tossed his own bag in the back, slammed the hatch down and slid into the front seat.
“Hey, Carlos, we got enough money left?” Simon asked as he got into the front seat on the passenger side.
“Of course, we have money left. The fixer set up a special account.”
“What if they trace it somehow?”
Carlos put the car in gear, turned on the windshield wipers and pulled out of the small parking lot. He headed toward the interstate. “Nobody’s going to trace anything. We’ve got money for rooms, for food, for supplies, everything. That’s my job and I do my job.” “I know,” Simon said. “Just checking. I have to say I’m glad to get away from that motel. They got no heat. We gotta get out of these parts fast.”
“That’s what we’re doing,” Carlos said. “We’re heading east. We’ll hold up at another place until we get the next assignment. You charge your cell phone back there?”
“Sure,” Simon chimed in. “Like you said. I always follow your orders.”
“Well, let’s be sure we keep it that way.”
“Can we get some lunch somewhere?” Simon asked, looking out the window at the snowdrifts.
The boss turned onto the highway and said, “Let’s clear the state line first. You can wait another hour or two. Besides, we have to get some place where they have heat, right?”
“Right. Why don’t you turn on the radio? See if there are any more reports.”
Carlos leaned over and turned the dial but all they heard was a series of country western songs. “I hate that music,” Simon said. “Isn’t there anything else around this stupid place?”
The boss hit the scan button several more times. They finally heard an announcer giving a traffic and weather report. He was advising people to stay off the roads because the storm was going to intensify that night with temperatures dipping down to the twenties again. “Makes you wish we were back home, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does,” Simon said. “This weather is the pits. No heat. No good music. No good women.”
“Forget the women,” the boss intoned. “We don’t need any complications on these jobs. Besides, when you think about it, having a little adventure up here beats working the oil and gas lines back home, don’t you think?”
“I know. Just talking. I miss Maria, that’s all.”
“Maria will be glad to see you when you come home with a fist full of money, so cool it.”
“I’m already cool. In fact, can you turn up the heater a bit?”
They drove along the road, recently cleared by massive snow plows, and listened to news updates about the time it would take to get the power back on in parts of Oklahoma and other areas hit by the storm. There were also reports on the continuing evacuations due to the pipeline explosion. Then the announcer talked about how the price of corn had tripled due to its continued use in ethanol production.
“I wonder what they’ll charge us for tacos and tamales now,” Simon asked.
“Not as much as they’re charging us for gas for this car, I’ll tell you that,” his boss said.
“You’re the money man. You would know,” Simon remarked.
“And, speaking of money, if we do our jobs right, the price of gas, the heating kind, will go through the roof.”
“Trouble is, doing our jobs right means we’ll need some help next time. We almost messed up back there.”
“I know that. I told you we were getting help.”
“But when?” Simon pressed.
“The fixer’s last message said that Juan Lopez would be coming. He’s been working our fields for years and knows more than most anybody. Don’t you remember?”
“Sure. But when’s he going to get here, and how will he find us?”
“I’ve got that covered. That’s why I’m the boss, and you carry the bags.”
“So I’m not boss material. Yet,” Simon said. “But when is he coming? Did they tell you that?”
“The way I figure it, he should already be hooked up with the cartel, and it’s their job to get him across the border. They’re working with the same paramilitary group we came in with. Relax. They’ve got their section of the border cleared.”
“But what about the border patrol?”
“Since when are you worried about the border patrol? When they brought us across, it only cost ten thousand a piece and we came with a convoy.”
“Us and the drugs. Least they could have done is give us some samples.”
“They don’t give out samples, you idiot,” Carlos barked.
“They didn’t even give us water. You’d think we were prisoners or something,” Simon
complained.
“We made it, didn’t we? We got across, just like they promised. And they had this car waiting for us. I’d say that was pretty good service. We got treated better than the trafficking guys, so quit griping.”
“I wasn’t griping. I’m just worried that Juan may not make it,” Simon said. “Not everybody makes it, you know. I mean, the Feds have really been cracking down the last couple of years.”
“I’d say about 95 percent make it. The rest end up in jail or get sent back. But so what? They just wait a week and try again.”
“So, when do you think we’ll see Juan? He’s great with the tools. We could have used him last time.”
“I figure we’ll get word in a day. Two at the most.”
CHAPTER NINE
THE WHITE HOUSE–MONDAY AFTERNOON
“That new vice president of GeoGlobal should be here any minute,” Joan said, looking at the wall clock. “Of course, that depends on whether he can navigate the ice on the sidewalks between here and K Street.”
“What’s his name?” Samantha asked, looking up from her computer.
“That’s the funny part.”
“Funny?”
“Well, I’ve cleared an awful lot of people into this building, but this one’s got the most highfalutin name I’ve seen yet,” Joan said.
“Really? What is it?”
“Get this. Hamilton Bainbridge Adams, the Third!” her assistant replied.
“Tripp Adams?” Samantha exclaimed.
“You know this guy?” Joan asked in an astonished tone.
“There can’t be two Hamilton Bainbridge Adams, the Thirds, now can there?”
“I’d hope not. So who is he? I mean I know who he is. He’s the new vice president of that big oil and gas company. But how would you know him? You said to find out whose line exploded. You said you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t know what company owned that one, and I certainly didn’t know that Tripp Adams was working for GeoGlobal. This is absolutely surreal.”
“Surreal? What gives? How do you know him?”
Samantha leaned back in her dark green leather desk chair and folded her arms. “Tripp Adams.” There was almost a reverence in her tone of voice as she repeated his name. “Tripp and I both went to Princeton.”
“I know you went there. So he was there at the same time?”
“Sort of. I was a freshman, and he was a senior,” Samantha explained. “A gorgeous senior, I have to admit. You know how it is in school. All the freshmen look up to the seniors and get crushes on the neat ones, but they never even notice us.”
“So you had a crush on this guy?”
“Absolutely. He was tall, had a great bod. He was on the crew as I remember it. He rowed all the time. We used to talk about him, but he always seemed so focused on studying and sports and graduation that I don’t think he ever paid attention to any of us.”
“This is amazing,” Joan said. “Well, he’s certainly going to notice you today. And he’s going to have to answer to you too.”
“I don’t know that I’d put it that way. I just want to hear what his company is doing with their gas lines and what really happened down there in Oklahoma. I want to be sure this wasn’t some sort of sabotage, but just a maintenance issue. Then again, they should have better maintenance than this, if that’s what it was. Anyway, let me know when he hits the complex.”
Samantha sat back and began to picture the senior she had pined for so many years ago. She didn’t know much about him except that he was tall, athletic, and reportedly was quite a brain. She had a vague recollection about hearing that his family wanted him to go into some business, but he was hell bent on joining the Navy or the Air Force or something. Maybe it was the Navy. She couldn’t quite remember. What she did remember was not only the attractive guy with the subtle grin, but the way he made her feel when he passed her in the hallway. She shook her head to try and clear away the old images. Teenage hormone. Of course. That’s all it was.
“Samantha, Mr. Adams is here.”
Samantha was reading a summary of the president’s scheduled return from the Economic Summit in France. She raised her head, pushed her hair back and started to get up from her desk. She saw a tall man standing in the doorway wearing a dark blue overcoat, its collar pushed up.
Joan said, “Sir, let me take your coat. We have a rack right out here.”
He slipped out of the coat, handed it to her and walked over to Samantha, extending his hand. “Hello. I’m Tripp Adams.”
“Yes, I know,” Samantha said, coming around to shake his hand. “Still pretty frigid out there, right?”
“Yes. Even with gloves, my hands are really cold.”
“Come, sit down. Would you like some coffee?”
“Coffee? Sure would. Just black is fine. Thanks.”
“Got it,” Joan said from the doorway. “Some for you too, Samantha? The usual?”
“Yes, please.” She sat back down at her desk as Tripp pulled up a chair. She couldn’t stop staring at the man. He hadn’t changed much at all in the dozen years since she had seen him. His hair was still dark brown. Darker than hers, and cut fairly short.
The shoulders were broad. She wondered if he still rowed on occasion. Then there were the eyes. Dark eyes. A deep brown that could melt a freshman’s heart with one extended glance.
But wait a minute. She wasn’t a freshman any more. She was deputy assistant to the president for Homeland Security, and she had better remember why this dream of a man was sitting in a chair in front of her desk. It’s just that she was suddenly feeling slightly off balance. Slightly breathless. Slightly weird. Get a grip, she thought.
She cleared her throat, reached for a lined tablet and a pen and endeavored to adopt an all-business tone of voice. “So, Mr. Adams … uh … Tripp … thanks for coming over this afternoon. I realize you had to walk in this awful weather. I appreciate your taking the time.”
“When the White House calls, we answer,” he said with a smile.
That mouth. That subtle grin. She had to stop staring and start concentrating. “Yes, well, I wanted to talk to you about the gas line break in Oklahoma. We normally wouldn’t get involved in a single issue of this kind, but in this particular circumstance, with this ice storm and the power outages, I was hoping you could fill me in on the cause and also how soon you think you can get it up and running again.”
“Here you are,” Joan said as she walked into the office and handed Tripp and Samantha mugs with the gold presidential seal on the side of each one. “I’ll hold your calls,” she whispered to Samantha, who nodded her thanks.
Tripp took a sip of the steaming coffee, sat back and studied the young woman with the long, wavy brown hair. She sure was a knock out. She had one of those little widows’ peak things in the center of her forehead. And the hair, the masses of hair, seemed to billow out and down over her shoulders. He caught himself wondering how it would feel to run his fingers through all of that hair.
He’d had plenty of women floating in and out of his life in the last decade or so. Some lasted longer than others, but he had moved around so much, he never found one he wanted to take with him from place to place.
This one almost seemed out of place sitting there in her office chair. The dark green leather sort of matched the color of her eyes. Here was this tall, attractive woman who looked like she could have been starring in some made-for-TV special, working in the White House, surrounded by a lot of political stars and professorial types. Well, maybe the staff people weren’t really stars. They were certainly talented, but they sure didn’t look like the casts of “Madam Secretary” or “Designated Survivor.” Except for this lady. She was something else again.
As he quickly scanned her features, something gnawed at his memory. “Excuse me. But have we met?”
“Met?” She sounded nonchalant. “We didn’t exactly meet, but I did see you a lot on campus.”
“On campus? Princeton? That’s it. I knew I kne
w you. This is amazing. What year were you?”
“I was a freshman. You were a senior. Under classmen usually knew the upper classmen. It was rarely the other way around,” Samantha said matter-of-factly.
“Of course. I do remember you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. You were studying Geology, right?”
“Right. And so were you. But we were never in the same class.”
“No, but I do remember seeing you around that building. That was it. I remember the hair,” he said smiling.
She reached up and swept a strand behind her ear. “The hair?”
“Sure. It was long then too,” Tripp said with a grin
“You remember hair?”
“Among other things.”
“But you never talked to me,” Samantha said.
“My loss,” he said, shifting his weight and leaning forward. “Look, I’d like to talk to you some more about those days. Maybe we can do that some time. But right now, I’m on kind of a tight schedule. I’m supposed to be on a conference call with headquarters in about an hour, but I will tell you what I know so far.”
Samantha paused momentarily as her mind’s eye had once again focused back on days when she had seen Tripp taking long strides across the campus, walking through Blair Arch or sitting quietly in the chapel. They were pleasant musings. The most pleasant she had felt in the last two years. She snapped back to attention and started to make some notes on her pad.
“So what caused the break?” she asked.
“We don’t know for sure. Here’s the thing. Our southern control room registered a sudden drop in pressure on this particular line. They shut it down immediately. Then they started getting calls that there was a huge fire out there. Our crews and the local firemen put it out pretty quickly, but they reported that there was an awful lot of damage, and our engineers are on site right now assessing the situation. Last thing I heard is that maintenance had been done as recently as two weeks ago. So it doesn’t make any sense at all that it was our fault. Now, I’m not saying for sure, because we just don’t know … yet.”
Final Finesse Page 4