Tropical Storm - DK1

by Melissa Good

“Uh oh, I sense a tongue lashing.” Mark chuckled. “That was a toughie, Dar, two of those boxes have pretty high security on them.”

  “And?”

  “It’s in progress,” Mark stated circumspectly. “You’ve got Provisioning up in freaking arms, Dar. When I called him, Eldon snapped one of those mechanical freaking pencils he’s got millions of in half. I heard the sound.”

  “But he’s moving on the project?” Dar persisted, watching the trees go by. “He had to rob two circuits from FPL. You’ll have some fence mending to do up there, but yeah, he’s moving on it. He’s not happy.”

  “Ask him if a formal commendation in his personnel file would make him happier,” Dar commented. “And tell him not to be so god-damned anal. This is important.”

  “I know that. He knows that. Jesus, Dar, every freaking body in HQ

  knows that, including the cleaning staff,” the MIS chief advised her. “John called in. There are stories of you blowing off the IBM team already circulating.”

  “Great. All right, Mark, I’ll leave my cell on, as usual. Give me a call when you get things finalized. Is Robert Maccen publishing the response document?”

  “Yep, he sure is. Say, where are you, anyhow?” the man asked curiously.

  “Sounds quiet.”

  Dar hesitated, tempering her good spirits with natural caution. “Casing the place, actually,” she stated. “Evaluating the infrastructure.” She ignored Kerry’s amused look.

  Mark clucked his tongue. “Dar, you’re the only goddamn person I know who would go to freaking Disney World and end up tracing cables. Take a 194 Melissa Good damn break, will ya? At least go see the fireworks.”

  Dar surveyed her disheveled and slightly sunburned body, slumped easily against both the seat and her companion, and bit off a wry smile. “If I have a couple of minutes, sure.”

  “Dar, don’t make me think of you walking around up in Orlando in one of those wool suits. Sweating in the control room is a bad thing, okay?”

  “I’m, um, not wearing a wool suit, Mark, if it makes you feel any better.”

  Dar laid a hand on her bare knee, tracing a tiny scar just above the kneecap.

  “And I’ll try to catch a firework or two, if you’ll guarantee me that plan will be complete by ten AM tomorrow.”

  “Dar…” Mark sighed. “Oh well, I don’t need any sleep. All right, I promise, but you gotta bring me back a souvenir.” He paused. “Tell you what, to make it fair, you bring me a back a picture of you actually taking it easy for five minutes. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Oh, so if I take my shoes off and kick a stuffed Goofy around in the grass, that counts, right?” the executive drawled. His sigh could be heard clearly. “Okay, you’re on, Mark. You come through, you get your picture, I promise.” Dar chuckled. “Tell you what—you get it done on time, and I’ll make it a bathing suit picture.” Dead, absolute, not-even-breathing silence greeted the offer. Dar glanced at the phone, then at her companion, who had a hand firmly clamped over her mouth and was turning pink from the effort not to laugh. “Mark?” Silence, then a rustle of sound and another voice picked up.

  “Hey, who is this?”

  “Jeffrey, it’s Dar Roberts.”

  “Oh. Oh, sorry, ma’am. Um…did you do something to Mark? He’s sitting here with this weird, weird look on his face.”

  Dar sighed. “Just tell him I said I’d talk to him later.” She hung up the line and glanced at Kerry, who was chewing on her knuckle and giggling softly. “You think that’s funny, huh?” She reached over and tickled Kerry’s ribs and grinned as the smaller woman jerked and squealed. “Oh, I can see there’s something your profile didn’t mention, Ms. Stuart.” She tickled her again, and watched Kerry squirm away from her.

  “Gah…stop that.” Kerry grabbed her hand and held on. “Poor Mark! And are you going to tell me what the plan is, or do I have to guess, too?” She cautiously released her tormentor’s fingers and was relieved when the attack wasn’t repeated.

  Dar sat back and wrapped her hands around one knee. “Well, I have two people working on writing up a proposal that answers their request, with specific resources, that kind of thing. Usually I’d do it myself, but…” She shrugged. “It’s not that complicated. Anyway, since they have access to all the information, they’ll prep the document for us and send it over before the meeting.”

  Kerry absorbed that. “And?”

  Slowly, pale blue eyes looked over at her. “What do you mean, and?”

  A shrewd glance studied her. “That’s what the other guys will be doing, too. If I read you right, you go over and above. So what’s the rest of the plan?”

  Dar smiled, an open, genuine smile. “You’re right, but I don’t want to jinx it. Let me wait for Mark’s call tonight, then I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Tropical Storm 195

  As the bus pulled up in front of the park, Kerry chuckled in triumph, and she stood up, waiting for Dar to join her. “I don’t think they have Mongolian here, though. How about Italian?”

  Dar stretched, feeling a little tightness in her shoulders from all the swimming. “How about Japanese?”

  “Mmm.” Kerry’s brow contracted “Hard choice.”

  They ended up in England, mostly because Kerry really wanted to see the fireworks, and Dar knew a little secret. So they were comfortably settled in an outside table at the English Pub right up against the lake as the crowds started to gather to watch the show.

  There was a nice, cool night breeze blowing off the water, and Kerry was glad she’d opted for a sweatshirt, choosing a forest green one with a happy-looking Winnie the Pooh dancing over her left breast. She sipped her pint of ale gingerly as she watched Dar do the same, and glanced at the menu. “It’s all pretty safe, right?”

  Dar chuckled. “Well, there are a lot of interesting influences in English cooking, especially from India, and the other former colonies, but on this menu—yeah, everything’s safe.” She glanced around, then settled the gray, beautifully woven sweater she’d purchased in a nearby shop over her shoulders. “Nice.”

  Kerry reached over and fingered the soft as butter fabric. “That feels so wonderful.” She admired it. “And I have to stop in that tea shop again. I need to get some of those flavors to bring back to the office. I’m kinda tired of orange cinnamon and regular.”

  “Hmm, that’s right, you do like tea, don’t you?” Dar settled back in her chair and put her feet up on the one opposite her. They placed their order with the perky waitress, and Dar nodded yes to refills of their drinks. The ale had tasted good after their full day of activity, and she was in the mood to relax just a little. The cool breeze pushed the hair off her forehead, and she let her head lean back and her eyes close.

  Dar certainly is a different person outside of the office, Kerry decided, eyeing her surreptitiously. She had this…diabolical, mean, evil, nasty, mischievous streak that Kerry had found out about the hard way. Like when Dar kept her distracted while a large, bubble-headed green something-or-other had snuck up behind her and scared the crap out of her. Or being led into the Moroccan leather place where apparently curing hides wasn’t an acquired skill. Ugh. Or being given a small tumbler of something sweet and blue to drink, and not realizing until after she’d swallowed it that it was 200 proof.

  To be fair, Dar had gotten taken in by the blue stuff too, which she admitted after getting Kerry some water to wash it down. And she had given her the little wax figurine the craftsman had made for her in front of the Chinese pavilion. Out of wax and sticks, he twirled and shaped the piece until it was a fanciful dragon shape with swirled wings. “Here.” Dar had shrugged as she handed it over. “I don’t collect stuff like this.”

  No, you don’t. Kerry thought, as she studied the angular profile. She leaned back, feeling a pleasant buzz from the ale, glad they’d managed to munch their way around the world at various snack stands before she’d started drinking. The Mexican stop was good. She could still taste the spices 196
Melissa Good on her tongue from the tiny tacos, and she’d enjoyed the tidbits of bratwurst and smoked cheeses in Germany along with the tiny glass of sweet white wine. “Just our luck to visit during the International Food and Wine expo, huh?”

  “Mmm.” Dar smiled and lazily opened an eye. “That’s a nice idea, have all the different countries put out samples of their kinds of food and drink.

  Different. I liked it.” She took a sip of her fresh glass of ale. “Small enough portions so you can try a lot of them, and it’s a good chance for the different cultures to show off.” She took another sip. “Something like the festivals we have down in Miami—the Art festival, and the heritage festivals—when you can have a ton of the different nationalities down there put up stalls and have different stuff, though we tend to be Caribbean and Hispanic heavy. This is nice, because you get all the continental countries represented too.”

  A blonde brow edged up. Drinking makes her more talkative. Write that down in the PDA, Ker. It could be useful sometime. “I haven’t gotten a chance to go to one of those. They dragged me to the Scottish festival last year, but I almost got hit in the head with one of those logs and someone tried to get me to eat haggis.”

  Dar laughed. “Nah, try the Cajun thing. It’s more fun, and you get to scarf down lots of spicy mud bugs.” She glanced up and smiled as the waitress brought their food, putting her glass down and picking up her silverware.

  Kerry thanked the woman and nodded when she looked questioningly at their glasses. One more couldn’t hurt, and besides, I’m succeeding in my quest to get Dar to relax. Maria would be proud of me.

  “I THINK I’M a little drunk,” Dar admitted as they strolled towards the exit, past the lighted fountains whose water danced to the background music.

  “Not that anyone could tell,” Kerry assured her, observing Dar intently.

  “You walk straight, you don’t slur your words, and you haven’t kissed any of the wandering characters.”

  Dar considered that. “That’s true.” She jumped a little when her cell phone rang, then let out a short laugh and reached for it. “Yes?”

  “You owe me a picture, Big D.” Mark’s voice sounded very, very satisfied. “Did you get to see a firework or two?”

  Dar turned around and walked backwards, watching the lasers bounce off the huge geosphere. “Yeah, I got to see one or two.” She straightened back up. “Good work. Can you set up the link for tomorrow morning? I’ll need to dial in via the cell.”

  “Already done. Where’s my picture?” Mark nudged. “You don’t know what an inspiration that was, I did things tonight the likes of which Babbage never imagined.”

  “All right, all right.” Dar laughed helplessly. “I’ll have Kerry take one, okay? Tomorrow.”

  “She there? Put her on,” Mark requested. “Hey, Kerry?”

  “Right here.” She covered her other ear with one hand.

  “Did you actually manage to get her out of the damn hotel for an hour?”

  the MIS chief whispered.

  Tropical Storm 197

  Kerry glanced over to where Dar had climbed over a railing and was inspecting a bush cut in the shape of Figment the Imagination dragon. “Oh yeah. In fact, I got her to go to one of the parks tonight.”

  “You rock!” he praised. “Damn woman hasn’t had a vacation in ten years.” He sighed. “You having fun?”

  “It’s been…” Kerry smiled to herself, “…very educational. I’ve learned a lot, and I hope things work out for the bid. This is a very interesting account.”

  “Ain’t what I asked,” Mark chided.

  “Yes, we’re having fun. Thanks for asking.” She looked up to find Dar watching her, the dark-haired woman’s body relaxed against the railing.

  “Whoops, gotta go. Talk to you later, Mark.”

  They walked off toward the shuttle stop, amiably bumping shoulders as they maneuvered through the thinning crowds.

  SHE WAS YAWNING by the time they got back to the hotel, their monorail depositing them neatly in the lobby. Like a puppy, Kerry followed Dar to the elevator, resisting the impulse to latch onto the back of her shirt to keep up, and she had to take a minute to blink her eyes clear before she could open her room door. It was quiet and mostly dark inside, and she really wanted nothing more than to curl up in her already turned-down bed, dressed as she was, and just conk out. Instead, she changed into her nightshirt, wincing where the pink skin around her bathing suit marks stung, then she turned and noticed her message light flashing. Perplexed, she lifted the receiver and dialed the front desk. “Hello? Yes, I have a message?”

  “Oh, yes, Ms. Stuart,” the voice on the phone answered promptly. “It’s from a Colleen. She said it was urgent, and could you please call her.”

  Urgent? “Okay, thanks very much.” Kerry depressed the receiver, wondering what could possibly have gone wrong back in Miami. Another flood in the complex? She hoped it wasn’t the plumbing again, at any rate.

  She dialed her friend’s number, and waited until the sleepy voice on the other end answered. “Col?”

  Colleen woke up instantly. “Jesus son of Mary, Kerry, where in the Hell are you? Your parents are going insane. They’ve called here three times!”

  My parents? “Um.” Kerry rubbed her head at the unexpected source of the panic. “I’m in Orlando, as you should know. What’s the big deal?”

  Silence from the other end of the line preceded a deep breath. “You haven’t heard?”

  “Haven’t heard what? No, I’ve been in meetings all day, and then… What is it?” Kerry asked. “Someone shoot the president or something?”

  “Jesus Christ, Kerry, the plane you were supposed to be on tonight crashed in the Everglades. Pretty much everyone on it died, they think,”

  Colleen answered. “The only reason I didn’t go nuts is the hotel said you hadn’t checked out and I know you’re not a skip.”

  Kerry sat down on the bed, her legs suddenly unable to hold her up. “Oh my God.” She lifted a shaking hand to her mouth. “I’d better call my parents.”

  “Then call me back, okay?” Colleen said softly.

  “Okay, I will.” Kerry hung up, then rested her hand on the receiver for a 198 Melissa Good long moment before she picked it up again and dialed. “Mom?” Her mother’s voice practically jumped out of the phone at her. “No, no, I’m fine. I’m fine.

  I’m still in Orlando. The meeting went on longer than we thought, so we’re staying over another night … No, no, not at all. The office knew I wasn’t on the flight.” A pause. “You could have called the … hello, Father.”

  Roger Stuart’s voice thundered down the line. “That’s it. No daughter of mine is living down where terrorists can just bomb an airplane. That place has too few Americans in it, God damn it. You’re coming home.”

  “Are you sure it was a terrorist? I didn’t hear any details. I don’t…” Kerry felt a sudden jolt in her guts at the thought of leaving Miami and Dar.

  “Nothing happened, we weren’t on the flight!”

  Her father cut off further objections. “No ifs, ands, or buts, Kerrison.

  That’s final. Could you imagine the press if you’d been on that plane? My God! Make the arrangements.”

  The line went dead. Kerry slowly put it back down on the cradle and stared at it. “Glad I wasn’t on the plane too, thanks for asking.” A noise made her look up to see Dar standing in the adjoining doorway, a quietly grim look on her face. “I guess you heard.”

  Dar nodded, then entered, crossing the room and sitting down next to her on the bed. A remote control was clasped loosely in the executive’s hands. “I have the news on in there.” She looked at Kerry intently. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh yeah,” Kerry answered bitterly. “My father was so damned relieved he wouldn’t have to spin-doctor my death.” She leaned her elbows on her knees and looked down at the carpet. “They want me to leave Miami and go home.”

  Dar hesitated, then awkwardly put one ar
m around her companion’s shoulders. “Because a plane crashed? That makes no sense, Kerry.”

  “Because Miami’s full of degenerates, perverts, and foreigners who do nothing but plot against the US,” Kerry answered with a sigh. “Do they know what made the plane go down? He said it was a terrorist. Is that true?”

  “Didn’t stick around there long enough to find out. C’mon, let’s go into the other room and watch the news. Maybe they’ll say.” Dar hesitated. “Sorry about all this.”

  Kerry looked up, grateful for the warmth of Dar’s arm around her. “We would have been on that plane.”

  “I know,” the older woman replied calmly. “But we weren’t. C’mon, I ordered up some hot chocolate. Let’s go see what happened.”

  They settled on Dar’s bed, and she turned the volume up on the television, which was tuned to CNN. The picture was mostly dark, with flashing blue and red lights everywhere, and the occasional flare of yellow.

  The reporter wore a windbreaker, and it was obviously raining and windy where he was. “As of this moment, the FAA is not commenting or speculating on what brought down this Boeing 727, only that the pilot reported problems over West Palm Beach and decided to swing west, away from populated areas.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a bomb,” Dar commented, getting up to answer a light knock on the door. “Nice service.” She opened it and allowed the room service waiter in with a tray. “Put it over there.” The waiter left, and she Tropical Storm 199

  poured two steaming cupfuls of the chocolate, adding a tiny mini-marshmallow to each cup and bringing one over to Kerry. “Here you go, good for what ails you.”

  Kerry took a sip and managed a smile. “Thanks.” She turned her attention to the television, where searchlights were showing what looked like hundreds of men in various uniforms up to their thighs in water, moving debris and other things around. “It looks horrible.”

  “Mmm.” Dar exhaled, then picked up the phone and dialed a number.

  “It’s Dar.” She paused, listening. “What’s the story on that plane that went down?” Another pause. “Well, maybe not, but I was supposed to be on it.”