by Tom Clancy
“It does if we’re the two and have each other’s back,” Lathrop said.
Ricci was silent staring out the windshield. The cup had cooled in his hand.
“We pull this thing off, Esteban’s reward would be hefty,” Lathrop said. “Three mil split right down the middle.”
Ricci was silent.
“And,” Lathrop went on, “we’d be saving a damsel in distress.”
Ricci held his silence, his eyes peering into the rainswept night. Then he turned to Lathrop.
“Play your games with me, you won’t have to worry about those mercs,” he said.
Lathrop smiled a little, put his cup into the holder beside him, reached for the key in his ignition.
“Anything else I need to be warned about?” he said.
Ricci shook his head.
“Then I’ll bring you back to your car before its spark plugs get soaked,” Lathrop said, and cranked up the Dodge’s engine.
* * *
Roger Gordian seemed pleased with himself as he pulled the Rover to a halt in front of his daughter’s garage. He also seemed braced for what was coming from her, and would be very determined to head it off.
“Mission accomplished,” he said, and shifted into Park. “The paintings have been hung. You’re back home safe and sound. And we managed to beat the rain.”
Julia sat quietly in the passenger seat watching him tick off his successes on his fingertips.
“But not the drizzle and fog,” she said.
Gordian poked a finger at the control panel on his dashboard.
“That’s why I’ve got fog lamps,” he said.
On motion sensors, Julia’s exterior garage and porch lights had instantly begun shining down over her lawn as they turned in from the road. She regarded her father in their brightness now, impressed by how well he’d learned to use the warm and cuddly senior routine to his charming advantage since retirement. But the look of dead-set resolution in his steel gray eyes was no different than ever. It didn’t matter if he was laying the foundation for a backyard dog pen, talking about the Dream of global freedom through communications on which he had built UpLink International, or anticipating an invitation he’d already made up his mind to decline.
Gordian’s problem tonight was that he and Julia were two of a kind when it came to persistence — and he knew it.
She waited beside him for a moment, parked there with the mist draping over the Rover’s windshield, and isolated droplets of moisture splatting onto its hood and roof from the branches of an old sequoia overhanging her driveway.
“You really shouldn’t drive in weather like this, Dad,” she said, getting it over with. “It’s already after eleven. The smart thing would be for you to stay overnight.”
Gordian went from poking at his dash console to tapping his steering wheel column.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Thanks, anyway.”
She looked at him.
“You can fix us hot chocolates,” she said. “I’ve got about four kinds of Ghirardelli’s. And a fresh quart of milk and some whipped cream in the fridge.”
He smiled.
“I can fix them?”
“Nobody does it better.”
“I’m proud to see my daughter’s as kind and generous as she is talented,” he replied, still smiling. “Seriously, hon, I appreciate the offer. But I’ll be home inside an hour.”
Which meant his return trip might total almost two hours, assuming the rain didn’t intensify to the extent that it slowed up road conditions, she thought. It had taken them about forty five minutes to get back here to Pescadero from the gallery in Boulder Creek, and a lot of it had been country driving on some of the darkest stretches of Highway 9. Tack on their ride out to the gallery, and it would mean some four hours behind the wheel for him tonight if he headed off into the Palo Alto hills.
“Okay, here’s where the deal really gets sweet,” she said. “I’ll let my adorable canines sleep in the guest room with you. Jack, Jill, Viv, too. So what do you say?”
Gordian suddenly burst out laughing. Julia took that as a good sign considering she’d been braced for his I-flew-fighter-jets-through-enemy-flack-and-canhandle-a-drive-on-the-freeway argument.
“A man’s got to beware of having all his wishes come true at once,” he said. “Any other attempts to buy influence before we say good night?”
Julia gave him a level glance.
“There’s something serious I’ve meant to discuss with you,” she said. “And if that’s not persuasive enough, I might threaten to call Mom and ask her to decide the issue.”
Gordian looked at her and cleared his throat. It was over and they both knew it.
“Do you mean it about wanting to talk?” he said.
Julia nodded sincerely. There were some thoughts that had been bearing heavily on her since she’d gotten together with Megan that afternoon, although she’d wondered whether to keep them to herself. But so much for that.
“I’ll phone Ashley and get those hot chocolates on the burner,” Gordian said, and reached for his door handle.
Thirty minutes later, they were sitting over their cocoa mugs in Julia’s kitchen breakfast nook, cornered by three relentlessly staring greyhounds. The rain was falling in sheets outside.
Gordian looked from Jack, a brindle male, to the two females — Jill, a teal blue, and Vivian the blond bombshell. All of them were stretched out on the floor, their heads cranked toward the table, ears perked, penny-colored eyes fixed on his steaming drink.
“Don’t they know dogs can be deathly allergic to chocolate… or are your constant reminders just for my benefit?”
Julia shrugged. “Ex-racers don’t know anything besides being starved for food and attention,” she said. “They’d crunch their insatiable jaws down on our cups if I gave them half a chance.”
Gordian sipped from his mug and listened to the rain pounding against the windows.
“It’s coming down in buckets,” he said.
Julia nodded.
“Lucky thing I didn’t give you a tough time about staying the night,” he said.
She smiled at him. “Not too.”
Gordian was quiet awhile, his face turning serious.
“That talk you mentioned…”
Julia noticed his hesitation, reached out to pat the back of his hand.
“Don’t look so concerned,” she said. “I’m fine.”
He kept his eyes on her, visibly relieved.
“Oh,” he said. “I was… well, you know…”
“You worry sometimes.”
Gordian nodded.
“I never doubt that you can take care of yourself,” he said. “But since the divorce… and then after what happened last year…”
“I know, Dad,” she said. “And I appreciate it.”
He looked at her.
“And you honestly are okay?”
“Aside from being pregnant by an axe murderer named Jason, yes.”
Gordian’s eyes widened for the briefest of moments. Then he raised his cup to his lips.
“As long as this Jason respects his elders and earns a decent wage, you two have my blessing,” he said.
Julia smiled, spooned some whipped cream into her mouth off the top of her hot chocolate.
“What I wanted to ask isn’t about me,” she said after a bit. “It’s about Tom Ricci.”
Gordian looked surprised.
“Oh,” he said.
“You all right with that or should it be none of my business?”
“Why not?” Gordian shrugged. “You just caught me unprepared.” Another shrug. “I don’t know exactly what I expected, but guess it was something else.”
Julia lowered the spoon to the table and sat with her hands wrapped around her cup.
“I met Megan Breen for lunch today and his name sort of came up in conversation,” she said, unsure why she’d elected to omit the fact that she was the one who brought it up. “I knew he’d been suspended, and
was wondering if anything was ever made final.” She paused. “Meg told me there hadn’t been a decision.”
Gordian nodded.
“That’s my understanding,” he said. “It will be her call when it’s made. And Pete Nimec’s, I’d imagine.”
“You don’t have any part in it?”
Gordian shook his head.
“One of the biggest things I decided the day I stepped down as UpLink’s CEO was to place my unqualified trust in Megan. She’s too competent to be a figurehead and shouldn’t have to contend with a meddling old know-it-all getting into her abundant red hair.” He scratched under his chin. “Besides, that would defeat the whole aim of retirement, don’t you agree?”
“Yes,” Julia said. And hesitated briefly again. “Nine times out of ten.”
Gordian crooked an eyebrow at her. “You think the Ricci situation ought to be an exception to the rule?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “It’s hard to be objective considering I owe the man my life.”
Gordian didn’t answer. He sipped his hot chocolate and seemed to listen awhile to the whisk of rain on the windows.
“I understand how you feel,” he said at last. “I’d have to be cold and ungrateful not to feel that way myself. But we need to put personal feelings aside here. No doubt, Tom Ricci has proven he’s capable of being the best at what he does. On the other hand he’s shown a contempt of authority that makes him a serious wild card. From an organizational perspective, his… I don’t know what to call it except insubordination… has brought on a world of trouble.”
Julia inhaled, held the breath a moment, then blew it out to disperse the thin filaments of steam curling from her drink.
“I’ve been thinking about when you, Megan, and Pete cooked up a name for UpLink security all those years ago,” she said. “Sword, you decided to call it. And I felt that sounded so hokey and pompous, remember?”
Gordian nodded, smiling a little.
“I remember,” he said. “You’ve never been shy about your opinions.”
Julia gave him smile of her own.
“Or you about your opinion of my opinions,” she said. “I can still see the annoyed look on your face. And hear you explaining that the name was a sort of play on words. That it referred to the legend of the Gordian knot, and how Alexander the Great was supposed to have solved the problem of untwisting it with one swift hack of his sword, and how that perfectly described the approach your people would take to solving problems. Realistic, direct, practical, determined… those were the exact words you used.”
Gordian looked straight into her eyes.
“We don’t forget much,” he said.
“No,” Julia said. “We hardly forget anything.”
Gordian nodded, and for a while the only sound was the rattling of rain on the windows.
“If your point is that the actions Ricci took are somehow in keeping with the premise behind Sword’s formation, I don’t think I’m able to bite,” he said then. “It’s based on taking that premise to a reckless extreme. And it’s judging those actions by results that could very well have been calamitously different.”
“That’s what I keep hearing, but where’s the proof?” Julia said. “Think about it a minute, Dad. Somebody infects you with a germ hatched in a lab, almost kills you. A year later this head case has me kidnapped. And then another psychopath with a mission tries to wipe out New York. What situations could be more extreme? How do you deal with any of them without taking risks? Tom Ricci’s always been ready and he’s come up a major stud every time.”
Gordian looked at her again. “A major stud?”
“Blame them.” Julia nodded at the dogs. “You live in a house full of animals, you start thinking in animalistic terms.”
Gordian’s brow had crinkled with amusement.
“If you say so,” he said.
They spent a few minutes quietly drinking their hot chocolates. Then, his cup emptied, Gordian pushed it slightly to the side, leaned forward, and massaged the back of his neck.
“You make a better case for Ricci than I could,” he said. “Unfortunately his attitude doesn’t help. Because of him UpLink’s under pressure from all sides, and from what I hear he’s dropped out of contact. If he wants trust, he’s got to show some. In somebody. How can Megan and Pete go to the mat for him, buy him a chance, when he won’t give himself one?”
Julia considered that and realized she didn’t have an answer. She sighed, finished her own drink, and glanced at the clock on the wall.
“It’s after midnight,” she said, and stretched. “Suppose the dogs ought to be getting in their Z’s.”
Gordian nodded.
“A little sleep wouldn’t hurt us, either,” he said.
A moment later Julia rose, pushed in her chair, and gathered their cups and spoons onto a tray. She was carrying it between three wet, sniffing black noses toward the sink when she turned back to face her father.
“Do we do anything for him?” she said.
Gordian looked at her from the table, smiled gently.
“We’re thinking about it,” he said.
LOS RAYOS DEL SOL, TERRITORIAL TRINIDAD
Pete Nimec hadn’t been able to fall asleep and that puzzled him. It should have been easy, he thought. Certainly easier than staying awake. He ought to be dead tired after everything he’d done in the past forty-eight hours or thereabouts, starting with having to pick up his mother-in-law at the airport, then practically turning right back around in the car with Annie to catch their flight to the Caribbean, followed by the trip itself, and the dinner invite by Henri Beauchart that had barely given them time to settle into their villa before drawing them out again. And all that rushing only accounted for last night, the first they’d spent here at Los Rayos. Up with the sun today, Nimec and Annie had climbed onto a pair of silver Vespas they’d discovered along with a Mustang soft-top in their villa’s attached garage — the transportation provided without fanfare by their hosts — and then zipped off to see about getting him signed up for kiteboarding instruction at a beachfront water sports shop Annie had highlighted in her resort guide.
The shop owner was a jaunty bronze-skinned titan from Australia named Blake. As advertised, he offered a beginner’s course and a full assortment of gear rentals. Prominent on the wall behind his counter was a certificate that declared him an “official skyriding instructor” but failed to particularly impress or encourage Nimec. How, he’d wondered, did somebody become an official skyrider, instructor or otherwise? What standards were applied to earning a cert? And by whom?
Nimec hadn’t had the foggiest notion. On the other hand, Blake was enthusiastic enough and seemed to know his stuff. And Annie was determined to get Nimec airborne. Urged on by her along their way to the beach, he’d acquiesced to possibly scheduling a session toward the middle of the week, but as it developed Blake was booked solid — except for a slot which had opened that morning due to a sudden cancellation.
Not quite feeling ready, Nimec had started to decline.
Before he could, Annie accepted on his behalf.
Minutes later, Nimec had been rushed into a dressing room and suited up in a board shirt and shorts, water booties, a buoyancy vest, and an impact helmet with a molded foam liner that made it hard for him to hear his own grumbled complaints. A couple of hours and several dry runs over the sand after that, he was floating on his back in the warm ocean shallows with a harness around him, his feet in the straps of a plane board, and his hands on the control bar of the rig that connected him to a bright red-and-white foil hovering in the air overhead. And then the kite had scooped wind, and Nimec had been pulled to his feet by the tautened lines, and the next thing he’d known he was airborne, swept into an updraft, looking some fifteen or twenty feet down at Blake the Bronze astride the jet ski they’d ridden from shore.
Blake had shouted a few words from below and behind him that sounded like: “You’re blowing away!”
Asked about it
when their session was over, however, he had only recalled praising Nimec for “doing great.”
Whatever he’d said, it had proven to be a lasting thrill for Nimec. Between the six or seven dunks he took — each of which had brought Blake to his rescue on the fleet little jet ski — he had spent about half an hour soaring above the flat blue water in defiance of gravity. Nimec would remember his periods of flight seeming longer, and the heights he’d reached feeling higher, than they actually were. He would remember having an incredible, dizzying sense of mental and physical lightness. Perhaps most of all, he would remember looking back toward Annie on the beach, where she had stood watching him ride the wind, repeatedly raising her arms high above her head to wave from the edge of the lapping surf. Though he hadn’t been able to see her face from his distance, Nimec had known she was smiling at him, felt her smiling at him, and taken an undeclarably boyish pride in having evoked that smile.
Back at the villa that afternoon they’d decided to scrub up, change their clothes, and then grab some lunch at a restaurant. As Annie prepared to run her shower, Nimec had found himself looking quietly out a large bay window at the exotic flowers planted one story down in the courtyard, cruising along in a carefree and contented mood that had seemed almost foreign to him.
“You know,” she’d said, poking her head through the half-open bathroom door, “that seat in the shower stall makes kind of a handy perch.”
Nimec had turned to look at her, noticed the swimsuit she’d worn to the beach dangling from a hook on the door. Then he’d noticed that faint sort of blush she would get above her cheekbones.
“Handy,” he’d repeated.
Annie nodded.
“Bet it would be sturdy enough for two,” she’d said. “The shower seat, I mean.”
Nimec had looked at her.
“I know what you mean, Annie,” he’d said. “And I’m getting lots of ideas.”
The color on her cheeks had spread and deepened.
“Me too,” she’d said. “Want to try some of them out together?”
Nimec had nodded that he did, and pulled shut the louvers, and they had spent a long, leisurely while trying out quite a few of their ideas, and coming up with some new ones besides, before finally driving off for a much heartier meal than either had anticipated.