Skyhook (33 page)

The doors were still closed, the windows darkened.

Ben began walking toward the front door of the restaurant, his mind searching for another explanation. He stopped in the doorway and looked back, waiting to see movement around the van.

A young couple pushed through the doors to the street, almost knocking him down, the woman sidestepping in her high heels to miss him.

“Whoa! Sorry, fella,” she said. A small cloud of Giorgio’s Red wafted by, a fragrance he loved, but neither that nor the black leather pants she was wearing distracted him. Ben nodded absently as he caught the door and held it open, his eyes focused on nothing.

No one’s getting out. Why?

“You coming in, sir, or just practicing?” a woman asked from just inside.

“Sorry?”

“Welcome to

a Mex, sir, where we actually have the ability to close the front door and keep the cold out.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Ben said, moving inside.

“Table for one?”

“Yes.”

“Right this way.”

He followed, forcing enough cognitive brainpower to the task of walking behind her without stumbling.

I was followed. Oh my God, that means I’m under surveillance.

Could it be Dan Jerrod’s people? Or MacAdatns’s? After all, I just came from MacAdams.

A memory of himself in the lab transmitting classified data over a non-secure cell phone flashed in his mind. Had they seen that, too?

An extremely deep male voice coming from one of the television monitors was echoing through the bar as he walked by.

… This … is CNN!

“Here you are, sir. Your waitress will be with you in a minute.”

“Thanks,” he replied, barely acknowledging her as he took the menu, ignoring the teaser for the

arry King show in the

background, which faded to the voice of Aaron Brown in his New York studio.

“Would you like something from the bar first, sir?” the waitress asked. He looked up at her: large brown eyes framed by short blonde hair, as she poised to write. He tried to smile but his face was frozen, and the thought of drinking anything suddenly became nauseating.

She stepped back as Ben got clumsily to his feet.

“I … ah, I’m sorry … I suddenly realized I’ve got to, you know, be somewhere.”

“You’re leaving, sir?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He yanked a small wad of bills from his pants pocket and laid one on the table.

Ben made his way back to the parking lot and climbed in his car.

The black van was still there, still unopened. Ben pulled Jerrod’s business card from his shirt pocket and punched in the cell phone number. He pressed the transmit button, then canceled the call, then pressed it again, only to cancel it once more before the number could ring. His mind was a whirl of horrific possibilities.

Gotta think straight, here, Ben lectured himself.

There was a gentle buzz from the phone and he jumped slightly before reading the screen to find a message waiting. He punched in the appropriate codes and Nelson’s voice coursed from the earpiece.

“Ben, I’ve been looking for you. You’re not at home, of course, and all I can do is leave one of the messages, which you know I hate. But here goes. I’m at Chilkoot’s again and wish you’d come down here and drink with me. You’ve been acting really strange lately. Call me. This is Nelson. Bye.”

Ben’s eyes shifted toward the big, rustic sign over the entrance to Chilkoot Charlie’s right across the street. He’d forgotten Chilkoot’s was located across from

a Mex. The fact hung there

like the hint of a distant image through fog.

Suddenly the reason for trying to call Dan Jerrod seemed obscure and silly, and yet compulsive. He needed the reassurance that he wasn’t in trouble, and that was the fastest way. Talk to the source.

He saw the doors of the bar across the street open and Nelson himself pushed through onto the sidewalk, looking around and stretching, his big smile flashing at no one in particular. Ben felt a flash of pleasurable recognition as he fought the urge to get out of the car and yell to him. It was far more comfortable to think of sharing a beer with the jovial Alaskan than to sit there worrying himself silly about his career and his freedom, and whether he was already in serious trouble. If he was being watched right there right then, going across the street to share a few drinks with his friend could raise alarm bells. After all, it was Nelson he’d said too much to in the boat, and that entire conversation could have been monitored from the shore.

Ben felt a wave of loneliness. Nelson was always so much fun to be around, his outlook on life always positive, his sense of humor ranging from rollicking to subtle.

But tonight wasn’t the right time.

He hunkered down behind the wheel and put the car in gear, turning away quickly into traffic with the odd sense that he was betraying a friend.

There was something else MacAdams had said that had been scratching at his mind and triggering alarm bells. A half mile from downtown, Ben pulled to the right lane and stopped long enough to reach into his briefcase and pull out a copy of The New York Times. The article he’d remembered seeing was on page one but below the fold, a small item quoting an unnamed source in the Transportation Department warning of a new threat to civil aviation from sophisticated terrorists trying to find ways of manipulating the largely unguarded electronic control systems on modern jetliners. There were references to engine control computers and autopilots and refusals by industry spokesmen to comment, the words sounding too familiar.

Ben placed the paper on the right seat and accelerated back into traffic, pulling off the main road several blocks away and parking at the curb to think. General MacAdams’s reassurance that the airline related listings he’d found embedded in the renegade code were no longer a threat replayed. “You can cut out the worry now,” MacAdams had said. “The responsible parties are contained.”

What does “contained” mean? Ben asked himself, remembering as well that MacAdams had asked if Ben suspected even him. The two star general’s words had seemed totally reassuring and even fatherly, and after all, how could a United States Air Force flag officer not be trusted?

MacAdams can’t be mixed up in anything. I can trust him.

But Dan Jerrod had told him specifically to discuss his findings and worries with no one at Uniwave and no one in the Air Force, and Jerrod had even mentioned the possibility of a mole. Surely that wouldn’t include MacAdams.

How do I know I can trust Jerrod? Ben asked himself, remembering that his survival of the final flight and the absence of any new sabotage argued well for Dan Jerrod’s veracity. Maybe MacAdams was right, but the way to find out, he concluded, was to ask Dan Jerrod himself.

He pulled Jerrod’s card from his pocket again and punched in the number, with no success. There were probably other numbers, Ben thought in frustration, and the guards at Uniwave would surely know how to reach him in an emergency.

Ben put the car back in gear and headed toward Elmendorf.

April pressed the satellite phone to her right ear and glanced at Scott McDermott, who was trying to look disinterested as he sat in the Widgeon’s left seat and nursed a cup of coffee in the dim light.

“Gracie, can you hear me?”

“Who’s asking? April? Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me.”

“Your voice sounds weird.”

“And you sound like you’re next door. I’m on a satellite phone.”

“Gad! I was about to launch the Coast Guard again, this time to find you.” Gracie’s voice was tense, April noted, her words coming rapidly.

“I called that guy Jim, in Valdez, and he said you and that jerk of a pilot who abandoned you flew off in late afternoon and he hadn’t seen you since.”

“It’s a long story,” April said, glancing at Scott as she tried to reduce the volume on the phone’s earpiece, “but we’re okay.”

“Yeah? We? But where are you, Rosencrantz?”

“We’re in Scott McDermott’s airplane right now, floating in a half-frozen lake and waiting for daylight.”

There was a short chuckle from Seattle. “Only my buddy April Rosen would get herself into a fro/en lake at midnight and be telling me about it on a satellite phone. What lake, exactly? And what’s been going on? Were you able to replace the video of the Albatross?”

April filled in a brief chronicle of the flight, leaving out the harrowing parts over and through the glacier. “We’re going to fly out of here at daylight and try once more to get to the crash site.”

“How, April? You said the crash site was a secured, patrolled area.”

“Scott’s friend Jim, the one you talked to, is gearing up to help us. We’ll meet him … at a location I don’t want to mention . .

. and give it another try. What’s up there?”

“Well, nothing amorous, I can assure you. I’m in my cloistered bedroom on the boat.” There was a long pause and April could hear her sigh. “Your dad called me last night and wanted me to put everything on hold.”

“WHAT?”

“That was roughly my reaction, April. I do not understand what’s gotten into him. I’ve never known the captain to be afraid of anything, but he sounded almost panicked. I must have asked him why a dozen times, but all he’d tell me is that he feared for my career and wanted me to stand down.”

“Have you talked to Mom?”

“Yes. He came in yesterday afternoon agitated about something, but won’t tell her what.”

“Gracie, we can’t quit now … can we? Is there any reason to?”

“No! And I forgot to tell you that I got the TRO, the temporary restraining order, and we served it almost immediately on the Coast Guard in their offices in the same building. They were very surprised.”

“I’ll bet, but does that mean we’ll get the tapes back now?”

“Well, it only means they’re ordered not to destroy them or lose

them. We’ve got a show-cause hearing Monday. I tried for Saturday but the judge laughed at me.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, I know. Trust me, it’s not fun to have a federal district judge laugh at you from the bench.”

“What are our chances of getting the tapes on Monday?”

“I don’t know, but we’d better try everything else possible, and I’ve got other things working, but since you’re worried about this line, maybe I’d better not say.”

“Okay. Is it good?”

“If it works, yes. I called our client back and kind of asked another favor.”

“Thank you, Gracie. Will it cost much?”

“Not in dollars, but maybe you can visit me on the Arabian Peninsula, cause he said I’ll have to be his mistress for at least a decade.”

“Gracie, just like Dad said, I don’t want you endangering your position with the firm.”

“Oh, it’s okay. So far, all I’ve promised the man is dinner.”

“Good.”

“In Kuwait.”

“What?”

“Just kidding.”

“You worry me, O’Bnen,” April said, smiling to herself in spite of the intense worry over her father’s sudden change of heart.

She wished there was time to relate the details of the wild flight and roller-coaster emotions of the previous day.

“April, the captain wants you to come home and give up as well.”

“Not only no, but hell no.”

“You should call him. You have a number on that satellite phone I can call until you return to civilization?” Gracie asked.

She asked Scott for the number and then relayed it.

“April, you’re sure you two are okay out there? Floating around

on an Alaskan lake in the middle of the night sounds a bit dangerous, not to mention cold.”

“We’ve got a heater. It’s actually toasty in here.”

“And food?”

“Yep. Even Starbucks coffee.”

“Okay. Call me as soon as you can from a safe phone, okay? And be careful. And if you get any more insight into what’s spooking your dad …”

“Yeah, I’ll call,” April said. “In the morning. I know he’ll ask where I am and I don’t want him worrying.”

“He’s already worried, but I’ll relay to Rachel that you’re okay.

Be careful, please, getting out of there. I don’t want to have to break in a new best friend. The darn process takes decades, you know, having to go back through kindergarten and high school, and double dating, training bras, guys…”

“Say good night, Grade.”

There was an uncharacteristic moment of silence from the other end, followed by a sigh. “April, I swear, if I hear that line one more time from you …”

“Sorry. I’m just trying to find some humor in things, you know?

But seriously, thanks for… well, what I’m trying to say, Gracie, is thank you for keeping tabs on my folks. I really appreciate …” Her voice trailed off as she found herself suddenly choking back tears that had come from nowhere.

“It’s okay, April. That’s a given. I love them, too.”

“Thanks.”

April punched off the phone and shifted her gaze to the front windscreen, aware that Scott had heard almost all of the exchange.

“As you’ve no doubt figured out, Gracie and I have been best friends since we were knee high to a duck.”

He nodded, his eyes on the ghostly shapes of ice barely visible in the darkness of the lake. “Not a problem. I like her sense of humor. And yours.”

The flickering light from a kerosene lantern he’d set up in the aft cabin of the Widgeon reflected off the nearest iceberg, creating dancing images of shadows and silvery white reflecting off the water. The gentle slosh and slap of small wind-driven waves could be heard against the aluminum hull of the Widgeon, but aside from the hiss of the lantern, the quiet was all but overwhelming, and April felt the silence demanding to be broken.

“Have you ever overnighted in here before?” April asked, pulling her jacket tighter around her, glad Gracie couldn’t see how chilly it really was with the only heat coming from the puny catalytic heater he’d set up under the open nose hatch.

Scott nodded, the movement almost synchronizing with the flickering light from behind him.

“Yeah. Many times. Sometimes to save hotel money. Sometimes just to hear the quiet.”

“Nice oxymoron.”

“Hmm?”