When they completed their review, they briefed the company CEO and his vice president of operations on their findings, signed the necessary documentation, and then headed for the restaurant to kill some time. At two o'clock, they were scheduled to take delivery of their new airplane at Fort Worth Meacham International Airport, situated five miles northwest of downtown Fort Worth.
Scott surveyed the other patrons and then turned his attention to Jackie. Slim and athletic, Jackie Sullivan was Scott's partner, in life as well as in their corporate aviation consulting business.
Noticing Scott's attentive eyes, Jackie turned the tines of her fork down and placed it across her plate. As was her custom, she left a small amount of her entree and side dishes untouched.
"Dessert?" Scott asked.
"Thanks, but I can't eat another bite."
"They're famous for their pecan pie."
"I'm saving myself for this evening." Her gray-green eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Monterey, here we come."
"And tomorrow we re off to Hawaii," Scott confirmed.
"Off to Hawaii in our own jet." She reached for his hand and gently squeezed it. "No more long lines, security hassles, or missed connections, no air rage, and no lost luggage."
"Say hallelujah," he said, with a smile.
Scott Johnston Dalton, a former U. S. Marine Corps Harrier pilot, was a descendant of a Confederate general and the son of a retired marine corps brigadier. Standing six feet tall, he had dark hair, broad shoulders, and piercing blue eyes that exuded confidence.
After his active duty commitment to the marine corps, Scott reported to the Central Intelligence Agency for initial training. During his stint at the Agency, he gained recognition in a short period of time. However, the internal politics and turf wars finally drove him out of the organization. Regarded as one of the CIAs best and brightest, Scott's impending departure from the Agency was noticed at the White House.
The president and his closest adviser had watched Scott develop into a first-rate counterterrorism expert. They did not want to lose his blend of marine corps and CIA training, natural flying ability, honed parachuting skills, and other extraordinary capabilities. He was a highly dedicated, motivated, and resourceful operative. Hartwell Prost, the president's national security adviser, was dispatched to offer Dalton a plum position, albeit a dangerous one. After mulling the offer and weighing the odds, Scott accepted the challenge. He would be an off-the-record covert operator working directly for Prost.
As a private citizen with no ties to the U. S. government, Scott would conduct special operations on behalf of the White House. Only President Cord Macklin, Hartwell Prost, and his senior aide would know about the clandestine arrangement. Dalton would be operating outside the boundaries of congressional-oversight requirements that often hamper covert CIA operations.
Scott would be free to circumvent the obstacles that might prove embarrassing to President Macklin, the departments of Justice and State, the Central Intelligence Agency, or the Pentagon. His primary objective on any assignment was to leave no fingerprints, no record of any kind, and certainly no sensational headlines. If anything went wrong, Macklin and Prost would disavow any knowledge of him. The risk factor was high, but Prost assured him the reward was commensurate with the risks.
Scott had met Jackie by chance at an elegant restaurant in Georgetown. She was unaware that Scott was a former CIA counter-terrorism strike-force team leader. Likewise, he was unaware that Jackie was a clandestine intelligence officer with the Defense Human Intelligence Service. Their initial conversation was about being former military fighter pilots. They had spent the majority of the evening exchanging their humorous experiences in the service, and afterward, when Scott invited Jackie to go sailing the following weekend, she accepted. Much to his disappointment, he was called away two days later for a covert operation in Buenos Aires. He attempted to contact Jackie at her home, but her phone recorder was not working.
While Scott was on assignment in Argentina, his maid discarded the cocktail napkin on which he had scribbled Jackie's unlisted telephone number. When Scott returned to Washington, he continued to frequent the dining establishment where he and Jackie met. Unfortunately, the dark-haired beauty never reappeared.
By happenstance, they were reunited less than a year later by Hartwell Prost. He enlisted their collective assistance to rescue one of Jackie's closest colleagues at the Defense Human Intelligence Service. Working alone, under deep cover, Jackie's friend was trapped in Lebanon, surrounded by hard-core terrorists in the Bekaa Valley.
After Scott and Jackie returned from the hazardous rescue mission, they explored the idea of joining forces to capitalize on their combined skills. Scott needed a dedicated and qualified pilot to assist him. He and his partner had to think alike, instinctively knowing what the other person was going to do at any given moment.
Working under great stress and pressure, they had to have implicit trust in each other. There was no question in Scott's mind: Jackie was that person. After surviving the Bekaa Valley operation, they solidified their mutual trust and allegiance. The chemistry between them was beyond improvement.
Jackie was an unusually gifted aviator in both fixed-wing and helicopter aircraft. Her clandestine background, language skills, highspeed driving ability, calmness under fire, and military training as an F-16 fighter jock made her perfect for the job.
After discussing the concept at length, they approached Hartwell Prost with their suggestion. Three days later, aboard Marine One en route to Camp David, Prost presented the idea to the president, who endorsed the merger.
Operating as The Dalton & Sullivan Group, Incorporated, Jackie and Scott formed a legitimate aviation-consulting firm located near Ronald Reagan National Airport and hired a full-time secretary to mind the office. Mary Beth Collins was a bright, vivacious self-starter who had the office humming from day one.
Between special assignments and sensitive field operations for Prost, Scott and Jackie conducted their consulting business in a professional manner. Subtleties from a few new clients confirmed what they suspected from the day their firm was incorporated. The growing business was getting good press from someone with a lot of influence at the highest level of the U. S. government. Undoubtedly Hartwell was behind the steady increase in blue-chip clients.
Jackie studied Scott's face. "You look like you're ready to launch from the catapult in Zone-Five burner."
"Is it that obvious?" He smiled and shifted in his seat.
"Yes, but I don't blame you. I feel the same way: can't wait to get my hands on our plane."
He checked his watch. "It's not like we take delivery of a new Gulfstream One Hundred every day."
She raised an eyebrow in good humor. "It's probably normal to be anxious, to want to finalize the deal before we wake up and find out it was only a dream."
"Don't say that," Scott said, with a nervous laugh.
"Well, it is going to happen." Jackie leaned closer to him and spoke in a whisper. "We earned it, in spades, and we're going to put it to good use."
"For business and pleasure," he added.
"Our magic carpet."
Scott smiled with pure satisfaction. "No more torture sessions at the hands of the baggage screeners."
A mild sigh of relief escaped Jackie's lips. "That and being crammed into a seat designed for a skinny ten-year-old girl."
The couple had earned large fees for completing three dangerous operations for Prost. The sensitive missions involved the Peoples Republic of China and were critical to U. S. national security Prost arranged to have the multimillion-dollar checks hand-delivered to Scott and Jackie's personal representative at an offshore bank on Grand Cayman.