Intelligent and clinically analytical, Hartwell Prost was the president s closest aide and most trusted confidant. Considered a Renaissance man by most of his associates, Prost was a soft-spoken gendeman who appeared to be the quintessential Ivy League college professor. Although he was the consummate well-mannered man, Prost was best known for his unyielding adherence to his principles. When warranted, he did not hesitate to take anyone to task, including the president of the United States.
Wearing his ever-present tam-o'-shanter, Prost sat astride one of his prized Appaloosas. He had just completed a thorough inspection of his 37 acres of property in prime Maryland hunt country After a chat with the groundskeepers, Hartwell gently steered the horse to the private avenue leading to his home. Halfway to the residence his satellite phone rang. He brought Curly to a stop under the long canopy of trees and answered the call.
"Prost."
"Mr. Prost? Scott Dalton."
"Scott, how are you?"
"Could be better." Dalton brought him up to date on the assassination attempt. He told Hartwell that Zheng Yen-Tsung might be behind it, although it was speculation at this point.
"Ill call Jim Ebersole and have him look into it." Ebersole was the current director of the FBI. "Well make sure nothing unfavorable gets into the press."
"Thank you, sir. We appreciate it."
"No problem." Hartwell urged Curly to continue walking. "I must say, the possibility that Zheng might be in the country surprises me."
"Same here. Wouldn't think he'd have a chance of getting in with the increased security."
"Right." Hartwell patted Curly on the neck. "The INS is watching everyone like a hawk."
"Then again, we know he's capable of beating almost any system."
"True, he is well connected." Reflecting on the administrations continuing efforts to suppress international terrorism, Prost elected not to bring Dalton into the loop on the latest intelligence reports. Like everything else, satellite phones could be monitored. "When you and Jackie have an opportunity, why don t you plan to visit me here at Winslow."
"Sure. Is it urgent?"
"Yes, I would say so. We've had some disturbing news, and I'd like to discuss it with the two of you in person. We may be looking at another project in the immediate future."
Project was Hartwell's euphemism for covert operation.
"Yes, sir." Forget Hawaii. "How about late tomorrow afternoon?"
"That sounds fine. Plan on dinner here."
"We'll be there."
After Scott finished his conversation with Prost, he handed the phone to Jackie. "We're clear on the bomb deal, but we may be reporting for duty in the near future."
She rolled her eyes heavenward. "It figures. What's the latest?"
"He asked us to visit him at home."
"When?"
"I suggested late tomorrow afternoon." He braced for the inevitable storm surge.
Her hands on her hips, she didn't blink an eyelash. "Pardon me, but the last time I checked, Maryland wasn't en route to Hawaii."
UI know." Scott raised both palms in a calming gesture. "I suggest we take delivery of our plane, fly to Monterey, have a great dinner, and take in the nightlife. Tomorrow morning we'll head for Baltimore and find out what's on Prost's mind."
In her heart, Jackie knew the request was important. Her voice was tempered with disappointment, but she smiled. "Here we go again. Perfect timing."
"Hey, depending on what happens in Maryland, we can reschedule our departure. That's why we have our own jet. Flexibility to travel whenever we want."
A cool smile edged her lips. "Okay, I'll buy that. We are going to Hawaii as soon as possible, right?"
He smiled in return. "No argument from me, but responsibility is the nature of our business."
"How well I know," she said, resigned to the inevitable. "Did Hartwell say what he wants to discuss?"
"No, no details over the phone, but I would bet it has something to do with the ongoing terrorist situation. Probably some new development we aren't aware of."
Jackie remained quiet for a moment and then shook her head. "I don't know whether to laugh or curse."
"What?"
"Do you realize we don't have any clothes?"
"It crossed my mind."
"We don't have anything except what we're wearing."
Scott tried unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. "All those endless hours shopping with you, the new custom-made luggage, the shoes, the wardrobe update, and the…" He trailed off, laughing. "And now everything has been incinerated or blown halfway to Dallas."
"I don't think it's funny," she managed to say, before she had to smother a laugh. "You may think it's funny, but our en-route charts and approach plates are charcoaled confetti like everything else. So are our new life raft and the laptop."
"Hey, don't worry about it." He draped a reassuring arm over her shoulder. "Well get new charts at the FBO. Besides, we won't need a life raft this trip."
She raised a brow. "We can only hope."
Scott watched the firemen hose down the blackened, twisted wreck. "Let's grab a taxi and do a little shopping before we go to the airport."
"Yeah, all we need is everything," she deadpanned.
"Let's be thankful for what we have."
"I know." Her grin changed to a wide smile. "I'm a tad short on patience at the moment."
The crowd was dissipating when Jackie and Scott began walking toward Sundance Square to call a taxi. Scott reached into his pocket and tossed something into a trash container. "Sayonara."
"What was that?"
"The keys to our rental car."
When Jackie and Scott arrived at Texas Jet, their gleaming G-100, N957GA, was already sitting on the ramp waiting for them. They paid the cabdriver and hauled their meager luggage to the airplane. Three representatives from Gulfstream walked out of the fixed-base-operator's lounge to meet the new owners.
The aircraft's sleek fuselage and long curved wings reinforced the feeling that the Gulfstream 100 was a hot performer. With the engines mounted on each side of the tail and winglets accentuating the tips of the wings, the G-100 was the picture of aerodynamic efficiency. It could take off at a maximum gross weight of 24,650 pounds on a standard day (mean sea level, 760 millimeters pressure, 15 degrees Centigrade) and climb directly to 41,000 feet.
The wings and the bottom of the long fuselage were bright metallic red. The tops of the cabin, engines, and tail were white, as were the winglets. The side number was emblazoned in red on the sides of the white engine nacelles. The staff at Gulfstream's headquarters had done their job well. N957GA was shining like a diamond with new tires all around.
The spotless interior was stocked with a wide variety of snacks, soft drinks, and adult beverages. The cabin consisted of a four-seat club arrangement with two additional seats and a comfortable couch across from the galley. A totally enclosed stand-up lavatory with hot and cold water taps was located at the back of the cabin.
Jackie decided to stow their duffel bags in the roomy passenger cabin. Along with new clothes, shoes, and toiletries, they also had purchased two laptop computers to replace the one destroyed in the explosion.
Most of the reams of paperwork involved in transferring ownership of N957GA had been completed ahead of time. After everything else was signed in Texas Jets conference room, Scott and Jackie thanked the Gulfstream representatives. They posed for the obligatory photographs next to the jet and shook hands with the smiling company officials.
Jackie ordered fuel, checked the en-route weather, filed an instrument flight plan to Monterey, and completed a thorough pre-flight check of the plane. Scott purchased the charts they would need and called Sporty s Pilot Shop. He ordered a new chart case and a complete set of IFR en-route high altitude charts and terminal procedures publications. The order also included a new top-of-the-line quick-inflating nine-man life raft and nine twin-cell airline-type life vests.