Kat replaced the ID and hunched over, straining to hear Jordan James’s voice. “Are you sure, Jordan?”
“I need a rendezvous point, Kat. I need to talk to you in person as soon as possible. I have a plane ready to fly me out to the coast tonight, wherever you are.”
“I’m… not on the coast. I mean, I’m not that far. There’s someone I’m trying to find and interview. I’d rather not say who, or where, just in case.”
“Kat, you’ve got to trust me. This line is clear. Where will you be?”
She glanced at Robert and sighed. There was no time to explain to him, and it was her decision anyway. She was confused now about which lines might be leaking and which were secure, if any were secure. With airports being closed by terrorist threats, the confirmation that stolen laser guns were probably involved, and the growing worry that they were facing a couple of entities trying to find and silence them, speaking the name of the destination city seemed reckless but unavoidable. After all, it was Jordan James asking, and if she couldn’t trust Jordan, she was in a house of mirrors.
“Kat, please. Where do I find you?”
She sighed again, closing her eyes. “I’ll be in Sun Valley. Don’t ask why.” She could feel Robert’s startled reaction, but it was too late.
“Good. I’ll arrange the flight right now and be out there by… tomorrow morning at the latest. Keep your phone on. I’ll call you from the airport.”
“Okay. But what have you found? If this line is secure enough for me to tell you where I’m going to be…” She glanced at Robert with a quick nod to tell him it was all right.
“Then why isn’t it secure enough,” he interjected, “for me to tell you what I’ve discovered? Maybe it is, Katherine. But there’s a lot to explain. This is a very complex, very frightening situation.”
“You know about the weapons, Uncle Jordan?”
“How do you mean?” he asked, trying to mask caution.
“I mean, did you know the ones used in SeaAir and Meridian may be stolen from a U.S. stockpile — weapons specifically prohibited by presidential directive?”
There was a long pause on the other end. “Kat, that’s why we have to talk. There’s a lot you don’t know, although I’m impressed with what you’ve found out. National security is at stake here. See you tonight, or early in the morning. Keep the phone on.”
She disconnected and turned to meet Robert MacCabe’s alarmed expression, trying not to think or admit that she might have just made a dangerous mistake.
A gossamer veil of snow had begun to fall as the Dash 8 pilots made a flawless instrument approach to Friedman Memorial Field in Hailey, Idaho, the commercial gateway to Sun Valley. The world swam into view at 600 feet above ground, and they broke out perfectly aligned with the runway, navigating only by the distant signals of a global positioning satellite system in what was known as a GPS approach.
By the time the Dash 8 had stopped at the gate, a minor blizzard was in progress, with heavy snow predicted all afternoon. The extreme tension they were already feeling didn’t help on the taxi ride to Dr. Thomas Maverick’s address, south of the town of Sun Valley. The scientist’s cabin was in the southern end of the area in a heavily forested community of widely spaced homes and poorly marked roads, and after the third wrong turn, the cab driver’s short temper wasn’t helping matters, either.
Dr. Maverick’s small log cabin finally appeared. Kat paid the cabby quickly and sent him away over Robert’s whispered protests. “What if Maverick isn’t home, Kat? We aren’t clothed for this.”
“We’ll be fine,” she said, zipping up the uninsulated windbreaker she’d carried from Stehekin.
“Fine? We’re already freezing! Not that we have any choice now.”
There was no answer at the door, and no sign of a fire in the fireplace, but there were fresh tire tracks being covered rapidly in the snowy driveway. Kat moved cautiously around the cabin, finding the front and rear doors locked and nothing suspicious visible through the windows, before returning to Robert, who was standing under the eave of the roof and trying to stay out of the wind.
“If he’s here, he’s hiding,” she told Robert.
“So — as Dallas would say, what now, Kemosabe? Your faithful companion is freezing his ass off.”
She ignored the attempt at humor. “We wait.”
“Out here?”
“No, inside. We find the least destructive way to break in.”
Normally, Robert thought, I would protest being asked to aid an essentially criminal act, but the cold was reaching serious proportions and being inside, almost anywhere, was rapidly becoming an imperative.
They returned to the rear door, and Kat fumbled in her handbag before pulling out a Leatherman’s tool.
“You know how to pick locks, too, Kat?” Robert asked through chattering teeth.
“Not a clue,” she said. “You?”
He nodded, then shook his head. “Not really. I’ve fooled around with some, but that’s a pretty stout lock.”
She straightened up. “It is, isn’t it? Okay. Wait.” She left the back steps and selected a piece of firewood from a covered pile adjacent to the cabin. She used the end to shatter one of the windowpanes in the door, then reached inside to unlock it.
“Oh, thank God!” Robert said, his shock at Kat’s action ameliorated as he moved into the comfort of the heated interior.
“The heat’s a good sign,” she said, closing the door behind them. “I doubt he’d keep this place heated all winter. Probably only when he’s here.”
Kat went out the front door to get the bags and immediately fished out the gun, loading it and dropping it into her handbag. Robert’s voice reached her through the partially open door.
“I’ll see if I can find something to tape over the broken pane.” He rummaged around in a closet and came out as she reentered the tiny kitchen. “I’ve checked the whole place, Kat. He’s not here.”
“I’m sure he will be. It’ll be dark by five P.M. and I’ll bet he’ll wait for that.”
“So… we just wait?” Robert asked.
“Yes. Meanwhile, I’m ditching the hooker outfit. It’s served its purpose.”
“You’re still very blond, my lady.” Robert grinned. Kat didn’t respond, and her face looked grim. He caught her by the shoulders and turned her around. “Kat? I know you’re worried, but have you completely lost your sense of humor?”
She looked puzzled. “What?”
“Your sense of humor. Gallows humor, if necessary.”
She shook her head and frowned as she gently pulled away from his hands. “I’m sorry, Robert. I’m a bit preoccupied with keeping us alive.”
“Well, we’ve got to keep laughing. Blonds have to have a sense of humor.”
Her expression was still unyielding, but she studied him for a few seconds, then bumped a hip in his direction. “How’s that? ‘Blond’ is an attitude.”
“Better,” he said, and watched her disappear with her bag into the bathroom.
She returned minutes later in a pair of jeans and a pullover sweater to find Robert at the rear window watching the snowfall, which was becoming heavier.
He turned and smiled at her, inclining his head toward the window. “Kat, if this snow continues, I don’t know if James is going to make it in.”
“He said by morning,” she said, without expression. “We wait, regardless.”
The Lear 35 private jet that Arlin Schoen had waited for all afternoon taxied rapidly up to the Flightcraft private terminal and shut down the engine on the left side long enough to lower the steps and bring Schoen aboard. He scrambled into the plush interior, pleased to find six of his men. The pilots of the chartered jet restarted the left engine and departed immediately, flying a direct course to the Sun Valley airport at just under 500 miles per hour. The passengers in the back huddled in conversation. There had been several heavy wooden boxes loaded back in Seattle, and both pilots were increasingly nervous about their clients and what they were carrying — as well as concerned about the deteriorating Sun Valley weather ahead.