Griff was waiting for me at the front door. "Adam," he nodded, gripping my hand briefly as he pushed the door open. "Thanks for coming. I really appreciate it."
"No trouble," I told him, not entirely truthfully. We stepped out of the entryway airlock... and I found myself face to face with a dress-uniformed Marine.
"He's one of our people," Griff told the Marine before I could get my tongue unstuck. The guard nodded incuriously; but even as we passed him I could feel his eyes giving me an unobtrusive but thorough once-over. I'd seen that kind of apparent unconcern once or twice before, always from truly professional guards who used it as a way to throw people off-guard.
Professional guards at Banshee. "The place has changed," I murmured.
"The Marines are just on loan," he shook his head. "Courtesy of a Washington VIP named Shaeffer. He's in the lounge updating things for Hale and Kristin."
"What about Morgan? Or has he quit?"
"No, he's still with us. He's downstairs getting prepped."
I blinked. "You've got a Jump going already?"
"We will as soon as the model of Air Force One is ready. Shaeffer insisted on particularly fine detailing, and the modelers just finished it a few minutes ago."
"Actually, I was surprised more by the speed than the delay," I told him.
Griff snorted. "Yes, well, for a change, the budget overseers aren't going to be a problem. It's amazing," he added with a trace of bitterness, "the kind of money people are willing to throw around when someone important gets killed."
I nodded silently.
We reached the lounge and went in. The Washington VIP was there, all right, easily distinguishable by his expensive business suit and taut look. He was standing over the lounge table talking across a map to Hale Fortner and Kristin Cosgrove and—
I stopped just through the doorway, so abruptly that Griff stepped on my heel. "Rennie?" I hissed.
Griff squeezed past me into the room. "We needed everyone we could get, Adam—"
"How on Earth did you get him to come back?" I whispered. The painful scene that had taken place when Rennie Baylor was fired from Banshee flooded back from my memory.
"Look, this is no time to dredge up past disagreements," Griff hissed back. "Not for me, not for any of us—and if I can stand him for three days, so can you. Okay?"
I took a deep breath and got my feet moving again. True, it was Griff, not me, with whom Rennie had had most of his friction... but that didn't mean the rest of us hadn't suffered with him from the sidelines. Still, for three days—and under such circumstances—I would do my best to make do.
"—came down about here, among a real mess of hidden ravines and tricky cliff faces," the VIP was saying as we came up to the table. He looked up, eyes flicking past Griff to lock briefly onto me. "Mr. Sinn," he nodded in greeting. "Shaeffer—special aide to President Jef—" He broke off, his mouth compressing in brief pain before he could recover himself. "Have you been briefed?"
"Just the basics," I told him, his tight expression inducing another flicker of pain within me. Shaeffer, clearly, had been very close to the President. "Air Force One lost its right wing—somehow—and went down out in Colorado."
He nodded. "That's about all we've got at the moment. The search-and-rescue team hasn't been working for very long; so far they haven't got anything."
"No survivors, in other words," Kristin interjected quietly.
Shaeffer's lip tightened. "Yeah." He took a deep breath. "Well. Banshee's job will be to find out what happened to the plane. As I've already explained to Dr. Mansfield, you've got essentially a blank check—go ahead and do as many Jumps as it takes to get the job done right. Understood? Dr. Mansfield, how much longer will it be before you can get someone back there?"
Right on cue, the lounge's lights flickered. "Immediately, Mr. Shaeffer," Griff answered. "I'm afraid it's not much of a show, but if you'd like we could head downstairs and you could see Banshee in action."
"I'm not here to play tourist," Shaeffer bit out. "I'll be in the communications center if you need me; let me know as soon as the Jump is over."
Griff reddened slightly. "Yes, of course." He turned and quickly left the lounge, heading left toward the elevator. Shaeffer nodded to each of us in turn and followed, branching to the right toward the room where our modest radio, wire, and computer-net equipment were kept.
And I was left alone with the other Jumpers.
For a moment we all just looked at each other. Then Kristin stirred. "You haven't kept in touch very well, Adam."
I shrugged fractionally. "I've been pretty busy," I told her. It was more or less true.
"So have we," Hale said, more than a little tartly. "Work load's increased considerably since you cut out on us."
My eyes flicked to Rennie. "Don't look at me," he said blandly. "I was fired; you're the one who deserted."
"That's putting it a little strongly, isn't it?" I asked... but the indignation I'd intended to put into the words died somewhere en route. I hadn't been able to tell them the reasons then, and down deep I knew I couldn't tell them now, either.
"Yeah, Rennie, desertion's much too harsh a word," Hale chimed in. "It's not strictly desertion when the captain advises you to get off a sinking ship."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked him.
"I think you know," he ground out. "You've always been Griffs favorite Jumper—that's common knowledge. I think he warned you that we were about to be snowed under by a huge work load and suggested you take off and leave the rest of us more expendable Jumpers to struggle under the pile."
"That's not true," I said, trying hard to keep my voice steady.
Hale snorted. "Of course not. It was just pure coincidence. Sure."
Clenching my jaw, I leaned over the table for a look at the map Shaeffer had left behind. It was an impressive job, larger scale even than the standard 7.5-minute topographic ones I used for backpacking. The crash site was marked by a large red oval near one end, and my recently filled stomach did a couple of turns at the thought of having to go back and watch it happen. "Did Shaeffer say anything about surveying the crash sight, or just watching for the primary cause?" I asked.
"That's the way," Rennie said with mock approval. "When you can't win, change the subject."
I focused on Kristin. "Did he say anything about surveying the crash site?" I repeated.
"Not to us," she said. "But, then, we're just the Jumpers. We don't count for anything in that sort of decision-making."
"If you're wondering specifically about body trackings," Hale put in, "I'm sure you'll get a shot at one. They've become almost standard for us these days."
I shivered. Watching people die in mid-air explosions was bad enough... but to follow the bodies down as they fell to earth, seeing up close the burned and battered shells that had once been human beings...
"Unless, of course," Rennie suggested, "you want to talk to Griff about exempting you from anything particularly unpleasant."
I gritted my teeth. "I'll do my share of whatever comes up. See you later." Turning my back on them, I headed out of the lounge.
For a long moment I stood leaning against the hallway wall, slowly bringing my trembling knees under control again. I hadn't really expected to be welcomed back with open arms, but the sheer intensity of the others' hostility had hit me like ice water in the face. Clearly, Griff had kept his promise not to tell them why I'd left Banshee; whether or not I could survive three days under that kind of pressure wasn't nearly as clear.
But I would, of course. For whatever reason, Banshee needed me here... and I'd always been there when people needed me.
Taking a deep breath, I turned left and headed for the elevator.
—
The Banshee building's basement always reminded me of a cartoon I'd seen a long time ago in which one of the characters had bragged that "the house itself isn't much, but you should see the rec room." A one-time basement and subbasement had had their walls and the dividing floor knocked out to create a single vast space, with nothing to break it up but strategically placed pillars put in to support the rest of the building above it. The result was a room the size of a small warehouse... a room the Banshee equipment still filled to over-flowing.