Point of Contact

14

By the time they finally boarded their next flight, Jack was fried. Mechanical problems, a switched plane, and crew delays from a transit strike turned a scheduled three-hour layover into a nine-hour debacle. A frustrating business trip was suddenly worse.

What really bothered him, though, was the utter waste of time. If he’d only known about the delays he would’ve grabbed a taxi and headed into London to see Ysabel Kashani. It killed him to be this close to her and not say hello in person; to say he was sorry for the way it ended, on a hurried phone call between flights they both had to catch, without even a last kiss good-bye.

Paul was happy as a clam, though, and fresh as a daisy. Captain Miller had given him a pass to the Virgin Atlantic Clubhouse, where he enjoyed a hot shower and a shave, along with champagne and breakfast. He even got his suit cleaned and pressed. At least one of them was having a good time.

Jack, on the other hand, had cleaned up in the public restroom, his face nicked by the cheap razor he’d bought in the terminal. Still, he was happy for Paul. The only explanation Paul was willing to offer about the extraordinary attention Captain Miller had paid to him was that he and Miller had known each other years ago. Beyond that, Paul wouldn’t get more specific. Jack let it go. There were still another eleven-plus hours of flight time and a whole week on the ground to decipher the growing enigma that was Paul Brown.

Jack was also exhausted. He hadn’t been able to sleep on the overnight flight to London, partly because a man in the row behind him snored like a jigsaw ripping through a tin roof. He certainly couldn’t sleep in the stiff-backed Heathrow terminal chairs, anxiously waiting to board their flight while Paul worked his Sudoku puzzles.

Now that Jack was finally settled into his plush reclining leather chair, he could catch some shuteye. He stretched out his seat as Paul fired up his computer. “I need to keep working on my other project,” Paul said, but Jack was already sound asleep.

Paul worked diligently on the last spreadsheet he’d been combing through when he first got the call from Hendley and Rhodes. When the dinner service finally arrived he dove into it, and he ordered a cup of steaming-hot water for his private stash of chamomile tea just before he went to sleep.

When the breakfast service rolled around, Paul decided to wake Jack up with a gentle nudge.

Jack stirred out of his dead slumber. “Something wrong?”

“Heck no. Breakfast is coming and it smells great.”

Jack yawned and stretched. “Sounds good.” He raised his seat. “I miss anything?”

“Like what?”

Jack rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “A hijacking. A monster on the wing trying to tear it apart. The usual.”

“No, not really. You’ve got a couple of options for breakfast.”

“I’ll have what you’re having.”

“I’m going for the full English selection. And just to be a little crazy, I’m going for the Earl Grey tea. I could use the caffeine.”

“Order for me — but with black coffee. Back in a flash.”

Jack excused himself, crawled over Paul, and used the cramped facilities, splashing water on his face and running his fingers through his hair to try and bring some order to the chaos on top of his head. He checked the scabbing razor nicks on his face and hoped he could buy or beg a toothbrush and toothpaste from the flight attendant before they landed.

Jack made his way back up the aisle, passing three men scattered around the cabin, a German, a Bulgarian, and a Ukrainian. Jack didn’t notice them. He wasn’t supposed to.

But each of them was keenly aware of Paul Brown.

The “Singapore girl” flight attendant, wearing the airline’s distinctively colorful sarong kebaya, arrived with breakfast just as Jack retook his seat. His mouth watered as he started tucking in.

As they ate, Jack decided to pick up where they last left off on the flight to London, hoping Paul’s defenses were finally down.

“I never did thank you properly for that Singapore Sling.”

“I had two. Knocked me out cold.”

“I take it you and Senator Rhodes have a history.”

Paul chewed a crumbling biscuit. “We worked together a long time ago.”

“Just like you and that Virgin Atlantic captain.”

“Something like that.”

Jack cut another piece of sausage. “What was Rhodes like to work with?”

Paul set his fork and knife down and wiped his mouth with the heavy cloth napkin. “Everybody loved Weston Rhodes where we worked, especially the ladies. I think even Carmen had a little schoolgirl crush on him. He was just so darned handsome and charming. You know how he is.”

Jack had to give him that. Even as a middle-aged man, Rhodes still turned younger women’s heads.

Paul chuckled. “He never met a stranger.”

“A natural political talent.”

“We all knew he was destined for great things. I wasn’t surprised at all when he was elected to the Senate. I was shocked that he didn’t run for reelection. I just assumed he was setting himself for a run at the Oval Office.”

“The Senate doesn’t pay as well as Wall Street.” Jack decided to press his luck. “Neither does the Company.”

Paul frowned. “He told you about his past?”

“Didn’t have to. He was born and bred to clandestine service. It’s practically a family business. But a man like Rhodes has a hard time with authority, unless he’s the one in charge.”

Paul smiled but didn’t comment. He picked up his silverware again and went after his potatoes.

Jack pushed a little deeper. “Were you and Rhodes close back in the day?”

“Not really. I was downstairs, he was upstairs, both literally and metaphorically. Ivy League and all of that.”

“I know the type.” Jack attended Georgetown University, a first-rate academic institution, and his dad was a Boston College grad. Jack was grateful for his education. He didn’t care that he didn’t have the Ivy League connections. Like the Jesuits taught him, it was character — not pedigree — that determined one’s destiny.

“I met your dad once,” Paul said.

“Really?”

Paul continued. “A few months ago, Gerry asked me to drop off some paperwork at his place out in the country. I had to wait on his front porch with the Secret Service detail because your dad was inside. But when Gerry came out, he invited me in for a beer. He grabbed one for me from the fridge and told me to follow him into the den, where your dad was. We all just sat around and drank a beer together, and talked about college football for a few minutes. Nice guy. Not stuck-up like most politicians.”

“I’m a fan, too.”

Paul finished the last bite of buttery eggs, licked the fork, and set it down on the tray.

“So, I have to confess. I wasn’t completely honest with you back in Gerry’s office yesterday.”

“How so?”

“When I said I knew you by reputation, that was true enough. But I also know you through Susan Styles.”

Jack struggled to remember the name. “Sorry, drawing a blank.”

“She’s an executive assistant in my department. Older woman, heavyset, plain. A real hard worker and smart, but not the kind of woman a man pays much attention to. Anyway, she told me the whole story.”

Now Jack was squirming. Had he done something wrong to this woman?

“It was raining cats and dogs one night and she was driving way too fast when her tire blew. She almost lost control but managed to pull over on the side of the road, shaking like a leaf. Just as she threw on her emergency lights, an SUV pulled up in her rearview mirror. The guy jumped out, got soaking wet, and asked her if she was hurt. She said she wasn’t, then he offered to change her tire. She didn’t have Triple A and she didn’t know how to do it herself. So the guy changed her tire. He was muddy and drenched when he finally got done. She offered him twenty dollars for his trouble and he refused it. Even insisted on following her home to make sure she got there okay. When she pulled up in her driveway he honked the horn and waved good-bye. Who does that kind of thing anymore?”

Jack shrugged, a little embarrassed. “It was no big deal. Just a tire.”

“So when I said you did good work back in Gerry’s office, I was really talking about the tire.”

Jack smiled, accepting the half-compliment. “Did you finish catching up on your other work?”

“Not yet. In fact, I need to get back to it.”

As soon as their trays were carried away, Paul broke out his laptop and dove into his spreadsheets. Jack opened up his, too, connected to the onboard Wi-Fi, and started doing research on the Dalfan corporation. He wanted to hit the ground running.

An hour before they landed, the flight attendant passed out customs declarations cards. Jack glanced at it. Standard stuff.

Except for the big bold red letters in an extra-large font at the bottom of the card: