“After the bullshit remark he made? And it was only one tooth.”
“Oh, sorry, my bad.” Hank let out a deep sigh. “So your missile missed.”
“Twice now. This time people got killed. You were almost one of them.”
“Not your fault.”
“He didn't seem to think so.”
“Do you go postal every time someone makes a wise-ass remark at you?”
Eva sighed and slouched. “I just landed for Christ's sake. He caught me at a bad time. That asshole should have known better.”
Hank cracked a grin. “You're right, he's an asshole. Crew chiefs usually are. But you should know that.”
“So, who do I have to fuck to make it all go away?”
Hank rolled his eyes and held her in a quiet, uncomfortable gaze. Eva shuffled in her chair as he took in a deep breath. “You're in the fucking doghouse, but it's my fucking doghouse. If you don't learn to control your temper, you'll never see the seat of that sexy airplane ever again. I also hit back. Do you hear me, jet-jockey?”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“So, whose filling your seat?”
“Ronnie.”
“Well, if things work out here, Ronnie will have a brief assignment.”
Eva sighed and frowned. “Do you really think I have a chance to get it back?”
“It's up to Drake, and you know how gawd-awful hard he is to please. You might be the very best, but he's old-school and has a lower tolerance for this kind of shit than I do. I honestly can't blame him for grounding you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Eva grudgingly conceded. “I fucked-up pretty bad.”
Hank smiled. “If you ask me, I think you've still got a chance. It'll take a while. Just behave and stay off the radar.”
“I'll behave. I promise.”
Saturday, May 27, 1994
Huston Associates - Lowell, Massachusetts
“How's your head?” Dr. Kyle Huston asked as Sam sat down in a club chair in his elegantly decorated office. Kyle sat in a leather wing-chair.
“That's a loaded question.”
Kyle laughed. “Good to see you have a sense of humor about it. I meant the cuts on your forehead.”
“They're fine.”
“Any headaches?”
“Nope,” Sam quickly replied as he looked around the office.
“Have you ever seen a psychiatrist before?”
“Nope.”
Kyle smiled and nodded. “It can be an unnerving experience on your first visit. So please relax and try to forget anything you've seen on television. We're just here to have a nice talk.”
There were a few seconds of uneasy silence before Sam spoke. “So, what do we talk about?”
“What have you been doing since we last saw each other?”
“Not a lot. I've been given the rest of the week off. I saw my doctor. He ran some more tests. Nothing turned up.”
“That's good to hear. How are things between you and Angela?”
“She took a couple of days off and we've been spending some time together.”
“That sounds nice. What have you two been doing?”
Sam allowed a blissful smile. “Well, we've been taking some walks along the river. Getting some things around the townhouse done. We went out to dinner last night.”
“That's good, and?”
“And?”
“It's the way you smiled when I first asked the question. The sex must be pretty good, right?”
“Yeah,” Sam answered with a bashful hesitance. “It's actually been better than it has in a while.”
“That's a good and healthy thing to hear, Sam. Have you been sleeping well?”
“It was hard the first night back. It's like I already had too much sleep, but it's been pretty normal since.”
“Have you found yourself unusually preoccupied about anything?”
“Just trying to make sense of what happened.”
“It's difficult to deal with situations where government secrets are involved.”
“Will I ever get to know who attacked us and why?”
“I don't know. Have you been asked about it by anyone? Is the press bothering you?”
“I've only told my friends the cover-story and I haven't returned any calls from reporters. Angela has been answering the phone lately, but it hasn't been ringing as much today.”
“That's good. It means things are settling down. The news cycle is moving on to other things. It's something that will help you in this situation.”
“When can I go back to work?” Sam asked.
“I'll have to clear you first. After I do, we'll still have to meet every week for a little while. But I think things are looking good for a limited work schedule starting next week.”
Sunday, May 28, 1995
Blanchard Corporation- Chelmsford, Massachusetts
“The NTSB investigation is in progress,” Colin reported to the weekly staff meeting. “The crash team has been on site and is still in the process of reconstructing the incident. We were able to successfully purge all incriminating data in the flight data recorder, and plant new information that should corroborate a mechanical failure in the port engine, and a subsequent in-flight engine explosion. However, as we suspected, our demolition of the rear of the aircraft is going to be a problem. Even a rookie investigator is going to conclude that something suspicious occurred. We've also been asked why our survivors wandered so far away from the crash site and how they were rescued. The NTSB has a whole litany of other questions and they aren’t satisfied with the survivor statements we provided. They want direct interviews.”
“Senator Barlow will address that for us,” Merrill replied. “I'm certain the requests for interviews will be withdrawn soon.”
“Merrill,” Colin continued, “the NTSB forensic people are sure to find traces of the explosives we used to destroy the rear section. That's going to open up a huge can of worms.”
“I'll leave that to our NSA friends to clean up. They appreciate the importance of maintaining our cover.”
“How are Hank and Sam doing?” Christine asked.
“Hank's fine,” Kyle reported with an assured smile. “He's been through worse. I'm clearing Sam for a limited work schedule starting this week, but I'm optimistic he'll be back up to his normal schedule fairly soon. I'll be keeping an eye on him in case anything develops. So far, I think he's doing remarkably well.”
Merrill cracked a smug grin. “I expected nothing less of him.”
“What about the EC?” Walt asked.
“The autopsy is done,” Colin replied. “It was a Caucasian male in his mid-to-late twenties. Physically fit, average height, and there were no physical abnormalities. We're running exemplar prints through AFIS and any other database, but we don't expect to get any hits for obvious reasons. We're also working up a full DNA profile, but that's still a few weeks off. Overall, he seems like a unremarkable soldier wearing the most advanced body armor I've ever seen. It's likely going to take a long time to fully understand the technology and materials behind it. We've determined that it'll protect against anything except higher caliber ammunition, although there are a couple weak spots around the joints. There's also an adaptive camouflage capability that's integrated into the surface. It probably explains how they got so close to Hank unseen.”
“Anything we can reverse-engineer?” Merrill asked.
“We can't determine that yet. It's going to take a while to break it down.”
“What about any weapons he was carrying?”
“Our site team found what appears to be the remains of a gun that likely self-destructed. We're analyzing the materials to see if we can learn anything.”
Wednesday, June 21, 1995
Tewksbury, Massachusetts
“You didn't have to keep this dinner date,” Susan said to Sam as she sat at a table in the back of a chain restaurant.
“Oh, stop it. Of course I did.”
“Okay,” Susan sheepishly c
onceded after a thought. “You did. Thanks.”
“Sorry, I didn't have time to find a restaurant out of the ordinary.”
Susan folded her arms. “Are you joking?”
“I have no excuse. I've had plenty of time to look for someplace else besides this.”
“It's not the place, it's the company.”
“You're right.”
“So how are you really? Any delayed effects? Any subjects I should stay away from? Maybe a limit on how late I should keep you out?”
“I'm really fine, Sues,” Sam defensively retorted. “Please stop trying to handle me.”
“Handle you?”
Sam relaxed himself. “Sorry about that. It's just that everyone has been treating me like I'm about to fall apart or something. It's making me a little crazy.”
“I thought therapy was supposed to have the opposite effect.”
“They're mandatory psych visits to keep me cleared for work. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't go to them.”
“Aw,” Susan teased, “don't you like sharing your feelings with your therapist?”
“But you're my therapist.”
Susan smiled. “And don't you ever forget that, mister.”
The waitress came by with water and menus. “Can I get you something else to drink?”
“I'm fine,” Susan said.
“I'll have a Heineken.”
The waitress nodded and left.
“So,” Susan carefully started, “Is it true what they say about near-death experiences? Does your life flash in front of your eyes?”
“If it did, I can't remember anything about it.”
“Oh, you're no fun.”
“Yeah, sorry, I had a boring crash. I blacked out and woke up after the good part was over. I'll try to stay conscious next time.”
Susan's expression shifted. She tried to hide it, but Sam instantly read it.
“What's the matter?”
“Nothing, it's just an immature thought.”
Sam extended his arm across the table and held out his hand. Susan instinctively placed her hand in his.
“Sues, what is it?”
Tears formed and Susan tried to blink them away. “I'm sorry. I know it's a selfish thought and you don't want people fussing over what happened, but I almost lost you. It really scared me.”
Sam picked up his napkin and handed it to her.
“Damn you, Sam,” Susan scoffed as she dried her tears. “You did it again. Almost every time we go out.”
Sam smiled. “It's okay, Sues. I survived it. I guess God isn't done with me.”
“Did you just mention God?”
“Yeah, sorry, that must have slipped out.”
Susan beamed. “You just made my day.”
“So, is anyone in the group asking about me?”
“You've been the top prayer request over the past couple of Bible studies.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Wonderful.”
“Laura and Emily have obviously talked with Angela, but I got the feeling that Laura wants to talk to you. She's timid about approaching you.”
“The ball's in her court. I'll wait to see what happens.”
“Fair enough. I'm also curious if you ever heard from Carlos. I mean, after all the press coverage, I figured he'd make an attempt to contact you.”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“I actually drove past his place recently and it looks like someone else is living there.”
“I'm not surprised. He's obviously moved on.”
Saturday, June 24, 1995
Sam's Townhouse - North Chelmsford, Massachusetts
“Did you want me to get you that red t-shirt?” Angela asked as she picked up her purse.
“Sure, I can always return it if it doesn’t fit,” Sam replied as he headed into the bathroom for a shave.
“You mean I'll get to return it.”
“Well, probably,” Sam admitted.
“Oh, I've got to stop for gas. Is that station around the corner open this early?”
Sam paused and went back to his night-stand. He picked up his set of keys and tossed them to Angela. “Go ahead, take my Acura.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Sam replied with a smile. “I filled it up yesterday. Besides, you're overdue for a spin.”
Angela gave him a kiss. “That crash really softened you up. I'll try to keep it under 80.”
“That's not nice.”
Angela giggled as she turned to the door. “My keys are on my dresser. How long do you have to go in for today?”
“Just an hour or two. I'll be home early afternoon.”
“Just make sure it doesn’t go later than five. You've been encroaching on our us time and we're supposed to meet Laura and Emily for dinner at six.”
Sam snickered. “How could I forget?”
“Sam, please be nice about it. You have to start reconciling with Laura at some point.”
“I promise I'll get back on time with a smile on my face.”
Angela shook her head. “Just stay away from that plastic auditor grin you use at work. It's intimidating.”
“It's supposed to be,” Sam retorted as he walked into the bathroom. Angela headed down the stairs and Sam could hear his car keys jingle in her hand. He looked himself over in the mirror as he heard the front door close.
“Electric this morning,” he muttered to himself as he reached for his electric razor.
It hit with a sudden force, throwing Sam forward into the sink. His head glanced off the mirror and he fell to the floor. It felt like the entire townhouse was abruptly pushed. He slowly picked himself up as the lights flickered and failed. A chorus of car alarms blared over his already ringing ears. Soon, the high-pitched shrill of his smoke detectors drowned out everything else. He fought vertigo as he stood up and stumbled in the dark toward the bathroom door. There were no windows in the bathroom to provide any daylight.
The bathroom door wouldn't open. It was wedged shut. He pulled on the door handle and it yielded a little. Another pull opened it just wide enough for him to squeeze out. Shattered glass covered the floor in the upstairs hallway and the wails of many alarms grew loud. He immediately smelled something burning, which hurried him down the stairs. As he reached the bottom, he ran into a thick layer of smoke. The entire front of the townhouse was smoldering and he could see several gaping holes. He started toward the back door and saw fragments of black sheet metal and a piece of a car's bumper embedded in the drywall. The french doors leading to the deck were shattered and the entire deck had shifted off its footings. He carefully walked across it while hearing it creak and groan. As he rounded the corner to the side yard, his progress was slowed by a mini-van that was on its side and on fire. He carefully skirted around and encountered numerous smoldering and burning pieces of debris scattered all over the grass. When he looked to his front parking spaces, he saw that both their cars were missing. A crater now occupied the spaces. He felt dizzy, dropped to his knees, and blacked out.
Lowell Memorial Hospital - Lowell, Massachusetts
Sam was propped up in bed, and nearly comatose while Dr. Kyle Huston sat with him. He had been with him for the past hour and occasionally tried to speak to Sam. There was little interaction. Sam's face was blank, and other than a bandage or two, he appeared to have no serious injuries. Kyle's vigil was interrupted by a police officer entering the room to get his attention.
“He's got a visitor who claims to be his sister.”
“Oh? I didn't think he had any family.”
“Should I send her back to the waiting room with the rest of his friends?”
“No, please send her in.”
Kyle sat down to wait for Sam's mystery sibling.
Susan slowly entered and stood for a few seconds looking at Sam. Tears had smeared her black mascara on her face. She completely disregarded Kyle's presence as she slowly approached and scooted next to Sam in his bed. Her arms went around him and she buried her head in his s
houlder. She began to wail as Sam finally showed some expression. His arms soon wrapped around Susan and he pulled her closer as he began to cry. Kyle stood and watched in silent awe.
Blanchard Corporation- Chelmsford, Massachusetts
“What in the hell happened?” Merrill yelled into his speakerphone. Colin was on the other end of the line.
“Looks like a car bomb.”
“Are you fucking serious?!”
“Sam wasn't in the car, but the blast almost took his townhouse off its foundation. The whole area looks like a war zone. FBI is all over it right now. It's going to take me a little while to sort things out.”
“Is Sam okay?”
“They found him unconscious outside and took him to the hospital. Dr. Huston is with him now. He suffered what appears to be a slight concussion, but it's not anything serious. I'm not sure how he survived the blast. There's nothing left of his car.”
“Do you have our key personnel covered?”
“Security assets are now in place. No further incidents, so far.”
“Good. I'm calling in everyone tomorrow morning, first thing. Make sure Sam has everything he needs.”
Sunday, June 25, 1995
Blanchard Corporation- Chelmsford, Massachusetts
“The FBI investigation team made a preliminary conclusion that the blast originated in Sam Maxwell's car, and it was likely caused by an explosive charge that was planted somewhere on the vehicle. The prevailing theory they're working with is that the explosive device was triggered by the ignition. Sam was inside his townhouse at the time of the blast and sustained minor injuries. He's currently resting at Lowell Memorial.” Colin stopped his report to collect himself. “Angela Thompson was using his car to go shopping that morning and perished in the blast.”
Most of the other attendees in the conference room also found it hard not to succumb to their distraught feelings.
The Initiative: In Harm's Way (Book One) Page 17
