by Sco Thorson
by the pool.
“I wish all surveillance was this easy on the eyes,” he smirked to the other men.
Suddenly the woman sat up and reached for her phone. After studying it for a minute she put her top back on and strolled into the house. Mitch didn’t speak until she was out of sight.
“Get to the car and be ready to roll,” he told the men.
Ten minutes later a taxi pulled up in front of the villa and the blonde climbed in. He punched a number on his phone.
“She’s in the taxi. Stay with her, and find out where she’s going.”
A New Ally
Wednesday 5:12 p.m.
The pilot eased the plane onto the main runway and pushed the throttles forward. Seconds later they were airborne.
“So how long have you been flying,” he asked conversationally into the headset microphone.
She disconnected his headset cord from the control panel and banked the plane towards Rum Point. These creeps were all the same. They stole a boatload of money, legally or otherwise, and then assumed it made them interesting. She made another turn, heading the plane towards Jamaica.
It would be more fun to put them in jail.
She smiled at the thought. The creep took it as encouragement and moved to reconnect his headset. She raised a warning finger, and he sheepishly stopped. She returned her attention to flying.
It was hard to complain when she was flying. The company was always dubious, but the freedom was incredible.
I should fly to put creeps in jail.
She promised herself to find a way. After a soothing flight, she spotted Jamaica in the distance. The creep plugged his headset cord back into the control panel.
“How much longer,” he asked.
“Soon.”
"You're not going to believe this," he started.
"No, I'm not," she replied without even looking at him.
"I have to stop someone from destroying Washington, DC, with an atom bomb," he began.
"Another secret agent."
She reached over and pulled his headset cord from its connector in the control panel. He plugged the cord back in.
"No, I'm not a secret agent. I'm an options trader."
"And I should've asked for $30,000," she lamented, shaking her head.
"I get emails from the future, from my future self."
She stared out over the ocean.
"My future self, I call him Dave 2, emailed me that your first kiss was with Darren Smith after chess club, and not Marty Acker like you told your friends.”
She turned and glared at him.
"Dave 2 also said to tell you January 23, 2002 when you didn't believe that."
She reached across him and unbuckled his harness, pulled a lever on his door, then banked the plane sharply to the right. He fell against the door, pushing it open. He would have fallen out, but she caught and held his belt.
"How do you know that?"
“Don’t let go,” he screamed.
“Tell me how you know.”
"You must've told me," he gasped. “In the future.”
She thought about this as the door banged against his shoulder. She righted the plane. He pulled himself back into his seat, latched the door and fastened his harness.
“What happens when you show up without a passenger?” he asked.
“No paperwork.”
He considered that, then decided to press on.
"I'm Dave," he said.
"Rachel."
“I need your help,” he continued.
“Then let me think.”
And she was silent for a long time. He decided not to provoke her. Finally she spoke.
"You could have only known that if I told you. I haven’t, but I must. Therefore you could be telling the truth about the bomb.”
“10:47 a.m. the day after tomorrow,” he paused, “Or at least that’s what the email said.”
“And you didn't tell the authorities because you've been making money hand over fist trading on information from the future. You don't want to go to jail, and you don't want the fun to stop," she observed.
He was about to protest, but then just grinned.
"So why me."
"I don't know."
She thought for a minute, and then spoke, "You don't know why because you don't know how the universe will resolve itself with the right outcome. So in a possible future where everything works out, the one where I help you, you send an email back to set yourself on the right path, to me.”
“You’re good,” he smiled. “In the future, I really know how to pick’em.”
“Just some quantum physics, with a little speculation. The messages are probably cryptic and usually lack useful explanations that might deter you from taking action, like warnings about being dumped out of a plane when you say something murderously stupid.”
She glared at him then continued. “Otherwise you might not do what has to be done. It makes sense."
"So you’re in.”
“For now.”
“What is it with January 23," he asked, turning for a better look at his new partner.
She met his gaze and smiled, "I’ll whisper that in your ear,” she paused, “when you’re stone cold dead. So would you still like to know?”
“Another time.”
“Then tell me about the A-bomb."
He told her everything, except about Monique almost drowning, how much he had really made trading off tips from the Twins, his off-again, on-again engagement to TJ, the Mariner man threatening to kill him. He finished as Rachel touched the plane down at the executive airport at Montego Bay. She taxied to a parking spot.
“So, are you in,” he asked as the engines died away.
“After you meet my precondition.”
“Which is?”
“I’ll only tell you after Dave 2 has met it.”
“But how will I…,” he began.
She cut him off, “You know how the Twins work. I will tell Dave 2, you twenty minutes from now, and he takes care of it. And if he doesn’t, then you, Dave One, would be wise to get out of my sight.”
“So what do we do now?”
“You wait over there by the red hanger.”
She quickly secured the plane then stopped by the office to check in. Ten minutes later she emerged and handed Dave a sheet torn from a notebook.
“Wire this amount to that account number at First Caribbean.”
His eyes bulged, “$300,006.”
“I’m sure I’ll be worth every penny. Dave 2 obviously thought so. He has already sent me the money. And now we visit Sunrise.”
“Is that safe? What about the terrorists?”
She smiled. “I know the pilots. They may be alcoholic womanizers with single digit IQs, but they are not terrorists.”
Four minutes later she opened the side door at Sunrise Air and entered the pilots lounge.
“Rachel, honey, I knew you couldn’t leave me alone,” a large man bellowed.
“I’m here on business, Frank.”
“Business, pleasure, it’s all pleasure where you’re concerned,” the large man grinned, raising a bottle of beer.
She turned and pointed to Dave. “Mr. Smith here is from the Treasury Department. He’s after some diamond smugglers. Any suspicious activity on your flights?”
Frank grinned. “There were some pretty suspicious looking Senators last week.”
“Focus Frank.”
The big man laughed. “There are a lot of bad guys around here, but they don’t fly Sunrise. They know we’d drop them out the window if they were up to something.”
She glanced at Dave and smiled. “I’m sure you would Frank. I think Mr. Smith understands that now too.”
“All the pilots here are ex-military, like Rach,” Frank bragged. “We bleed red, white, and blue.”
The big man rose and walked to a filing cabinet. “In fact, you should be flying with us. I already have y
our uniform.”
He pulled a short, tight blue dress from a drawer.
“It even has captain’s bars,” he roared, pointing to the halter straps.
“Thanks Frank,” she sighed, and walked out.
Sunrise
Wednesday 6:39 p.m.
“Aside from enabling infidelity on a massive scale, Sunrise is clean,” Rachel noted as they walked around the building, “That makes it the perfect choice to deliver a bomb.”
“Why?” Dave asked.
“No one would suspect them,” she replied.
“So what do we do?”
“We’ll have to fly along to stop the bad guys.”
“Fly to Washington, with an A-bomb?” he asked incredulously.
“If that’s what it takes to get the job done.”
They arrived at the customer entrance for Sunrise Air. Rachel pulled a blue windbreaker from her flight bag, put it on over her uniform, and put on her aviator sunglasses. She pulled a second pair of sunglasses from the bag and handed them to Dave. He put them on and followed her to the door. Heavily tinted glass doors slid open at their approach and they stepped into a lobby.
The décor was five-star hotel lavish. They soundlessly crossed thick carpet of the lobby to a service counter where a smiling woman in a carefully tailored suit waited, impatient to help.
“We must get to Washington the day after tomorrow, very discretely,” Rachel drawled.
“I can put a plane at your disposal anytime that day, Ma’am,” the woman replied with just a hint of patois.
Rachel smiled, “Could we ride along on a scheduled flight?”
The woman tapped a keyboard, then glanced at a monitor.
“We have space on our regularly 8 a.m. flight, arriving Washington Reagan at 11:50.”
“That will be wonderful. Your clients are the nicest people,” Rachel smiled “Honey, give the lady your passport and credit card.”
The Government Awakens
Wednesday 6:58 p.m.
Robert Hudson opened TJ's personnel file and went through each entry carefully. He needed to get her off the project before
