Tropical Storm - DK1

by Melissa Good

  “You’re in a hospital, dear, but don’t worry, you’re going to be fine.”

  She digested this. “Well, I sort of figured, given the wardrobe, but which hospital is it?”

  A slight pause. “Bryan’s.”

  Kerry nodded, her heart sinking. “Hmm. That explains the bars.” She paused. “What time is it?”

  “Now, don’t you worry about that, honey. We just have some people in here sometimes who aren’t very happy, and we have to protect them, that’s all,” the woman reassured her. “And it’s three thirty AM.”

  Three hours. “So, why am I here?” Kerry asked, in a reasonable tone.

  “The last time I considered killing myself is when I forgot to tape X-files.”

  The nurse looked at her uncertainly, then she laughed. “Oh, I see. Yes, that’s very funny. Well, your family brought you in because of the problems you’ve been having, and we’re just going to work with you to make you all better.”

  Kerry leaned on her elbows. “What problems am I supposed to be having?” she inquired.

  “I’m sure you know that better than I do, dear.” The nurse smiled at her.

  “But the doctor will be in to see you in the morning. And in the meantime, I’d like you to take these pills for me, okay?”

  “What are they?”

  The nurse sighed, obviously getting impatient. “They’re just a little sedative, to let you rest until the morning.”

  “A sedative. Well, you know, I’m really pretty calm here, I don’t think I’ll be needing that,” Kerry objected. “I usually sleep just fine.”

  The nurse walked over and faced her. “Look, I know you think you’re being very clever, but you just listen to me, all right? Your father gave us some pretty strict instructions, and we are going to follow them. Now, you can do what I ask, or I can have to of the orderlies come in her, tie you down, and give it to you intravenously.” She paused, her eyes cool. “Your choice.”

  Kerry gazed at her. “What you’re doing is against the law, you do realize that, right?” she commented. “I did not agree to this, and there is nothing wrong with me.”

  “Do yourself a favor, honey.” The nurse’s voice was now sharp.

  “Cooperate. You don’t know what you’re getting into here.”

  Kerry smiled. “Actually, it’s you who doesn’t know what you’re getting into here.”

  The nurse’s eyes narrowed. “I can see what your father’s point was.”

  Kerry smiled. “That’s easy. It’s on the top of his head.” She hopped up into the bed and took the pills from the nurse’s hand, dumping them into her palm and tossing them into her mouth. Then she took a drink of the water the Tropical Storm 421

  woman held out. “Thank you, Ms.,” she peered at the badge, “Archer.” She put her head back down on the pillow and closed her eyes.

  The woman stayed there a moment longer, then stormed toward the door, keying it open and letting it slam behind her. Kerry listened, hearing the soft click of the shutter being drawn back and remained still. Then she heard the solid snick of it closing and opened an eye. “Bitch.” She leaned forward and spat the two pills out, grimacing. “Ugh. God, what did they coat that with, lemon pepper?” Disgusted, she got out of bed and retrieved the capsules, separating them and emptying the powder inside them into the radiator. It hissed. Then she fit the two ends back together, and put them in her mouth, swallowing them down with the rest of the water the woman had left.

  Three thirty. That meant she had…probably four and a half hours left before they’d start working on her in earnest, and if they gave her drugs through a needle… Kerry chewed her lip. They could keep her drugged up enough for anything to happen.

  Her eyes wandered over the room, stopping on the small stool placed in the corner, ready for the doctor to warm it with his butt. She glanced at the stool, then at the door. “I never was a person who advocated violence, but you know, sometimes, you just gotta do what you gotta do.” Purposefully, she set to work, fluffing the covers up and using the pillows to make it appear that she was curled up in bed. Then she walked over to the door and stood behind it, satisfied that whoever looked in the grating couldn’t see her. She walked over and got the stool, bringing it back with her to her post and sitting down on it.

  It was strange, how little fear she was feeling. All of the terror had been sucked out of her, replaced by a slowly growing, slowly heating anger that made her look at her recent past and see her walking the fence with utter disgust.

  “What kind of idiot was I?” She leaned her head against the door. “My family, my family. What the hell was I thinking? That they’d just accept me?

  Accept what I am?” She shook her head. “What an idiot. Kerry you don’t deserve a life partner, you deserve a brain transplant.”

  She’d wanted everything. If she failed in her one shot here, she’d get nothing, and she’d lose. “My god.” Kerry felt tears welling up in her eyes.

  “What the hell did I do?”

  Silence gathered around her, the soft sounds of the hospital muted by the late hour.

  And she waited. She suspected her friend Ms. Archer would be back to check up on her, what with her being so important and all, and she’d be alone.

  Kerry just hoped she didn’t screw this up, because she had only one chance.

  One chance.

  She waited. Kerry estimated that fifteen minutes went by, then thirty. At last, she heard a faint sound of footsteps coming down the hall, pausing periodically. She guessed the nurse was checking each room. They came closer, and closer, and at last they were outside her door.

  Kerry silently got up and lifted the stool in her hands, hefting it. The shutter slid back, then closed, and a series of short beeps were sounded as the 422 Melissa Good woman keyed the door.

  She felt her heart pounding, and she licked her lips, getting ready. The doorknob turned and pushed inward. She waited for the figure to clear the edge, then slammed the stool down as hard as she could.

  THE HANGAR BAY door rolled back, revealing the F14 Tomcat in all its sinister glory. Dar took a brief moment to study the swept-back wing fighter before she shook her head and tightened one of the seven zillion straps there seemed to be on the flight suit Jack had insisted she wear.

  What in the hell am I doing?

  Three shadowy figures were standing by the plane, and they saluted as Jack came up, stepping out of his way as he circled the aircraft, checking it thoroughly. He was all business now, and spoke to the crewmen in quiet, terse sentences as they finished the fueling and hooked the mounting ladder to its side. The canopy swung up, and Jack motioned Dar forward. “You first, so I can stand up there and tell you what not to touch.”

  He missed the wry look from his friend as she pulled herself up the ladder, stepped over the high cockpit side, and settled herself into the surprisingly comfortable seat. She was surrounded by electronics, and she was momentarily glad the canopy was glass, which lessened the claustrophobic feeling a bit. “Okay.”

  Jack mounted next, and placed a booted foot on the edge of the canopy, pointing down. “That’s the weapons array, that’s radar, that’s…”

  “The targeting system, threat management, and navigation,” Dar finished dryly. “And this, this little beauty, is the heads-up generator, which I wrote the original programming for.”

  Jack stared at her. “Oh.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

  Dar glanced up. “It’s all right. I won’t touch anything, I promise,” she assured him, feeling the tremor as her muscles jerked in agitation. “Let’s just get going.”

  They finished the checklist, then a small vehicle tugged them out into the open and to the taxiway, where Jack lit off his engines and started under his own power. The roar was almost subliminal in its intensity, and Dar could feel it vibrating down along her clenched jaw. She settled the headphones on her head and listened as Jack talked quietly to the tower at the airfield, filing his flight plan and confirming
that he was heading for a civilian airport. Then the Tomcat rolled forward, winding down the taxiways before it reached the runway outlined in dim blues and reds, the oil-marked tarmac clear in the icy white of his plane’s running lights.

  “You ready?” His voice sounded tinny through the earpieces.

  “Yep,” Dar responded and tightened her straps. The song “I Would Do Anything for Love” inescapably began running through her mind, and she sighed, hoping the afterburners would drown it out. The Tomcat’s engines powered up, and the plane began to shake against its brakes, then with a tremendous jerk, they released, and they were flying down the runway.

  It seemed mere seconds, rather than the long time it took with a regular airplane, before they were airborne and headed up at a steep angle. Dar could Tropical Storm 423

  feel the G-pressure slamming against her, and she kept her breathing steady, closing her eyes and waiting for the plane to eventually level out. Which it did, cruising along at quite a pace for a little while as Jack navigated out of the established flight paths and into an isolated one reserved for military aircraft.

  “You ready?” he asked again. “It’s one thirty AM, and we’re gonna crack plates all over Maryland, so hang on.”

  “Okay. Go.” Dar briefly wondered what it was like to fly at more than the speed of sound, then the afterburners kicked in, and she felt like a horse’s hooves had slammed her in the chest. “Jesus.” The acceleration kept up, and she watched the mach meter creeping closer and closer until it hit Mach One, and a rolling wave of thunder cascaded around the plane, shivering through every part of it and making her ears itch.

  Then it was quiet.

  They rolled up through Mach Two, then Jack trimmed the engines and maintained a steady flight speed, whipping over the earth with nonchalant ease.

  It seemed only moments, in which she sat trying not to think of anything at all, until she felt the pressure in her ears that meant they were descending.

  The plane slowed, and the rumble came back, and she could hear Jack’s low, even conversation with the traffic controllers in the area. Kent County, apparently, didn’t have anything but a radar officer and one single controller on watch, just in case. But they had no other planes in the area, and Jack just told them to turn on the runway lights, and he’d find it okay.

  They queried him uncertainly.

  “I’m a carrier pilot,” he responded dryly. “I’ve landed on something a lot smaller than your field.”

  Then they were on the ground, and Jack parked his plane in an unused hangar, shutting it down and turning it over to the watchful eye of an MP sent for just that purpose. They got in the car he had waiting and started off. It was an hour’s drive to Saugatuck, which was right on the water. They could feel the lake breeze hitting the car even before they got there, and Dar peered at the map, giving terse, nervous directions. At last. A somber, white building rose before them, with gates in the front and a full complement of security.

  Jack looked at her uncertainly. “How are we going to get in there?”

  Blue eyes regarded him. “You’re not. You’re staying right here until I get back. And if I don’t get back, call this number.” She tried to hand him a card, but he wouldn’t take it.

  “No way, Dar. I’m going in there with you.” His jaw jutted stubbornly.

  “You had me fly all the way out here, I’m not missing out on the fun.”

  “Jack, this could mean trouble for you. I don’t want that on my conscience,”Dar objected.

  “Flying into Iraqi airspace meant trouble for me,” he replied bluntly. “I went anyway.”

  Dar remained silent, then sighed. “All right.” She took her badge from her briefcase and clipped it on her collar, then peered at him. “Here.” She clipped the luggage tag on his flight suit. “Take off the insignia, they won’t know the difference.”

  They got out of the car, and Dar stripped off her flight suit, donning 424 Melissa Good instead the trench coat she’d brought against the chill air. She shouldered her laptop, and faced him. “We’re here to fix the computers, okay?”

  His brows creased as he pulled off his wings and name patch. “What if they aren’t broken?”

  “They are,” Dar assured him. “They have a trouble ticket open with the local account here.”

  “That’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?” he inquired warily.

  “Not really,” Dar replied as she started walking towards the guard house.

  “It’s a long holiday weekend, they have to transmit their payroll tonight, and both of their local techs are with their families three hundred miles away. It’s the worst possible time for a problem, ergo, there is one.” She straightened her lapel. “Computers are like that.”

  Jack thought about that. “Oh.” He zipped up his jacket, hanging his luggage tag from the outside pocket. “Murphy’s Law?”

  “Dar’s Rule of FUBAR.” Dar smiled grimly as they came up to the gate, a large rectangle of light from the glassed-in window spilling out along the darkened path. “Much more precise.”

  As they approached, a small panel slid aside, revealing a young guard with thick, curly blond hair and blue eyes. “Can I help you?” he started to ask, then his eyes fell on her badge. “Oh, thank god! Thank god! Let me get the gate open.”

  Dar winked at Jack. “Now, that’s the kind of reception I like to see the company get.” Now that she was here and doing something, her nerves had steadied, and she felt a lot calmer. It was the waiting that killed her.

  The gate swung open and the guard hurried out. “You need an escort?”

  he asked anxiously.

  Dar consulted a paper. “Let’s see…it’s the computer room on the…” She bent closer.

  “Third floor, near the lockdown unit,” he supplied helpfully. “Go up the elevator, get off at the third floor, turn right, and it’s three doors down on the left. I’ll have it opened for you.”

  “Great, thanks. We’ll try to be quick,” Dar promised.

  “Please. If they don’t transmit that tape before the banks update in the morning, I’m toast,” the man begged. “I promised I’d take my mother-in-law out to brunch on Sunday, and at this rate, it’s going to be at McDonalds.”

  Dar patted his shoulder. “Relax.” The stones crunching under her boots, she started up the gravel path and exhaled. “First hurdle down.”

  Jack moved closer. “Isn’t it bad, raising his hopes like that?”

  Blue eyes shot a look at him. “Trust me, they’ve got a lot better chance of getting those damn systems working with me here than if they’d sent one of our field techs.” She continued walking, heading up a low series of steps to the front door of the facility. “I’m not just an administrator, y’know.”

  “Bu…uh…well, I know, Dar, but we’re not really here to do that. I mean… Are you actually going to fix it, then?”

  Dar sighed. “Why the hell not? I’m here to break a senator’s daughter out of a psych ward in the middle of the night after hijacking a government aircraft.” She paused. “And it’s gonna snow. Might as well fix the damn computers so I can at least bill them before I get thrown in jail and then fired, Tropical Storm 425

  if I’m really, really lucky.”

  Jack looked nervously around. “Oh. Okay.”

  They entered the building, quiet at this hour, and nodded at the guard sitting on the reception desk. He glanced at them, then spotted the badge and looked profoundly relieved. “Damn, are we glad to see you guys. They said they didn’t have anyone in the area. I thought we were really screwed.”

  “We flew in,” Dar replied honestly as she headed past the desk and entered the elevator. The doors closed behind them, and she exhaled again.

  “Hurdle number two.” It was a silent ride until the doors slid open on the third floor, exposing a long expanse of mind-numbingly mint green concrete.

  “Jesus, I hate that color,” Dar muttered as she turned to her right.

  Their shoes squeaked
on the polished tile, and the sound made the nurse at the desk look up in startled attention. She came around the corner and approached them—a short, slim woman with dark hair and a lightly made up face. “Can I… Oh.” Her eyes widened on seeing Dar’s badge. “Thank the good Lord’s mercy.”

  Dar smiled and stopped in front of the room the guard had indicated, nodding at it. “Wanna let me in?”

  The nurse hurriedly punched in a code, and the door opened. She pushed it back, holding it respectfully as they entered. “Oh, you have no idea how wonderful it is to see you. I can’t believe they found someone at this time of night. It’s incredible.”

  Dar entered the computer room and set her briefcase down, then seated herself in front of the AS400 terminal and examined it. She pulled her laptop out of its case and booted it, while Jack watched with interest.

  “Can I get you two anything?” the nurse asked anxiously. “Coffee, a doughnut—we’ve got some turkey and stuffing left.”

  Dar glanced over. “Thanks, Ms.,” she squinted a little, “Archer, coffee would be wonderful.” She paused. “I like mine with everything.”

  The nurse nodded, then glanced at Jack.

  “Just black for me, thanks.” He smiled at her.

  “Right you are. I’ll be right back.” She hurried off.

  Dar recalled the company’s profile and drilled down to their operations section, retrieving their administrative login and password. She typed it in and was rewarded with full access to their systems.

  “How do you guys do this?” Jack whispered. “It’s like you’ve got some massive set of skeleton keys or something.”

  “Well.” Dar entered a query to their patient database and waited for the screen to come back. Then she recorded Kerry’s location and the lock code to her room. “It’s like this: We do all the data transfer for most of the credit unions out there. Most places that are members of the credit unions know that, because we take care that they do—with joint advertising, that kind of thing.

  We sponsor credit union picnics. If they have a fundraiser, we’re involved. So then we can go in and say, ‘hey, we do this data stuff for the CU, why not let us handle yours?’ ” Dar made several changes to Kerry’s file, then saved it and returned to the main menu. “And they usually sit back and realize it does make sense, because we are professionals, and this is what we do. It’s more cost-efficient for us to add them to our network than for them to maintain 426 Melissa Good their own—especially WANS. Those T1 lines are expensive as hell, and you don’t get redundancy on them.” Dar then dumped out of the menus and went to the operating system level, starting a diagnostic.