He looked around the room, as if to see if they were being watched. They weren’t.
‘Is this a regular lunch, or I-plan-to-say-yes-to-your-offer lunch?’
She smiled, went back to her paperwork. ‘You’ll see when we get there.’
‘Fine, Carrie. Looking forward to it.’
She checked the time. It was 1:25 a.m. Just over a half-hour to takeoff.
~ * ~
Adrianna unlocked the door of her hotel room, stepped inside, and froze.
Brian Doyle was sitting in a chair, arms folded across his chest.
‘Hey,’ he said
‘Hey yourself,’ she said. ‘How did you get in?’
‘Through the door.’
‘Don’t be funny, Brian.’
‘Wasn’t,’ he said. ‘It’s amazing what you can do with an NYPD detective’s shield, a Federal ID, and a convincing story.’
‘What kind of story?’
‘That you were my fiancée. And that I wanted to surprise you.’
Adrianna couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘That’s a hell of a story.’
‘Sure is,’ he said, his face expressionless. ‘And speaking of stories, Adrianna, why don’t you tell me yours?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Talk to me about Cincinnati. Why your school records are missing. Why your neighbors were paid off to help spread a cover story about you. And how your aunt was murdered.’
~ * ~
The phone call from the Homeland Security Office in Washington State to have the Memphis Airport shut down and to prevent any entry from outside traffic was routed to a communications office at the main Homeland Security Office in Washington DC. Due to the nature and classification of the phone call, it had to be approved by the overnight communications supervisor before being sent along to Memphis. The overnight communications supervisor had been on the job for three days. Uncertain of her authority for shutting down the Memphis Airport, she started making phone calls to numbers on her contact sheet, each phone call taking approximately five minutes.
~ * ~
Brian could tell that he had scored by the way Adrianna’s eyes seemed to flinch. But she was good, the way she recovered so quickly. ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
‘I mean this,’ he said. And I’m probably violating a half-dozen regulations by telling you this, but it has to be said. One of my roles within the Tiger Team was being a rat, Adrianna. Someone who investigates the squad. A duty assigned to me by the Director. “Who will guard the guardians?” was his motto for me, and my job was to look at the background of the members. I checked out Victor and I checked out Darren, and except for a few odds and ends they were clean. But not you, Adrianna. There are questions. Questions that bugged me so much I came back tonight to figure it out. Like Mamma Garrity. Your neighbor. Who claims she was paid a hundred dollars a month by you, to pass on a cover story to those doing background checks when you applied to the CIA. Care to explain that story, Adrianna?’
Adrianna’s expression seemed shaky. She rubbed at her eyes with both hands and said, ‘I’m sorry...this is coming at me so fast ... I ... I have to go to the bathroom, Brian. Honest. Please wait for me. I’ll...I’ll tell you everything when I get out.’
And she turned her back to him, and went into the room’s bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Brian stood up, waited.
~ * ~
Once the permissions had been granted and accepted, the phone call from the Homeland Security Office in Virginia went out to the night-shift manager at the Memphis Airport. At the time the phone call was made, the night-shift manager was off on the flight line, overseeing an accident investigation that had begun an hour earlier when a United Airlines flight had clipped the top of a catering truck. He had left strict instructions with his administrative staff that he was not to be disturbed, ‘even if the goddamn governor calls’.
The administrative aide who took the phone call wasn’t sure if an urgent message from Homeland Security was as important as the governor’s office, but he didn’t want to face the wrath of the manager twice in one shift.
So the call was written up and placed on the manager’s desk.
More minutes slipped away.
~ * ~
Adrianna looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her stomach felt as if it was filled with liquid cement. Her legs were shaking. She checked her watch. Not much time, but Brian ... he could not be allowed to ask her any more questions, could not be allowed to have any chance to make any phone calls or do anything.
She ran the faucet, splashed some cold water on her face, and then flushed the toilet.
Then she went to the door.
~ * ~
Carrie Floyd was now in the cockpit, doing a pre-flight check. So far, so good. Weather was wonderful, CAVU -ceiling and visibility unlimited - and she looked forward to a quick trip to Boston. Sean was at her side, saying, ‘We’re 107 today...AirBox 107. Got it?’
‘Gotten.’
A touch from his hand to hers. She didn’t look up. ‘Later, tiger. Later.’
‘Sure, chief, whatever you say.’
‘Good.’
~ * ~
Brian waited for Adrianna, stood up and looked around the room. Some of her favorite books seemed to be there. He tilted his head, checked out the titles. Art History of the Medieval World. Romanesque Architecture of the Twelfth Century. Gothic Cathedrals in Medieval France. So on and so forth. Her very first love. He ran his fingers across the spines of the books, remembered looking at them back at her condo. Yet... there seemed to be something off. Something was missing.
What was it?
He looked at the framed photo of Adrianna and her aunt. A cute photo, the two of them wearing matching outfits. He picked up the frame, looked closer at the photo. Nice. But the death of her aunt. ..
Something was pressing against his finger.
He tilted the photo, saw something poking out between the thick frame and the matte on the back. The edge of a piece of paper. He tugged at it with his fingernail, heard the bathroom door start to open.
~ * ~
Adrianna went through the open bathroom door, saw Brian looking at the photo frame. She strode to her overnight bag where it lay on the floor.
~ * ~
The piece of paper was photo paper. It slid out and now Brian held it in his hand. There was movement as Adrianna came out of the bathroom. He didn’t look at her. He looked at the photo. It showed a woman and a young girl, sitting in a formal pose on a couch, with a man behind them. The girl ... a much younger Adrianna Scott. Standing behind the couch was a man, and the man was wearing a uniform, a uniform . . .
Brian recognized the uniform, recognized the flag patch on the shoulder.
Iraq.
The man was an Iraqi officer of some sort.
Adrianna was sitting in front of him.
Her father?
Supposedly dead in a car accident with her mother.
A young Adrianna, sitting with her Iraqi parents . . .
Her dead Iraqi parents.
And then it came to him.
The missing book.
The Army That Never Was.
About General George S. Patton and his hoax against the Germans.
A wartime hoax.
War.
Adrianna Scott, working for the CIA, head of Tiger Team Seven, head of the Final Winter project, was from Iraq.
Her dead parents.
Holy shit.
He looked back and Adrianna was standing near the bed, holding a pistol in a two-handed grip, looking right at him.
~ * ~
Adrianna said, ‘I’m sorry it came to this.’
Brian moved away from the table, was now by the open door leading outside to the balcony.
She moved forward. He backed away, letting the photo of her and her parents drop to the floor. He said, ‘Adrianna, look, this can be handled, I’m not sure what—’
Adrianna
moved even closer. Brian was now on the balcony.
~ * ~
In all his years on the job, Brian had been in some tight places before. As a uniformed officer, he had been in a radio patrol car that had been broadsided by a drunk driver at two a.m. on East 87th Street. As an undercover narcotics officer, he had wrestled with a couple of drunk Columbia University students at a subway stop on 125th Street. And as a detective second class, he had fallen down a flight of stairs in a tenement building after a fight broke out over some guy who he and his partner were trying to serve a warrant on. Not to mention the little scuffle the other day in Cincinnati.
But he had never been in a position like this, the wet-pants option, facing down somebody holding a piece on him. Never.
He tried to catch his breath. ‘Adrianna ...’
She took another step toward him. ‘You know those movies where the criminal spends fifteen minutes explaining to a cop why he or she is doing what they’re doing? This isn’t one of those movies. But I’ll tell you this: my name is Aliyah Fulenz, I am an Iraqi Christian woman, and in a few short hours I will destroy your nation.’
Brian had opened his mouth to say something when there were flashes of light, something struck his chest twice with the force of a telephone pole swinging at him, and there was darkness and then nothing.
~ * ~
Adrianna was surprised at how easy it was. Two shots to his chest and Brian fell back, fell back, and then struck the railing, and—
Was gone. Just like that. Over the edge of the balcony -Brian was gone.
She lowered the pistol. Looked at the floor, picked up the spent shells, tossed her family photo into her bag, threw in the books, and then left the room.
She thought she heard sirens. She didn’t care.
It was set in stone. Nothing could stop her tonight.
Nothing.
~ * ~
Carrie Floyd got a taste of the MD-11’s power as she advanced the throttles slightly to taxi across the ramp, heading to the departure runway. In his co-pilot’s seat, Sean said, ‘Nice weather later today in Boston. Perfect for lunch. And other things.’
‘And other things?’
‘Like a yes,’ Sean said. ‘You do know how to say yes, don’t you?’
Carrie smiled. ‘Reminds me of a story I heard once.’
‘What’s that?’
‘About President Calvin Coolidge. Old Silent Cal. Supposedly, at some state dinner or function, a society woman was sitting next to him. She said to him, “Mister President, I made a bet with a friend that I can get you to say more than three words.” And you know what Cal said in reply?’
‘No, I don’t.’
“‘You lose.’”
Sean laughed, and Carrie said, ‘Takeoff checklist, please.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
~ * ~
Something loud was screaming in his ears.
Something was poking him in his arms and shoulders.
Something...God, he hurt. . .
He opened his eyes.
Faces were looking down at him. There were lights, motion, more sound.
The faces. . . their lips were moving.
He opened his mouth. Grunted.
Blinked his eyes.
Focus. It was coming into focus.
One of the faces came closer and he heard ‘.. . luckiest man I’ve ever seen, by far…’
Brian Doyle closed his eyes, opened them again.
The screaming noise ... a siren.
He was in the rear of an ambulance.
He looked again. An EMT and a police officer were there, sitting on each side of him.
‘What?’ was all he could say.
The Memphis cop - a young, tough-looking black man -said, ‘Sir, could you tell us who shot you? Who was it?’
Brian closed his eyes again. The pain was now taking root in different parts of his body. His chest. His back. His shoulders.
‘How?’
The EMT seemed to be checking Brian’s pulse. ‘You mean, how did you survive? First, you had a vest on, so those two rounds cracked a rib or two but didn’t penetrate. Second, you fell three stories onto a cafe awning. I’m sure you’ve got some hellacious bruises on your back. Nice trick, pal. Remind me to stick with you next time you buy a lottery ticket.’
The cop came back to him, more insistent. ‘Who shot you, sir? How did it happen?’
Adrianna. Iraqi father. Final Winter.
‘Airport.’
‘What?’ the cop asked.
‘Airport. You’ve got to get me to the airport... you’ve got to tell AirBox ... no flights ... there can’t be any flights tonight. ..’
Brian saw the cop look over at the EMT, who looked back and shrugged.
They don’t understand, Brian thought. They’re not listening...they’re not. . . Jesus, his back hurt. ..
‘Airport!’ he said above the siren noise. ‘We’ve got to get to the airport! AirBox ... it has to be grounded!’
The EMT took a wet cloth, wiped down Brian’s forehead. ‘Mister, you’re ten minutes outbound from the ER, and that’s the only place we’re going tonight.’
The siren noise seemed to drill right into Brian’s head.
~ * ~
Adrianna pulled her rental car over to the side, just a few minutes after leaving the Hyatt. Her chest hurt from her labored breathing, but she felt she was calming down. It was happening. Even at this moment. It was happening.
She just had two things to do before the night was perfect. The first she had planned to do when she had gotten back to the hotel room, but Brian’s unexpected presence had taken care of that. But now seemed like a good time.
She opened her purse, dialed a certain number on her cellphone, and pressed the send button. The phone rang once and that was that. Good.
Adrianna put the phone back in her purse, eased her car out into the traffic. She looked at the dashboard clock.
It was 1:47 a.m. Thirteen minutes until the first AirBox aircraft took off.
~ * ~
Twelve miles away from Adrianna Scott’s rental GMC, a Ford Explorer on Interstate 40, heading northeast, suddenly exploded, sending flaming chunks of debris across three lanes of traffic. A tractor-trailer truck jackknifed in an attempt to dodge the debris, cutting off the final lane.
It would take the Tennessee State Police over an hour to remove the body of the driver from the Explorer, a body that was burned beyond recognition.
~ * ~
Next to her Sean said, ‘Tower, AirBox one-oh-seven, will be ready for takeoff at the end.’
In her headphones, Carrie heard the airport’s tower controller say, ‘AirBox one-oh-seven, hold short runway three six center.’
‘Airbox one-oh-seven, hold short three six center, roger,’ Sean replied.
As always, the jet felt sluggish as it maneuvered toward the runway. Carrie flicked her gaze to the well-lit runway, to the final approach path. No one was landing. The night’s clear weather made the lights of the airport and the surrounding area shimmer brilliantly. It was one of the few nice things about flying at night, the constellation of lights on the ground. She looked forward to the flight and going to Boston, and well ... Sean was going to get his answer in Boston and she was sure he would be happy.
She started humming a tune, something garnered from an album collection hawked late at night on the cable channels, and then stopped herself. She didn’t want to tip her hand.
The tune, of course, was ‘North to Alaska’.
Instead, she just smiled as her jet approached the hold area.
~ * ~
Brian opened his eyes again. The pain had settled down some. His mouth was dry and he looked at his arms. An IV was running into the right arm, beside which the EMT was stationed. The cop was on his left side, still looking expectantly at him. Brian raised his arm, motioned with a finger. ‘Here,’ he whispered. ‘Come here and I’ll tell you who ... who shot me ...’
The cop leaned in and Brian r
aised himself up and the cop said, ‘Sir, who did this to you? Can you tell me—’
Brian let his hand snap down to the cop’s holster, grabbed his pistol, and pulled it away, and—
Final Winter Page 37
