"Agent O'Neil said he sent you an email," the clerk says, her voicehopeful.
"Thank you," I say and hangup.
I open my cell and check my mail. There itis:
Eve,
Michel and I are going back now on the Council jet. It's fixed and we'll be gone at 4:30. Colonel Lindgren will send a driver at 11:00 so you can catch a ride out to his airstrip in time for his flight. Glad you decided to fly back with him – you looked really tired when we spoke last night and I agree – some sleep and a later flight will be good for you, given your recent experiences. Take the rest of the day off and see you at work tomorrownight.
Ed.
What? I talked to him? I have no memory of talking to him. Soren must have compelled him, too. I sit on the small sofa in the room and try to decide. I can't even get a rental because I don't have a credit card so I grit my teeth and will fly back with Soren. I have a feeling it will be quite a test, whateverhappens.
* * *
The car picksme up at 11:00. A black limo, the driver tips his cap and opens the door for me before loading my bag into the trunk. It takes just under an hour to arrive and I'm glad for the plastic partition that separates the driver from thepassenger.
We drive through the countryside to the base, the driver sailing through the guardhouse checkpoint without even rolling down his window. The limo stops at the hangar and the driver opens my door, ushering me over to the hanger door. He brings my bag out and I wait for someone to come and getme.
The pilot opens the hangar side door and shakes my hand. He's a very young clean-cut man, red-blooded son of the Mid-West, who introduces himself with that familiar soft drawl that's not quite southern Cowboy, but not Northeastern that I'm more used tohearing.
"Come this way," he says. "Colonel Lindgren is already on theplane."
I follow him, steeling myself for the experience of spending a couple of hours in his presence – alone. I climb up the steps to the door and enter. Next I step through a heavy draped doorway and into the cocoon-like interior. It's been remodeled and has four plush armchair-like seats. The window shades are closed and the room is lit by soft yellow lamps along the cabinbulkhead.
Soren is seated in one of the chairs reading a file when Ienter.
"Eve, how nice to see you again." He stands and like a gentleman, comes and shakes my gloved hand. He lays his other hand over it, clasping my smaller hand in his. "I was glad that at least one of you could fly with me. Agent O'Neil sent me a note to let me know you'd had a difficult couple of days and would sleep in, take the later flight with me. Glad I could be ofservice."
"What a load of bullshit," I say, unwilling to play this game of pleasantries between enemies. "You compelled Michel to let me come alone with you. Probably Julien and Ed aswell."
He smiles. "You have a saucy mouth," he says. "I love saucy, Eve, so don't think that will put me off. Eternity's so long and I do love a challenge. Now, take a seat. We'll be taking off shortly. If you don't mind, I have a bit of reading to do. Help yourself to a magazine or newspaper while we wait." He points to a table at the side of thecabin.
I take off my coat and gloves, hanging them on the back of the seat and go over and select The New York Times. I need something to distract me for I hate small planes. In a large jet, I can pretend I'm on a bus or train, the ground firm beneath me. In a small plane, I'm unable to maintain thepremise.
"What's that sigh for?" Soren says after a moment. I didn't realize I made any sound. "Don't like small jets? Or are you justtired?"
Is he reading my mind at adistance?
"I prefer larger jets, actually, Colonel," I say, hating to admit fear tohim.
"Please call me Soren. Eve, my pilot is very skilled. Ex-top gun, former member of an aerobaticsteam."
"I'll befine."
The engines start as the pilot goes over his pre-flight check, their whine signifying the inevitability of this trip. I breathe deeply and look around, trying to distract myself from the flight. I try to pretend I'm on a small bus. Deny that it's a plane - that I'm flying on a cushion of air. I can do it on a 727. I suspect I won't pull it off in this Lear jet. I'd need a drink or two forthat.
Soren stands and comes over to me, bending over me, his face close to mine, and tethers me in before I can move to stop him. His skin is so pale, long blond hair pulled back as before. He's handsome in a cold way. He has me strapped in so quickly, I can't even protest. He pulls the shoulder belt, keeping one hand in between the belt and my chest to ensure comfort, looking at me closely as he tightensit.
"There," he says, standing up, keeping his eyes on mine as if to gauge my response at what he's about to tell me. "My pilot informs me that we're in for some turbulence between here and Boston. Might get pretty choppy, so you'll need to keep thison."
I swallow, hating turbulence and the feeling that's growing in me - my heart pounding at the prospect. I'm afraid of looking foolish more than death. Death is inevitable - looking foolish likely is too, but at least one could fightthat.
"Would you like a drink? It might help calmyou."
"Isn't it a bitearly?"
Soren laughs. "As we say in the forces, the sun is always over the yardarm somewhere in theworld."