She was witty?that dry humor that takes you by surprise?and smart. Not just book smart but capable of debating an issue, reasoning, quipping with a polite sarcasm he found totally charming. Most importantly, she knew how to listen. He'd throw out bits and pieces of himself?the safe stuff, not anything that would reveal his true secrets?expecting her to bat them aside. Only Rebecca absorbed it all. Not just absorbed, but sorted and sifted and tried to put the bits and pieces together. Patrick had never met anyone quite like her.
And oh, by the way, did he mention she was pretty easy on the eyes? Small with an athletic build and enough curves to offset her tomboy attitude. Big brown eyes and creamy skin, although right now, she looked too pale. Her shoulder-length hair was wet with perspiration, the feathery bangs stuck to her forehead. Her normally full lips were now thin and tight from fighting the pain.
Her eyes fluttered open and he reached for her hand underneath the blanket. He decided he liked the sound of her being his girlfriend though he wouldn't admit it out loud. If you let someone in they usually expected to know everything, including all your secrets. Patrick wasn't ready for that.
The plasma arrived and the woman in the blue uniform started preparing the lines and checking Rebecca's other arm for an entry vein. She didn't ask Patrick to let go of Rebecca's hand as she positioned the arm to her liking.
'You're gonna be just fine,' she said and Patrick nodded before he realized she was talking to Rebecca now.
Her eyes focused on him and stayed there. She squeezed his hand and he smiled at her. Had he ever told her she had the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen? Of course he hadn't.
He wanted to tell her she could count on him. Right now. For as long as she wanted or needed. She could set aside that fierce independence and lean on him. And it didn't have to mean anything. But instead, he didn't say anything and he knew he would regret it.
CHAPTER 21
Asante lost the GPS signal halfway to the airport. That happened sometimes with control towers and radar from incoming and outgoing airlines. It didn't matter. He needed to let Danko handle the loose ends while he moved on to the next phase. There could be nothing that got in the way.
The snow tapered off. Trucks with blades and sand were already out on the streets. Asante had to slow for them. As soon as he'd speed up again he'd have to hit the brakes and skid around nervous drivers. The first snow of the season and everyone seemed to have forgotten how to drive. He had counted on that fact as being an advantage. Now it was simply annoying.
He caught his eyes in the rearview mirror. The adrenaline had been replaced by anxiety. He told those simmering blue eyes to stay calm, to be patient. Then he took several deep breaths, holding each one before letting it out slow and easy.
He told himself that no project ran completely without flaws. The brilliance of a project manager like himself relied on his ability to react and readjust. And at the same time he had to make it look effortless, to cast the illusion of calm, to let his crew see only confidence, nothing less.
Though handpicked they were followers at heart when you peeled away their individual layers of talent, whether those talents included technosavvy intelligence or physical strength. Asante believed he possessed a gift in reading other people, seeing potential where others saw mediocrity. But he could also detect weakness. Everyone had some vulnerability no matter how well hidden. Asante could find it and, if necessary, exploit it.
From his inner circle, he insisted on perfection. He expected nothing less. Anyone chosen for his crew knew this. Being selected was a commendation as well as a burden. Glitches were unacceptable. A weak link could be quickly removed and the removal was permanent. This is what made him a great project manager.
He set the small computer on the dash to see the screen better. Before he could press any of the preset buttons a call buzzed in. He checked his phone. He didn't recognize the number though he often instructed his crew to use prepaid cell phones to prevent tracking.
'Asante,' he answered into his wireless headset.
'You tried to use my grandson,' an angry voice came back at him.
Asante knew immediately who it was. He had already been warned that the man might be a problem. 'How did you get this number?'
'What the hell did you think you were doing?'
'Once the project has begun no one has control but me. Those are the rules.'
'You meant to kill him, didn't you, you asshole.'
'Nor are you to have any contact with me.' Asante kept his voice calm and steady even as he disconnected the call.
With one hand clenching the steering wheel and the other on the phone's keypad he tapped several keys, ensuring that number would be blocked.
He checked his eyes again in the rearview mirror, disappointed to find the anxiety turning to anger. Calm. He needed to stay calm. He flexed his fingers and stretched his neck from side to side.
Despite the man's fury and accusation, his grandson, Dixon Lee, had not been a mistake or a glitch. Asante allowed himself a smile. Dead or alive, Dixon Lee had been a well-planned insurance policy. Another quick glance in the mirror. Nobody messed with the Project Manager once the project began. Nobody. Not even the assholes who special ordered the project.
Asante turned into the long-term parking lot at the airport and found a space at the far end, close to where he had stolen the car earlier. He gathered up his belongings, stuffing them into the duffel bag. Then he wiped down every single surface inside the car that he had touched. He left the car just as the airport shuttle pulled into the lot. He glanced at his diver's watch. Plenty of time.
He took another deep breath. He hated glitches. In the old days he could predict and ward off every single one. Perhaps it was time to retire. Buy an island somewhere. He had more than enough money stashed safely away in Zurich, even before this project. He deserved the rest. A nice long relaxation, something more substantial than the short escapes that lasted only as long as a box of Cubans and a couple bottles of Chivas.
Instead of focusing on glitches, instead of thinking about Carrier #3 Asante reminded himself of other successes. It calmed him to run past projects through his mind step by step?the early planning, the stages and then the denouement. So when Asante boarded the shuttle bus he nodded to the driver with a brief smile and in his mind he began the playback of Madrid, March 11, 2004?backpacks, the train station at rush hour, bright flashes of light and most of all?success.
CHAPTER 22
Henry Lee paced the hallway, unclenching his fists only long enough to drag nervous fingers over his bristled head and rub the disbelief from his eyes. At sixty-eight he was still vain enough to take pride in his compact, fit and trim physique. He was strong and healthy and unlike his father and grandfather Henry had done everything in his control to prevent hereditary heart disease from shortening his golden years. Everything, that is, except to make sure that his wife, his sweetheart, his Hannah, had also stayed healthy. It was simply inconceivable to him that she was in surgery right here, right now undergoing the emergency triple bypass that Henry thought for certain he had dodged.
He couldn't help wondering if this was some cruel punishment from God though he thought he had given up on the foolishness of His existence years ago. No God Henry could believe in would take away a daughter as murderously as his own had been taken. Hannah was always the one, the believer, the healer, wanting to make sense out of madness. She was Henry's lifeline, his common sense, his sanity. He couldn't bear to lose her. And then to find out that he almost lost his grandson on the very same day. If God did exist He was, indeed, cruel and
