them.
I said, 'I don't have a toothbrush.'
'I have one of those Business Class airline toilet kits for men. It should have everything you need. I've been saving it.'
'Which airline? I like the British Airways kit.'
'I think it's Air France. There's a condom in it.'
'Speaking of which-'
'Trust me. I work for the Federal government.'
That may have been the funniest thing I'd heard in months.
She turned on the TV and lay on the couch with her head in my lap. I caressed her breasts, which caused my hydraulic lift to extend, and she craned her neck and head forward and said, 'A few inches higher, please,' then laughed. Anyway, we watched a lot of news reruns until about 2:00 A.M., plus a few specials on what was now called 'the Flight 175 Terrorist Attack.' The network news seemed to be trying to leave the name of their major advertiser, Trans-Continental, out of the unpleasantness. In fact, bizarre as it may seem, one of the networks had a Trans-Continental ad showing happy passengers in Coach Class, which is an oxymoron. I think they use midgets to make the seats look bigger. Also, notice how they never use Arab-looking passengers in the ads.
Anyway, regarding the news specials, the talking heads had been rousted from every corner of the planet, and they were babbling on about global terrorism, the history of Mideast terrorism, Libya, Muslim extremists, cyanide gas, autopilots, and on and on.
At about 3:00 A.M., we retired to the bedroom carrying only our pistols and holsters with us. I said, 'I sleep in the nude, but I wear my gun and holster.'
She smiled and yawned, then put her shoulder holster on over her bare skin, and if you're into that kind of thing, it looks sexy. She looked in the mirror and said, 'That looks weird. I mean, the tits and the gun.'
'No comment.'
She said to me, 'That was my father's holster rig. I didn't want to tell him that shoulder holsters weren't used any longer. I put. a new Glock holster on the rig, and I wear it about once a week, and every time I go home.'
I nodded. This told me something nice about Kate Mayfield.
She took off the holster and went to her answering machine on the night table and hit a button. The unmistakable voice of Ted Nash came on, and he said, 'Kate, this is Ted-calling from Frankfurt. I've gotten word that you and Corey won't be joining us here. You should reconsider. I think you're both missing an opportunity. I think that taxi driver's – murder was a red herring… Anyway, call me… it's after midnight in New York… I thought you'd be home… they said you'd left the office and were going home… Corey's not home, either. Okay, call me here until three or four A.M., your time. I'm at the Frankfurter Hof.' He gave the number and said, 'Or I'll try you later at the office. Let's talk.'
Neither of us said anything, but somehow that guy's voice in Kate Mayfield's bedroom pissed me off, and I guess she sensed this because she said, 'I'll talk to him later.'
I said, 'It's just three-nine there. You can catch him in his room staring at himself in the mirror.'
She smiled, but said nothing.
I guess Ted and I had different theories, as usual. I thought the murder in Frankfurt was the red herring. And I was pretty certain that wily old Ted thought that, too, but he wanted me in Germany. Interesting. Well, if Ted says go to Point B, then I stay at Point A. Simple.
Kate was in bed now, motioning me to join her.
So I crawled into the sack, and we snuggled together, arms and legs intertwined. The sheets were cool and crisp, the pillow and mattress were firm, and so was Kate Mayfield. This was better than nodding off in my chair in front of the TV.
The big brain was falling asleep, but the little brain was wide awake, which sometimes happens. She got on top of me and buried the bishop. I totally passed out at some point, and had a very realistic dream about having sex with Kate Mayfield.
CHAPTER 41
Asad Khalil watched the countryside slip by beneath the aircraft as the old Piper Apache cruised at 7,500 feet through clear skies, heading northeast, toward Long Island.
Bill Satherwaite informed his passenger, 'We have a nice tailwind, so we're making good time.'
'Excellent.' The tailwind has stolen some time from your life.
Bill Satherwaite said, 'So, as I was saying, this was the longest jet fighter attack mission ever attempted. And the F-lll isn't exactly comfortable.'
Khalil sat quietly and listened.
Satherwaite continued, 'The fucking French wouldn't let us fly over their country. But the Italians were okay- said we could abort in Sicily if we had to. So, in my book, you guys are okay.'
'Thank you.'
Norfolk, Virginia, was passing beneath them, and Satherwaite took the opportunity to point out the United States naval facility off the right wing. 'Look-there's the fleet-you see those two aircraft carriers in their berths? See them?'
'Yes.'
'Navy did a good job for us that night. They didn't see any action, but just knowing they were out there to cover us on our way back from the attack was a big confidence booster.'
'Yes, I can understand that.'
'But as it turned out, the chickenshit Libyan Air Force didn't follow us out after we'd completed our attack.' He added, 'Their pilots were probably hiding under their beds, pissing in their drawers.' He laughed.
Khalil recalled his own episode of incontinence with shame and anger. He cleared his throat and said, 'I seem to remember that one of the American aircraft was shot down by the Libyan Air Force.'
'No way. They never got off the ground.'
'But you lost an aircraft-correct?'
Satherwaite glanced at his passenger and said, 'Yeah, we lost one aircraft, but a lot of us are pretty sure that the guy just screwed up his attack-he got too low and hit the water on his run-in to the beach.'
'Perhaps he was shot down by a missile, or by antiaircraft fire.'
Again, Satherwaite glanced at his passenger. He said, 'Their air defenses sucked. I mean, they had all this high-tech stuff from the Russkies, but they didn't have the brains or the balls to use it.' Satherwaite reconsidered this remark, then added, 'But there really was a lot of Triple-A and SAMs coming up at us. I had to take evasive action from the SAMs, you know, but with the Triple-A, all you can do is charge on, right through it.'
'You were very brave.'
'Hey, just doing my job.'
'And you were the first aircraft to fly into Al Azziziyah?'
'Yeah. Lead aircraft… hey, did I say Al Azziziyah?'
'Yes, you did.'
'Yeah?' Satherwaite didn't recall using that word, which he could hardly pronounce. 'Anyway, my wizo- weapons officer-Chip… can't use last names-but he tosses four, scores three directs, and fucks up the last one, but he hit something.'
'What did he hit?'
'I don't know. After-action satellite photos showed… maybe some barracks or houses-no secondary explosions, so it wasn't what he was supposed to hit, which was an old Italian munitions storage building. Who cares? He hit something. Hey, do you know how we get a body count? Satellite recon counts arms and legs and divides by four.' He laughed.
Asad Khalil felt his heart beating rapidly, and he prayed to God for self-control. He took several deep breaths and closed his eyes. This man, he realized, had killed his family. He saw images of his brothers, Esam and Qadir,
