London, England
A blond flight attendant, her white-capped teeth dazzling against deeply tanned skin, leaned over and spoke softly. “We’ll be landing in just a few minutes, sir. Pilot tells us he expects we’ll go directly to the terminal upon arrival. Please buckle up.”
Gerrit gave her a smile and reached for his lap restraint, clicking it into place. Only moments before, he’d watched the plane slice through a bank of clouds, leaving a pale moon behind in their wake. Darkness enveloped them. Once through the gloom, lights far below seemed to beckon.
Flashing runway lights hurled beneath them in a blur, and he leaned back to prepare for a jolt as wheels touched down. Fifteen minutes later, Gerrit shouldered a flight bag as he made his way into the terminal, still reeling from the last eight hours of sleepless travel.
As he cleared Customs, a man came alongside him. “Mr. Kane extends his greetings and wanted me to give you a lift, sir. This way.” The man spoke with a southern drawl, extending a left paw the size of a grizzly as he grabbed Gerrit’s bag. Lefty had a pancake nose and eyes of a boxer, shifting and calculating, an unspoken warning for those around him to be wary.
Gerrit followed Lefty through the terminal to a gray Rolls-Royce already parked along the curb, engine running. Another man sat behind the wheel. Lefty flung Gerrit’s bag into the trunk before opening the rear door. His head jerked toward the open door.
The car peeled away from the curb the moment Gerrit’s rear end touched leather. He eased back and watched the air terminal fade away, looking out on a dark, rain-swollen sky. Once on the ground, he saw the clouds close in to suffocate London with sleet and ice.
Maybe he could talk Lefty into loaning him an umbrella. Everyone in this part of the world must have one-just like Seattle. As the car weaved through traffic, Gerrit laid his head back and closed his eyes. His mind, though tired, refused to relax. Questions kept popping up like sparks from a fire. What was so important that he was yanked from a case five thousand miles away to a meeting in this foreign country? And who was Richard Kane? He had to be powerful to make a U.S. senator dance to his tune. To authorize Spyman from CIA, State, or whatever to hand deliver falsified top-quality documents. It was clear Kane wielded clout.
But to what end?
Another red flag rose back in D.C. when he saw Marilynn willing to stand in her father’s shadow, to melt into the background during their brief encounter at Dulles. She never took a back seat to anyone-including her father. Totally out of character for this woman he’d come to know, publicly and intimately.
Gerrit’s mind must have wandered off in deep thought during the ride because the next thing he knew, the car pulled over and Lefty stood outside, opening the car door. Easing out of the car, Gerrit’s lower back felt stiff from all the sitting he’d done during the night.
A recent dusting of snow coated the ground and chilled the early morning air, giving him just enough briskness to shake lingering sleep from his tired brain. Lefty, bag in hand, led him toward a light stone dwelling on the corner of what appeared to be two residential streets.
Shielded from the snow above by a pillared portico, Lefty lumbered up the expansive marble stairway to an elevated landing and rapped twice on a heavy wooden door. A gray-haired butler, face impassive to the point of disinterest, opened the door as if he had all the time in the world. Lefty impatiently brushed past without further conversation and handed Gerrit’s bag to the butler as if to a meaningless servant.
Gerrit followed his guide up a curved stairway to the second floor, a tiled corridor softened by a carpeted maroon runner. They paused before an ornately carved oak door with brass doorknobs. Lefty rapped twice before barging in to the room. “Mr. Kane, your guest has arrived.”
Motioning Gerrit forward, Lefty slowly backed out of the room and closed the door behind him. At first, Gerrit saw no one in the room. Then, a figure emerged from an interior doorway to the left and walked toward him. The man appeared to be in his sixties, with long ivory-white hair swept back to his shoulders and a sharply chiseled face that must have caught the eye of more than one woman.
As the man drew closer, his eyes-darkly dangerous-seemed to peer at Gerrit as if searching for information. Those eyes reminded Gerrit of a predator-cold, expressionless, and calculating.
The man extended a hand. “Welcome to London, Mr. O’Rourke. My name’s Richard Kane.” A Texas drawl seemed to fit the man’s air of independence, a laid-back drawl that invited others to let down their guards. The man’s voice reminded Gerrit of watching old television clips of President Lyndon Johnson speaking to the American people during the Vietnam conflict. Words of familiarity no one trusted.
Gerrit shook his hand, expecting to feel the ice-cold touch of a reptile. Instead, Kane’s grasp seemed warm and strong.
He motioned Gerrit toward a chair near the only desk in the room, an expansive, simple desk carved from cherry wood, its reddish gleam polished to a shine. Not one piece of paper cluttered the desktop. Kane rounded it and sat down, learning forward with both elbows planted on the wooden surface, hands clasped together.
He studied Gerrit for a moment. “How was your flight…Mr. Gerrity?” It was the first smile Kane cracked.
“Long and tiring. Senator Summers sends his regards.”
Kane’s smile widened. “Make sure you still have your valuables after that man shakes your hand. Sneaky as all get-out.”
“I wouldn’t know, Mr. Kane. It was the first time I met him.”
“And what did the good senator tell you about all this?”
“Matter of national security and you’d explain everything.”
Kane shook his head, strands of white hair falling into his face, only to be pushed back into place. “Senator Summers always wants to play it safe. The ol’ boy gives himself plausible deniability in case something goes wrong. Are you one of those guys who wants to play it safe?”
Gerrit met his stare without blinking. “I don’t know what we’re talking about. Anyone who knows me can tell you I like to get the job done. Whatever it takes.”
“That’s what I’ve heard. But I like to size up a man face-to-face. Helps me to determine if he’s got true grit. Ya know what I mean?”
Shifting in his chair, Gerrit leaned forward. “No offense, Mr. Kane, but I’m really tired. Tired of all this down-home, ya’ll come by bull. I got a senator who won’t give me spit. A spook who hands me falsified credentials with my mug plastered on them-a felony, I might add. And I fly over two continents to meet with a man who wants to know if I’ve got true grit?”
Gerrit felt himself heat up. “How’s this for grit?” he said, trying to calm down. “Based upon that nebulous meeting in D.C., I’m ordered to use those fake documents to pass through security on a trip that might have something to do with national security. Nobody tells me squat about who sanctioned this operation. Now, I’m not an attorney, but I’m smart enough to know that if this operation is illegal-my goose is cooked. I could face ten years in federal prison and be fined $250,000 just for what I did back there at Dulles. And that’s just for starters. Not to mention, my career in law enforcement would be toast. Is that enough grit?”
“Good enough. Look, why don’t you get a little shut-eye. I know you have a lot of questions and I intend answering every one of them. In good time. First thing in the morning, we’ll catch a chopper and head up the coast to a place where we operate. It is safe to talk there.”
The door opened behind Gerrit. He turned and saw Lefty holding the door.
“Show Mr. O’Rourke to his room. Give him whatever he needs.” Kane turned toward Gerrit. “Have a good sleep, partner. Tomorrow, I promise…all your questions will be answered.”
Gerrit walked toward the door as Lefty led the way. Somehow, he didn’t believe Kane. He sensed the man never revealed everything. Just enough to get his way.
Tomorrow, Gerrit had better get some answers or he was history.