His daughter collected herself enough to take the cue. "Okay, Dad. Sure." She headed for the kitchen, but not without a few bobble-headed glances over her shoulder to make sure this was happening.
Townsend said, "I'm sorry you weren't able to make the ceremony yesterday, Davis. We —"
"Jammer."
"Sorry?"
"Everybody calls me Jammer."
"Oh, right. Well, Jammer, we quietly honored a handful of people who helped keep the damage from this disaster to a minimum."
"Please don't think I wasn't honored by the invitation. I had some important things to take care of here at home."
Townsend nodded. "I can see that. You made the right choice. But you really saved our butts. If those airplanes had done what they were programmed to do, a lot of people would have died. Not to mention the economic impact — it would have been a disaster all around."
"If you ask me, Earl Moore was the real hero. And I wouldn't be standing here today if it wasn't for Miss Sorensen."
"Yes, Miss Sorensen. She's still over in France, tying up loose ends. I'm going to make a point of seeing her when she gets back."
"So am I," said Davis.
The president's eyes narrowed and the hint of a smile creased his lips.
Jen came in with a tray holding two cups of Davis' special brew She gave one to the president and he immediately took a sip. Didn't spit it out. Davis took the second cup as one of the Secret Service men leaned over to Townsend and whispered something in his ear.
The president addressed Jen, "I think your escort has arrived. A young man by the name of Bobby Taylor?"
Jen nodded excitedly.
Davis had a vision — the Taylor kid outside getting frisked by the president's Secret Service detail. He kind of liked the idea. Maybe the kid would figure that's what you got when you made a move on Jammer Davis' daughter.
Townsend signaled to his man. The door opened and a wide-eyed Bobby Taylor came in under escort. He was dressed in an ill-fitting suit and had a plastic box with a corsage dangling forgotten at his side. To his credit, he seemed to recognize the president of the United States. Jen took social flight and issued proper introductions to her overwhelmed date — first the president, followed by her father. Davis didn't take offense.
Having given Jen her moment, Davis said, "Sweetheart, can you give the president and me a few minutes?" He gave a nod toward the stairs and Jen led Bobby up to her room. Davis checked to make sure the door was left open.
He turned to Townsend. "You have kids, right?"
"Two, both grown. But I can remember. Tough, isn't it?"
"Yep."
Townsend sipped again. "Anyway, Jammer, I just wanted to tell you in person how much I appreciate everything you did. Not a single airplane was lost. We've determined that they were set to strike the biggest refineries across the world."
"Jaber programmed it like I thought?"
"Yes, his software had the flight computers taking over at the exact time you said they would. It also instructed the flight data recorders to blank out when the clock kicked everything off."
"For insurance," Davis reckoned, "in case of a malfunction. Like World Express 801."
"Yes. Jaber was a clever man. I guess he wanted to prove it to the world before he died. The postmortem showed he had advanced stage cancer — the primary site couldn't even be determined, but he wouldn't have lasted more than a few weeks."
"Fatima got to him first. She was a real piece of work."
"That, she was," Townsend agreed. "She brought it all together. She took over Caliph's system, a potent network of suicide warriors. Then she sold their services to the highest bidder."
"Profiteering disguised as holy war."
"Yes. We believe the entire CargoAir consortium was created with this plot in mind. A handful of sovereign wealth fund managers put the company together — roughly five billion dollars that they hoped to turn into fifty times as much."
"So you know who they are," Davis surmised.
"Yes."
Nothing more came, and Davis had to ask, "Do you know where they are?"
The president took a long look at his watch. "I have a pretty good idea." Instead of expanding on this, he said, "In the end, CargoAir was to aviation what Chernobyl was to clean energy. Our intel people estimate that at least half of those airplanes would have made it to their targets. If you hadn't figured things out, we'd be facing a damned global economic catastrophe."
"I just paid six bucks a gallon for regular yesterday. I'd say there's been some damage done."
"Yes, no doubt. But I got briefed a few hours ago — the refinery repairs are running well ahead of schedule. Worldwide, we should be back to ninety percent production within three months. It's a big hit, but nothing like it could have been."
"And what about Caliph?"
"We messed up there. All those pictures of him on the Web — taunting, just daring us to find him. It was all misdirection, a ploy to throw us off."
"So he wasn't even involved?"
"No. But I can tell you that Caliph will never harm us again."
Davis wasn't sure what that meant, but he took it for fact.
Townsend smacked a palm on his thigh. "You know what? I forgot the medal. I brought a little token of our appreciation, but it's out in the limo. "The president paused long enough to look around the room. Davis' own I-love-me wall hadn't made it out of the moving boxes yet — even though they'd been living here for three years. Townsend added, "But I know that kind of thing doesn't mean much to some people."
Davis caught his drift. "I'll find a spot for it, sir."
"So will you go back to the NTSB, Jammer?"
Davis shrugged. "Like I said, right now I've got some higher priorities."
"Fair enough. But if you ever do go back, you can go anywhere you want. I'll personally see to it."
"I appreciate that. But if I do go back, I'd probably just prefer to keep the same old job."
The two locked gazes for a moment. As a career politician, it probably surprised Townsend to see his largesse turned down. But then he nodded and seemed to understand.
A security man eased between them and tapped his watch. The president stood and Davis followed him to the door. They shook hands and Truett Townsend spoke in an earnest tone, "Jammer, if there's ever anything I can do for you, please let me know."
"Thanks," Davis said.
He watched the president and his detail recede down the front steps toward the motorcade. When they were halfway to the street, Davis shouted, "Actually, Mr. President, there is one thing—"
Ten minutes later Davis again stood on his front porch. This time he watched President Townsend walking arm-in-arm with his daughter toward an armored limo.
Jen was over the moon, about to arrive at her first high school dance in a presidential motorcade, a touch of style that would be talked about in the halls for a generation. Immediately behind her, Bobby Taylor was wedged in between two of the president's biggest men — he looked like a toothpick between two oaks. Davis was surprised, though, when he actually rushed forward and pulled open the rear door for Jen. Maybe there was hope for the kid after all.
After hitting the school drop-off loop, the plan was for one armored limousine and the two burly agents to remain behind and stand watch at the dance. When it ended, the Secret Service would bring the two teenagers home. Safe and sound. Davis watched Jen, Bobby Taylor, and President Townsend climb into the back of the limo. They were all smiling.
Jammer Davis was smiling.
Lights began to flash, sirens blared, and a squad of police motorcycles led the way as the motorcade snaked into motion. Davis caught a glimpse of Mrs. Irving peering out her front window. He gave her the queen s wave, then went back to watching the procession as it drew away down the street.
It was a great visual.
Coffee cup still in hand, he took a long, hearty sip. Then spit it out on the lawn. "God that's bad!" he muttered. Truett Townsend was either very polite or his taste buds were shot. Davis dumped the remains on a dormant shrub by the front door. He watched the motorcade until the last car was gone, then went inside a satisfied man.