“She there? Put her on,” Mark requested. “Hey, Kerry?”
“Right here.” She covered her other ear with one hand.
“Did you actually manage to get her out of the damn hotel for an hour?”
the MIS chief whispered.
Tropical Storm 197
Kerry glanced over to where Dar had climbed over a railing and was inspecting a bush cut in the shape of Figment the Imagination dragon. “Oh yeah. In fact, I got her to go to one of the parks tonight.”
“You rock!” he praised. “Damn woman hasn’t had a vacation in ten years.” He sighed. “You having fun?”
“It’s been…” Kerry smiled to herself, “…very educational. I’ve learned a lot, and I hope things work out for the bid. This is a very interesting account.”
“Ain’t what I asked,” Mark chided.
“Yes, we’re having fun. Thanks for asking.” She looked up to find Dar watching her, the dark-haired woman’s body relaxed against the railing.
“Whoops, gotta go. Talk to you later, Mark.”
They walked off toward the shuttle stop, amiably bumping shoulders as they maneuvered through the thinning crowds.
SHE WAS YAWNING by the time they got back to the hotel, their monorail depositing them neatly in the lobby. Like a puppy, Kerry followed Dar to the elevator, resisting the impulse to latch onto the back of her shirt to keep up, and she had to take a minute to blink her eyes clear before she could open her room door. It was quiet and mostly dark inside, and she really wanted nothing more than to curl up in her already turned-down bed, dressed as she was, and just conk out. Instead, she changed into her nightshirt, wincing where the pink skin around her bathing suit marks stung, then she turned and noticed her message light flashing. Perplexed, she lifted the receiver and dialed the front desk. “Hello? Yes, I have a message?”
“Oh, yes, Ms. Stuart,” the voice on the phone answered promptly. “It’s from a Colleen. She said it was urgent, and could you please call her.”
Urgent? “Okay, thanks very much.” Kerry depressed the receiver, wondering what could possibly have gone wrong back in Miami. Another flood in the complex? She hoped it wasn’t the plumbing again, at any rate.
She dialed her friend’s number, and waited until the sleepy voice on the other end answered. “Col?”
Colleen woke up instantly. “Jesus son of Mary, Kerry, where in the Hell are you? Your parents are going insane. They’ve called here three times!”
My parents? “Um.” Kerry rubbed her head at the unexpected source of the panic. “I’m in Orlando, as you should know. What’s the big deal?”
Silence from the other end of the line preceded a deep breath. “You haven’t heard?”
“Haven’t heard what? No, I’ve been in meetings all day, and then… What is it?” Kerry asked. “Someone shoot the president or something?”
“Jesus Christ, Kerry, the plane you were supposed to be on tonight crashed in the Everglades. Pretty much everyone on it died, they think,”
Colleen answered. “The only reason I didn’t go nuts is the hotel said you hadn’t checked out and I know you’re not a skip.”
Kerry sat down on the bed, her legs suddenly unable to hold her up. “Oh my God.” She lifted a shaking hand to her mouth. “I’d better call my parents.”
“Then call me back, okay?” Colleen said softly.
“Okay, I will.” Kerry hung up, then rested her hand on the receiver for a 198 Melissa Good long moment before she picked it up again and dialed. “Mom?” Her mother’s voice practically jumped out of the phone at her. “No, no, I’m fine. I’m fine.
I’m still in Orlando. The meeting went on longer than we thought, so we’re staying over another night … No, no, not at all. The office knew I wasn’t on the flight.” A pause. “You could have called the … hello, Father.”
Roger Stuart’s voice thundered down the line. “That’s it. No daughter of mine is living down where terrorists can just bomb an airplane. That place has too few Americans in it, God damn it. You’re coming home.”
“Are you sure it was a terrorist? I didn’t hear any details. I don’t…” Kerry felt a sudden jolt in her guts at the thought of leaving Miami and Dar.
“Nothing happened, we weren’t on the flight!”
Her father cut off further objections. “No ifs, ands, or buts, Kerrison.
That’s final. Could you imagine the press if you’d been on that plane? My God! Make the arrangements.”
The line went dead. Kerry slowly put it back down on the cradle and stared at it. “Glad I wasn’t on the plane too, thanks for asking.” A noise made her look up to see Dar standing in the adjoining doorway, a quietly grim look on her face. “I guess you heard.”
Dar nodded, then entered, crossing the room and sitting down next to her on the bed. A remote control was clasped loosely in the executive’s hands. “I have the news on in there.” She looked at Kerry intently. “Are you all right?”
“Oh yeah,” Kerry answered bitterly. “My father was so damned relieved he wouldn’t have to spin-doctor my death.” She leaned her elbows on her knees and looked down at the carpet. “They want me to leave Miami and go home.”
Dar hesitated, then awkwardly put one arm around her companion’s shoulders. “Because a plane crashed? That makes no sense, Kerry.”
“Because Miami’s full of degenerates, perverts, and foreigners who do nothing but plot against the US,” Kerry answered with a sigh. “Do they know what made the plane go down? He said it was a terrorist. Is that true?”
“Didn’t stick around there long enough to find out. C’mon, let’s go into the other room and watch the news. Maybe they’ll say.” Dar hesitated. “Sorry about all this.”
Kerry looked up, grateful for the warmth of Dar’s arm around her. “We would have been on that plane.”
“I know,” the older woman replied calmly. “But we weren’t. C’mon, I ordered up some hot chocolate. Let’s go see what happened.”
They settled on Dar’s bed, and she turned the volume up on the television, which was tuned to CNN. The picture was mostly dark, with flashing blue and red lights everywhere, and the occasional flare of yellow.
The reporter wore a windbreaker, and it was obviously raining and windy where he was. “As of this moment, the FAA is not commenting or speculating on what brought down this Boeing 727, only that the pilot reported problems over West Palm Beach and decided to swing west, away from populated areas.”
“Doesn’t sound like a bomb,” Dar commented, getting up to answer a light knock on the door. “Nice service.” She opened it and allowed the room service waiter in with a tray. “Put it over there.” The waiter left, and she Tropical Storm 199
poured two steaming cupfuls of the chocolate, adding a tiny mini-marshmallow to each cup and bringing one over to Kerry. “Here you go, good for what ails you.”
Kerry took a sip and managed a smile. “Thanks.” She turned her attention to the television, where searchlights were showing what looked like hundreds of men in various uniforms up to their thighs in water, moving debris and other things around. “It looks horrible.”
“Mmm.” Dar exhaled, then picked up the phone and dialed a number.
“It’s Dar.” She paused, listening. “What’s the story on that plane that went down?” Another pause. “Well, maybe not, but I was supposed to be on it.”
She sighed. “I don’t think so either, but I’d like to be sure. Thanks, Gerry.” She hung up. “Let’s see if we can get some real info.”
“Who was that?” Kerry asked, feeling her spirits rebounding a little. “Or is it one of those—‘if you tell me, you have to kill me’ kind of things?”