Total Control (4 page)

He looked down and played with the bedcovers. She took his chin in her hand and gave him a searching look. "Jason?" She paused, sensing his inner struggle. "Pretend it's Christmas Eve, honey."

He sighed. "I'm going to L.A. to interview with another firm."

She took her hand away. "What?"

He spoke quickly. "Allege raPort Technology, they're one of the largest specialty software manufacturers in the world. They've offered me, well, they've offered me a vice presidency and would be grooming me for the top spot eventually. Triple my salary, huge year-end bonus, stock options, beautiful retirement plan, the whole ball game, Sid. A home run."

Sidney's face instantly brightened; her shoulders slumped in relief.

"That was your big secret? Jason, that's wonderful. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to put you in an awkward position. You're Triton's counsel, after all. All the late hours at the office? I was trying to finish up my work. I didn't want to leave them in the lurch. Triton is a powerful company; I didn't want any hard feelings."

"Honey, there's no law against your joining another company.

They'd be happy for you."

"Right!" His bitter tone puzzled her for a moment, but he hurried on before she had a chance to question him about it. "They'd also pay for all our relocation expenses. In fact, we'd make a nice profit on this place, enough to pay off all our bills."

She stiffened. "Relocation?"

"Allegra's headquarters are in Los Angeles. That's where we'd be moving. If you don't want me to take it, then I'll respect your decision."

"Jason, you know my firm has an L.A. office. It'll be perfect." She sat back against the headboard again and stared at the ceiling. She looked over at him, a twinkle in her eye. "And let's see, at triple your current salary, the profit from this house and stock options to boot, I just might be able to become a full-time mom a littler sooner than I thought."

He smiled as she gave him a congratulatory hug. "That's why I was so surprised when you told me you were meeting with Triton."

She looked at him, confused.

"They think I took some time off to work around the house."

"Oh. Well, sweetie, don't worry. I'll play along. You know there's attorney-client privilege and then there's the much stronger privilege between a horny wife and her big, beautiful husband." Her soft eyes met his and she nuzzled her lips against his cheek. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Thanks, babe, I'm glad I told you."

He shrugged. "Well, I might as well jump in the shower. Maybe I can accomplish a few things before I leave."

Before he could stand up, her arms clamped around his waist.

"I'd love to help you accomplish something, Jason."

He turned his head to look at her. She was now wearing nothing; the nightgown lay over the footboard. Her large breasts pushed into his lower back. He smiled and slid one hand down her smooth back and gripped her soft bottom appreciatively.

"I've always said, you've got the world's greatest ass, Sid."

She grunted. "If you like a little additional padding, but I'm working on it."

His strong hands slid under her armpits, hoisting her up so they were face-to-face. His eyes looked deeply into hers and his mouth formed a solemn line before he spoke. "You're more beautiful now than the day I met you, Sidney Archer, and every day I love you more and more." The words came but slowly and gently, and made her tremble just as always. It wasn't the words he used that had that effect on her. You could find them in any Hallmark aisle. It was how he said them. The utter conviction in his voice, his eyes, the pressure of his touch against her skin.

Jason looked at the clock again and grinned mischievously. "I've gotta leave in three hours to make my plane."

She crooked her arm around his neck, pulled him down on top of her. "Well, three hours can be a lifetime."

Two hours later, his hair still wet from the shower, Jason Archer walked down the hallway of his home and opened the door to a small room. Set up as a home office with computer, filing cabinets, wood desk and two small bookcases, the space was cramped but tidy. One small window looked out onto the darkness.

Jason closed the door to his office, took a key from his desk drawer and unlocked the top drawer of the filing cabinet. He stopped and listened for any sound. This had become habitual even in the confines of his own house. That revelation was suddenly profoundly disturbing to him. His wife had gone back to sleep. Amy was sleeping soundly two doors down. He reached in the drawer and carefully pulled out a large old-fashioned leather briefcase with double straps, brass buckles and a worn, glossy finish. Jason opened the briefcase and pulled out a blank floppy disk. The instructions he had been given were precise. Put everything he had on one floppy disk, make one hard copy of the documents and then destroy everything else.

He put the floppy disk in the drive slot and copied all the other materials he had collected onto that same floppy. That completed, his finger hovered over the delete key as he prepared to follow his instructions on destruction of all pertinent files on his hard drive.

His finger wavered, however, and, finally, he chose to follow his instincts instead.

It took him only a few minutes to make a duplicate copy of the floppy, after which he deleted the files on his hard drive. After perusing the contents of the duplicate floppy on his screen for several moments, he took a few minutes to perform some additional functions on his computer. As he watched, the text on the screen turned to gibberish. He saved the changes, exited out of the file, slipped the duplicate disk out of the computer and inserted it in a small padded envelope, which he secreted far down in a side pouch of the leather briefcase. As instructed, he then printed out a hard copy of the contents of the original floppy and put the printed pages and the original floppy disk in the briefcase's main compartment.

Next, he took out his wallet and withdrew the plastic card he had used to enter his office earlier. He would no longer be needing it. He flipped the card into his desk drawer and shut it.

He studied the briefcase, his thoughts hovering far away from the little room. He didn't enjoy lying to his wife. He had never done that before and the feeling of prevarication was particularly repugnant to him. But it was almost over. He shuddered when he thought of all the risks he had taken. His body shook again when he dwelled on the fact that his wife knew absolutely nothing about it. He silently went over the plan again. The route he would take, the evasive steps he would employ, the code names of the people who would be meeting him. In spite of it all his mind continued to wander. He looked out the window, seeming to stare across the horizon as, behind the glasses he wore, his eyes seemed to grow larger and larger as the possibilities were swiftly sorted through. After today he could actually say for the first time that the risk had been worth it. All he had to do was survive today.

CHAPTER FOUR

The darkness that enveloped Dulles International Airport would soon be dispelled by the fast-approaching dawn. As the new day began stretching itself awake, a cab pulled up in front of the airport's terminal. The rear door of the cab opened and Jason Archer stepped out. He carried the leather briefcase in one hand and the black metal case, housing his laptop computer, in the other. He put a dark green wide-brimmed hat with a leather band on his head.

Jason smiled as the memory of making love to his wife commanded his thoughts. They had both showered, but the scent of recent sex lingered, and, had there been time, Jason Archer would have made love to his wife a second time.

He put down the computer case for a moment, stretched his arm back inside the cab and pulled out the oversized canvas bag, which he slung over his shoulder.

At the Western Airlines ticket counter Jason exhibited his driver's license, got his seat assignment and boarding pass and checked the canvas bag. He took a moment to smooth down the collar on his camel-hair overcoat, push his hat farther down on his head and adjust his tie, which bore soft swirls of gold, hazel and lavender. His pants were dark gray and baggy. Not that anyone would have noticed, but the socks were white athletic ones and the dark shoes were, in fact, tennis shoes. A few minutes later, Jason purchased a USA Today and a cup of coffee along the terminal's vendors' row. He then passed through the security gates.

The shuttle to the midfield terminal was three-quarters full.

Jason stood among men and women dressed much as he was: dark suits, touches of color at the neck, rolling racks stacked with bags clenched in many a weary hand.

Jason's hand never left the leather briefcase; his legs straddled the computer case. He occasionally looked around the interior of the shuttle examining its sleepy occupants. Then his eyes would eventually wander back to his newspaper as the shuttle swayed and bumped over to the midfield terminal.

Sitting in the large, open waiting area in front of Gate 11, Jason checked the time. Boarding would begin soon. He glanced outside the broad window, where a row of Western Airlines jets sporting the familiar brown and yellow stripes were being readied for early morning flights. Slashes of pink streaked the sky as the sun slowly rose to illuminate the East Coast. Outside, the wind pushed fiercely against the thick glass; airline workers hunched forward against the invisible thrusts of nature. The full measure of winter would be settling in soon and the winds and icy precipitation would blanket the area until the following April.

Jason pulled out the boarding pass from his inner coat pocket and studied its contents: Western Airlines Flight 3223 from Washington's Dulles International Airport to Los Angeles International Airport with direct, nonstop service. Jason had been born and raised in the Los Angeles area but hadn't been back there in over two years.

Across the aisle of the massive terminal a Western Airlines flight destined for Seattle, after a brief layover in Chicago, would also be boarding shortly. Jason licked his lips, a trickle of apprehension playing through his nervous system. He swallowed a couple of times to work through the dryness in his throat. As he finished his coffee, he thumbed through the newspaper, halfheartedly observing the collective aches and miseries of the world that poured forth from every colorful page.

As he glanced over the headlines, Jason noted a man striding resolutely down the middle of the concourse. He was a six-footer with a lean build and blond hair. He was dressed in a camel-hair overcoat and baggy gray pants. A tie identical to Jason's peeped out at his neck. Like Jason, he carried a leather briefcase and black laptop computer case. In the hand holding the computer case he also held a white envelope.

Jason quickly rose and walked to the men's room. It had just reopened after having been cleaned.

Entering the last stall, Jason locked the door, hung his overcoat on the door hook, opened the leather briefcase and extracted a large collapsible nylon bag. He pulled out a four-by-eight-inch mirror.

He pushed it against the wall of the stall and it held due to its magnetized back. He next pulled out a pair of thick black glasses to replace his wire-rimmed pair, and a paste-on black mustache. A short-haired wig matched the inky darkness of the mustache. The tie and jacket came off, were stuffed in the bag and replaced with a Washington Huskies sweatshirt. The baggy pants came off, revealing matching sweats underneath. Now the tennis shoes did not look so out of place. The overcoat was reversible and, instead of camel, it became dark blue in color. Jason checked his appearance again in the mirror. The leather briefcase and the metal case disappeared into the nylon bag along with the mirror. He left the hat on the hook behind the stall door. Unlocking the door, he stepped out and walked over to the sink.

After washing his hands, Jason studied his new bespectacled face in the mirror. In the reflection the tall blond man he had seen earlier appeared in the doorway, moved over to the stall Jason had just exited and closed the door. Jason took a moment to carefully dry his hands and swipe at his new hair. By that time the man had emerged from the stall, Jason's hat perched on his head. Without his disguise Jason and the man could have passed as twins. Leaving through the exit door, they momentarily collided. Jason quickly mouthed an apology; the man never looked at him. He quickly walked away, Jason's plane ticket disappearing into his shirt pocket, while Jason tucked the white envelope into his coat.

Jason was about to return to his seat when he looked over at the bank of phones. Hesitating for an instant, he hurried over and dialed a number.

"Sid?"

"Jason?" Sidney was simultaneously dressing and feeding a struggling Amy Archer and stuffing files into her briefcase. "What's wrong? Is your flight delayed?"

"No, no, it leaves in a few minutes." He fell silent as he caught his altered reflection in the shiny face of the telephone. He felt embarrassed to be talking to his wife while disguised.

Sidney struggled with Amy's coat. "Well, is anything wrong?"

"No, I just thought I'd call, to check on things."

Sidney let out an exasperated grunt. "Well, let me give you the rundown: I'm late, your daughter is being uncooperative as usual, and I just realized I left my plane ticket and some documents I need at work, which means instead of having thirty minutes to spare I've got maybe ten seconds."

"I'm ... I'm sorry, Sid. i ..." Jason's hand tightly gripped the nylon bag. Today was the last day. The last day, he kept repeating to himself. If anything were to happen to him--if for some reason, despite the precautions, he didn't make it back--she would never know, would she?

Sidney was seething now. Amy had just spilled her bowl of Cheerios all over her coat and a good part of the milk had made its way into Sidney's crammed briefcase as she struggled to hold the phone under her chin. "I've gotta go, Jason."

"No, Sid, wait, I need to tell you some--"