VELOCITY - DEE JACOB [10]
Two hours later she awoke refreshed, dressed and did her hair for the second time that day, went downstairs, poured a glass of orange juice, and switched on her cell phone – only to discover that Linda had called five times. Without even checking Linda’s voice mails, Amy called her office.
“Where are you?” asked Linda.
“At home. Playing hooky.”
“You’ve got to get moving right away.”
“Why? Did the building burst into flames because I’m late to work?”
“No, you got a call from the Winner headquarters in New York City.”
“Me? About what?”
“The executive assistant to a Mr. Peter Winn, who’s–”
“The founder, chairman and CEO of Winner,” Amy said, her green eyes popping.
“Right, he wants you in his office in Manhattan for a meeting at three o’clock this afternoon.”
“What for? Was there a reason given?”
“No, but his assistant said to tell you that it’s extremely urgent.”
“Oh, crap. Is anyone else from Hi-T going?”
“No, just you. Now, I could not get you on a commercial flight, but I’ve chartered a private plane to fly you to New York, and there will be a driver to take you into the city. But you’re still going to have to hurry. Do you have something to write with? Here’s where the plane is waiting for you …”
The airplane had propellers – two of them, Amy noted – but it possessed sleek, rather handsome lines. As did the pilot. He was slim, but built, she also noted. Not especially tall. His hair was buzz-cut short on the sides, but longer on top. He had an older, lined face, his cheeks a bit hollow, eyes covered by classic wraparound Ray-Ban sunglasses. He stood waiting next to the plane, which was bright red with gold detailing. He had the doors already opened for her.
“Hi, I’m Tom Dawson,” he said in introduction, taking her briefcase. “I’ll be your pilot today, as well as your copilot and flight attendant, no extra charge.”
“I’m really in a hurry,” said Amy. “Could we–”
“Absolutely, ma’am. We will be wheels up in just a few minutes.”
He settled her into a passenger seat behind the cockpit, shut the doors with a reassuring thunk, strapped in, did his preflight checks. The twin engines came to life, and the plane began to move. Dawson taxied onto the runway, and throttled up. Amy felt herself pressed back into her seat, and she shut her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, they were airborne, angling skyward – all in less than five minutes, probably closer to four.
Once Dawson had trimmed the plane and set the autopilot, he turned to look at her, and gave her the thumbs up. Amy nodded and waved. Just leave me alone, she thought.
And he did. She leaned her head back and tried to fathom why she was being called to New York on such short notice. The conclusions she reached as to the possibilities were not happy ones.
After a while the pilot turned to check on her again and apparently was uncomfortable with what he saw.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Are you all right? You’re looking a little green around the edges.”
“I’m fine. I mean, I’ve been better, but …”
“There’s an airsickness bag–”
“No, nothing like that, Mr. Dawson. I’m okay. I’m just very nervous.”
“If it makes you feel any better, ma’am, I have flown a plane once or twice before. At least twice, maybe even three times.”
“Are you counting the crashes?”
He grinned. “The crashes? Well, ah … I’d rather not talk about those.”
“Seriously, have you ever crashed your plane?”
“Not this one. This one’s been lucky for me. It was the other one.” Then his face lost the grin and became serious. “No, it was quite a while back. Had a little problem on a mission and had to eject. It wasn’t a good day.”
“You’re ex-military?”
“United States Marine Corps, retired.”
“Is that why your airplane is painted red and gold?”
“Yes, scarlet and gold. You are very perceptive, ma’am.”
“Thank you. By the way, how fast are we going?”
“We are currently cruising at approximately