Claire Gulliver #02 - Washington Weirdos (2 page)

We all hope you can arrange your schedule in order to accept this invitation. We believe you will enjoy Washington D.C. as well as the events of the Labor Day weekend. My assistant, Suzanne Queensley, will be contacting you next week to make the arrangements for your trip and answer any questions you might have.

Please come, we do look forward to meeting you.

Sincerely,

David Lickman

She read it a second time more carefully.

The CEO and President, David Burlington Lickman was inviting her to be Vantage’s guest in Washington, D.C. They wanted her to attend a special meeting of the Board so they could show their appreciation for her efforts on behalf of their corporation. Additionally, the Lickmans would like her to be their guest for the long Labor Day weekend in their home in Maryland, where they were hosting a Gala to celebrate the end of the summer.

She was stunned. Who would expect a major corporation such as Vantage Airlines to issue such a personal invitation? It was a really caring thing to do. It made her feel like they really did appreciate what she had done. She decided right then that the Lickmans must be very nice people. But she still felt a little guilty about Vantage’s appreciation. Truthfully, she hadn’t given a thought to saving the airline. She had been totally concerned with her own safety and that of the others on the plane. The results, of course, benefited them all. Doug Levine, who had been the State Department’s representative assigned to protect her interests through all the interrogation and investigations by the British, kept telling her how grateful the airline was for her action. That had planted an expectation in her head that she could receive some formal thank you and perhaps even a gesture of appreciation, like some free bonus miles or a complimentary ticket to somewhere. But then as the weeks passed without hearing from Vantage she had dismissed the idea. But never had she expected a personal invitation such as this.

Yes, she admitted, she had always wanted to see Washington, D.C. She had vowed someday she would go to the Vietnam Memorial because she identified so much with that era while she was growing up in San Francisco. And she had heard so much about the Smithsonian. It would probably take a week to even make a dent in the museums. And, of course, what librarian (albeit ex-librarian) could resist an opportunity to visit the Library of Congress?

She toyed with the idea of getting on a plane again. It was so soon. She kind of rolled it around a bit in her mind, but strangely the thought didn’t seem to alarm her. What did concern her was her business. She had a bookstore to run and it needed her. She couldn’t just be running off on trips every few months.

A Gala, she thought. What was that precisely? It sounded rather posh. She decided to ask Lucy about it. Lucy, her travel book author friend, was the one who knew just what Claire should wear when she had been invited to an afternoon society wedding several months back. Surely she would know what a Gala required and maybe she had even heard of the Lickmans. Or, Claire thought, she could check the Web. David Lickman, as the head of a major corporation, could surely be found on Google.

The invitation was tempting. Maybe she’d discuss the trip with Mrs. B, her assistant manager, when she came in this afternoon. Maybe there was a way. Maybe it was possible. It seemed that this was a unique opportunity, something not to be missed.

And Labor Day was only a month away.

The evening was balmy, not hot and humid as Claire had been led to expect. She took a deep breath, looking around. It wasn’t yet dark, but very shadowy between the bright bluish white glows emitted from each light stanchion lining the paths which ran along each side of the long park the locals call the Mall.

She was glad she had come out. She had spent too many hours cooped up in a plane. And while it was dusk here in Washington D.C., her body was still on West Coast time.

And she wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be indoors with this great city to explore, Claire thought with satisfaction, noting the joggers, cyclists and other tourists taking advantage of the beautiful evening. However, she did notice the numbers were dwindling as the evening wore on. Then she noticed, for some reason, there were fewer people on the path she was on. Perhaps the other path was more popular because it was closer to the busy street it paralleled. And noticing how deserted her side of the park had become stirred a feeling of unease so she walked faster, suddenly anxious. She glanced over at the other path, considering cutting across. At the same time she scolded herself for being spooked. But when hairs at the base of her skull prickled, she paid attention. That’s when she noticed the sound of someone coming up behind her rather quickly.

She stopped under one of the lights and whipped around to face the person approaching. The man paused, startled, then a hard smile spread across his face and the blade on the knife he held clicked into place.

Sharply she sucked in her breath. Her heart thundered with fear.

His grin widened at her gasp. He was enjoying this.

She hadn’t brought her purse; but desperate for something to offer him she thrust her hand in the pocket of her windbreaker, reaching for the few bills she had grabbed in case she wanted to take a cab back. Her fingers closed over a chunky object and dimly she registered it was her screech alarm.

His eyes never left hers as he began advancing. He appeared to be savoring his control over the situation. She was so frightened she couldn’t breathe. Her fingers clumsily twisted around the little alarm in her pocket until the trigger came free and the sudden deafening screech shattered the evening.

He jumped back. His eyes darted around nervously. Then recovering, he moved forward again. His knife was ready.

The body came out of nowhere, slamming into him sideways with a force which sent them both to the ground. The knife flew through the air; the streetlight gleaming off the blade traced its trajectory. She wanted to run, to scream, to cry for help but she stood mutely rooted. Her eyes were riveted on the men on the ground in front of her. Her would-be attacker rolled free and came up on all fours. He was poised, looking at the knife, which lay temptingly only a few feet away. But her rescuer’s hand protectively hovered over it, his gaze fastened on the attacker’s eyes. The evil grin had been knocked off his face and he sidled off a few feet before he made up his mind. Quickly he gained his feet and ran for the other side of the Mall leaving his knife and his intended victim behind.

Claire’s knees buckled suddenly and she sat on the path with a force that knocked her breath out with a whoosh. Stunned, gasping for air, she tried to make sense of what had happened.

Her rescuer climbed to his feet, shouting over the ear-damaging screech, but she couldn’t make out his words. However, when he cupped his hand to his ear she understood, groped around in her pocket, found the alarm and the dangling pin and after a few futile attempts she managed to insert the pin and silence it.

They stared at each other, ears still ringing in the stillness. Then, he leaned toward her. “Why are you down there? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, dazed, sure she was dreaming.

No chance of that, she told herself, the stones on the path biting cruelly into her butt were too real for this to be a dream.

“Jack? Jack, is it really you?”

Then gathering strength, she demanded, “Jack, what are you doing here?” She had thought when she bid him farewell in London several months ago that they would never meet again. Yet, unbelievably, here he was.

“Here, in the park, or here in Washington?” He was being facetious, an annoying habit of his.

She tried to keep impatience out of her voice. “Either, both! What are you doing here?”

“Well, I knew you were coming in today, so I stopped by at your hotel but just missed you. The concierge said he showed you on the map how to get to the Vietnam Memorial, so I headed this way to see if I could catch up. Luckily! I was across the park,” he gestured in the direction of the path on the other side, “when I saw you. Then I saw him skulking after you. It looked rather sinister so I headed this way as fast as I could.”

He looked at her sternly. “How many times have I warned you not to walk alone on dark deserted streets?” He shook his head in disgust.

Somehow his scolding made her feel defensive. “I had my screech alarm.” It sounded rather feeble even to her.

“So that’s what it was. Well, it was a big help.” He waved at the empty space around them. He was right, no one had responded to the alarm.

Her face paled. “He was planning to use that knife. I could see it in his eyes.” She shuddered and pulled the lightweight windbreaker close around her. She felt chilled. “He was going to kill me.”

Jack reached for Claire’s hand to help her to her feet and guided her toward the bench at the side of the path. He sat next to her still holding her hand tightly in his, stilling her trembling somewhat as they both contemplated her brush with violence.

“You don’t think it had anything to do with Guiness, do you?” she whispered horror apparent in her shaking voice.

“God, I hope not!” He paused, then continued, “I wouldn’t think so. What would be the point?” Then he went on. “This looked like a rather nasty, but normal, mugging to me. Unless, of course,“ he said with concern, “you’ve had any other strange incidents happen to you recently?”

She shook her head, “No, no problems; no scares. I lead a rather staid life.”

“I’ve noticed,” he teased, then shaking his head in frustration, “I’ll get some of the guys to run that knife and see what we can get.” He turned toward her. “You don’t have a hanky or a Kleenex, do you?”

She felt in her pockets and dug underneath the screech alarm to come up with two wads of tissue and offered them to Jack.

He hesitated looking at them suspiciously.

“They’re clean,” she assured him.

He took them and straightened them out, then went over to where the knife still lay on the ground. He used one of the tissues to pick it up by the blade and managed to close it, wrapping it carefully in the other tissue to preserve any prints before slipping it into his pocket.

“I really need a plastic bag but this is better than nothing.” He returned to the bench looking at her earnestly, “I don’t think there’s any point in contacting the local police now, do you?”

She agreed. Her attacker was long gone.

He sat down again picking at some of the debris that had been caught in his shirt while he was on the ground. He looked about the same. Maybe his sandy hair was a little grayer, but maybe it was only the light. She had forgotten that he was attractive. He was only medium height, really about the same as her five foot, nine inches. She remembered crashing into him, nose to nose, when they first met and it hurt. She hadn’t liked him then. But somehow during the two weeks they had traveled together they came to respect each other and, eventually, they came to like each other. In fact, she remembered, they had progressed to a mild interest in flirtation before she left.

“What are you doing here?” She looked at him thoughtfully, realizing she had been caught up in violence once again, and Jack was on the scene. Was it only a coincidence?

“I was rotated back last month for some specialized training and, since I was here, I was invited to represent our group at the meeting you’re attending tomorrow. Supposedly I’m to be there in case there are any questions that need answering, but I suspect it’s meant as a bit of reward for my work with you.” He grinned. “That’s how I knew you were coming.”

That’s when she noticed he no longer spoke with a British accent. “And are you still Jack Hanford? You don’t sound the same.”

He shook his head, slightly embarrassed. “That was an alias. Actually, my name is Jack. Well, John. Really I’m John Rallins. But you can call me Jack, most people do.”