Fly by Wire: A Novel (30 page)

^{The terrorist known as Caliph.}

^{Chapter
TWENTY-EIGHT}

^{The hotel bar was still open, but last call was near. Sorensen hadn't arrived yet.}

^{The lights seemed dimmer than they'd been earlier, probably a good thing for Davis given the way he looked. He had always operated under the theory that the lights in bars were purposely dimmed as nights wore on -- an accelerant for romantic associations, or maybe a plot to throw confusion on currency denominations when tabs were settled. It had to be some kind of conspiracy.}

^{Davis slid onto a stool at the end of the bar and ordered -- a beer for him, and a glass of pinot noir that would breathe as it waited for Sorensen. The bartender went through a well-practiced sequence of motions -- without the glasses it would have looked like a Tai Chi routine -- before sliding the round in front of Davis.}

^{The guy started muttering under his breath, glaring at the television above the bar. Davis saw a soccer highlight show. The bartender found a remote control and began flipping through channels. Either he wasn't a soccer fan, or the team he supported had lost badly. The guy spun through the stations at warp speed -- an annoying thing when other people did it -- and settled on a newscast. The volume was low, but judging by the graphics and film clip it had to be about the price of gas. The picture showed a long line of cars at a gas station, and overhead the price was posted in euros per liter. The conversion to dollars per gallon was more math than Davis wanted to tackle right now. He just knew it was high. Really high.}

^{The barkeep turned up the volume enough for Davis to catch a few details. There had been a series of coordinated attacks against oil refineries, and Caliph was the primary suspect. Davis took a long draw from his mug. Caliph was the reason Sorensen was here in France. The reason he was on loan to the CIA. Davis wondered if one guy could really have a hand in so much. He remembered that Osama bin Laden had been held responsible for a lot of bad things, including some disasters he certainly had nothing to do with. But point a finger at a terrorist for any kind of trouble, Davis reckoned, and he was usually happy to take credit. He took another long pull and when his mug hit the bar he spotted Sorensen.}

^{She looked good, better than she should have after sparring with a guy twice her size. She had on a pair of jeans and a tight sweater with the sleeves rolled up. A recent line of thought came back to Davis. Returning to the hotel from their rumble, Sorensen had fallen into her trade. He'd seen her checking six a lot, scanning for anyone following or watching them. It was probably something all CIA officers had to learn, but it must have been a doubly tough lesson for Sorensen. She was a nice-looking woman, the kind who naturally turned heads. He wondered how she could distinguish which stares were from enemy spies and which were from philandering husbands.}

^{"Hi," she said, sliding onto the adjacent stool.}

^{He pushed the wine glass by its base until it was in front of her. "It's a pinot noir from a little vineyard in New Zealand, Villa Maria. Really nice stuff."}

^{She gave him a curious look.}

^{Davis shrugged. "Not that I would know."}

^{She picked up the wine with her good hand. "Thanks for the drink."}

^{"Sure. How's the wrist?"}

^{"It's all right." She nipped distractedly at her drink, and when the glass came down she held it just above the bar. Davis noticed a tiny wavepool of concentric rings inside.}

^{"You okay?"}

^{"Sure." She took another sip, this rime seeming to almost kiss the glass. "But it's not the kind of thing I'm used to."}

^{"That's a good thing." He saw her lower lip starting to puff up.}

^{Davis reached out and touched it gently with the back of his thumb. "Looks like you caught one there too."}

^{"Puffy lips are sexy, right?"}

^{"Yeah, but its supposed to be symmetrical -- top and bottom."}

^{One corner of her mouth broke into a grin.}

^{Davis mused, "You know, there was a time when I'd have been fired up about a scrap like that. I'd be sitting here drinking whiskey instead of beer with my chest all puffed out. But it's different when you're a parent -- especially when you're the only parent." He took a drink himself.}

^{"So who were those guys?" Sorensen wondered aloud.}

^{"I've been giving that some thought myself. Do you think Langley could give us any answers?"}

^{"If the police got involved, or if any of them turned up in a hospital-- probably. But it'll take some time. Things like this aren't a real priority for headquarters right now."}

^{"Maybe they should be."}

^{"It could just have been some thugs looking for a wallet."}

^{The pause was long as they both let that hopeful thought die.}

^{She said, "They were definitely North African or Middle Eastern. I couldn't make out the exact language, but France has a major immigrant population from those parts."}

^{"All the big cities in Europe have a Muslim quarter these days." Davis sat stoically with both hands on his mug. "So are you thinking what I'm thinking?"}

^{She sighed. "That somebody wanted us roughed up? Maybe called in help?"}

^{"Yep -- except for the 'us' part. You've been pretty quiet in your time here, Honeywell. I'm the one raising a stink in the investigation. I think they were after me. And I have a feeling they wanted me more than roughed up."}

^{"As in dead? I don't think so, Jammer."}

^{He looked at her, his expression saying,
Yes you do.}

^{Sorensen said nothing.}

^{Davis' phone chirped. He picked up and got the highlight of his day.}

^{"Hi Daddy!"}

^{Sorensen excused herself to the ladies' room.}

^{Davis talked to Jen for ten minutes. She mostly gushed about Bobby Taylor, but then he made her say that school and swim practice had been fine. Davis pictured her sitting on his sister-in-law's couch, legs tucked under, and wearing something warm and cottony. It was a cozy scene, probably not far off target. He let her talk, just wanting to listen. In the end, she brought up the dance again. And Davis put her off again, saying they'd talk about it when he got home. Which would have to be in less than a week.
What were the chances of that?
he wondered.}

^{Jen ended the call abruptly, probably to answer a text from that malingering Taylor kid. Davis didn't take it personally. He pocketed his phone. The bartender was screwing with the remote again. Davis ignored the television, but found himself mesmerized by the remote control. He needed one for his life. Fast forward. Rewind. Maybe a mute or closed caption button for Thierry Bastien. Yes. That was exactly what he needed.}

^{When Sorensen came back she looked a little more steady. He imagined she'd spent a few minutes in front of a mirror dabbing cool, water-soaked towels in all the right places.}

^{"How's Jen?" she asked.}

^{"All I heard about were boys and movies. She's great." Davis drained his mug and frowned.}

^{"That was supposed to cheer you up, Jammer. Look, it could have been worse -- at least it wasn't bring-your-daughter-to-work day."}

^{His expression turned even more sour.}

^{"Sorry. How about I buy the next round?" she offered.}

^{He spun his empty back and forth in a half circle. "No thanks, I'm good."}

^{"You don't sound like it. Let me guess -- you'd rather be home."}

^{"Yeah. And I'm still not sure I like being used by the CIA."}

^{"Recruited is^ better word."}

^{He shook his head. "The army recruits."}

^{"Okay, call it a draft."}

^{"Let's call it a mistake and leave it at that. You should tell your boss that if I stay on this little project, I'm going to drive him or her nuts."}

^{Sorensen finished her wine. She said, "Maybe you
should
go home, Jammer. I wouldn't think any less of you."}

^{"Yes you would."}

^{The television went back to Caliph's picture. It was a head shot, his crown wrapped in a pristine white cloth. They both stared.}

^{She said, "Do you think it's really possible?"}

^{He gave her a sideways glance. "That those idiots we ran into tonight were linked to Caliph? No, no way. He gets too much credit."}

^{"You said yourself that we were rousted because of the investigation. That all your poking and prodding must have hit a nerve with somebody. And
I'm
here because CargoAir is somehow linked to Caliph."}

^{They both distilled the idea.}

^{She asked idly, "The name Caliph -- do you know what it translates to in English?"}

^{He shrugged. "Shitwad?"}

^{Sorensen smiled. It was still a nice smile, fat lip and all. "It means 'spiritual leader.' Maybe he really believes it."}

^{"Yeah. He's a rpal messiah."}

^{Davis leaned back, clasped his hands behind the bent Slinky that was his neck. Everything here was wrong. Bastien, Caliph, pulled circuit breakers -- and now four thugs had come after him. It probably meant he was on the right track, turning over the right rocks. It all screamed for him to stop, to bail out and go home. But he knew he wouldn't. Knew he couldn't. And once Davis had settled that, he wasn't going to sit around and wait for the next fight to come to him.}

^{He said, "Want to take a road trip tomorrow?"}

^{"Sure. Where?"}

^{Davis liked how the first word had come right out. No hesitation. "Marseille. I want to get a firsthand look at a C-500 -- a tail number that's still in one piece."}

^{"Will they let us?"}

^{"They'd better." He slid a wad of euros onto the bar and pushed his stool back. "And in the meantime, there's something I'd like you to look into -- you know, with your connections and all."}

^{"What's that?"}

^{"I want to know how the Bureau Enquetes-Accidents appoints these boards. I want to know how Thierry Bastien got in charge of this fiasco."}

^{"You think somebody is messing with the investigation? Trying to manipulate the outcome?"}

^{"No. That can't happen. There are a lot of competent people here -- they'll figure out what happened to that airplane. But we have Bastien going after the captain and somebody tampering with evidence. And now you and I get roughed up. It's like -- I don't know, it's like somebody is trying to delay the inevitable. Buy time."}

^{"Buy time for what?"}

^{Davis paused, said nothing. He reached out and took her elbow, inspected her wrist again. "This is swelling a lot."}

^{"It's fine."}

^{Davis kept holding her arm. Her wrist had a faint ring of white where a watch had been, the rest of her skin holding the subtle vestige of a distant, late-summer tan. The skin was smooth, all the way to her rolled up sleeve, and traces of faint blonde hair made it seem that much softer. When Davis looked up their faces were close. Probably closer than they'd ever been. Sorensen was looking at his hand, the one touching her. She was staring at his wedding ring.}

^{Davis was struck by the odd realization that he and Sorensen were investigating each other. Searching for feelings and attachments, tying to make conclusions using all available evidence.}

^{He pulled away.}

^{Neither spoke for a moment.}

^{"I guess we should get some sleep," she said.}

^{"Yeah. But I really think we should wrap that wrist."}

^{She looked at it and sighed. "I guess so."}