Deadly Divergence

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WASHINGTON NATIONAL AIRPORT

WASHINGTON, D. C.

NEXT DAY - 6:00 A.M.

Even at dawn, Washington National Airport was bustling with travelers, businessmen, tourists. Sleepy-eyed people of every age, every nationality, every financial strata straggled through the wide, brightly-lit corridors.

This, Mac mused as he followed his partner into a security checkpoint, was the true American ‘melting pot.’ A vast hodgepodge of colors and creeds unmatched anywhere else in the world.

Sometimes he loved D.C., and sometimes he hated it. But the nation’s bustling capital radiated an intense energy, a dynamic vitality, that he’d never sensed anywhere else.

Anything could happen here…and frequently did.

Over the years, many of his colleagues had tired of the frenzied, ceaseless activity. But he never would, no matter how long he lived or how far he traveled. Mac found himself curiously comforted by that realization.

The TSA guard’s eyebrows flickered in mild surprise as both agents flashed their FBI badges, surrendered their weapons and overnighters for inspection, and walked briskly through the controversial ‘nudie scanner.’ Probably wasn’t used to seeing government agents dressed so casually, Mac reflected as he retrieved his 9mm on the other side, and tucked it securely in its holster again.

Well, he couldn’t dress like a GQ advertisement all the time, not if he wanted to retain his sanity! His comfortable blue jeans and dark green polo shirt might not be the FBI’s traditional uniform, but damn it, he was on vacation! Not a vacation of his choosing, perhaps, but nevertheless he intended to make the most of it.

Why on earth did everyone assume he should have brand-new, expensive luggage, just because he was a Federal agent? He liked his weather-beaten old backpack. Each faded stain, every hand-mended rip spoke to him, reminding him of the incredible adventures Conners and he had survived over the past several years. Those were memories he never wanted to lose.

Ignoring the security guard’s disgruntled sideways glance, he scooped his worn leather jacket and battered flight bag off the narrow conveyer belt.

Mariah was already striding down the first slide-walk. She was still exasperated by Thompson’s cavalier order, and it showed in the taut set of her shoulders.

Years of shared hardships and dangers had melded them into an unbeatable team. In crisis situations, they thought as one, reacted as one. They knew and trusted each other implicitly.

Yet there were disadvantages to such an intimate emotional bonding. What one felt, the other invariably shared. If their empathic link was ever formally tested, they’d break all the scales.

“Conners, wait up!” Several sleepier travelers edged out of his way as he jogged down the creeping conveyor ramp to catch up with her.

“I thought we were flying in style,” she grumbled as he slid a soothing hand down her slender back. “No fourth-class steerage this time.”

“Out of Miami, yes.” He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder, then snagged her carryall. “No lifting,” he reminded her with a wicked grin. “Nothing heavier than a Mai-Tai for the next two weeks.”

“Mai-Tai, Shmai-Tai.” But she muttered it under her breath, and let him swing her bag over his broad back. “Mac, what the hell am I going to do in Bermuda for two whole weeks?”

“Have fun.” Or at least, he amended with an ironic grin, as much fun as either of them were capable of having. They were both confirmed workaholics. It was a wonder they hadn’t collapsed from nervous breakdowns years ago!

But just think…no life-threatening field cases, no sterile little cold labs, no noisy coma-inducing phone rooms! Two glorious weeks in sundrenched Bermuda, sipping frosty drinks under waving palm trees, swimming in the warm ocean, basking on some faraway pristine beach!

Maybe he’d been a bad influence on his lovely partner. Maybe she simply didn’t remember how to relax anymore!

But there were plenty of things to do in Bermuda. Scuba diving, swimming, sailing, deep-sea fishing, water skiing, parasailing, horseback riding—all kinds of energetic sports for an energetic FBI agent.

And then there were the exotic nightly shows at their luxurious resort, not to mention sightseeing and biking all over the pretty little island…

He’d keep her busy somehow. He’d given Thompson his word—and where Mariah Connors was concerned, his word was golden.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

MIAMI, FLORIDA

MIDMORNING

Quinn MacAllister loved to fly. He couldn't remember a time, even as a young child, when he hadn't liked traveling in an airplane. There was something wonderfully exhilarating about soaring through the sky at incredible speeds, about swooping and gliding on the fluid air currents like a graceful bird.

If he was ever reincarnated—assuming such a thing truly existed, and he made no bets in either direction—he hoped to come back as an eagle.

By temperament and habit, he was already a confirmed night-owl. He thought best at night, worked best at night, and could function efficiently at ungodly hours when the majority of his coworkers were sluggish and barely conscious.

Mornings often found him groggy, moody, desperate for a stimulating cup of strong coffee. And he understood, at a gut level, why they shot prisoners at dawn…they were too lethargic to put up a fight!

But there was something special about seeing dawn's first bright rays stream across the vast shimmering ocean beyond their soaring plane. And the sky was so calm and crystal-clear this morning!

Conners had already drifted back into a restless sleep. He let her rest. There would be other mornings, other flights. Pain and stress had stretched her nerves tighter than a drum. Sleep would do her more good than staring down at the patchwork hillsides and rippling aqua waves gliding beneath them.

His serene pleasure lasted only until they debarked at Miami’s sprawling terminal.

They’d been there dozens of times, and he recognized every waving palm tree and gurgling ornamental pond. It wasn’t his favorite airport, but they tried to keep it clean and gaily subtropical. Points for that, he supposed.

Anxious travelers bustled back and forth, bound for connecting flights around the corner and clear across the world. Tinny recorded messages echoed through myriad overhead speakers.

“Please do not leave your luggage untended…”

Yeah, yeah, he’d heard it all before.

Terrorism was always a threat these days…job security, he thought with a grimace…but today the guards were looking cheerful and relaxed. No suicidal bombers were skulking in dark corners; no uncontrolled planes were plummeting through the skies.

There was no reason why a wave of icy dread should envelop him the moment his feet touched the sloping jet ramp.

Conners felt his sudden jolt, and glanced quickly in his direction with a worried question in her slanting emerald eyes. He could only lift one broad shoulder in a helpless shrug. “No clue.”

He never knew when a hunch was going to sneak up and rap against his skull. And all too often, until things actually went to hell around him, he had no idea where the danger would strike. It was extremely frustrating.

Well, he’d been warned…so he would simply have to keep his eyes and ears open, and jump the right way when the moment arrived.

So much for a peaceful start to their vacation!

Conners had expected him to veer off into another wing of the massive bustling airport. Her eyebrows rose sharply when he steered her toward the sliding street doors.

“This,” he told her with a wicked grin, “is where the real fun begins!”

Their Hispanic driver opened doors for them, and tossed their overnight bags into the trunk of his eye-bleeding neon green cab with cheerful efficiency. But even he blinked in surprise when Mac gave him the address of their next destination: a small, very exclusive private airport on the city’s outskirts.

“Sure thing, Boss!” He said it in such a quick singsong rhythm that Mac wondered if those were the only English words he knew.

But he did know how to get from Point A to Point B with a minimum of fuss and swearing…so Mac relaxed on the wide seat beside Conners, and watched famous landmarks slide by.

“Mac, can we afford this?” Mariah murmured under her breath when they pulled off the road and paralleled a sumptuous grassy park for nearly two miles. Ducks and swans were floating peacefully on the pristine lakes. The grounds were meticulously landscaped. Even from the road, it was clearly a facility that catered to the fabulously wealthy.

Then the cab turned in at an elegant gatehouse. Uniformed guards stopped them, and scrutinized their ID’s and flight tickets.

“With the economy in its current lousy state,” he answered her in an undertone, “tourism is way down. Thompson got us a helluva deal.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Even so, can we afford it?” she insisted, nudging him in the ribs.

“Yeah.” He nudged her back, and winked. “It’s already paid for.”

No need to tell her what a chunk this trip had bitten from his hard-earned savings. What was money for, after all, if not to enjoy life once in a while?

She wasn’t mollified. “I pay half.” Then her eyes narrowed. “I mean it, Mac.”

He flashed her an easy smile. “No problem. We’ll divvy it out when we get home again.” And in the meantime, he intended to lose every single receipt.

She eyed him suspiciously, and might have pursued the subject. But at that moment, the guards handed their papers back, and snapped to attention.

“Enjoy your trip, Agents!” the younger one smiled. The other one reached into the guardhouse and pressed a button on his control panel. The big ornate gates began to swing open.

“Armed and dangerous,” Conners murmured as she caught a glimpse of his service revolver under the concealing line of his white uniform jacket. “They aren’t taking any chances!”

“Good.” Mac’s nerves were still humming; if he’d been an insect, his antennae would have been quivering.

No danger here…so where?

They glided past more lakes, more ducks and swans, more weeping willows and ornamental trees. Sunlight glittered off a lovely Oriental pagoda nestled beneath gently swaying palm trees.

An exquisite marble statue welcomed them to the main building. It looked more like a southern plantation than an airport terminal!

Even their jaded cabbie looked impressed as two uniformed porters snapped to attention, leaped off the wide shady veranda, and hurried to open the cab’s doors.

“Welcome to the Paradise Vacations Charter Service,” one of them said as the other briskly gathered up their bags and carried them inside. “If you’ll just follow me, Agents, I’ll get you some refreshments, and introduce you to your fellow passengers.”

Conners blinked in surprise when their guide turned into a plush library. Only seven other people were flying with them? Dollar signs began to flash in front of her eyes, and she gulped. Charter planes weren’t cheap, even with an FBI Assistant Director easing the way!

Their cheery hostess promptly offered them champagne mimosas in tall, festive glasses. Mariah sipped hers, and was pleasantly surprised to find the champagne was delicious, not like the cheap stuff they normally picked up for office parties.

You only live once, she decided with a quick mental shrug. They’d probably pay for it for the next decade…but what the hell! For Thompson’s sake, she’d do her best to put work behind her, and enjoy every moment. They weren’t going to get a chance like this again!

It wasn’t until she noticed Mac subconsciously studying each of the other passengers for possible threats that she realized she’d been doing the same. Old habits died hard! Another smile curved her lips. She took another sip of the mimosa to hide her amusement.

The elderly retired couple, they learned, were Reuben and Esther Schaumburg, who were celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary. They looked eager and excited as they rose to shake hands with the newcomers.

The three young women clustered together near the window were taking a joint vacation from work. Their hostess introduced them as Mindy, Casey, and Tessa. But since they all grinned and nodded at the same time, she couldn’t tell which was which.

Two sullen-looking teens rounded out the passenger list. Both were tall, athletic, blue-eyed, and blond-haired. And if the glares they hurled at each other from opposite ends of the room were any indication, they obviously hated each other.

Penelope Kensington half-lifted one hand in a glum wave. The boy, Max Stanwick, didn’t even offer them that much. He took one swift look at Mac’s casual attire, curled his lip in a smirk, and turned away again.