THE WHEELS OF FATE
"Well thot bay fawsh or baef noodles?" the British flight attendant asked with a hint of Scottish accent; the disinterested passenger guessed she was from the border of Northern England and Scotland.
"Neither," the passenger answered in a thick Southeastern England accent, not even bothering to look up at the attendant, who simply nodded her head and rolled the food and beverage cart down to the next row behind her.
The woman in seat 24C continued reviewing the case file she had resting on the pull-out tray, courtesy of the seat in front of her, and continued to study her recent case while the rest of the passengers watched their choice of lame movies or 20-year old sitcoms for the hundredth time.
This case was tricky and it bugged the hell out of her. It was regarding a 48-year old American police man who had previously been arrested on narcotics trafficking, which, to her dismay, was thrown out by the moronic judge that ruled the case. But she was confident she'd catch him, and take care of him, and she would, eventually. She just needed time, and time was the one thing she had plenty of.
It wasn't tricky in an I-know-nothing-about-this-man kind of way, but more of an I-know-everything-about-him-and-he'll-regret-it kind of way. The papers she was perusing was his itinerary, which she confiscated by hacking into his home computer and simply printed it out – the sites he'd visit, the client he had to meet, everything she needed.
The gentleman – for lack of a better word and said as if you just swallowed a gallon of salt – was staying at the Savoy in London, which, luckily for her, was her favorite hotel in the city. It was located on The Strand, with a beautiful view of the Thames – although I wouldn't call the thick, brown muck of its water as that; I just mean you could see it from your room – and right in the centre of the West End theatre district, as well as within easy access to Westminster Abbey and St Paul Cathedral.
For this trip, she'd be a British citizen with an American Visa – as opposed to an American Express, which has entirely too high of an interest rate. But other than doing her job, she would enjoy this trip. For one, she hadn't had a real vacation in over four years, and for two, because she'd finally get the man she was looking for. Or, who he was looking for.
You see, she'd been hired to do a job, one that she would very much enjoy. She'd do it because it would help the one man she ever truly loved, and the one man she never truly had.
She pulled up the small duffle bag from the floor that held her important travel documents and searched for her passport, rummaging through the ten or so that she had in her possession, all belonging to her. She didn't know which one she wanted, but she had a pretty good idea she didn't have to hide her identify on this particular case.
But it didn't matter which one she'd use. She could be Samantha Griffitts, or Melissa Jacofson, or Yolanda Peters, or Cherry Pye, or Mrs. Janie House.
But for now, the man Janie was tracking was up in first class, while she stayed back in coach, which was fine with her. She knew he'd spend at least 45 minutes going through customs, then another half an hour waiting for his luggage. She, on the other hand, could trod right through the British Citizen line carrying her sole bag, as well as a huge grin on her face, and she'd be waiting for him at the luggage conveyer to kick her plan into action.
This was going to be easy.
The flight attendant came down the isle again collecting trash in preparation for the landing. Janie had one final thing to do before the phone would be cut off, and that was to call her employer. She dialed his cell number, prepared herself to speak in a British accent, waited a minute then said, "Hello love…not quite, we're landing in 30 minutes…fabuloulsy…oh, God, that is an incredibly stupid name…fine, I'll call you tonight, or for you in the morning… sometime between the hours of 10pm and 3am…thanks, and you're quite welcome...What?...oh, do shut up!"
She replaced the phone in its cradle, leaned her head back and closed her eyes, wearing a small smile. She didn't sleep, though; she couldn't. The new morning's sun was breaking through the small, thick, slightly steamed up glass of the airplane's window. She looked at her watch and it was just approaching 7am.
Yeah, this was going to be very easy.
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Dr. Gregory House slept in his bed, his face smashed into the pillow, snoring softly, a small bit of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth perilously warning to fall onto the pillow. His phone rang, loudly. He only stirred. It rang again. He mumbled a curse word, glanced at the clock that read 1:58 am and rolled over.
On the third ring, he sat up in bed as if it were the President of the United States – not that that would make any sane person want to answer the phone – and reached for the phone, saying a grumpy hello.
"Hello, love."
House grinned at hearing her sexy accent. "Hi…are you there yet?"
"Not quite; we're landing in 30 minutes."
"How's it going? Operation Terminator-ette going smoothly?"
"Fabulously."
"Okay, Arnold-ette."
"Oh, God, that is an incredibly stupid name."
"Get over it."
"Fine, I'll call you tonight, or for you in the morning."
"Okay, later this morning or later tonight morning?"
"Sometime between the hours of 10pm and 3am."
"Okay, thanks. I just want to know if you're okay."
"Thanks, and you're quite welcome."
"Janie?"
"Wha'?"
"You didn't join the Mile High Club, did you?"
"Oh, do shut up!"
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Just as Janie anticipated, she sailed through the British Citizen customs without a hitch and headed down to the luggage pick-up. She spotted him right off, as he was standing against the wall at the very beginning of the conveyer belt, still waiting for his luggage which, by the way, is something that Americans should never do while waiting for luggage. It only points them out to people that are following them to kill them.
As suitcase after suitcase was expelled from the three-inch wide rubber slats, his piece finally appeared and he grabbed it quickly, setting it on the ground beside him. He extracted the handle and pulled it behind him as he walked toward the escalator to the taxi service area. Janie watched the entire thing and she also headed for the escalator, trailing a bit behind him, the entire plan's sequence of events in her head.
Janie would approach the bottom of the escalator in a desperate run and 'accidentally' bump into him, kicking the suitcase out of his hand and tripping over it. She'd apologize profusely and he'd be in her hot little hands.
And that's exactly what happened.
Just as Janie went to take the first step, she kicked the suitcase and fell over it, as gracefully and naturally as she could without too much overacting.
"Are you alright?" he asked, anger in his voice at first but a smile crossed his face when he saw her.
He bent over and reached his hand out to help her up. She smiled sweetly at him, inwardly hating herself for it since she loathed the man, and accepted his offer. The few people that were close enough to catch it passed by and cursed at the 'stupid Americans' as they ascended.
"I…I'm sorry!" she told him in a thick Southern accent as she stood then wiped her pants of dust. She was good at the many accents she's used; that's for sure. "I had to catch up with a taxi for a meeting but have to go to my hotel first and…"
She looked around her and noticed people were glaring at the pair because they couldn't access the escalator. She stepped aside to let them ride.
"Again, I'm sorry, but I have to run off," Janie said as she turned to the first step of the escalator and floated up.
"Wait, wait!" he called out, bumping another man as he jumped on the step below the one she caught. "Where are you staying?"
"The Savoy, and it'll take me 45 minutes to…"
"Oh! I'm staying there too! Would you like to catch a cab together?"
Oh, you are an easy putz, aren't you?
"That'd be a great idea. The fares are…" She stopped herself when she reached the top and stepped onto the tiled floor, the man closely behind her. She turned to face him and stuck out her hand for a shake. "I'm Samantha Griffitts; I go by Sam."
They shook hands as he said, "Nice to meet you. I'm Michael Tritter."