My new obsession, yeah, blame Mr Murphy for it. I know the fandom is half-dead already, but I don't care, I got used to it.

I try to show here how Jackson got slowly obsessed with Lisa and how everything just repeats itself over and over again, a vicious circle for him. Every second chapter is either a "Then" or "Now", referring to the events before and after the Red Eye Flight, respectively, comparing his emotions, thoughts and acts, and how they (hopefully) mirror each other.

Disclaimer: Well, duh. I own a lot of things but not this one. I want to own the monster pen, though.

Sequence of wrong chords

Chapter 1: Tuning up

-Then-

It arrived in a bland manila folder. They always arrived in that, uniformal and nondescript as it was. Photos, addresses, routes, names and travel schedules all gathered in a neat pack of papers. Jackson set the package down on the desk and stared at the name with a neutral twitch of his brows. A big shot. Now he understood.

"This is the case. Don't screw it up, Rippner," his higher-up had warned and he'd released a complacent smirk at that.

"When have I? " Bold as it sounded, it was true. He hadn't known the word failure.

He flipped through the photographs that had obviously been downloaded from a governmental website, not that any was needed at all, he had to only switch on the TV. Charles Keefe, the Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security.

It was some case, alright, but not that impossible in realization. He had seen and done many wilder things.

The instructions were pretty clear: send a message, big and spectacular enough with as little collateral damage as possible. In short, exterminate Keefe without civilian casualties which would lead to an unnecessary and unwanted national uproar. They evidently wanted to show their power, that they could strike wherever they wanted to without a chance for them to provide protection for the country. One of the heads of Homeland Security – it was a symbol; and targeting only the Deputy, not the Secretary, because that would cause chaos, instead of serving as a message. And Keefe seemed to have pissed off half of the bad guys-community over the past months with his speeches, anyway.

He skimmed through the notes and surveillance reports, and stopped at the page listing remarks of other operatives, those responsible for the messy work. He was done with that part of his life, he left it behind without regret – his skills were better exploited in organizing and coordinating the events than actually carrying them out; not that he wasn't well-trained in the field, but he enjoyed the feeling of power that controlling the events raised in him. His sharp mind didn't like to rest. He tapped his pen along the rows of places and possibilities that had been ruled out. It couldn't be done either at the Department or Keefe's home for both were over-secured, and the latter too out of sight and the customer wanted it to happen in front of the public's eyes. For the same reason, his private plane wasn't good enough, blowing it up 30,000 feet above the ground wouldn't make a big of a show; on the other hand, targeting him in the middle of the car convoy was difficult and might have required some unwanted casualties. That didn't leave too many choices for them.

Jackson pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, slightly irritated. It was going to be fun. His responsibility was to find a good way they could accomplish the task. He was given as much time as he needed but it had to be done till a huge international conference later the year, which provided him at least three months. He had never needed that much time for any assignments, and he wasn't expecting this one to be different. Three weeks, maybe one month at the worst.

In the upcoming few days he hardly did anything but examine the Keefe files. In his apartment he had a corkboard and he pinned there all the notes that might be useful, yellow post-its wallpapered his desk and littered the small coffee table in the living room. They managed to get hold of Keefe's speech agenda. Fortunate for them, he was planning a travel around the country, visiting big cities on his four-week long campaign-like tour. Cities like New York, San Francisco, Miami and Seattle appeared on the list, and it made his job easier. He could use history, Keefe used to visit these places at least twice a year.

He figured the only chance they had was targeting him during either a speech or his stay at a hotel. Both places were known to them almost for sure: politicians and VIPs liked to stay and visit always the same places, had they been satisfied with it. It took him some time to draw up a list of conference halls and hotels even completed with room numbers in different cities that he was sure Keefe would stay at. Now it was the operatives' turn.

They opted for hotels, and ruled out all of those that were difficult to approach or weren't in a good location. That left him with two on the list: a Hilton in Chicago and the Lux Atlantic in Miami. First they checked out the Hilton, it took a couple more days and some travelling, and they agreed it would be difficult but not impossible. Just when they travelled to Miami and took a single look at the Lux Atlantic and its surrounding they realized there wouldn't be a better location for the task. The hotel looked over the bay, and that fact earned it a win by a nose. They thought launching a missile at the hotel room might look good enough and be effective.

And here came the real job for him: the hotel room Keefe used to stay in was hard to be targeted, or rather easily missed or confused with another one. After examining the blueprints and ground-plans of the hotel, they agreed the penthouse was the best open target. He had to make sure they changed his room, and do it possibly just before his arrival so the security wouldn't be able to search the whole surrounding properly. He knew it from experience it wasn't that easy as it sounded: politicians had a reason to stick to well-tried locations, for security measures of course. This job must have been done from inside, and he needed someone for that, someone with appropriate authority. There weren't too many positions in a hotel for that, not more than two or three.

He checked the website, it was the obvious first step. The hotel manager was a balding man in his late forties, fake smile, expensive suit, designer eyeglasses. A stuck-up prick. He scrolled down to the sales manager: a young man with arrogant, shark eyes, who obviously spent most of his days in the gym and changed his sports car in every three months. He was sure he could have dealt with both of them, maybe not without a little trouble and much persuasion but at least he would have conducted the latter with satisfaction. With a devilish, dry smirk on his lips he scrolled to the segment where they introduced the reception area, most particularly the only position that was of use for him: the front office manager. And that very minute he was sure he found the right person. It was a young brunette with a warm smile, looking helpful, smart and fragile at the same time, and he found himself smiling with satisfaction at the tiny picture, leaning close to the screen.

"You'll be a piece of cake, won't you, Lisa Reisert?"