Authors Note: I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed, and alerted the story; thank you, so much and I hope you continue to enjoy the story. I would like to thank Punctuator for her continued support and advice on my story, and putting up with my questions. :D In addition, the fact it has taken me over a year to update, I had writers block and have been doing a lot of research.
Warning: This is a pretty long chapter with no conversation, I am very sorry if this appears to be boring.
Chapter 12
For the moment, the turbulence seems to have calmed down slightly, taking advantage of this Lisa is standing quietly at by the door, leaning forward and pressing her tightly creased forehead against the solid blue door making the skin rub abrasively causing a tingling stinging sensation. Even as she stares blankly at the scratchy coarse texture and patterns intently, while her brows are huddling over her translucent feminine emerald with flecks of hazy grey eyes, which are positively ferociously sizzling with irrefutable rage coupled with aggravation, although also inquisitive combined with contemplative. Presently the incessant warm all-consuming tears are suddenly stinging in the bottom edges of her eyes, causing her to draw air more deeply into the piercing sharp pain in her lungs, before she releases a deep breath, thenceforth another, sensing some of the tension alleviates from her shoulders, stiff neck, and aching muscles. This leads her towards desperately, yearning and needing to slip out of her high-heels, so she can arch her feet a few times, working out the kinks, ache, heaviness, and soreness in them. Accompanied by the assuaging sensation of the brand new cool to the touch earthy tone stone kitchen tiles would bring comforting her sore feet, after the very long exhausting couple of days. At the end of the day, she would prefer to have to immerse her shattered body in the bathtub the bath water tingling, surrounded by bubbles, and the wonderful smelling organic bath products, inhaling the scents from the large candles sitting on the ledges in the corners. She can just sink deeper sliding under the bubbles and hot water into the hot-tub-sized sunken tub, considering it one of the few luxuries she enjoys where she doesn't have to think, and she can have some precious time alone bringing a sense of peace to her as a whole.
Despondently, the unpleasant smell of freshly brewed cost-effective coffee that is blending nauseatingly with the not very enticing smell of their cheap dinner is snapping her attention; both are effortlessly creeping into her nostrils and surrounding her overwhelmingly. Succeeding collectively with the acerbically piquant taste of some southern fried chicken, she consumed at the funeral's ceremonial dinner that has decided to make its appearance recognized. She grimaces with an additional appalled look in her eyes; she judders considerably at the atrocious taste of the small amount that has made its way onto the tip of her tongue from the back of her throat, before swallowing the rather foam-covered burning mixture back down added with her stomach flip-flopping in rolling waves.
Meanwhile In the background the harsh clattering of the metal cupboards that are being opened, the rumbling drum of the hollow metal trolley dodgy wheels grinding as it is being moved against the flooring, and faint humming coming from the flight attendants mutters. Blending effectively with sound coming from inside the small 3x3 bathroom, she can also hear the sound of her husband's Italian leather shoed soles are sucking against the hard surface of the floor, with the soft whispers of Jackson muttering under his breath. As he attentively, moves around the small room, with the sound of the cold-water tap course, letting it cascade down the plastic sides to the plughole as he prepares himself and splashes handfuls of cold water on his face. All those different character of rhythms and tones are so perfect together, in time, the sounds announce that as an orchestra is playing a beautifully dramatic piece of music that seems to fit the situation and her mood perfectly with the rumbling baritone of the engines in the background.
Of course, this is not without the ever present blood drumming deafeningly in her ear, her heart pounding in her tender parched throat thump, thump, while through the crescendo of tidal waves the massive throbbing headache is creeping its way forcefully back to her frontal lobes. That throughout the evening serving as a perfect representation of the struggle that Keefe is playing against them, at the same time as Lisa tries to assess the situation. However, with the pain continuing to grow into the realms of one of her fantastically entrenched migraine, she appreciates and relishes the reality that it is a symptom of this internal battle. However, she is trying her hardest to push the pulsating nuisance of a headache back into the numb dull ache it had been, where it found a comfortable place for itself earlier tucked away in the deepest recesses in the further reaches of her skull. In the mean time with incalculable necessary mental exertion and determination, she is somehow able to forget its existence for a moment, as it is reviving from the earlier ruckus before dizziness threatens to take her into a world of darkness.
Inwardly though she is somehow becoming lost in thoughts of comprehension to the verity, concomitantly the clogs in her mind going into over-drive a hundred miles an hour, she had never asked for this to happen, especially tonight. Furthermore, she definitely did not want Keefe's wife, and their 2 wonderful children to go through this, her father and their young children, plus potentially thousands of citizens living in Massachusetts. What is Jackson's plan to get them out of this god-forsaken mess? All she knows is that because the stakes are so high, they have to find a way to help stop the corrupt that are threatening to disturb the peace, except time is quickly becoming fewer and fewer, it is the time act, there are many logistical issues to deal with. They have to make sure they have changed his room, even getting Keefe, and his team to change hotels, and do it possibly just before his arrival with his car convoy of imposingly sleek Escalades and several security guards, every single one dressed in dark black suits, and earpieces. Between three and five is generally, when the nightshift employees are starting to wind down, ready for morning shift to arrive for work where the hustle and bustle starts again, and the grumpy retirement customers start to wander down to the hotel restaurant with their free entitlement cards for their complimentary breakfast.
They will have to do the deed between then, while also making sure the agents observing them are satisfied by their actions, as any extraneous calls may arouse their suspicions, and you never know who is monitoring your phone these days. In addition, she also accepts that it's not going to be as easy as it sounds: from experience and conversations she has had with Jackson, politicians have a good reason to stick to well-tried locations, for security measures of course. Though Keefe's excellent team always use the idea to request to having a decoy room at all the hotels they go to, unfortunately she doesn't think Keefe would use that idea as it would be fairly obvious to people that would be the perfect solution to the threat on him. That Immediately causes an abundance of questions to keep on beleaguering her already troubled mind, and they all seem to boil down to the same thing: Why and how?
The Lux Atlantic a premier hotel and its surroundings look over the gorgeous bay as far as the eye the sun can see due to the wall-to-wall ocean views of bright beautiful serene waves in mixtures of color ranging from the crystal blues azure, cyan, and aquamarine. Making up the Atlantic waters, as it sparkles lazily under the sun; looking breathtaking from the hotel penthouse suite, where the distinguished guests are able to breathe in deeply the fresh brackish scent of the ocean as the crisp salty breeze goes by. Furthermore, relax for a few precious moments watching as the boats come and go from the marina; however, Keefe needs to be switched to 4080 on the 40th. While 3825, is midway up the building facing South Beach's premiere open-air pedestrian mall shopping area, many restaurants, office buildings, and several nightclubs, with asymmetric double-glazing for sound dampening and reducing the transmission of exterior noise sources, and with darkening materials incorporated, that the strong sunlight passing through the glass is reduced in brightness.
However, the glass is transparent enough for someone to look through, as well as use special aiming attachments on their guns to shoot through the glass and kill Keefe, his family, and a handful of men inside, usually seven or eight at most depending on the occasion throughout his suite, without alerting those inside the room. Seeing that both suites are able to serve their purpose, and make their visit more comfortable, as they have been decorated with their mind-blowing contemporary opulence, modern, elegancy and functional in mind. What an interior designer would describe to you in extravagant artistic speech, as a contemporary Art Deco fusion with elegance that maintains its trendy appeal. As they also boast a generous balcony with a lavish outdoor Jacuzzi, access to one of the 2 private VIP rooftop pools, and to put it mildly they are inopportunely an open target in whichever suite they stay.
Which begs the question, how often do wealthy executives, political figures, dignitaries, celebrities, and CEO's not book up, penthouse suites on any given week? More appropriately, how does she know Keefe doesn't have people, or no doubt have had their associates hack into the hotel's mainframe computer on a night when the computer system is slow, and has had a relentlessly devastating poorly written program that corporate thinks they can save money being installed, for the last few days? Who authorized this, unless corporate thought it would be a brilliant and cheaper idea to update all the systems at once, instead of one department at a time like was planned? What if the problems Cynthia and Seleena are experiencing with the messing of the hotel's servers, as they are going at a snail's pace, is because Keefe's men have with foolish thoughtlessness planted an array of viruses that are literally helping to wipe out all reservations made during a four-day period? And she wouldn't put it past them either as well, the probability of three different families having ended up booking the same room, and with no rooms left open in the emergency file. All the more, it's not going to help matters that the three tired and frustrated families are all going to come in at the same time, and each argue their case for a half hour over who has the right to get the room. Didn't the brains of the company think this was going to be delaying the installation further? Accompanied with the hackers intention to precisely make sure suit 4080 is available for their shitstorm plan, and there is always that chance it isn't merely for show? With everything going wrong, the meeting for today booked in conference room 3 that Cynthia, a few of the other managers, and the other staff have been preparing are probably working hard to make sure through the chaos being caused, the meeting is going to be set up as planned. More to the point, is Jackson's highly respected computer technician specialist, security-systems specialists, one of the senior programmers, black hat hacker, and software/hardware engineers Duncan Trint, his team of assistants, and his top three team in Information Services doing something using playful cleverness to achieve a goal about it?
Was their initial plan to take place at the hotel because everybody would be under tight surveillance and they could organize the room switch face to face in case of any questions or mistakes that might arise, and everybody would have been safe, just as Jackson said in the bathroom? Could it have been as simple as that, but as it stood Keefe's team were scrambling for an alternate plan when they left for her grandmother's funeral on Thursday, Keefe deciding he wanted to change his time of arrival to suit. Therefore the corrupted politician now refused to budge on their timetable and new far more dangerous plans, which under the circumstances so too were Jackson's teams strategies were effectively ruined.
So the first question would be when did Jackson learn about the change of plans Keefe was making? Was it before the funeral? Alternatively, was it when he received the call during their cab ride to the airport? On the other hand, was it at the Tex-Mex when Brad called? Most importantly: Are Jackson's team and agent friends still watching the hotel, to protect her staff, patrons, and apprehend Keefe's agents? These are the questions; she plans to ask Jackson once Jackson gets back to their seats, or when the time is, right, which she knows he will answer truthfully to the best of his knowledge, as well as fill in the gaps to those questions.
All on a night, when the thunderous and stormy weather front is fouling all the groups of customers, tourists, a convention of political personnel and delegates, and a Regional medical seminar, an architect's convention, a law firm using the Lux Atlantic for their annual Leadership Retreat with overworked executive assistants. The last straggle of partying high school graduates before starting college, their flight schedules in all probability along with the others in the southern Atlantic coast and the Gulf of Mexico, all swarming around the airport lobby like hectic bees with last minute requests. Trying their hardest to get people squared away for the day at the airport hotels, While in the midst of working with the frustrated Catering Managers in providing food for those passengers.
Furthermore, what are the dorky bright sparks of The Lux Information Technology Department -and upgrading their new system and OS, while overloading the old version with new beta features, doing about the mess Keefe's men are causing on top of this? Now leaving countless people and several teams now to work overtime, fixing the mistakes and pandemonium several people – have put lots of time and careful thought into the planned operation. There is also a chance remembering Jackson's (level 5- 'us' clearance) conversations they have shared on his copious assignments during his active years in the CIA, and how his agents sometimes gathers information on assignments from underappreciated employees, traitors, low level criminals, likewise the observant or troubled circumstanced civilians. People like Keefe are always being generous with whom they given their information to, because there is a chance he has assigned someone to be an informant for him by negotiating with a rather lavish appropriate bribery. Which means what should have prevented in the first place, is going to take a while for everybody involved to collect all the strings and unravel the mess, to get everything sorted through back to normal. Nevertheless, it doesn't always work like that does it?
After all, what she has devised is an improvised plan with a little resourcefulness, ingenuity, and astuteness, but close to a rudimental objective, essentially ruining Keefe's plans, unless there are risks of informing from an insider. They need to make sure they get the Keefe's are out of harm's way, not letting the people in charge of launching a missile from the boat at the hotel room would effectively save the hotel, and a good chance the place will stay standing. Stopping dozens of unwanted civilian casualties on street level around the area, and most importantly making sure customers are evacuated to the assembly point on the east side of the hotel car park. Sheltered in groups under the awning, crowding the cabs and the cars coming in to unload, or they will be huddling in clumps along the sidewalk while the police and people who are core Lux personnel direct them to shelter from the rain, taking statements, and afterwards they'll be let back into the Lux soon enough.
Unless Keefe's associates have a backup plan in case things do go wrong with plan A, if the hit isn't are they going to enforce a subtle looking hostage situation closing down the whole hotel in the process, she can imagine that this could easily escalate. Where the unsuspecting guests are forced to be organized into different groups by her scared front desk staff, while at gunpoint by a Russian terrorist cell no doubt, before they have even managed to reach the hotel and customers out of immediate danger. The ones who are supposed to be checking out needing to make alternative arrangements, so suspicion won't be aroused when they don't go home. In the meantime, Maids will be handing out food, towels, and restocking bathrooms, maintenance turning off phones and other ways of communication, before guests are locked back into their rooms. As well as making sure, the unsuspecting people who have just arrived for their vacations are checked in, staff herding them to different rooms, and are informed fully of the situation.
Afterwards the deceitful men doing the same thing to her mangers and hotel staff, grouping and locking them into suites, the armed men are organized to control the hostages on each floor by the bullying corrupt criminal agent in charge. Again providing Keefe a way to show he is a hero, as he has saved his wife and children who he has used as body shield, along with over 300 customers from all over the country and the world and it's Keefe's fault- all of it, for everything that he's doing, and for everything he is going to do. The FBI Hostage Rescue Team having to step in, as they are trained to rescue American citizens and allies who are held by a hostile force, by terrorists or criminals, offering a tactical resolution option in hostage and high-risk law enforcement in highly sensitive and dangerous situation. What kind of sick bastard would do that to innocent civilians? Does Keefe really want to put his family in that much danger? Does Keefe realize that if this does go wrong, they could potentially kill his children, wife, and some of his agents? What would they have planned for her father and three little girls when they get to the house?
These thoughts make her stark, bright green-grey eyes are flaring in defiance shooting daggers so fierce, and severe underneath the sorrowfulness they are holding, her fists are clenched tightly in response her nails digging into her palm cutting the skin, feeling the sharp searing pain it is causing. To the point of, she is very aware that she could lose control with the strong desire to slam her fist against the flimsy wall around the plane. Otherwise, under her worried demeanor and dreading expression in her eyes darkening them a shade, she would preferably like to punch Keefe's face, only this makes her frown, her heartbeat seemingly filling the cabin as she starts thinking about it yet again silently, in disbelief feeling physically ill.
Because nevertheless, fortunately she is very aware of the advice she'd told Cynthia and her staff to follow in case of an incident: if there's a chance that a situation could lead to customers being hurt, you should find a way to lessen the toll through all means necessary. Therefore, the hotel doesn't have to close for a while, the police and federal agencies exploring the probable motives don't have to investigate her employees for their possible involvement or intentions in harming the Keefe family.
On the other hand, having to shut and secure the floors affected, as the staff continues to run things as usual, and try to shut down the hotel as best as possible without suspicion, all managing to organize over 300 terrified people. Nor because of the Lux Atlantic has gained bad publicity by the madhouse event, leaving too many patrons and people in the surrounding area afraid there will be another terrorist hit, directly affecting other hotels as well, and essentially not devastating the capital of the hotel or tourism in Miami.
Leaving the self-righteous Keefe believing it's all about the greater good, to be discovered as the deceitful, the black heartless, indignant, and vindictive second-in-command, instead serving as a message to pass a suggestion through the legislative and executive branches through the Congress and Senate. As well as causing chaos for those responsible for the messy work and necessary national pandemonium to feel incredibly stupid and ashamed for all the millions of plots they have devised. The government agencies and police hopefully posting a national scale alert on their systems to publicize to other government agencies across the world, helping them to investigate the evidence and motives of Keefe's connections with national and international crime and terrorist organizations. Whose names will appear on the Specially Designated Nationals list collecting all the coldblooded terrorists and terrorist organizations from around the world; that is if they don't kill Keefe first- an associate slipping him the drugs that would end his life, seemingly settling their qualms, and a plan that they should have executed instead of this convoluted piece of crap.
Which opens up the question: Homeland Security: Is it doing its job? She knows from the news stations that Homeland Security is a federal office that the former President had established after the September 11th terrorist attacks, the organization is supposed to be in control of the Intel Department for the United States. Moreover, is meant to be the first serious reorganization of the spy agency in half a century for the country, it controls the Terror Alert and the amount of information that it gives out to the public, focusing foremost on dangers even closer to home. Meaning it is meant to be for the first comprehensible organization that the public can rely on in projecting for the level of danger for the United States, of the reporting of attempted attacks from the terrorists. There for people who are brought up in a world where they know the government may sometimes be corrupt, but they are serving for the greater good, whereas people who live on the other side of the law are bad.
On the other hand, Jackson perception of the agency as a whole is that it is a great resource for all the government agencies to gather intelligence on terror threats against the United Sates, as well as connecting spy agencies together. However, Jackson's opinion on public acknowledgement is that it has caused fear that everyone could be against the country, and there is no one that will go against the country, at the same time the government is anything but democratic, it just puts on a good show, and doesn't reveal what's really behind the curtain. The information and intelligence is there for those who are interested in the constant level of the possibility that danger might occur in the United States, they can simply call up the Pentagon or the head office for the Home Land security. Nevertheless, people do not need to deal with the stress of having the level of danger being announced on the radio every day, though in Jackson's opinion is that we do need them in our lives, but do not need the news every single day.
Nevertheless, focusing her attention back foremost on the main and a little more dangerous problem for them at this time, in this rather overwhelming vacuum packed capsule remains: What should they do with the men watching them? That is something Jackson can make sure to fill her in on all the details on, at the same time she's also certain that she has a few subterfuges up her sleeves that she can share, for the reason that she recognizes she has just as much power as he has and can destroy them too. Nonetheless, she is cognizant that he will find a good way they can accomplish the task without little trouble, and causing unwanted attention. Whereas something like throwing one of them a good punch in the jaw, then hurling them against the wall and smashing their head which will knock them out unconscious. When she gets close enough, grabbing their head, while twisting their neck tightly, and listening to the lurid spine shuddering, cracking, tearing, and crunching sounds of snapping their necks would do that, but would be so satisfying. Mindful that if they were to rush things right now like fools, there is a huge chance that they'd blow things from the start, and they could kiss their meticulous plans goodbye and they can't afford any awkwardness.
Simultaneously with his aptitude, speed, impeccable instincts, handling, prudence, and capacity of persuasion he has employed in many undercover assignments before, she is confident he will achieve some way as to stopping them from gaining the opportunity of getting cute with their neat little stunts on them from 35,000 feet above the ground. They will be thinking they're in control, when in actual fact both her and Jackson will be in charge, essentially throwing them off their game and not live to tell about it because they have come out on top.
With those fresh thoughts in her mind fueling to her new mission, a peculiar malicious smirk forming on her lips, clenching her jaw tightly until she can feel the muscles shake violently, and she thinks her teeth are going to shatter. The ferocity of her expression is enhanced with an unyielding determination that could be mistaken for a devilish malice glimmer in her intense sea green blood shot eyes, which under the circumstances is intended exclusively for the perpetrators. Furthermore, she is relieved she is facing the door so no one else can see, as the surprising sensation of the tingling rush of adrenaline and excitement courses and a tingling shiver through every part of her body. That leads to the hairs on the back of her neck and the hairs on her arm standing up on end, while her heart is beating more rapidly, making her feel precarious. She definitely doesn't want to feel this kind of an influential and invincible high every day, except she understands she has earned the right to cut loose now on the people threatening her family, although she isn't going to let herself do anything dangerously stupid to jeopardize their line of attack.
On top of the complete awareness that she has been feeling this all night, reveling in how her strength has been radiating from her like an aura, the powerful woman with a righteous vigor, adaptable, efficient, and perfectly capable of holding her own. She needs to embrace that inferno transpired out of requirement as well as her natural shrewdness, which suits her just fine because she is going to own it, she is a woman on a mission and it gives her an enormous burst of pride. In spite of everything, it is what she has to do; she needs to keep her mind as sharp as tack, as people are depending on her, since she and Jackson are attempting to save countless lives dealing in a life or death situation, which includes their own precious family.
Now, that she has some notions all she needs to do is consult with The Great Jackson Rippner this information, adding some much-needed necessary information about the plan Keefe has, because sometimes little pieces of information spark new inspiration. On balance, Jackson himself told her how he is experienced in dealing with people, especially politicians who use deception, murder, extortion, and all kinds of methods of scheming tactics to achieve their intentions. Hence adding his expert thoughts to enhance the plan, and then sticking to it before coming up with a similar plan for home and the men planning to murder their innocent family, and she has confidence that if anyone can pull this off. It will be them as an unstoppable team not going down without a fight, as predators and protectors because you don't mess with Jackson and Lisa Rippner and get away with it.
Although back at home, she recognizes her constantly concerned father, much like her husband is at heart smart, caring, dependable, adaptable, skillful, able to fix problems, and levelheaded: and since he worked as an architectural engineer, and Jackson has trained him in some aspects of his line of work. It certainly will be the first time he has ever been thrown into an ambiguous position, Jackson working for the government, had always been a hard job to keep, being in the secret occupation of investigators determined to find the murderers, drug lords, terrorism, and criminals. Concerning tonight though, he has a lot of explaining to do for her father who has had no support from their wonderfully talented and caring support worker Nina, who was going to assist him with Olivia while they were away. A middle-aged motherly and caring woman solidly built to help keep Olivia restrained yet quite athletic and strong, tall height, deep-sea blue eyes, with straight light brown hair in the company of ash-blonde highlights. Unfortunate without that help their children and the situation her father finds himself in are the only weakness the enemies have against them, and she's sure it isn't helping the fact he's exhausted because of the extra pressure this has created, as a consequence, he is in need of a good long sleep.
She does however completely acknowledge that in case of an emergency like the one, they're in right now; he runs a more than decent chance of knowing what to do, together with Jackson's work colleagues, top agent friends in the CIA, and law enforcement on his side. Which adds the question: When did Jackson ask them to keep an eye on the house, and their family? Is it because he has valuable information on his hard drives they need someone to extract?
It's clear that their perceptive daughters have already established that there are people watching the house, the goddamn cold-blooded killers Beamer Brigade is on-site making their identity devastatingly clear! Then he might just stay inside, quietly make sure the doors along with the windows are secured, pull the venetian blinds, set the alarms, and surreptitiously keeping clear of the windows with his instincts on red alert. Even as he is making sure, his rambunctiously energetic granddaughters are still sleeping safe and soundly in their beds, not worrying about the imposing dangerous men, the loitering monsters her children imagine hide under their beds, and live deep inside their closets. Instead, they are chasing the big bad nightmares away, and being the excited and eager little creatures that are ready to ride their first real bikes, with their training wheels spinning ferociously, on their way to the beach in the morning.
In due course, snapping out of her trance and composing herself now that she is feeling physically and mentally powerful enough, she considers herself ready to face the music, turning her head towards the direction of the sea of mottled blue cloth covered headrests, praying that she is managing to appear neutral. Scanning around her professionally, but without targeting, the dim lights cast sinister shadows in the plane, she tries to keep a casual eye on the regimented lines with mops of different shades of hair peaking from the top of them for fear that there is slight movements. Though with each passing second she feels a little silly as her subconscious is imagining she is a spy and willing her to do it as her heart hammers against her ribcage like crazy. At the same time, this pressurized tin can is surrounded with the dull hum of the engines filling up the air like a vacuum, making her head swim. Concurrently she is considering how all of the Mr. Sinisters are now the life of a very small exclusive party, which is invisible to the other passengers, and they are unknowingly going to die soon with no questions asked.
Another loud drumming crash, of an object dropping onto metal wracks through the small room and tiny passageway, with it bringing her back to reality from her absorbing thoughts; she hears the older woman's voice, professionally polite trying not to swear, behind her. Presently she is surveying the scene infront of her as if nothing is happening with a nonchalant expression on her face, though her eyes are a darker shade of green and extremely severe. The unsettling silence of the cabin is eerie and unnatural, and sense of claustrophobia giving the impression that people's faces are still with their dozing- half-closed drooping eyelids. The movie being shown on the big screens in front look quite dull, although many of the passengers are probably staring blankly at the screens, she is sure most of them have already read the in-flight magazine, and have now turned to finishing their books. While others rest with their heads nodding to earphoned pounding bass beats letting the intoxicating waves of sleep wash over them, deciding it might be a good idea to sleep a little to help the time pass. Nevertheless, all of them are waiting for the next assault of horrendously, dangerous, and thunderous lurching jolts and bumps to arrive, rouse a collective chorus of moans and groans, having to brace themselves on their armrests and gritting their teeth against their trembling seats. Meanwhile the plane rattles in the rough turbulence, convulsing with intense shudders while rocking back and forth for the millionth time with each clap of thunder, systematically jerking sideways, almost making them bump heads after spending the last several hours sitting eight inches apart on this plane. How much worse can this get?
Immediately the queasy feeling from earlier, with the waves of that headache slowly inching its way back as though someone is trying to push a 10kg weight into her already crammed skull, with dizziness washing over her, as she sways slightly on her feet and primarily focusing on her breathing, and chasing back the urge to throw up. The movement looks like tall wild grass in a meadow, blowing in the wind on a spring day, on her slender, long legs as though the impending nauseous, fear invoking thoughts are nudging her. When all of a sudden, in one instinctively fluid movement, she turns her body to face the aisle marveling at the balance and control she has even though she is slightly shaking, with the warning voice that is screaming at her to continue to move, though her Manager Face is saying otherwise. Even with that smile, the smile that convinces everyone, even her, that everything is fine, as blood is drumming in her ear deafeningly once again. Concomitantly the illumination shining through the tiny oval window from the lightning flashing against the inner bellies of the blackish-gray clouds, that are contrasting beautifully against the inky black-blue skies with the lack of stars, and casting murky sinister shadows dancing across her features obscuring most of her, gives her eyes a slightly granite-green-gray look to them.
A second later, she allows her expression to slip slowly from customer friendly into cowed pale despair, although shades of her customer friendly face seeps through into her demeanor, and instantly her eyes metamorphose to downcast despondency. However still keeping the powerful ferocity shimmering through even in the shadowy darkness, she has spent the last number of minutes mentally bracing and preparing herself for what they are about to do, furthermore it definitely would help if she could feel Jackson's hand enclose over hers, giving a reinforcing squeeze.
In response, she can feel her achy feet in her heels continue to stumble on the carpet digging small deep holes into the fabric of the fraying carpet; it's as if a strong invisible overwhelming force, is willingly urging her forward roughly from behind. Down the corridor where the walls feel as if they are rapidly closing in on her, in the direction to the doom that lies ahead, restlessly trying to catch her breath, in conjunction with her shaky legs, which are endeavoring to synchronize with her feet. Worse still are the exhausted, worried, and deeply anguished tears burn inside her eyelids, but she blinks them away, letting the tears drift slowly down her pale cheeks furrowing her eyebrows. Cognizant she isn't just crying because of weakness and surrendering to Jackson, because she is unable to handle the pressure anymore, and relapsing into a little shell like the way she did after her rape. In its place, the agents consider in their prehistoric male driven minds she is using this situation as an excuse for acting as if she has been victimized by being over-dramatic, immature, whining, along with feeling sorry for herself getting so sucked up in the sympathy.
By means of the self-victimization (or victim playing card pushing her into that world of pity) where she is fabricating her victimhood for a variety of reasons such as, to justify the abuse in the parking lot, and that fact she has 2 disabled children to manipulate others, using it as a coping strategy, or quite simply for attention seeking. This also includes from what she heard from her beautiful college friend Sarah with her cat eyes and olive skin, courtesy of her father from somewhere in Asia and a Colombian mother, shorter than her, with thick curly hair and black eyes that flash with mischief. Graduated with a bachelor's degree, and she is now a successful psychiatrist in the Metropolitan part of Miami, mentioned victims of violent crimes and abuse, as having a pervasive sense of helplessness, passivity, loss of control, pessimism, negative thinking, strong feelings of guilt, shame, self-blame and depression.
When really, it's more a feeling like this but her behavior just isn't the problem - a bubbling of all of her emotions proceeding in one tearful burst, being prodded by a blunt object rather than something sharp, her insides are pulling her in every direction, which is probably hard for them to understand because they have never experienced it. Nevertheless, traumatic events like sexual assault will always stay, it may not dominate permanently in your thoughts as much, and however much you try to keep it eternally locked away, it still lingers quietly in the background of the subconscious waiting for its time to pounce, besides this is the only way she can describe the whole difficulty. Additionally she is profoundly and emotionally drained by the familiar anguish, torment, exhausted, drained, despondent, intense loneliness and isolation, and sadness that have become a friend for a while are the more intense and longer lasting washing over her heavily, that it feels as though a part of her has died full of pain and agony. Moreover, she has been struggling so desperately to stop her mind from drifting, with the feeling of her heart aching so intensely, accompanied from the reminder of the day's events. To her it feels as though it has been, undyingly split in two, with it comes the numbness of never-ending heartache, identifying and comprehending the actuality that Jackson throughout this ordeal, has been going through these similar and constant feelings inside him, that he is trying his hardest to fight with too.
However, in an unconscious reaction to her troubling sorrowful thoughts meandering her mind, she instantly slumps her weighty shoulders shrinking into herself with each heavy step along the thin-carpeted floor, and nearly trips over her own feet, causing her teeth to clench forcefully as though they are about to shatter. In addition, with the blood pounding furiously against her temples in a relentless swooshing of formless white noise, it throbs in her jugular and her wrists, and suddenly, her modest heels feel like stilettos slipping on icy ground. She's just thankful that she isn't wearing her nice designer high heels, her feet are already on the brink of dying, but instead becoming something Emily can have enjoyment wearing while playing grownups. With some of her blouses that seem to look like dresses on her, makeup, and costume jewelry, causing her suddenly to chuckle inside taking her mind unexpectedly from the dread she feels. Even as she contemplates joyfully at the delightful little mental imagines she is conjuring in the mists of all the provocation, apprehension, and despondency, it also furthers her feelings of hopefulness to new heights.
In the meantime snapping back to attention, instantly back to reality from the wonderfully cute images, she drops her chin pressing the lips into a thin line, her nervous and terrified granite greeny-grey eyes glance around the passengers, trying not to walk straight into someone's seat. Furthermore, taking the opportunity surreptitiously to check out the agents Jackson has identified for her as she passes by swaying somewhat through the rocking motions of the plane with each step. Watching the people around her vigilantly as she staggers by, nothing seems suspicious on the surface, just a vibrant mix of casual V-necks, advertisement t-shirts, polo shirts, and inexpensive business suits engaging in the polite act of meaningless small talk one feels obliged to do when confined in one space for a long time.
Except the older man in thirty-D wearing a stylish polo shirt that makes him seem paler than he really is, due to the intensely bright color with a pair of dark wash jeans even though he has been in the Texas sun. It comes into sight to her that he has not caught a tan whatsoever, not even the red mark of being burnt on his nose either, and he is making too much an effort to look normal in his overall appearance. His dark wrinkled eyes gazing around the quiet cabin, even though in contrast they are watching her incessantly looking like he is, his eyes give the impression of excitement, deviousness, heartlessness, and a persecution complex in his exaggerated by the untamed unkempt ridiculously narrowed eyebrows before averting his attention back to another point of interest. How any women can be attracted to that man or married to the man is deeply disturbing, after a cold shiver runs down her spine, and suppresses the instinctual grimace, she takes another quick sideways glance to the right. Discovering in her peripheral view that he is in fact sitting next to the friendly old woman she gave the self-help book to at the airport, who now seems to be engrossed in Dr. Phil's pearls of wisdom. Concentrating intently as she self-assesses herself against the quizzes, which are cleverly designed to make sure you were paying attention to what the great master himself has said inside each chapter, as well as to make you feel even worse about yourself.
After a few seconds, she pulls her distressed and exasperated gaze back down once more warily, watching dumbly as her heavy concrete feeling legs are lumbering past the rows of people surrounding her furtively, taking in a long, deep breath, and releasing it from her lungs slowly. Watching out of the corners of her sharp bright bloodshot suspicious eyes around the cabin as if nothing is happening, she is instantly supplied the opportunity in 'identifying and confirming thirty-D's shady friend's'. Casting intermittent glances to her right in seat twenty-four-F's direction, seeing a dark skinned, short haired, designer chic glasses, sharply dressed man in a dark blue cotton shirt raises his sleeved covered right arm, just before pressing with the ball of his hand to his forehead tapping his fingers against the thick black arms of the frames. All hunched over looking frustrated over a neat interesting stack of sensitive papers that possibly will potentially lead to their downfall, and he doesn't even bother to glance up when she walks by. It's plainly obviously he's thinking very hard about something, as if he has just been promoted from his desk job into the field, and he is trying too hard to impress his boss with his findings for the assignment report during which constantly easing in and out of a frown.
In contrast, continuing on her long grueling journey, gazing to her left in one slow effortless movement to seat twenty-three-A- the air marshal a crotchety looking old guy, his face is a mass of wrinkles, with a bad comb over who seems imposing, and it's probably been a while since he has heard a "thank you" for being a veteran. Tips his head back to down the remaining mouthful of dark colored soda left in the glass, all at once with revulsion etched on his features, obviously it is now flat and certainly awful tasting. He has a solemn appearance towards a happy couple sitting to his right, which suggests that he isn't too excited about going home to microwave dinners, and guilt over cheating on his wife, and the sadness of their divorce. Nonetheless, there is the slight obvious protuberance to the trained eye that he is someone accustomed to the weight of a service revolver like a P229R, the P99, the M1913, or the new P229HSP in his holster by the unconscious bulge of gathered material under his arms of the jacket weighing down one side of his clothing the weaker side.
Seeing that Florida is a concealment state, all hotel staff are obliged to do training in identifying patrons' are carrying weapons, and act accordingly to the imposed policy from corporate unless special circumstances permit, which is to advise them not to leave their guns in the hotel's main underground safe until they check out. Otherwise, they have the right to refuse to let them stay in the hotel; management provides them with a list of hotels that do allow guns on their property, if the customer refuses to take the kind gesture provided. Then security is called to escort them out of the property, and call the police for backup subject to arrest for criminal trespassing with a firearm, which is a third degree felony according to gun laws in Florida.
Another reason she is so adept to noticing concealed weapons is that, when she and Jackson were first with each other, they made up a game when they were a little drunk where Jackson would go around the crowded room playing 'Vigilant behavioral analyzing, while being aware of your surroundings' and 'Whose carrying, who wishes, and who can't?' Since both of them have degrees in psychology, experts in management training, and Lisa being a quick learner that then developed into, 'Look at all possible suspects' in addition to 'which gun model do you think they are carrying?' And so on, accordingly afterwards they moved into other areas of weaponry, explaining how he has to be on the lookout when entering into buildings, room, and automatically scanning the ceiling for security cameras in his line of work, while not being sure, if he would leave while your heart was still beating. Meanwhile he is methodically with dark, silent eyes judging a group of people and deciding in a split-second which one you'd kill first as there could be people trying to kill him at any moment, and he has to be ready for them from every angle, looking for a weak point from which he could attack.
Her hand trembles slightly from the probability of her predictions, and the adrenaline pumping through her muscles as she slowly holds it up over a headrest in row twenty, her fingers curling too tightly into a fist to appear truly relaxed. In the same instance, she becomes aware of herself taking a deep shaky fatiguing breath that seems to burn her lungs travelling upwards towards her nose, burning the soft tissue inside. To her surprise, her nails have dug into her palm cutting the skin evenly with a sharp engraving feeling pain, subsequently opens it again seeing the little crescent marks left, spreading her fingers like feathers before she lets it drop out of her sight.
Counting the next row twenty-two, and without warning in her already overloaded mind, another set of tears start swarming in her vision again, but are easy to blink away tickling her soft skin even as they are cascading gradually down her greasy cheeks. As her head is bowing, her intelligent green eyes are instantaneously able to thoroughly surveying the entire plane full of endless rows of passengers through her sticky eyelashes, taking heavy awkward steps on her unsteady legs. Some glance up at her from their distractions, with disgusted distaste in their expression on their features, some with a complimentary good-natured wide smile as if what happened in the bathroom was the best thing to happen all evening, and are pretending that they haven't just been staring at her.
Of all the things they could have been doing in there, do they not realize she might have been dropped on the cold floor in front of the toilet, and heaved as she threw up the meager contents of her stomach her whole body was shuddering with the force of her motions. While her valiant husband had instinctively collected her hair in his hands, holding it out of her face as she vomited, and she scooted herself close to him for comfort. When she buried her face into his warm comforting chest, Jackson meanwhile gently let go of her hair to rub her back in smooth motions, because she felt a little unwell and flying doesn't agree with her.
From the agent's point of view, she can discern that their idea of getting her to make the call is for Jackson to, violently grab her by the throat, and slammed her with brute force, remorselessly into the opposite wall, smirked evilly following close behind like a predator stalking his prey staring coldly into her eyes. At the same time, pressing against her as he squeezed his hands around her neck to strangle her to death, she could barely breathe merely yelps and gasps, and that quickly became her main priority, since he was only reacting to her traitorous behaviour, and showing her who is superior in their relationship. After that, he shook her violently for good measure, and subsequently he yanked his hands away, from her throat, which sent her crashing into the wall behind her, she dropped to the floor wheezing, and gasping as she gulped for air shrank back into the corner. Fearfully, finally aware of his strength and that he was actually capable of hurting her, Jackson leaned even closer tauntingly was pulling his fingers through his hair, he had a brief look of immense infuriation on his face, stretching an open right palm across her delicate soft and smooth face, sharp, abrupt, and stinging enough to make his point. Then with the other hand, he had her head in his hands, the fingers of one hand tangled in her hair while the palm of the other hand cupped itself against her chin he had beaten her; there was nothing more she could think of that would save everyone. Why do they always have to go physical to make people follow their orders?
Anyway, it could have also been her sitting on the toilet with her husband watching her try to pee as she did have a large drink some hours ago, while he is leaned on the doorway watching her with her hiked up her skirt and her panties pulled down. In the company of her eyes carefully on him waiting patiently, quietly, as she was urinating in his presence as she was no longer being able to hold it back while she was analyzing his every move. For the period of desperation to calm his nerves and working out what he might say, he might have joked, in a poor attempt to lighten the already dangerous apprehensive mood in the air, but already knowing what her answer would be, he resigned himself finally and spilled the beans. Which brings her to the question, is it common personal prohibitions to let Jackson clean his teeth while she's trying to pee, after being together for 9 years?
In spite of everything, she is thinking deeply as to a plan; she knows she is still doing a spectacular performance of portraying a frightened, timid, tense, and anxious woman with serious relationship issues, who is unsettled and too lost in her own thoughts her in many ways alongside quelling her anger. Which no doubt, should earn her a worthy Oscar winning, in the eyes of everybody on this plane, including those Goddamn agents attentively watching them both from the crowds.
A few more steps forward and her senses go into overdrive, and she has to put out her anxiously sweaty shaky hands to catch herself against the top of the scratchy feeling material of the headrests as the like tiny rivulets descending a journey over ridges of skin of her palms. That will leave dark handprints on the synthetic material, which will soon fade leaving no traces behind to the naked eye combined with all the other prints made on a daily basis. Unsurprisingly, only to be cleaned poorly by the cleaning crew so they can rush another load of passengers on board, and no one would know a thing about the event-taking place at this very moment.
Even as her eyes are inching sideways towards the passengers looking from person to person, without alerting them to the fact she is replicating how the spies on TV do it all the time, straining to overhearing their seemingly normal cacophony quiet conversations they are having which is mainly meaningless small talk, no-one is talking about killing anybody else. Immediately the strange cold and stickiness feeling through the air possessed her with a heavy tension and profuse dank humidity, weighing her down even further, as the material of her flimsy blouse and cardigan are significantly stifling, restrictive, and scratching her goose-pimpled skin and the hairs of her neck stand up straight. The neat stylish business skirt that normally hugs the curves of her hips so reassuringly, now seems to be constricting her movements even further as she walks, making her yearn to be free of them, as the sensation is just too suffocating right now.
Another disturbing flash of lightening illuminates the inside of the cabin like flashbulbs in the sky, through the dingy plastic inner, the thick glass outer oval windows outside is dropping from midnight blue, ash gray, homogeneous to blackness, as the window is still swallowing too much light. Due to the thrum of the engines, the cabin lights flicker slightly dimming, while the cabin concusses violently with a rolling tumble of thunder and the smattering and splattery of big, heavy drops, of rain rousing a sea of echoes from the collective groans from its sources.
For Lisa finally approaching their uncomfortable seats so it isn't far for her, she only needs to take two to three stumbled steps forwards; there is relief expression on her features, even pleasure to some degree which tingles and she relaxes her shoulders slightly. Providentially, she has had the reassuring convenience and specifics this time around to be able to recognize the passengers that are agents straight away, thanks to Jackson the world's greatest spy's clarification on identifying them for her to the best of his knowledge. She is completely acquainted, and under no real illusions that they will indisputably be contacting their assassin friends in the BMW's outside their home, threats against their own personal welfare, and the welfare of their family and loved ones. Still unable to move from the spot where her feet seem to have set roots, and anxious sweat prickling the hairline behind her ears through her she runs her hands through her hair, tugging gently.
All the while, she can feel a nameless pair of eyes gazing at her form from behind very close by, though she doesn't need to know where he is, she can feel his presence turning her expression from apprehension to bordering on dread. The warm flushing of angry red patches start to appear on Lisa's cheeks once again as the cabin losing pressure, while little shock-induced dots dance before her eyes. Those eyes they feel like they're burning through her thin clothes and penetrating right into her back, a palpable intensified force, barely contained, as if they are trying to brand deep into her skin with their frighteningly passionate wickedness and immense unadulterated irritation, and detecting the undertone assumptions of her being an inferior, vapid, empty-headed, and easily weakened persuaded woman. He feels hot to her; the same sensation one might get when running their fingertips across the flame of a candle: not quite burning, but a warning not to touch. Causing every sensation in Lisa's body to sharpen and elevate to full alert as red flags go all through her mind, making her flinch a little, she tries to blank it out, as an uncomfortable, tense, warning, and pensive expression creeps darkly across her face, while breathing shallowly.
Therefore, Lisa's head is thumping with tension again, a muscle twitching in her cheek involuntarily, finding it difficult not to turn her now pulsing neck, to look around at the source of the intruding observer grating on her last nerve. It is becoming increasingly hard to resist not letting her eyes glare at him penetratingly, as if her glare can set him on fire, overwhelmingly determined for him to go away with an almighty authoritative intensely forceful glare, which not even Jackson could withstand. Underneath the exterior of fear, suffering, melodramatic, helplessness, defenseless, pathetic, violated, and dread, her eyes defiantly say that 'no matter how weak and vulnerable I may appear I'll cut you in a minute'. Desperate to rein in an all-encompassing urge to stab them powerfully hard with all her strength using one of her daughter's novelty pens slamming the sharp, fine tip deeply in the neck, performing an amateur attempt at a tracheotomy procedure, or she could maybe hit him in the larynx that's fatal, either-way both should gain his attention. As the instructor taught her in self-defense class, on the '1001' ways to protect yourself from someone about to attack you, with just a ballpoint pen', a pen can be mightier than the sword down with him, as the instructor had pointed out, laughing at his own joke. The violence within her, is her dirty little secret the private passionate vehemence that she doesn't dare breathe a word of to anyone around her, it is just better to leave it up to action rather than words.
Shaking herself out of that reflection, and Internally frustrated and needing her personal space, to acquire cover from being so exposed unwillingly from the new adversary, she proceeds down the aisle, taking three determined steps, then another, and stops, Lisa bumped up against the side padding of the empty aisle seat Jackson was occupying.
Next out of inquisitiveness, Lisa looks up; her eyes searching the dimly lit cabin and homogeneous seated people, suddenly catching a glimpse of the right sleeve of her husband's jacket sleeve as he beings to make his way into the main body of the cabin. She can even see his watch- that ridiculously macho blue-faced Tag Rolex watch, wondering if the fine dark brown and ginger hairs on his pale wrist are standing on end the same as hers. She swallows harshly at the thought; uncertain as to how she feels for a beat too long, and cringing a bit, her expression is one-quarter numb thoughtfulness, three-quarters fear. Only hesitating for a moment though, finding herself not quite ready to sit- she quickly deliberates in her anxious burdened scheming mind as to which seat would be best, her window seat, or if she should sit in Jackson's seat leaning out so she can take the opportunity to look around. Ready to move, cautiously she squeezes her small frame between the seats, her small lean body instinctively shimmies sideways along the row of seats with her trembling legs using the patterned headrests in front of her for support, ducking her head down to avoid the overhead. Gazing down her circumspectly drowsy eyes are downcast in spite of that searching the entire seated people before her and feeling she is sticking out like a sore thumb.
The last sighting catching a glimpse of the agent in fifteen-E less than 4 feet from her, to find an olive skinned female with gorgeous long dark graceful hair tied in a high ponytail worn haphazardly. The woman is staring at the multicolored, vivid, and clear screen of the latest version of Kindles with curiosity, relaxed, and casual, as if she is reading an assignment brief, or an assignment report from one of her colleagues, or maybe online playing Sudoku taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi the airline provides. Remembering specifically Jackson mentioning to her how the government agencies are now using modern technology like iPhones and tablets in their investigations, with smart Apps that are designed especially for their needs by the computer specialists. While resting her left hand on her forehead as if she has a rather large sore lump on her forehead, therefore she naturally found she was pressing on it, or even trying to fight off the sleepiness that is overwhelming her, or she could be upset by a recent breakup with her long-term partner and still haven't got over them. She is dressed in khaki colored chinos and cream ballet pumps, dressed in a fashionably faded blue jacket with tarnished bronze buttons, and the 80's upturned cuffs with delicate blue pinstripes on cream silky material, a very casual and stylish choice that fits in nicely with the vacationer look, or the business traveler on their way home. Otherwise, by her uncomfortable persona she could be trying a complete new look to convince herself it will help her forget about her ex-boyfriend, a thing women do when they try to convince themselves that the break-up was their fault.
Yet despite everything, all of them appear as though they couldn't care less, like she doesn't exist and they are in their own little world, it's strange how harmless and ordinary they come across, considering Jackson's brief explanation. Moreover, she knows she can't take any chances, these people are trained to give the impression of being as normal as possible, wondering if maybe they're sent off by their up-tops Directors for acting lessons during assessment to blend in with other passengers on board aircrafts and public areas, relying heavily on their training. Including investigative techniques, to detect, deter, and defeat hostile acts targeting the United States, criminal terrorist behavior recognition, firearms proficiency, aircraft specific tactics, and self-defense comprising of close quarters measures to protect the public in confined areas.
Which brings a question to Lisa's meticulously questioning mind, could most of these agent's Jackson warned her about, that he has mistaken for Keefe's be from another assignments? It is probably best for them to be safe than sorry though, especially in Jackson's line of work and situations they have found themselves in tonight, when dealing with people from the government who can be double agents, moles, covert, cutouts, false flag, and what not.
Maneuvering slowly on her path sideways with the excuse-me tension in her already hunched shoulders, she can sense those eyes still watching her, a radiating stare that is burning through the cushioned cloth patterned covered chair, beyond her clothes and scorching the skin of her back. Until, she bumps her skirt-covered knee into hard plastic wall the soft fabric-feeling abrasive as though there are tiny sharp bristles scratching the skin of her knee, finally dropping her limp feeling body heavily down into the awaiting empty seat with an exhausted sigh. To her surprise, the back of Lisa's head clunks against the foam headrest and rebounds slightly, while her right half collides hard against the back of the cushioned seat, thankfully absorbed by her heavy leather handbag filled to the brim with useful items that seem to find home inside. At the same time as her lower back on her left side smashes into on the solid plastic armrest, excruciatingly impacting with kidney coordinate vigor; causing a searing pain in her hip, and she scoots as close as she can to her window reaching with both hands shakily to lock the seatbelt around her waist securely.
Afterwards she absentmindedly lifts up her right hand automatically playing with a strand of damp oily hair sticky feeling through her fingers; with numb despondently while she rubs her cold clammy left hand, roughly down the smooth fabric of her dark skirt. A little frightened and uneasy of what to expect next, she turns again fidgeting nervously, letting her green eyes stare out anxiously through the black window at the rainy night. Watching the extravagant scene-taking place outside, at the blinding lightening striking somewhere nearby and in the brief flash of light apparently making the world new again, washing away the past. In addition to her own indistinguishable reflection, waiting for her husband to parade down the aisle ready to get this party started as much as she is aching to.