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Also, many thanks to Deathwing8 for your help. You are invaluable!
Chapter 3
There is something to be said for oblivion. I'd always prided myself on living in the truth, but as I began to surface from the drug induced depths, as each new level of consciousness brought a new awareness, I found myself thinking that maybe truth was way overrated. Right now my body felt languid and heavy, and I was aware of a steady, humming, soothing noise, sort of like the sound an air conditioner unit makes. Sleep beckoned me back with a seductive wave and I wasn't ready to float all the way to the surface just yet. So I slept again.
I had a friend once who used to say cryptically that you can't un-know what you know. That statement makes sense to me now, because when I rose to consciousness for a second time what I wanted to un-know but couldn't was the reality of a living, breathing, and infinitely dangerous Jackson Rippner.
Still, I thought I might stretch it out a little bit, keep my eyes closed. I needed time to think, to plan, to gather my strength and wits.
But Jackson had other plans.
"Snap out of it, Lisa. We have work to do."
My eyes flew open and I found myself looking into his eyes. I forced my gaze away from him, glanced around me. I was sitting in a comfortable reclining seat in a nicely furnished, but unmistakably airborne, office. The jet engines hummed nicely in the background, and by the absence of light outside the windows, I could see it was evening. The lighting in the cabin was dim. Rippner sat facing me and a small worktable bridged the gap between us. I could see other, unoccupied seats to my left. We appeared to be alone in the cabin.
Finally, I let my glance rest on the man sitting across from me. Lest anyone think this was easy, let me assure you that it is no simple task to sit with a semblance of calm facing a man who had tried at least once to kill you. Of course, to be honest, the drugs that were still in my system did help me with this.
It was startling to look at him. I've noticed that our memories seldom match up when held side by side to the real thing, but in this case that wasn't true. He scared me just as much now as he did then.
My breath caught in my throat when I glanced again at those spooky, eerie eyes. They looked cold and bottomless. I remembered that in the beginning, before the nightmare began, I'd found them fascinating, had thought his face, while not classically handsome, increasingly intriguing.
Now, while the memories matched up feature for feature, the interpretation was sadly lacking. What seemed so appealing then just looked frightening now. But then I'd been drinking a bit that first time around.
His hair looked much the same – brown, medium length, but I thought he looked thinner than before. Maybe he'd had a tough convalescence. If so, I felt no sympathy. He wore a business suit with a pin striped shirt and no tie. And this time there was no pretense to his manner – no lighthearted, manipulative flirtation. Right now Jackson just seemed hostile.
"I need you awake and alert," His voice was terse. "Can you do that?"
"I'm awake." My mouth was desert dry; my voice came out croaky. "Where am I and what time is it?"
"It's close to midnight eastern time and you're over the Atlantic. Want something to drink?"
"Yeah," I said, thinking that maybe this was just a little bit too much reality for me right now. "Water would be great."
I stirred in my seat, tried to flex my arms and found I couldn't. Thin strips of plastic bound my wrists to the chair's arms.
Jackson pushed away from the table, saying, "I'll cut those off first."
"I'd appreciate that," I said. "Why did you feel the need to tie me? I was unconscious, Jackson. Were you worried I'd sleepwalk?"
"I needed to sleep, too. I was worried you'd wake up and kill me." A knife came out of his pocket and I looked away quickly. I felt him kneel down beside me. He clamped my hand down with his and I concentrated hard, determined not to flinch. I felt cold sharp metal slide between my skin and the thin strip of plastic as I gazed out into the inky night. He freed my other hand, and when I dared look again, he'd placed a bottle of water on the table and was seated once more.
"So," I took a deep, shaky breath. "You said we needed to talk. Let's talk."
"Right." Jackson settled back in his seat and made a steeple with his fingers. He was every inch the man of business. "The most important thing you need to be clear about right now is this: we're about 45,000 feet above the ocean. This jet belongs to me, and I'm paying the pilot, so nobody is going to benefit here if you decide to go Chuck Norris on me in a well meant but misguided effort to save the day. Unless you have a pilot's license qualifying you to fly a Gulfstream and I'm guessing you don't."
"Fine. I'm just going to sit here. Drink my water." I grabbed my water, unscrewed the cap and drank. Frankly, I wasn't feeling up to heroics just then anyway. "Just where exactly are we going, or is that something you're not ready to share?"
"Well, the Cliff Notes version is, we're going to Prague. I have a business transaction to wrap up there."
"Another assassination target? Who do you plan to take out this time?"
"No, actually nothing that high profile. I'm taking a little break from that kind of work, thanks to you," he sneered.
"I'm glad I could help."
I wished it unsaid almost immediately because Jackson jumped all over it. "Are you? Well that's good. Because you being helpful, frankly, is the only reason you're alive right now."
His eyes flashed and he bit his lip. He seemed to vibrate with anger. I shrank back into my seat and watched him try to rein his temper in. I hoped he wasn't about to fly across the table at me. I'd been trapped in close quarters with a furious Jackson before, had felt his hands closing around my throat.
"You know what, Lisa? I'll be up front with you here. I have very mixed feelings about you right now. I'm a businessman. I'm a professional and I'm very good at what I do. I can't afford to let my personal feelings interfere with my job and I don't do that. I never do that. What happened in your father's house – that wasn't personal. I was just tying up loose ends. But right now? Personally, I am really, really pissed off at you.
"I hate to fail. I do not fail!" He thumped the table so hard his folder of papers jumped and so did I. "Right now my reputation is on the line because of you and my reputation is everything to me. So let's be really clear about this, Lisa. Let's communicate honestly. You will not fuck this one up for me. Are we clear on this?"
"I… yea… we're clear. Fine. Yea. But…"
"But what?"
"I'm don't understand why I'm here."
"You're a condition of the sale." Rippner smiled, although on him it just looked evil.
"Excuse me?"
"No Lisa, no deal. And I care as much about customer satisfaction as you do, so here you are. But-" He glanced down at his watch. "We'll be landing to refuel in about an hour and we need to talk through and defuse any potential escape plans you might be hatching. Are you hungry? You slept through dinner."
I longed for my earlier oblivion. I remembered Dr. Finch's happy pills in my handbag. I wondered just where my handbag was, actually.
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"Eat, Lisa. You need to keep your strength up."
"Why? Why should I bother?" I toyed with the plastic wrapper from the turkey sandwich he'd served up. The sandwich tasted like dust to me.
"You sound discouraged. That really isn't like you. "
"Well, you know, Jackson, I am just a little bit discouraged right now. You've drugged me and dragged me out of the country. I think that's a pretty normal reaction on my part."
"Well, buck up. We've got a long way to go."
"How long have you been planning this? "
"You mean stealing you? For a while. You signing up for that management seminar made it a lot easier. I do admire your professional ambition, Leese."
"How did that make it easier, Jackson?"
"For one thing, no one will notice you're gone for a while. It's even possible, if things go well and I get over being pissed off at you, that you'll be back in New York in time to fly home next Sunday afternoon."
"You don't think anyone will miss me before then, Jack? It didn't occur to you that people might try to call me, that when I didn't answer my cell they might try the hotel and they'd find out I never even checked in?"
"But you did check in, Leese."
"What?"
"Someone looking a lot like you, carrying your driver's license and credit card, has checked in at the Lux New York. She is there now with your suitcase, your clothes, and she is attending the seminar you signed up for."
"Marty." Of course. The woman in the limo. She'd even been dressed like me. How could I have not seen that? But then obviously I hadn't had a reason to suspect then.
"Right. That's the name she gave you. And if someone gets worried because they can't get you on your cell, they can call the Lux New York and leave a message for you. That message will be forwarded to me and I will see that you get it." He reached down, came up with my handbag, rummaged around in it, and pulled out my cell phone.
"You can call them back on this. I hope you have a good plan. You're going to have a lot of roaming charges. And you will do your best to allay any fears any of them have, whether it's your father, or Cynthia, or even that sweet little short order cook, you've been going out with. It'll take a little acting on your part but I think you're up to it."
"And why is it exactly that you think I'll be so cooperative over the phone? What is it you are holding over my head this time, Jackson? Have you got someone sitting outside my father's house again?"
"It's an open ended invitation this time, Lisa. There's no time limit, no house to rush home to, no long drawn out struggles, knifings or shootings. I hope you're not disappointed. I know how you love to charge in and save the day.
"It's really pretty simple. If this job doesn't go the way I want it to, your father will die and so will you. You can run as far as you want, you can change your name and how you look, but you can't hide from me. I will catch up with you - and your father and mother, too. If I die, Lisa, there are others lined up behind me to see that it is done. You're bad for business. You can't expect mercy from me, or from my colleagues. Ever.
"So. Bearing that in mind, I expect you to make it your personal mission to help make this deal a success. You're in the middle of it now and you'd better hope it succeeds."
Just then, when I thought for sure I was headed into a bottomless abyss of despair, I noticed something that made me smile. In the middle of Jackson's throat was about an inch of scar tissue. I thought about how it got there and I smiled again. I picked up my sandwich and began to eat.
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That scar got me through a rough landing in a stormy day at the airport outside of Prague and through customs where I presented a passport bearing the name "Marty Hall." I did nothing to alert the authorities there, and I rode quietly through the slick streets of a gray city in a silver airport taxi with Jackson. I spoke up only when he booked us into the Four Seasons. I demanded separate bedrooms. I got separate beds in the same room and had to make do with that.
I slept for a few hours once we were upstairs. Terror is deeply fatiguing and I sank almost immediately into a deep, dreamless void. Judging from the creases in the covers of his bed, I assume Jackson slept as well. I am not in escape mode right now and he seems confident enough of that to leave off any physical restraints.
It is now evening in the city of Prague. From the window of our room I can see the lights of a city that offers me no welcome. Jackson has ordered dinner from room service and is now tapping away on his laptop. I have taken out a spiral notebook and pen. In a few hours I will shower, put on clothes that aren't mine, and we will go to meet Jackson's client.