Callaway stretched his legs and flexed his arms. "If I can find Susan, we'll take her to lunch."
"Sure," Steve said as they walked off the airplane. "I'm anxious to meet her."
After they exited the jetway, Steve went to secure a table in the restaurant while Marcus stayed in the waiting area to see if he could spot Susan Nakamura.
Fifteen minutes later, while Steve was reading the San Francisco Chronicle, Marcus and Susan walked in and caught his attention. He rose to greet them and was surprised when she eagerly extended her hand. He shook hands and seated her next to him.
Steve found her very attractive. She seemed poised and mature and had captivating almond eyes. Her nose was thin and delicate, and her cheekbones were high. She wore very little makeup and only a trace of lipstick adorned her small, perfectly formed mouth.
Susan's dark brunette hair was arranged in a stylish bob that underscored her sense of authority. She had a friendly yet reserved air about her, but always displayed a quick smile.
Her grace and natural beauty made people look at Susan, glance away, then look again. There was some hidden quality, some spark in her steely calm personality that made both men and women want to seek her out, to talk to her, to try to find out what made her such an alluring woman.
With degrees in accounting and criminology, Susan Nakamura was a promising candidate when the FBI, confronted by a multitude of discrimination suits, was forced to hire more female and minority agents. She overcame the sexual harassment and formidable obstacles in the male-dominated environment and graduated in the top 20 percent of her class. Now, after twelve years of law enforcement experience, she was one of the most respected special agents in the Bureau.
When the threesome finished lunch, Marcus excused himself and left to phone his office. There was a moment of hesitation before Steve turned to Susan.
"Would you care for some dessert?"
"I'd love some." She laughed casually. "But I've disciplined myself to forgo the calories."
Steve glanced at her eyes and forced himself not to stare at her smooth face. "I wish I could be that disciplined, but I guess everyone has their vices."
She let the remark linger for a moment, then looked straight at Wickham. "You don't seem to have any bad habits, other than driving too fast."
Steve gave her a questioning look. "Excuse me?"
"Our files," she continued evenly, "don't indicate any abnormalities in your background. Just a couple of speeding tickets to your credit."
Wickham laughed aloud and then noticed that a few customers were looking his way curiously. He leaned closer to Susan. "My dark side has obviously been well concealed."
She arched her eyebrows. "I hear that you're a great asset to the Agency."
"Well, don't believe everything you hear."
She decided not to challenge his remark. "Who do you think was flying the helicopter at Pearl Harbor, and where do you think the pilot and helo are now?"
"I don't have any idea," he admitted and let his eyes linger on her face. "However, I think we should start by contacting the FAA and getting a complete list of past and present rotary-wing qualified pilots, along with a list of registered helicopters."
Susan raised her attache case, zipped it open, then handed him the list of pilots that had been supplied by the Federal Aviation Administration. Many of the helicopter jockeys were also rated as fixed-wing pilots. She also had a copy of the FAA Register of Aircraft and a Bell Aircraft maintenance-support database for locating all their helicopters.
Wickham was impressed, and a bit embarrassed that he ha d u nderestimated Susan's capabilities. "Excuse me while I wipe the egg off my face."
"You've been traveling," she said pleasantly and reached for her notes. "I've been working all night, and we've got a lot going on. We're currently tracking down every rotary-wing pilot and the location of each registered helo like the one used in the attack,
"Sure," Steve said as they walked off the airplane. "I'm anxious to meet her."
After they exited the jetway, Steve went to secure a table in the restaurant while Marcus stayed in the waiting area to see if he could spot Susan Nakamura.
Fifteen minutes later, while Steve was reading the San Francisco Chronicle, Marcus and Susan walked in and caught his attention. He rose to greet them and was surprised when she eagerly extended her hand. He shook hands and seated her next to him.
Steve found her very attractive. She seemed poised and mature and had captivating almond eyes. Her nose was thin and delicate, and her cheekbones were high. She wore very little makeup and only a trace of lipstick adorned her small, perfectly formed mouth.
Susan's dark brunette hair was arranged in a stylish bob that underscored her sense of authority. She had a friendly yet reserved air about her, but always displayed a quick smile.
Her grace and natural beauty made people look at Susan, glance away, then look again. There was some hidden quality, some spark in her steely calm personality that made both men and women want to seek her out, to talk to her, to try to find out what made her such an alluring woman.
With degrees in accounting and criminology, Susan Nakamura was a promising candidate when the FBI, confronted by a multitude of discrimination suits, was forced to hire more female and minority agents. She overcame the sexual harassment and formidable obstacles in the male-dominated environment and graduated in the top 20 percent of her class. Now, after twelve years of law enforcement experience, she was one of the most respected special agents in the Bureau.
When the threesome finished lunch, Marcus excused himself and left to phone his office. There was a moment of hesitation before Steve turned to Susan.
"Would you care for some dessert?"
"I'd love some." She laughed casually. "But I've disciplined myself to forgo the calories."
Steve glanced at her eyes and forced himself not to stare at her smooth face. "I wish I could be that disciplined, but I guess everyone has their vices."
She let the remark linger for a moment, then looked straight at Wickham. "You don't seem to have any bad habits, other than driving too fast."
Steve gave her a questioning look. "Excuse me?"
"Our files," she continued evenly, "don't indicate any abnormalities in your background. Just a couple of speeding tickets to your credit."
Wickham laughed aloud and then noticed that a few customers were looking his way curiously. He leaned closer to Susan. "My dark side has obviously been well concealed."
She arched her eyebrows. "I hear that you're a great asset to the Agency."
"Well, don't believe everything you hear."
She decided not to challenge his remark. "Who do you think was flying the helicopter at Pearl Harbor, and where do you think the pilot and helo are now?"
"I don't have any idea," he admitted and let his eyes linger on her face. "However, I think we should start by contacting the FAA and getting a complete list of past and present rotary-wing qualified pilots, along with a list of registered helicopters."
Susan raised her attache case, zipped it open, then handed him the list of pilots that had been supplied by the Federal Aviation Administration. Many of the helicopter jockeys were also rated as fixed-wing pilots. She also had a copy of the FAA Register of Aircraft and a Bell Aircraft maintenance-support database for locating all their helicopters.
Wickham was impressed, and a bit embarrassed that he ha d u nderestimated Susan's capabilities. "Excuse me while I wipe the egg off my face."
"You've been traveling," she said pleasantly and reached for her notes. "I've been working all night, and we've got a lot going on. We're currently tracking down every rotary-wing pilot and the location of each registered helo like the one used in the attack,
Similar Books
Goat Mother and Others: The Collected Mythos Fiction of Pierre Comtois
Pierre V. Comtois, Charlie Krank, Nick Nacario
