Edge of Tomorrow (85 page)

Klaus Haus, Florida

Sunday, September 2, 2001

8:00 A.M.

The next morning at 8:00 A.M., Syd called the
hospital and checked with the head ICU nurse and got a “No Change”
report on Hatch. She joined Mrs. C. and Sara in the dining room
where breakfast was being served, but having no appetite, settled
for coffee with a bagel, cream cheese, and strawberry jam. She
whipped out her Blue Phone and called the Triple Eye chopper pilot
for a status on the General and Carrie Lincoln. They were to arrive
at Klaus Haus about lunch time. Syd discussed lunch possibilities
with Mrs. C. and they arrived at a menu. Syd then called Marty
Winsocki. It took less than 45 seconds for him to come on the line
even though he was at home.

“Good morning, Marty! Thank you for
interrupting your busy schedule for me, Marty,” cooed Syd when he
answered.

“You don’t have to lay the syrupy shit on me,
Syd,” he chuckled. “Besides, it’s Sunday. I was just reading the
funny papers. You name it, I’ll do it if I can.”

“Well, Marty! No ‘Good morning, Syd?’”

“OK. Good morning, Syd. How may I help
you?”

“You didn’t even ask about Hatch! What kind
of man are you, Marty?” Syd asked, peeved.

“A well-organized, albeit busy man. I get an
update on Hatch every two hours from the ICU. I know you’re
climbing out of your skin, but don’t take it out on me. I’m not the
enemy, and I’ve been looking out for Hatch long before you were.
Right now, my job is to help you, so let’s cut to the chase. You
have something in mind?”

Syd gulped, took a deep breath, and
said, “I’m
sorry
, Marty!
Please forgive me! I want to be doing something, and don’t know
how. In the past, I’m sure Hatch has done a search for a
terrorist—or somebody. How does he go about it? I want to find the
bastard who shot him!”

There was a fifteen-second silence, then
Marty said, “Are you willing to come here and meet with me? We can
lay out a plan. There’s not much you can do down there today. Just
grab Hatch’s GS-V and we’ll have a late lunch together and kick
things around.”

Syd suddenly felt a little better. She
would be
doing
something, and
maybe Marty could give her some guidance.

“How do I commandeer Hatch’s plane?”

“I’ve sent a message to everyone who needs to
know about your status; that includes the captain of the GS-V. Just
call him and let him know what your plans are. He’ll do the rest.
I’ll have a car meet you at the Richmond Airport here. I’ll go into
the office. I’ve been dying to see the woman who finally lassoed
Hatch!”

“Now who’s laying on the shit?” laughed
Syd.

“Touché! I’ll see you for lunch?”

“Yes. Can I bring Sara Smith with me?
Whatever I do, I’m going to need her.”

“You’re the boss.”

With that, he hung up and left Syd to figure
out how to get the GS-V scheduled. She found the number easily by
using the search feature on her Blue Phone. She talked to the
captain—Roger Farnsworth—and Syd agreed to be at the Miami Airport
at 10:30 A.M.

“Let’s pack our overnight bags, Sara. We’re
having lunch with the mysterious Marty Winsocki. I’m sure we won’t
get back tonight,” announced Syd.

“Wow! You move fast, Syd! I wonder what he’s
like.”

“We’ll soon know. Be a dear, Mrs. C., and
tell the chopper pilot we need to be in Miami by 10:30. Sara and I
have to pack! It’s a good thing I left some of my clothes here.
Also, could you give my regrets to General and Mrs. Lincoln, and
see that they’re settled in? You probably know them better than I
do anyway.”

“The chopper is in Miami, dear, but I’ll have
the pilot zip over here and get you. The Lincolns are still at the
hospital. I’ll take care of everything, dear. Don’t you worry.”

• • •

The chopper settled down on the tarmac near
the GS-V. Sara and Syd deplaned and walked toward the GS-V, whose
crew stood near the aircraft’s entry door. The three pilots were
dressed in their standard blue suits with the Triple Eye logo on
the left shoulders and gold wings over their left coat pockets.
Janet was dressed similarly, except she wore a short blue skirt
instead of trousers. Janet ran toward Syd and Sara, then hugged
both of them.

“We’re all so devastated, Syd!” Janet
exclaimed, nearly in tears. “How are you guys holding up?”

“Not well, Janet, but at least the operation
went smoothly,” replied Syd, and she gave them a short update.

Janet said, “Let me introduce you to today’s
crew. This is Senior Pilot Roger Farnsworth—whom you know, of
course—and these two rascals are Lloyd Stanford and Juan
Montana.”

Farnsworth touched the bill of his cap and
said, “We’re at your service, Ms. Steppe. We need to be doing
something.”

“None of this ‘Ms. Steppe’ crap, guys. Please
call me Syd. I really appreciate this. I hope I’m not wasting
everyone’s time with this trip, but I have to keep doing something
to find the person who did this to Hatch!”

“We’ll help anyway we can, Syd,” said
Farnsworth. “We’ll fly you anywhere in the world, if necessary.
Let’s get on board and head north. Our flight plan has been filed
and she’s fueled and ready to go!”

• • •

At Richmond Airport, Farnsworth taxied the
GS-V to the Triple Eye hangar area and shut down the engines. A
black limo was parked about twenty yards away. The driver—a tall,
thin man—walked quickly toward them and introduced himself as they
deplaned.

“Good afternoon, ladies. My name is Jensen.
Let me take your bags, please. Mr. Winsocki’s car is over
there.”

“We’ll be right there, Jensen. I need to talk
to the crew,” said Syd.

She turned and thanked the crew, who had
deplaned after them.

“I don’t know our schedule, guys. Is it too
much to ask for you to be ready to takeoff on short notice? I might
get news about Hatch and have to get back to Miami quickly.”

“No problem, Syd. We’ll refuel and hang out
close by. Just page me,” answered Farnsworth.

“Thanks, Roger,” replied Syd.

Syd and Sara walked toward the black limo and
Sara said, “Even Hatch doesn’t have a fucking private limo and
driver! He always rents them as needed.”

“I guess Winsocki has a permanent address.
Hatch doesn’t. None I know of, anyway. He travels too much! Shit! I
wish we were traveling somewhere together right now! I’ll never
complain about his schedule again!”

• • •

On paper, Lincoln Industries leased half of
the third floor of the Triple Eye Headquarters building outside
Langley. In the northeast corner, a large room with a separate
reception area housed Martin Winsocki’s office complex. The rest of
the space was divided into smaller office complexes housing
Winsocki’s small cadre of worker bees and advisors: CPAs, real
estate brokers, stock and securities analysts, investment
counselors, et cetera. Even though Hatch’s main lawyers—Griswold,
Henry, and Nance—were housed in New York, Winsocki kept three tax
lawyers onsite. Most people would not believe that a multibillion
dollar empire was managed from these somewhat modest—and
minimal—facilities.

At 1:33 P.M., Jensen parked the limo in the
back of the building and opened the rear door for Sara and Syd. He
took them to a door and opened it with a key.

“This is Mr. Winsocki’s private entrance to
his private elevator,” explained Jensen. “I’ll keep your bags in
the car until later.”

They entered a small room and Jensen pushed
the “UP” button next to a small elevator door. When it opened, they
stepped in and pressed the “3” button. The elevator arrived at the
third floor and Sara and Syd stepped out into a room similar to a
hotel room: bed, couch, chairs, coffee table, small refrigerator,
and wet bar. A bathroom was on the north side of the room.

“This is Mr. Winsocki’s home away from home.
His office is through this door,” said Jensen as he opened the
door. “He’s expecting you, ladies.”

Syd and Sara entered the room from which the
far-flung Lincoln empire was managed.

• • •

Martin Winsocki was a handsome man: 6 feet
tall, 176 pounds, 56 years old, thinning sandy hair combed straight
back, sparkling blue eyes, and a clean-shaven Clark Kent jaw. He
had never married—his hectic life style had never allowed much time
for such a commitment—but he was a notorious lady’s man. Sara knew
this from in-house rumors, and various tabloid articles, and though
she had seen his picture in the media many times, she was
unprepared for the impression he made in person. The sight of him
as he rose from his desk chair to greet them—great smile, white,
perfect teeth—took her breath away. She wondered immediately if she
could become one of his conquests! Captain Charles Rossini of the
Royal Guard faded from her memory.

The dashing Martin Winsocki was born in
Framingham, Massachusetts—just outside Boston—in April 1945. By the
age of 25, he had a law degree and MBA from Harvard, both summa cum
laude. He had offers from several prestigious law firms, but his
fascination with numbers—and money—led him to Wall Street, where he
had immediate success in picking some long shot stocks and he
parlayed a few thousand dollars into $100,000 in a short period of
time. By 1975, only five years later, he was a multimillionaire. He
founded The Winsocki Company, an investment management firm, and
over the next few years his personal worth soared.

In 1992, the international wheeler-dealer
tired of the game, and when offered the position of financial and
economic advisor to President Clinton, he sold his company—to solve
a conflict of interest, he told himself—and joined the
administration. His net worth at that time was in excess of
$800,000,000.

Even though he enjoyed the new spotlight he
was in as a personal presidential advisor, he found the pressure of
politics much more stressful—and more unpredictable—than managing
money. Subsequently, he had a heart attack in June 1995 at the age
of 50. The doctors were able to save him, and after triple bypass
surgery, he essentially retired from public life, gave up smoking,
and began a regimen of diet and exercise. After a year of this, he
lost 30 pounds, and was in better health than he had been in
years—and was bored senseless. That was why he called Van Lincoln
in 1996 and offered his services as an investment counselor. Hatch
jumped at the chance and hired him on the spot. He knew Winsocki
well, having used The Winsocki Company in the late eighties and
early nineties to manage many of Lincoln Industries’ investments.
He had also met him when he was with the Clinton
administration.

In 1997, the president of Lincoln Industries
was killed in a skiing accident, and Hatch asked Martin Winsocki to
take over the reins for him.

Hatch had said, “It doesn’t have to be a high
stress kind of thing, Marty. Just watch the store for me. Play it
safe on investments. As you know, I have enough money invested so
that a low, safe return-on-investment is still a big number!”

“OK, Hatch, I’ll give it a try. If I feel I
can’t give you what you need, I’ll resign,” Winsocki had
replied.

The rest, as they say, was history. Martin
Winsocki was now Mr. Lincoln Industries to most observers of the
corporate world. Just the way the reclusive Van Lincoln liked
it.

• • •

Syd and Sara shook hands with Marty as Jensen
announced, “Ms. Steppe and Ms. Smith, sir, as you requested.”

Marty approached them, gave them a
head-to-toe look over, and took one of their hands in each of
his.

“What a pleasure to meet you two, finally! I
can’t believe I haven’t met you, Sara, after all this time,” beamed
Marty. An electric shock seemed to pass from his hand through
Sara’s body.

Wow! What a fucking hunk! I wonder if he
comes under the ‘No Fuck Policy?’ I want to bed this guy! Actually,
he’s not in my chain of command. I report directly to Hatch.
Hmm.

“Please take a seat, ladies,” he said,
indicating a leather couch the color of peanut butter.

They both sat. They were both dressed in
stylish pant suits—Syd had insisted on proper clothing for this
meeting. Syd’s was lime green with a white silk blouse, and Sara’s
was light gray with a pink silk blouse. Sara wished she had worn a
skirt so she could work some magic with her legs. She unbuttoned
her suit coat and let it fall away from her breasts.

There was a heavy oak coffee table in front
of the couch and two chairs on the opposite side. They matched the
couch in covering and comfort. Marty lowered himself into one. He
was dressed in an Italian suit of light tan wool and an expensive
white shirt—with cuff links—and a tie with alternating stripes of
light and dark brown. The ring finger of his right hand sported a
heavy gold ring with a blue stone in it.

Marty said, “Now, I wasn’t sure what you
ladies wanted to do about lunch. I have a reservation at a nice
restaurant nearby, or we can dine in my private dining room. The
menu is not as extensive as a restaurant, but it is ample for my
simple needs. What’s your pleasure?”

Syd answered, “Whatever suits your schedule
best, Marty. I hate to be intruding as it is.”

“Don’t be silly, Syd. Nothing I have to do is
as important as meeting with you two. By the way, congratulations
on your engagement. I’ve been remiss in not saying so until now. I
just got an update on Hatch a few minutes ago. Everything is
proceeding as expected. No glitches in his vitals.”

“Thanks, Marty. I was going to check on him.
Let’s use your dining room. Time is short,” replied Syd
tersely.

Marty thought,
This is a take charge woman! I wonder what her background is.
Hatch didn’t tell me much about her, only that she is a college
professor. And he forbade me from running a background check on
her! She’s a stunner, and so is that Sara! I’ve seen her ID picture
and read her dossier, but I never knew she had such a body to go
with that gorgeous face! I wonder if …?