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  He felt embarrassed to be talking to his wife while disguised.

  Sidney struggled with Amy's coat. "Well, is anything wrong?"

  "No, I just thought I'd call, to check on things."

  Sidney let out an exasperated grunt. "Well, let me give you the rundown: I'm late, your daughter is being uncooperative as usual, and I just realized I left my plane ticket and some documents I need at work, which means instead of having thirty minutes to spare I've got maybe ten seconds."

  "I'm ... I'm sorry, Sid. i ..." Jason's hand tightly gripped the nylon bag. Today was the last day. The last day, he kept repeating to himself. If anything were to happen to him--if for some reason, despite the precautions, he didn't make it back--she would never know, would she?

  Sidney was seething now. Amy had just spilled her bowl of Cheerios all over her coat and a good part of the milk had made its way into Sidney's crammed briefcase as she struggled to hold the phone under her chin. "I've gotta go, Jason."

  "No, Sid, wait, I need to tell you some--"

  Sidney stood up. Her tone allowed for no compromise as she surveyed the damage wrought by her two-year-old, who now stared defiantly up at her mother with a chin sharply reminiscent of her own.

  "Jason, it's going to have to wait. I've got a plane to catch too. Goodbye."

  She hung up the phone and snatched up her writhing daughter under one arm. Cheerios and all, they headed out the door.

  Jason slowly put down the phone and turned away. He let out a deep breath and for the hundredth time prayed today would end the way it had been planned to. He did not observe a man glance casually in his direction and then turn away. Earlier, the same man had passed by him before Jason had made the change in the rest room, close enough in fact to read the identification tag on his travel bag.

  It was one small but significant oversight on Jason's part, because the tag set forth his real name and address.

  A few minutes later Jason stood in line to board his flight. He pulled out the white envelope he had been given by the man in the rest room and took out the plane ticket that was in it. He wondered what Seattle would be like. He glanced across the aisle in time to see his "twin" get on the flight to Los Angeles. Then Jason caught a glimpse of another passenger in line for the flight to Los Angeles.

  Tall and lean, the man had a bald pate that topped a square face partially covered by a massive beaM. The expressive features looked familiar, but Jason couldn't quite place their owner, as the man disappeared through the doorway on his way to the waiting plane.

  Jason shrugged, dutifully handed over his boarding pass and walked down the jetwalk.

  Barely half an hour later, as the jet Arthur Lieberman was on slammed into the ground and coils of black smoke soared toward white clouds, hundreds of miles to the north Jason Archer sipped a fresh cup of coffee and opened his laptop computer. Smiling, he looked out the plane's window as it rocketed on to Chicago. The first leg of his trip had gone off without a hitch, and the captain had just announced smooth sailing for the duration of the flight.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sidney Archer tapped the horn impatiently and the car in front of her sped through the green light. With a reflex motion she checked the backseat in her Ford Explorer's rearview mirror. Amy, her Win-hie the Pooh bear clutched tightly in one tiny hand, was fast asleep in her baby seat. Amy shared her mother's thick blond hair, strong chin and slender nose. Her dancing blue eyes and much of her athletic grace came from her father, although Sidney Archer had in college been a wick-thin power forward on the women's basketball team.

  She turned into the blacktop parking lot and pulled into a parking space in front of the low brick building. She got out, opened the rear door of the Ford and gently disengaged her daughter from the confines of the baby seat, taking care to bring Pooh and Amy's day bag. Sidney pulled up the hood of Amy's jacket and shielded her daughter's face from the biting wind with her overcoat. A sign over the double glass doors said JEFFERSON COUNTY DAY-CARE CENTER.

  Inside, Sidney removed Amy's coat, taking a moment to wipe off the remains of the earlier cereal incident, and checked the provisions in her carry bag before handing it over to Karen, one of the day-care people. The front of Karen's white jumpsuit was already smeared with red crayon, and a large spot of what looked to be grape jelly was visible on her right sleeve.

  "Hi, Amy. We've got some new toys you probably want to check out." Karen knelt down in front of her. Amy still gripped her bear, her right thumb firmly in her little mouth.

  Sidney held up Amy's bag. "Beans and franks, and some juice and a banana. She's already had breakfast. Potato chips, and a brownie if she's really good. Let her sleep a little longer at nap time, Karen, she had a rough night."

  Karen put out a finger for Amy to take. "Okay, Mrs. Archer.

  Amy's always good, aren't you?"

  Sidney knelt down and pressed a small kiss on her daughter's cheek. "You've got that right. Except when she doesn't want to eat, sleep or do what she's told."

  Karen was the mother of a little boy the same age as Amy. The two moms shared a knowing smile.

  "I'll be here by seven-thirty tonight, Karen."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Bye-bye, Mommy. I love chu."

  Sidney turned to see Amy waving at her. The little fingers floated up and down. The sharp chin had dissolved into a cute little bump and, with it, Sidney's anger from the morning's battle. Sidney returned the wave.

  "I love you too. We'll get some ice cream tonight, sweetie, after dinner. And I'm sure Daddy will be calling to talk to you, okay?" A wonderful smile broke across Amy's features.

  Thirty minutes later Sidney pulled into her office parking garage, grabbed her briefcase from the passenger seat and slammed the truck door as she raced to the elevator. The chilly wind funneling down the underground garage entrance brightened her thoughts.

  Soon the old stone fireplace in their living room would be in use.

  She had come to love the smell of a fire; it was comforting and made her feel safe. The coming of winter had turned her thoughts to Christmas. This would be the first December in which Amy could actually appreciate its very special time. Sidney felt herself growing more and more excited about the approaching holidays. They were going to her parents' place for Thanksgiving, but this year Jason, Sidney and Amy were staying home for Christmas. Just the three of them. In front of the popping fire flanked by a fat-bottomed white pine Christmas tree and a mountain of presents for their little girl.

  Although technically only a part-timer, she was still one of the hardest working attorneys at the firm. The senior partners at Tyler, Stone smiled every time they passed Sidney Archer's office as they saw their respective pieces of the partnership pie grow even larger through her efforts. Though they probably believed they were using her, Sidney had her own agenda. The part-time scenario was only an interim measure. Sidney could always practice law; however, she only had one opportunity to be Amy's mother while Amy was still a little girl.

  The old stone and brick house had been purchased at roughly half price because of all the renovation work needed. Work that Sidney and Jason and a group of subcontractors had completed at fiercely negotiated prices over the last two years. The Jag had been traded in for the cranky six-year-old .Ford. The last of the massive student loans were almost gone, and their monthly living expenses had been reduced by almost fifty percent through common sense and sacrifice.

  In another year the Archers would be almost completely debt-free.

  Her thoughts went back to the early morning hours. Jason's news had been truly stunning. But she felt the tuggings of a smile as she considered the ramifications. She was proud of Jason. He deserved this kind of success, more than anyone. It was shaping up to be quite a good year. All those late nights. He had probably been putting together the details of his job. All those hours of needless worry on her part. She now felt bad about hanging up on him earlier. She would make it up to him when he got back.

  Sidney
stepped off the elevator, hurried down the richly appointed hallway and opened the door to her office. She checked her e-mail and voice mail; neither revealed any emergencies. She loaded her briefcase with the documents she would need for her trip, grabbed the airplane tickets from her chair where her secretary had left them and slid her laptop into a carry case. She left a stream of voice-mail instructions for her secretary and four other lawyers at the firm assisting her on various matters. Sufficiently weighed down, she managed to stagger back out to the elevator.

  Sidney checked in at the USAir shuttle desk at National Airport and a few minutes later was settling into her seat on the Boeing 737.

  She was confident the plane would take off right on time for the barely fifty-minute trip to New York's La Guardia Airport. Unfortunately, it took almost as long to drive into the city from the airport as it did to traverse the two hundred and thirty or so miles from the nation's capital to the capital of the financial world.

  The flight, as usual, was full. As she assumed her seat, she noted that sitting next to her was an elderly man dressed in an old-fashioned three-piece pinstripe suit. A wide-knotted bright red tie shone out from the background of a crisp button-down shirt. In his lap sat a battered leather briefcase. Slender hands nervously clasped and unclasped as he looked out the window. Small tufts of white hair clung around his earlobes. The shirt collar hung loosely around the skinny neck like walls pulling loose from their foundation. Sidney noticed beads of perspiration adhering to his left temple and over his thin lips.

  The plane lumbered clumsily to the main runway. The whir of wing flaps settling into the down takeoff position seemed to calm the old man. He turned to Sidney.

  "That's all I listen for anymore," he said, his voice deep and rocky and laced with the front-porch drawl of a lifetime spent in the South.

  Sidney looked at him curiously. "What's that?"

  He pointed out the small window. "Make sure they set the damn flaps on the wings so this thing'll get off the ground. Remember that plane up in Deetroit?" He said the word as if it were actually two. "Damn pilots forgot to set the flaps right and killed everybody on board except for that little girl."

  Sidney looked out the window for a moment. "I'm sure the pilots are well aware of that," she replied. She sighed inwardly. The last thing she needed was to be sitting next to a nervous flier. Sidney turned back to her notes, doing a quick scan for her presentation before the flight attendants made everyone stow their belongings under the seats. As the flight attendants came by for another check, she slipped the papers back in her briefcase and slid it under the seat in front of her. She looked out the window at the dark, choppy waters of the Potomac. Flocks of seagulls scattered across the water; from a distance they resembled swirling pieces of paper. The captain crisply announced over the intercom that the USAir shuttle was next in line to take off.

  A few seconds later' the plane rose smoothly off the ground. After banking left to avoid flying over the restricted airspace above the Capitol and the White House, the plane raced to its cruising altitude.

  Several minutes after the plane leveled off at twenty-nine thousand feet, the beverage cart rolled by and Sidney got a cup of tea and the obligatory bag of salty peanuts. The elderly man next to her shook his head when asked for his beverage request and continued to stare anxiously out the window.

  Sidney reached down and pulled her briefcase from underneath the seat in anticipation of doing some work for the next half hour.

  She settled back in her seat and took some papers out of her briefcase.

  As she began to go over their contents she noticed the old man still glancing out the window; his small frame was tense as he rode every bump, obviously listening for any out-of-the-way sound that would herald a catastrophe. The veins were tight in his neck; his hands were wrapped around the armrests of his seat. The common plight of the not-so-rare white-knuckler. Her face softened. Being frightened was difficult enough. Believing you are alone in that fear merely compounded matters. She reached out and patted his arm gently and smiled. He glanced quickly over at her and returned the smile in an embarrassed fashion, his face slightly reddening.

  "They do this flight so many times, I'm sure they've worked out all the kinks," she said, her voice quiet and soothing.

  He smiled again and rubbed his hands to return the circulation.

  "You're absolutely right... ma'am."

  "Sidney, Sidney Archer."

  "George Beard is what they call me. Glad to know you, Sidney."

  They firmly shook hands.

  Beard abruptly looked out the window at the puffy clouds. The sunlight was sharp and penetrating. He slid the window shade down partway. "I've flown so many damn times over the years, you'd think I'd get used to it."

  "It can be nerve-racking for anyone, George, no matter how often you've done it," Sidney replied kindly. "But it's not nearly as frightening as the cabs we're going to have to take into the city."

  They both laughed. Then Beard jumped slightly as the plane hit a particularly stubborn air pocket and his face once again became ashen. "Do you go to New York often, George?" She tried to hold his eyes with hers. No mode of transportation had ever bothered her in the past. But ever since she'd had Amy, little cells of apprehension appeared when she boarded a plane or train, or even got in her car. She studied Beard's face as the old man tensed again while the plane bumped along. "George, it's all right. Just a little turbulence."

  He took a deep breath and finally eyed her squarely. "I'm on a couple of boards of companies headquartered in New York. Have to go up twice a year."

  Sidney glanced back at her documents, suddenly remembering something. She frowned. There was a mistake on the fourth page.

  That would need to be corrected when she got into town.

  George Beard touched her arm. "I guess we're all right today at least. I mean, how often do they have two crashes in one day? Tell me that."

  Preoccupied, Sidney did not answer right away. Finally she turned to him, her eyes narrowing. "Pardon?"

  Beard leaned forward in a confidential manner, his voice low.

  "Took one of them puddle-jumpers up from Richmond early this morning. I got to National about eight o'clock. I overheard two pilots talking. Couldn't hardly believe it. They were nervous, I can tell you that. Hell, I would be too."

  Sidney's face evidenced her confusion. "What are you talking about?"

  Beard bent even closer to her. "I don't know if this is public knowledge, but my hearing aid works a lot better now with the new batteries, so those fellows might have thought I couldn't hear." He paused dramatically, his eyes glancing sharply around before settling once again on Sidney. "There was a plane crash early this morning.

  No survivors." He looked at her, his white, bushy eyebrows twitching like a cat's tail.

  For an instant, Sidney's major organs collectively seemed to cease all functioning. "Where?"

  Beard shook his head. "I didn't hear that part. It was a jet, though, a pretty big one, I gathered. Fell right out of the sky, apparently.

  I guess that's why those fellows were so nervous. I mean, not knowing why is just as bad, right?"

  "Do you know what airline?"

  He shook his head again. "Guess we'll know soon enough. It'll be on the TV when we get to New York, I would bet. I already called my wife from the airport, told her I was okay. Hell, of course she hadn't even heard about it yet, but I didn't want her to start worrying if she saw it on the TV or something."

  Sidney looked at his bright red tie. It suddenly took on the image of a large, fresh wound gaping at his throat. The odds--it couldn't be possible. She shook her head and then stared straight ahead. Looking back at her was a quick resolution to her worry. She inserted her credit card in the slot in the seat in front of her, grabbed the plane phone from its niche and a moment later she was dialing Jason's SkyWord pager. She didn't have his new cell phone number; in any event, he normally turned his phone off during flights. He had been r
eprimanded twice by airline personnel for receiving cell calls during flights. She hoped to God he had remembered to bring the pager. She checked her watch. He would be above the Midwest right about now, but bouncing its signals off a satellite, the pager was easily capable of receiving pages on planes. However, he couldn't call her back on the plane phone; the 737 she was on was not equipped with that technology yet. So she left her office number at the prompt. She would wait ten minutes and call in to her secretary.

  Ten minutes passed and she called her office. Her secretary picked up on the second ring. No, her husband hadn't called. At Sidney's urging, her secretary checked Sidney's voice mail. Nothing there either.

  Her secretary had heard of no plane accident. Sidney began to wonder if George Beard had misunderstood the pilots' conversation.

  He probably sat around imagining every possible catastrophe, but she had to be sure. She frantically searched her memory for the airline her husband was on. She called information and got the number for United Airlines. She finally got through to a human being and was told that the airline did have an early morning flight to L.A. from Dulles but there had been no reports of any airline crash. The woman seemed reluctant to discuss the subject over the telephone and Sidney hung up with fresh doubts. Next she called American and, after that, Western Airlines. She could not get through to an actual person at either airline. The lines seemed to be jammed with calls. She tried again, with the same result. A numbness slowly coursed through her body. George Beard touched her arm again.

  "Sidney... ma'am, is everything okay?" Sidney didn't answer. She continued to stare ahead, oblivious to everything except the certainty that she would race off the plane as soon as it landed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jason Archer looked at the SkyWord pager and the number etched 'across its tiny screen. He rubbed at his chin and then took off