Frozen Fire by Bill Evans, Marianna Jameson

speechless.
    “I can’t leave now,” she sputtered.
    “Good. That’s settled then. You should relax and enjoy the show.”
    “Hogwash. The guests you have arriving in”—she checked her watch—“one hour will provide a bigger target for the malefactors of the world than if you were hosting the G8.”
    “No one knows they’re coming here.”
    She rolled her eyes at his deliberate provocation. “You don’t really believethat, do you? You’ve just been wining and dining them all over Miami for the last few days. And they’ve all got their crackberries going twenty-four/seven. If anyone sees them get on that plane,
everyone
will know they’re coming here.”
    “Big deal. No one will know why they’re coming. And this is the most secure location in the world. You’ve made it that. Everything is going to be fine,” he said in a patronizing tone that they both knew would infuriate her.
    It worked. She took a slow breath. “Dennis—”
    “Get over it, Vic,” he said flatly. “We’ve got it covered. You’ve got it covered. Bring it up again and I’ll think you’re obsessing.”
    “Obsessing is part of my job description,” she said coolly. “And this is hardly—”
    “This conversation is over,” he said, and switched on the powerful underwater lights so he could watch the bizarre creatures they were passing by. Victoria closed her eyes.

 
     
     
     
 
CHAPTER
4
 
     
     
     
    9:30 A.M., Saturday, October 25, Miami, Florida
    Finishing her walk around the sleek, one-hundred-foot-long Bombardier Global Express that bore The Paradise of Taino ornate purple and gold crest on its tail, Wendy ran her hand over the name painted below the cockpit windshield. As the plane’s first pilot, she’d had the privilege of naming it. She’d chosen
Gaia
as a salute to Garner, although she’d never told him. He’d find out when he heard the news that she’d completed her flight plan.
    With a tight smile, she climbed the steps into the cabin. It still smelled new, but the mingled aromas of soft leather, rare tropical woods, and fresh coffee were incongruous against the airport’s acrid signature scent of hot asphalt and jet fuel.
    Lieutenant Colonel Watson made her way to the state-of-the-art cockpit of the $40 million jet, smiling tightly at the crew milling around the pristine, streamlined, but fully equipped commercial kitchen that masqueraded as the plane’s galley. Each member of the crew smiled back as they greeted her. Wendy stopped herself from wondering if her crew—the three flight attendants, her first officer, and the chef—needed to die. The answer was yes, unequivocally yes. They were as much a part of the problem as anyone else.
    The flight attendants were more than just beautiful to look at. Each one had completed rigorous security and antiterrorist training, and each was qualified to handle the most serious medical emergencies that could transpire aboard an aircraft. Because of Dennis Cavendish’s unerring ability to seriously infuriate the leaders of the world’s larger nations, each flight he took was like a military exercise with regard to the security measures taken, but the food was better and the surroundings more luxurious.
    Entering the cockpit, Wendy slid into her seat. She automatically scanned the bank of controls in front of her and began her preflight checks.
    Everything was in order, as she knew it would be. Even the weather was cooperating. All she needed now were the passengers.
    A shadow moved across her instrument panel and she glanced up to see the senior flight attendant appear in the doorway of the cockpit. The woman leaned into Wendy’s space gracefully, her Jean Paul Gaultier–designed uniform showing to advantage the assets that had won her a Miss Something-or-Other crown several years earlier. A small diamond tiara displaying the Taino crest was nestled into an artfully tousled swath of honey-and-butter-blond hair.
    The entire cabin crew, even the men,