Frozen Fire by Bill Evans, Marianna Jameson Page A

resembled the woman in the cockpit doorway: polished, glamorous, pampered. And lethal, if necessary.
    “They’re going to be late,” the attendant—Wendy had never bothered to learn any of their names—purred in cool, cultured British tones that were alluringly underlain with unfettered Brazilian sexiness. “The helicopters are on their way now. Their ETA is twenty minutes.”
    “Thank you,” Wendy replied tonelessly, looking away from the practiced smile, the flawless makeup, the endlessly long legs.
    It wasn’t the crew members’ beauty that annoyed her, nor their overtly sexual languor. It wasn’t even their studied vapidity. What annoyed her, when she bothered to think of it, was their lack of purpose. They were drones with no drive and no goals, squandering their utility. It was wasteful, and in direct contradiction to her own life.
    Wendy had been born to parents who had worked hard to pull themselves out of their lower-middle-class background and into the cloistered cocoon of Darien, Connecticut, where expectations were high and wealth was assumed. They had no idea that their aspirations and pretensions had isolated their only child from her schoolmates, no idea how difficult it had been for her to assimilate. They had wanted a better life for her, and had raised her against the backdrop of the town’s burgeoning wealth and blatantostentation. Wendy had been indoctrinated every day of her life with the importance of reaching ever higher. Bettering themselves in the eyes of others was her parents’ mission in life; for them, to stop moving upward was to stop living.
    It was a philosophy she’d never accepted or understood.
    Now, after decades of searching for meaning in her life, she had found direction. She would repay the generous sacrifices of past generations of the Earth’s creatures with a gift to all future generations. Garner Blaylock had entrusted
her
with the honor of laying the cornerstone of a new world order in which all creatures would have equal worth and be granted equal esteem.
    Her time had finally arrived.
    “Is there anything I can do for you, Colonel?”
    Wendy picked up a clipboard that rested on the still-empty seat beside her. As usual, her first officer considered flirting more important than doing his job.
    “Yes, there is something you can do for me. Arrange for me to have some solitude, if you can manage it,” Wendy replied bluntly, her flat, American intonation a stark contrast to the sensual tones of the other woman.
    A minuscule pause was followed by the soft rustle of fabric. “Certainly, Colonel. I’ll inform the crew you are not to be disturbed. Please press the call button if you wish for any attention.”
    The cockpit door closed with the softest of clicks and Wendy continued running through her preflight checks without giving the crew another thought.
    A burst of muffled conversation a short while later was followed by laughter and the sound of the passengers embarking. Fifteen minutes later, after the commotion had quieted, Jason Randall, her first officer, entered the cockpit and strapped himself in.
    “Is everyone aboard?” Wendy asked, not looking up from what she was doing.
    “All aboard who’s going aboard,” he replied breezily. “Strapped in nice and tight with their
Wall Street Journals
in one hand and their Cristal mimosas in the other.”
    Wendy rolled her eyes and said nothing as she stood up and slipped into her jacket. She emerged from the cockpit with her impeccably tailored uniform in perfect order, the traditional, military-style officer’s cap placed at a precise angle on her head, and moved through the cabin to personallygreet the CEOs of nine of the world’s largest corporations. Looking each one in the eyes, she shook hands and smiled and forced herself to make small talk.
    They represented so much money, so much power. So much devastation.
    It would be a pleasure to kill them.
    Dennis wasn’t in evidence, but the door to his private