Perhaps a half-second before she hit the ground, while she was still in the air, her heart throbbing with a nauseous urgency, she saw two things, one clearer than the other.
Less clear was the thick tree that her car had just rammed into, crumpling the entire front end. Clearer, and in her minds eye, was the face of the woman who had persuaded her to open the hood of her car, a woman whose eyes had been kindly enough to remind Maggie Costello of her own mother.
And after that she saw nothing.
38
Virginia, Friday March 24, 18.25
He hadnt expected to hear back so fast. Back in the old days, when it was just a few guys with notebooks and pencils, it took the best part of a week to piece together even a basic flight plan. But now there was email, and online forums and all the rest of it, things moved quickly.
The British guy, du Caines, hadnt given him much but Daniel Judd had got the general idea. As soon as Nick had called, he knew it was going to be something big. Big enough to interest readers of a Brit newspaper; big enough for Nick to hike out to the middle of nowhere to see him.
He had read that right once the CIA was involved, it automatically became huge just as he had been right to say that du Caines was on a fishing expedition. The journalist had nothing but a hunch. But after the rendition stuff, Judd was prepared to believe that bunch of motherfuckers were capable of anything. More importantly, he had learned a lot in the last few years about how the CIA operated. They had a modus operandi in the air and now so did those, like Judd, who followed them on the ground.
He logged into his email account, typing an alias formed out of his own middle name, his wifes maiden name and a bogus middle initial Z that he hoped would throw any snoopers off the scent. Of course, if the CIA really wanted to hack into his email they could, but there was no reason to make it easy.
He sent a message to his contact in Louisiana. Baton Rouge unfortunately; hed come across no spotters in New Orleans. He worded it carefully. Even if he took precautions encryption software, regularly changing his ISP, that middle Z-there were no guarantees that his fellow enthusiasts were as careful. On the contrary, in the era of federal wiretapping, he worked on the assumption that there was always someone looking over his shoulder. His wife and his brother-in-law had mocked him for years, reckoning he was some paranoid, libertarian nut whod soon be hiding in the hills living off sachets of dried food. But once all that shit came out about FISA and government eavesdropping, it wasnt him who came out looking the fool, now, was it?
Euphemism, that was the key. No word that would be flagged automatically by the authorities and their word-hunt programs.
Hope youre well, big guy. Question for you. If our friends at the Company were planning to take a little working vacation in the Big Easy, what would be their best initial destination? Am assuming Louis Armstrong International too crowded etc. What would you advise?
Hed got a reply within four minutes.
No one but tourists uses Louis. Theyd go for a place they Knew.
Neat. Just that capital K was enough. He called up the Federal Aviation Administration database, waiting for the right page to load before typing the word KNEW. Instantly the four letters were recognized as the call sign for Lakefront airport, located, he discovered, just four nautical miles north-east of the central business district of New Orleans.
He went to the airports website to find a photo of a rather lovely structure, complete with original art-deco terminal and a sculpture out front: Fountain of the Winds.
He read the spec: general aviation, with special provision for charter and private flights. That would be ideal for a black op, Judd decided. There was even a history of occasional military use: plausible that some of the CIA guys had used it before.
He glanced down at the dates Nick had given him, then keyed in the details he needed to call up the flight plans for aircraft that had used Lakefront in that period. He narrowed it down by selecting In rather than In and Out. Whether the CIA had flown a plane out of Lakefront after Forbess death could wait. Right now he needed to see if they had flown in.
As he expected a long, long list of N-numbers appeared. One by one, using nothing more elaborate than the basic search function on his internet browser, he checked to see if any of those numbers also appeared on the list of thirty-three planes he and his fellow spotters, along with various peace activists and reporters like du Caines, had determined constituted the fleet leased by the CIA for its covert work, dominated by, but not confined to, extraordinary renditions.
Not one.
He would have to go the long way round. He decided to call his buddy Martin, whose greatest asset was that he was not burdened by even the meagre domestic obligations that sat on Judds shoulders. Martin had no kids, no wife and, so far as he could tell, no friends save for Judd himself.
As always, Martin answered on the first ring. Judd walked him through the problem and they agreed to split the list. Judd would check the midnight Sunday to noon Wednesday flights into Lakefront looking for any numbers that carried the telltale hallmarks and Martin would do the same for the second half of the week, from noon Wednesday to Sunday midnight. First one to find it gets free beer for a night.
Done.
That had been close to 6pm. It was now shortly after eleven, long after his wife had gone to bed slamming the door, asking why he didnt just stick his dick into the computers disk drive, he obviously loved it so much that he felt the first nibble on the end of the line.
Every other N-number traced back to a regular commercial air operator: licensed, well-known, all-colour website, the full deal. But here was one, N4808P, owned by Premier Air Executive Services, an operator based in Maryland, whose site gave only the sparest of details and named no executives.
Judd headed to the registry of company records. The entry for Premier Air offered three listed officers. A further search on these three men yielded a pattern Judd had seen several times before. Their social security numbers all fully retrievable online had been issued when they were over the age of fifty. He wouldnt have known about such things before, but the rendition saga had taught Judd that when a social security number is given to someone in their fifties, that someone is creating a new and fake identity.
But the company records contained one more curious fact about the provenance of Premier Air Executive Services, one that surprised him and which, he guessed, would particularly interest Nick du Caines. He reached for his phone.
39
Aberdeen, Washington, Saturday March 25, 10.05 PST
Maggie could hear a low hum, which she assumed was in her head. She had been dreaming so vividly, she had not only seen Uris face close to hers, she had felt the touch of his hand as he stroked her hair. But even then, as she smiled at his caresses, the hum had bothered her. It didnt fit. And so she had made herself wake up, so that she could drive the noise away.
When she opened her eyes, she saw only a white wall. There were no lines she could make out, in fact nothing that could make her certain it was a wall rather than just empty space. Or maybe a cloud. The hum was still there, though.
She moved her head and felt a surge of pain at the base of her skull. She must have let out a noise though it sounded as if it came from down the hall because within a few moments a nurse had scurried into the room, filling up the white space that had once been a blank wall.
Well, good morning.
Maggie heard the same down-the-hall voice answer, Good morning. It sounded slurred and blurred.
Do you know where you are?
Maggie tried to shake her head, sending more shooting pain up from her neck. She heard a yelp come out of her mouth.
OK. We should start at the beginning. What is your name?
With vast effort, Maggie croaked, Maggie Costello.
The nurse fair-haired and large-armed checked her notes. Good. Thats what we have too. Another few questions, Im afraid. Who is the president of the United States?
Before the answer came the feeling, a sudden onrush of memories and the emotions they aroused. She saw the den in the White House Residence, Sanchez, MacDonald, Stuart Goldstein. Stuart. She felt a stab of grief, the lead weight of realization that something awful had not been imagined or dreamed but was real. Only then did she see the face of Stephen Baker: still handsome but now etched with pain
Dont worry, hes still very new. His name is Stephen Baker. How many states are there in the United States?
Where am I?
Ill come to that. I just need to ask you these questions the instant you wake up. Thats our protocol. How many-
Fifty.
And what day of the week comes after-
Stephen Baker is the president of the United States. He won last November with three hundred and thirty-nine electoral college votes, defeating Mark Chester in the general having beaten Dr Anthony Adams in the primary. The days of the week are Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. In France they are, dimanche, lundi, mardi, mercredi, vendredi, jeudi et samedi. Now will you tell me where the hell I am, please?
And what day of the week comes after-
Stephen Baker is the president of the United States. He won last November with three hundred and thirty-nine electoral college votes, defeating Mark Chester in the general having beaten Dr Anthony Adams in the primary. The days of the week are Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. In France they are, dimanche, lundi, mardi, mercredi, vendredi, jeudi et samedi. Now will you tell me where the hell I am, please?
The nurse, whose eyes had widened, now let her face relax. She put her clipboard on the bed. Youre at the Grays Harbor Community Hospital, Ms Costello. In Aberdeen, Washington. Now, I promise this is not another quiz question. Do you know why you are here?