Title: Jinxed Author: Scifinerdgrl Rating: R Category: S/A/R
Keywords: Doggett/Reyes romance Summary: For the six months they've
been apart, all their plans to meet have fallen through. Will a New
Year's Eve terrorist plot thwart their latest plans? Archive: Please
ask, please tell Feedback: scifinerdgrl@yahoo.com or
scifinerdgrl@hotmail.com



December 31, 2002, 9:00 a.m. EST

"Dear Monica, my flight arrives in D.C. at 10 a.m. You don't need to
meet me.  I'll take the Metro. Love, John"

Monica closed the window on her e-mail and sighed. Of course she
would want to meet him! For six months, ever since his transfer to
the Los Angeles field office, they had been making plans to spend
time together, and each time something went wrong. One of his cases
interfered with their July 4th plans, one of hers ruined their plans
for his birthday. He had the flu on Thanksgiving. She had it on
Christmas. And now it was New Year's Eve, and they'd made plans to be
together. Would it really happen? She couldn't help wondering if
their long-distance relationship had been jinxed, but of course she
wouldn't say that to him. He'd think she was being ridiculous.

And maybe she was. After all, he'd sent the e-mail before leaving his
house, and he was already airborne by the time she woke up. So far so
good. But she wished he'd have called her instead, just in case the
worst happened. She knew it was silly, but she'd have wanted to have
the memory of his voice just in case...

She shook her head to dislodge the thought. No, she promised herself,
I will *not* think the worst. But a few seconds later, despite her
promises to herself, she keyed in the URL for flight information and
checked on his flight. "On time," the screen read. Relieved, she
sighed loudly then leaned back in her seat. See, she chided herself.
Everything is fine.

"Agent Reyes," her new partner's voice said, interrupting her
self-talk. "Something on your mind?"

Monica blushed and shook her head vigorously, making her newly
restyled hair bounce seductively. "Sorry, just checking my e-mail..."
Her voice trailed off in embarrassment, as she watched her partner's
skeptical face growing even more skeptical.

"Why don't you take the day off?" he suggested. "Get ready for
tonight..." He winked, then added, "Whoever he is, he'll want you to
be well-rested."

"No, that's okay," she protested. "I'll be fine. I just need to..."

"Agent Reyes," her partner leaned over his desk and whispered
knowingly. "Go to the airport. Check the place out for terrorists or
something. I'll finish the report."

He knows! She realized suddenly. But an equally sudden realization
hit her the next moment. He's okay with it! She couldn't hide the
surprise in her face, and she was momentarily speechless.

"You think I didn't notice that our phone log has suddenly started
showing calls from Los Angeles? Or that every time someone mentions
Los Angeles in a meeting you prick up your ears? You think I didn't
notice how sad you were when your plans to visit 'an old friend'
there fell through? I'm an FBI agent, you know," he said with more
compassion than this straight-arrow had ever shown her. "Go. Pick him
up at the airport. Tell him you love him. Then have a good time
together. Forget about the report. I'll finish it up."

***************

The flight had more passengers on it than an early morning flight had
a right to, but to Doggett's relief most of the passengers were
sleeping. He wished he could. He'd awoken before the alarm and tried
to force himself to go back to sleep, but worries about missing his
flight made his eyes pop open every time sleep started creeping over
him. After four failed attempts to get together with Monica, he was
determined not to let anything as stupid as oversleeping interfere
with their plans. Or rather, *his* plans.

Being apart from Monica for six months was only one cause for his
misery. The other was Los Angeles. He hated it. He hated the smog,
the traffic, the goofy rabbit food that people kept shoving in his
face when he all he wanted was a burger, and he hated being assigned
to work in the field office where Brad Follmer had once worked.
Follmer, the teflon agent, who never paid for his crimes and seemed
to have fooled everyone but Doggett, and, belatedly, Reyes, was still
revered in L.A. He was no doubt behind this transfer, and was no
doubt taking advantage of John's absence to make excuses to be with
Monica. She'd reassured John many times that she was over Follmer,
*way* over him, and in the few months before his transfer, she had
made it clear whom she did love. He'd returned that love eventually,
but he couldn't help worrying that he'd done it too late, that there
had been too little time for their relationship to blossom before his
transfer, that Follmer's two years with Monica would have more power
over her than their few months together. Spending time with her would
have eased his mind, but so far it hadn't been in the cards. They had
now been apart longer than they'd been together, and he wasn't sure
what to expect when he landed.

It wasn't just whether things would be the same that worried him. He
had decided to move back to D.C., even if it meant quitting the
bureau and finding another job, and she was a big part of the reason.
He *had* to be near her. He had to see her every day. She was his
anchor, he realized, and his safe harbor. Now more than ever he
realized how much he depended on her serenity and balance to keep him
sane. It was still a mystery to him why this beautiful younger woman
would throw her lot in with him, but he hoped she still would. And
eventually, he would ask her to promise him to be with him until
death parted them. But for now, he would settle for being with her on
New Year's Eve.

 ***********************

9:35 Ronald Reagan National Airport, Washington, D.C.

Monica Reyes passed through security by flashing her FBI badge, and
as she stood near the "Arrivals" TVs, an armed guard with officer's
bars on his chest approached her.

"Agent Reyes?" the man asked.

"Yes?" she replied, surprised anyone knew her name.

"Were you sent here for the task force? Because if you were, we're
mobilizing down below," he whispered.

"Task force?" she asked. "What--?"

"Oh geez," the guard said, running his hand over his brow. "You're
not on-duty?"

"Well, technically, yes, I am," she answered, carefully measuring her
words. "Do you need help?"

"Dunno yet," the man answered, but from the beads of sweat gathering
on his forehead where his hand had missed, she suspected otherwise.

"Whatever you need, I'm there," she said, pursing her lips with
determination and nodding slightly.

While they walked to the elevator he told her his name was Stevens,
and he was in charge of terminal security. As he'd done many times
since 9/11, he'd been preparing for the risk that terrorists would
take advantage of holiday travel to sneak past them, or even attack
when they'd be guaranteed the highest number of casualties. This
time, however, there had been a specific threat, but not from the
usual sources. This time the threat was from a Puerto Rican group
affiliated with the statehood movement.

"That's why I just assumed, what with your name and all..." Stevens
said awkwardly as they waited for the elevator. "I expected them to
send a Puerto Rican."

"I'm Mexican, actually," Reyes said calmly. She smiled to show him
she took no offense at his assumption.

Her smile had its desired effect, and by the time they'd arrived at
the lowest level Stevens stopped worrying about his faux pas and
instead was grateful to have lucked into a valuable resource. He
could see she would be a natural in a hostage situation.



CHAPTER TWO

9:40 a.m. 25,000 feet above Baltimore

John had finally started dozing when he awoke with a start.

"Don't nobody move!" an angry male voice yelled.

From his slunk-down position in his seat, John could barely make out
the events going on toward the front of the plane. A tall man with
jet-black hair in a short crew cut had a plastic utensil at the
throat of a female flight attendant. For emphasis, he moved the
utensil a few millimeters, drawing a thin red line on the woman's
neck. A bead of blood bubbled up then oozed downward toward her
starched white collar. The woman's eyes bugged out, and she looked
around at the passengers' horrified faces. When she saw Doggett's
steely blue eyes, she seemed heartened, and arched an eyebrow as a
signal.

The question was, signalling what?

 9:41 a.m. Ronald Reagan National Airport, Washington, D.C.

Reyes and Stevens walked through a thick doorway to find dozens of
FBI agents, fire fighters, and airport security guards gathered in a
large room, their arms and legs self-conciously draped over chairs
and tables, affecting a level of ease none of them felt. Each time an
arm draped over a chair back or a pair of legs crossed, a competitive
wave of limb-draping and leg-crossing ensued, until the room looked
more like doctor's waiting room than a situation room. The anxious
men at the front understood it all too well. Seasoned veterans of
anxious moments, they had done the same thing themselves when they
were younger. They took turns droning out their instructions with
every confidence that their people were paying close attention.
Everyone knew that this was no drill.

But the draped arms and crossed legs immediately undraped and
uncrossed as an airport official walked across the front of the room,
whispered to the special agent in charge, then went back the way he
came without taking notice of any of the other men and women in the
room.

"Okay, this is it, people," the agent announced. "We have a
situation." The room went completely quiet, and even the air
circulation system seemed to be hanging on the man's words.

"A flight from Los Angeles has been hijacked," he said gravely. All
lungs in the room gasped as one, but one pair of lungs gasped
especially loudly. "They are demanding money, an interview with Matt
Lauer, and a new plane."

All lungs in the room exhaled just as sharply as they'd gasped, and
all minds shared the same thought: Thank God it's just an
old-fashioned hijacking.

"If you're part of the negotiations team, follow Agent Diaz," he
nodded toward a serious-looking man to his left, and the man nodded
his acknowledgement. Stevens stood to the leader's right, scanning
the room. His eye landed on Reyes, and when he was sure she'd
noticed, he nodded to her to follow the team.

Reyes made her way through the groups that were forming according to
orders barked out by the various team leaders. In her group's room
several men and women in jumpsuits were running wires to a main desk
and setting up a dizzying array of electronic equipment.

"You!" Diaz challenged Reyes. "Who are you?"

After she'd flashed her badge, explained her exchange with Stevens,
and said a few pleasantries in flawless Spanish, Diaz hmphed and
assigned her to a post. "Stay here," he ordered gruffly. "We're
wiring this listening station to pick up conversations at the gate.
We suspect there are collaborators here already, waiting to meet the
plane."

Reyes nodded and put the headset on. She pulled a notepad from her
bag and dutifully held a pen over it, ready to note anything unusual.
She silently prayed for something worthwhile to come over the
headset, if only to take her mind off the horrible possibility that
the plane could be John's. And even if it wasn't his, what were the
chances of his being "on time" now?

************ 9:43 a.m. 25,000 feet above Laurel, Maryland

Doggett sat motionless in his seat, but his eyes darted everywhere
until he saw the hijacker looking at him. He grinned sheepishly, then
looked down, hoping he would look like a frightened passenger and not
an armed agent looking for an opportunity.

"You!" the man shouted at him. "Get over here." He nodded to an empty
seat near the emergency door.

Doggett obeyed, carefully keeping the bulge of his gun holster hidden
from the hijacker's view. "Now what?" he asked as tremulously as
possible.

"Sit!" the man ordered. "Just stay there until we land."

The whole cabin, including John, heaved a sigh of relief. We're
landing, he thought. There's hope.

The hijacker forced the woman to the intercom with him, then he
picked up the microphone. "Stay calm and nobody gets hurt. This isn't
about you."

As he spoke, traces of a Spanish accent became stronger, and John
heaved an even bigger sigh of relief. His Spanish wasn't good, but it
was better than his non-existent Arabic. He might be able to help
resolve this after all.

**************

9:44 a.m. Ronald Reagan National Airport, Washington, D.C.

Her brow furrowed with intense concentration, Monica listened at her
post, but could pick out nothing but the worried dialogue of loved
ones seeking information about the flight. Even if she didn't have a
loved one herself on this flight, their worried words would have
tugged at her heart. But under the circumstances, it was all she
could do to keep her own tears at bay. But for John's sake, and the
sake of the other passengers, she did her best.

"Anything?" Diaz asked, startling her.

She shook her head grimly. "Just families and friends. Worried talk,
people trying to figure out what's going on..."

"As are we, Agent Reyes," Diaz said. "We haven't heard from them
since they first took over the plane.

"My partner's on that plane," she blurted out. "Well, my ex-partner."

Diaz scrutinized her face for a moment then asked, "Is he armed?"

"Probably," she nodded.

"Is he trained for this kind of thing?" Diaz' words seemed innocuous
enough, but Reyes could see him making calculations behind his ebony
eyes.

"No, but before he joined the bureau he was in the New York P.D., and
before that the Marines. He has good instincts," she concluded. "I'd
trust him with my life."

"Stay here," he ordered, then turned to leave.

"Sir?" Reyes pleaded. "I'd rather be in the terminal if you don't
mind. I can pick up more with body language than just listening
here."

Diaz turned to face her, still calculating, maybe always calculating.
"Okay. You have a cell phone?" She nodded and pulled her phone from
her purse for emphasis. "Good," he said. He scanned the room, his
eyes settling on each person briefly until they landed on one man who
was sighing and looking at his watch. "Follow me," he ordered.

"Agent Reyes," he said, introducing Monica to her temporary partner.
"This is Officer Baez. He'll be your contact." And with that, Diaz
wheeled in the opposite direction and walked purposefully toward the
front of the situation room, his head turning from side to side as he
checked on his people.

Reyes smiled awkwardly at Baez. "Hi," she said breathily. "This isn't
my usual assignment," she apologized.

"It's not like it happens every day," Baez assured her, but she could
tell he was a little nervous too.

They exchanged cell phone numbers and made their plans. She would
stay in the terminal, acting the part of a worried loved one, and
report any suspicious activities to him.

In the elevator a lone tear escaped down her cheek as Reyes let down
her guard for the last time that day.



 CHAPTER THREE

9:45 a.m. 15,000 feet above the Potomac River

Doggett sat at his "post," next to the emergency exit at the front of
the cheap seats, his mind running through a dozen scenarios, listing
his options, mentally rehearsing his moves, all the while keeping an
ear out for sounds of trouble.

"YOU!" the man shouted, his eyes focused on the rearmost seats. "Quit
your talking!"

Doggett looked over his seat to see three men looking up from a
huddle. Uh-oh, he thought. Citizen heroes. They meant well, but they
didn't have his training. He'd have to act fast if they tried
something stupid.

"Don't get any ideas," the man barked, this time addressing the whole
cabin. He pulled something that looked like a cell phone, or maybe a
remote control, from his pocket. "There's a bomb in the cargo hold.
One move and I detonate.  Comprende?"

The passengers' faces, even the African-Americans' faces, blanched
and became very contrite. Doggett hoped it was a bluff, but even if
it wasn't, this changed everything.

************

9:46 a.m. Ronald Reagan National Airport, Gate 46

Monica glanced at the update posted next to the door: DELAYED

She sighed, and gave her worries permission to line her face. Like
the others at the gate, she could see that the weather was clear,
other flights seemed to be landing at a fast clip, and the other
terminals seemed to be buzzing with activity. "Why is it delayed?"
she could hear someone demanding of the airline employee at the door.

"Are you there?" she said into her phone.

"Here, Monica," Baez answered. "Anything?"

"Just confusion, anger, boredom... the usual terminal behaviors," she
sighed.

He chuckled. "Well, go ahead and get pissed if it helps any," he
advised.

"Thanks," she smiled. "I'll do my best."

To her left a plane was disembarking, and she absently watched the
arrival behaviors. Hugs. Kisses. Limo drivers holding cards with
names... But at the end of the group she saw five dark-haired
olive-skinned men, all pulling identical rolling suitcases. There was
something wrong with those suitcases, Reyes realized. They rolled too
easily.

"Javier," she whispered into the phone. "Get me Diaz."

************

9:48 a.m. 5,000 feet above the Potomac River

"Attention passengers," the only male flight attendant on board said
into the intercom. "We will be landing in a few minutes. Please note
that the pilot has activated the seat belt signs. Please stay in your
seats until the plane has landed safely and has arrived at the
terminal."

A few passengers chortled at the irony of this scripted message, and
the attendant blushed, then took his seat.

As the plane made its final descent, the hijacker stood with his back
to the cockpit door, his weapon still at the woman's neck, and his
other hand in his pocket, presumably with one finger on the button of
his remote control.

The descent was steeper than usual, making Doggett's stomach leap
into his throat. This can't be good, he thought...

************

9:50 a.m. Ronald Reagan National Airport, Gate 47

Monica spoke into her phone as she wandered in a seemingly random
pattern, a pattern that put her behind the men who had caught her
attention. But she was disappointed to hear no words pass between
them. And even when they took turns watching each others' bags as
each went into the men's room, none of the men said a word. Monica
leaned against a wall and stared at the nearby clock. "No, I haven't
heard a thing. The airline employees won't say anything."

"Where are you now, Monica?" Baez asked.

She sighed in exaggerated boredom. "I'm just standing here watching
the clock next to Gate 46, where the plane is supposed to land..
eventually. The sign a the gate just says DELAYED, but I think it's
still going to..."

Baez cut her off. "You can't tell me what is going on?"

"That's right," she said. "I've told you all I know."

"Someone's there? Listening?" he asked excitedly.

"Seems like it," she said. "Although they haven't said a word. But I
know something's up." She glanced at the group of men, and one of
them took notice of her. She smiled her fellow-traveler smile then
looked again at the clock. "It's due in ten minutes. I don't know how
they know it'll be delayed."

"Small talk?" Baez asked.

"Yep," Monica answered. "That's all I can do."

"Diaz is on his way with an undercover team," Baez whispered,
although of course there was no need to.

"I can't wait to see him," Monica whined, her high-pitched voice
sounding every bit the anxious lover. Not a big stretch for her.

"Hang on. He should be there any minute."

Monica sighed loudly enough for the whole terminal to hear her, then
started wandering aimlessly toward the main concourse. "Okay," she
whispered. I'm looking for him.

She described what she'd seen to Baez, and she could hear him
repeating it to someone close to him. "Those suitcases are empty. I'd
put money on that," she concluded.

************

9:53 a.m. 500 feet above the Potomac River

As they continued their descent toward the airport, Doggett glanced
out the window. The Potomac River would be icy cold this time of
year, he reasoned. It would take mere minutes for hypothermia to set
in...

"You," the hijacker said, nodding in Doggett's direction. "Open the
door."

Doggett's eyebrows said "Excuse me?!?!" but his mouth was agape.

"You heard me!" the hijacker shouted.

Doggett crossed his arms and stared into the determined eyes of the
flight attendant. She shook her head in the tiniest of movements,
telling Doggett to obey.

"Open the damn door!" the hijacker repeated.

"No! Don't!" the flight attendant shouted. The hijacker's weapon
scraped against her throat, making a second, deeper and bloodier,
cut. She started to struggle against her captor, and with each
movement, the cut got deeper.

The male flight attendant, seeing this, shouted, "Monica! Don't!!!"

Monica?!?! Doggett realized. Her name is Monica?!?! As if on
automatic pilot, his hand released the seat belt and in a graceful,
seamless movement he rushed the hijacker.

The hijacker shoved Monica the flight attendant to one side then
aimed his weapon for Doggett's throat. Doggett flew into him with a
flawless tackle, pinning him against the bulkhead despite the force
of the weapon as it thrust into his neck.



CHAPTER FOUR

10:00 a.m. Ronald Reagan National Airport, Gate 46

Monica put her cell phone in her pocket, then stepped carefully
around the suspicious group and bent over the drinking fountain near
the men's room. From this position she should be able to keep an eye
on the men for a few minutes, she reckoned. But she reckoned wrong...

Two strong arms grasped her by the waist and pulled her away from the
fountain, the force of the jolt forcing a spray of water from her
mouth. She started to struggle then felt something in her back.
"Don't move, bitch. Or you die," a low voice rasped into her ear.

Water continued dribbling down her chin as her attacker dragged her
backward. Please don't let him find my gun, she prayed silently. And
as if in answer to her prayers, the man spun her around and held her
from the other side. She had a chance, she thought, but with
everything happening so fast she wasn't sure what she would have a
chance to do.

From the corner of her eye she saw the reason for the men's sudden
action. Diaz, flanked by Stevens and a man she didn't recognize, was
approaching the group with quick, deliberate steps.

"Stop right there!" the group's leader ordered. The three others each
drew guns and waved them threateningly. "We have a hostage," the
leader continued. The man holding Reyes forced her forward roughly.
"And our plane is here. Where's our money?" The men waving guns
pushed the luggage carts forward.

"It's not here yet," Diaz said calmly. "You've asked for quite a
lot."

"And where's Matt Lauer?" one of the three henchmen demanded.

"He's not available. He sends his regrets," Diaz replied in the same
even tone. "We had no way of contacting you..."

"Enough!" the leader shouted. "Get these people out of here," he
waved around at the frightened crowd.

A security team appeared within minutes, and the area around the
gates, which occupied a cul-de-sac wing of the terminal.

"We'll do as you ask," Diaz said. "See? We've already started. You
don't need to keep a hostage."

"Very funny," the leader sneered. He glanced out the window, then
whirled angrily. "Where's the plane?"

"On the runway. We're leaving it there until you're ready to board
it," Stevens said, never raising his voice, his eyes planted on the
leaders' eyes.

Diaz glanced at Stevens then added, "Your plane is here, and there
are over fifty hostages there. You don't need to take one here. Let
her go."

Reyes could feel the leader's grip tightening, and then he said the
words that changed everything: "We don't want that plane. That plane
has a bomb on it. We want a new one."

************

10:05 a.m. Ronald Reagan National Airport, Runway 5

Doggett kept the man pinned against the bulkhead as the plane had
jolted to a stop, and continued holding him there even though he
could feel his blood pressure dropping. But the flight attendants and
the rest of the passengers remained pinned to their seats, their eyes
on the remote the hijacker held above his head. His fingers wrapped
around it, and his thumb waved over a red button.

The weight of Doggett and the hijacker trapped the pilots behind
their door, but Doggett could hear their conversation with the
negotiation team. He suspected the hijacker could too.

The plane taxied to a stop in the middle of the far runway. The pilot
cut the engines, leaving the cabin eerily silent. Doggett could feel
his shirt soaking through with the blood oozing from his neck wound.
The weapon was still in his neck, the hijacker's hand still on the
handle, as Doggett held stock-still. The hijacker held still as well,
watching the flight attendants watching him warily.

He continued holding his device over his head, and shouted, "Nobody
move! You're not going nowhere until we get what we want!"

We??? thought John, just before he lost consciousness.

************

10:06 a.m. Ronald Reagan National Airport, Gate 46

"We're getting you a new plane, and the money's on the way," Diaz
said. "You have your hostage here. No need to keep all those
passengers too." Diaz' face softened, and he pled, "At least let the
women and children go..."

Reyes' captor shook her and demanded, "You got a cell phone?"

She nodded, suspecting it had been the reason they'd chosen her in
the first place. As if to confirm her suspicion, he slipped a hand
into her pocket and withdrew it. He held it out to her and ordered.
"Call him." He told her the numbers and she dutifully punched them
in.

************

10:07 a.m. Ronald Reagan National Airport, Runway 5

Fifty spines straightened as a cell phone rang out. The hijacker put
the remote he was holding to his ear and said, "Yes..."

"It's a bluff!" Doggett's strained voice yelled out. "There's no
bomb!"

************

10:07 a.m. Ronald Reagan National Airport, Gate 46

At the sound of Doggett's voice Monica's eyes widened in fright, then
narrowed again with professional determination. Diaz and Stevens took
note but remained impassive.

Reyes' muscles tensed slightly, and her captor squeezed harder. "Tell
him we are in the terminal..."

"They say they're in the terminal," Reyes said tremulously, although
she was inwardly mustering her emotional forces for the fight she
planned.

She could hear some scrambling on the other end, then John's voice
came through the phone. "Who's there?" he demanded.

"I'm just telling you what they tell me to tell you. What is your
message for them?" she asked innocently, her eyes on Diaz. The men at
either side of Diaz and Stevens stood at ease in the military sense
only. She could tell they were ready for whatever might happen next.

She surreptitiously glanced at the other terrorists, and was relieved
to see that they were standing guard in a semicircle around their
leader, their backs to her. The leader jabbed the gun deeper into her
ribs, then nodded toward the gate and yelled "Open that door!"

As soon as she sensed his eyes were elsewhere, Monica mouthed to
Diaz, whose eyes had never left hers, "Three.... Two.... One!"

 CHAPTER FIVE

10:08 a.m. Ronald Reagan National Airport, Runway 5

After wrestling the cell phone away from the hijacker, Doggett's last
words before passing out were "Who's there?" He slumped against the
cockpit door, letting the cell phone fall to the floor.

The passengers, angered that they had been duped into thinking a
common cell phone could detonate a bomb, wrestled the hijacker the
rest of the way to the floor and hog-tied him with whatever they
could find.

Monica the flight attendant picked up the phone and listened as she
heard, "Open that door!"

************

10:08 a.m. Ronald Reagan National Airport, Gate 46

On the count of one, Monica raised one foot, then stomped it as hard
as she could on the terrorist's instep. She took the next standard
self-defense move,

turning away from him and reaching for her gun. But she'd made one
miscalculation.

She felt a heavy blow to her back and knew instantly she'd been shot.

As she fell to the floor she could hear the popping sounds of
ricocheting bullets. She lost consciousness with the thought that
perhaps she'd been successful.

************

10:09 a.m. Ronald Reagan National Airport, Runway 5

"Hello?... HELLO!!!" Monica the flight attendant shouted into the
phone, but all she could hear was the popping sound that under other
circumstances would have sounded like firecrackers.

She moved aside as one of the pilots opened the door, pushing
against the lifeless weight of Doggett's crumpled body.

"Oh geez..." he said, then took in the rest of the scene and returned
to the

cockpit.

************

10:09 a.m. Ronald Reagan National Airport, Gate 46

When the smoke had cleared, Diaz took stock. The terrorists all lay
on the ground, twitching. Whether they were twitching from fear or
from post-mortem nerve activity was irrelevant to him. Their part of
the situation seemed to be over. He reached for the phone, still in
Monica's hand, and put a finger of his other hand to her jugular.

************

EPILOGUE

11:59 p.m. Washington General Hospital Intensive Care Unit

Everything seemed awash in a swirling blur of fabric and metal that
dissolved into clouds, which dissolved into an underwater wonderland,
which dissolved back into fabric and metal swirls.

"Hi," a voice said from the other side of three yards of cotton and
in a tin foil room. "I heard you were awake..."

That groan, whose was it? Ohhhh... it was mine.... Eyes... open ...
your.... eyes....

"John?" she whispered.

"Over here," he said, reaching over the bed rail to turn her face
toward his.

She smiled. It hurt to smile. It hurt everywhere when she smiled,
from her lips to her feet, but she couldn't help herself. "John..."
she sighed, her voice trailing off to a comfortable nothingness
sealed by another smile.

"Remember me?" he joked. It hurt to smile. His neck... the
stitches... the bandage... His smiles pulled them in all the wrong
ways. But he couldn't help himself. "We had a date for New Year's
Eve."

"What time is it?" she asked. "Did I make it?"

"You made it. It's eleven fifty-nine," he whispered. It hurt to lean
over her bed but not nearly as much as it hurt not to. So he leaned
further and whispered, "Just in time for..."

He was interruped briefly by a few voices in the hall saying "Happy
New Year," then he continued, leaning even further over her bed,
saying, "Just in time... for... this..." Careful not to pull any of
her tubes loose, he let his lips graze hers for a tentative kiss,
then rounded them into a more possessive, more passionate kiss as her
lips begged for more. He pulled back, careful again not to injure
her, and said, "Happy New Year."

THE END