John Nance - Headwind

She raised her hand. “Now you’re playing my song.”

He laughed easily, aware of how very relaxed he felt in her presence. “I am at that.” He looked at his watch. “Sherry, I think…”

She was already getting to her feet and reaching out to take his hand in what began as a perfunctory handshake and became something else when he reached for her other hand, holding both of them, their eyes meeting for a few seconds.

Reluctantly, he let go of her hands to punch the elevator button. The doors opened almost immediately, and they walked in a little awkwardly, Jay bidding her good night on the second floor as he continued to the third and his room, his thoughts temporarily sidetracked from matters of law and treaties.

And, for some reason he couldn’t pinpoint, all efforts to find a mental image of Linda back in Laramie were failing, as was his usually well-tuned capacity for guilt when he thought about Karen.

For the first time since his wife’s death, the familiar, gut-wrenching pain that hit him every time he thought about her had disappeared. In its place was a simple, sweet sadness. Why? Maybe he was just too tired, or too wrapped up in the problem at hand. Or maybe he was ready to take the advice he’d been so tired of hearing, that it was time to get on with his life.

Jay put his suit on a hanger, pulled off the rest of his clothes, and brushed his teeth before falling into bed. He was sleepily luxuriating in the feel of the sheets when he remembered he had one final item of unfinished business to complete.

He forced himself back up, sitting naked sideways on the bed as he pulled out a Dublin phone book and looked for hotel listings.

None of the names jumped out at him.

He called the night clerk at the front desk.

“I need to know which Dublin hotel is the best, most plush, most expensive, and best thought of in Ireland.”

“Good heavens, sir, you’re not happy with us then?”

He laughed as he rubbed his eyes. “No, no, no! I’ve got to locate someone who would only look for the most expensive lodging. This is a lovely hotel.”

“Well that’s a relief, that is. You have to be talking about the Shelbourne Hotel, and it is lovely. Is your friend American?”

“British.”

“Oh, then most certainly he’d be there. Hang on and I’ll ring them.”

When the Shelbourne’s operator answered, Jay asked for Stuart Campbell’s room, unsurprised when there was no hesitation. An unfamiliar voice answered and he could hear more voices in the background, a fact that instantly reignited the earlier gnawing feeling that he was shirking his duties to be considering sleep.

“This is Stuart Campbell.”

“Jay Reinhart, Sir William.”

“Ah, yes! Mr. Reinhart. Some impressive footwork tonight, eh?”

“Look, we’re both preparing for battle, but I have one official notification I must give you. Actually, two.”

“Go ahead.”

“First, I formally request that you notify me immediately if you in any way arrange contact with a judge regarding any aspect of this matter, and certainly I demand to be present at any hearing, formal or informal, concerning the same, and I’ll pass you both my cellular GSM number and the hotel I’m in.”

“Of course, Mr. Reinhart. There was never any question of that. I shall notify you in accordance with the rules, have no fear.”

“I have a lot of fear, Sir William, because of the nature of your client, but the other matter is… and I realize neither of us had time to connect in London… but I need a copy of that tape, and I shall object vociferously and loudly in every possible forum if you do not provide me with a copy for advance scrutiny.”

“Actually, I’ve had a little time to consider the matter, and I’m inclined to agree that you should see it. Give me your hotel information and I’ll have a copy delivered tomorrow afternoon or evening.”

“The earlier the better.”

“Mr. Reinhart, the format of the tape is very specialized, and it takes special equipment to dub it. I have a camera that can play it, but I’m not sure I can dub tapes with it. However, I’m confident you shall have a copy by tomorrow evening at the latest. Shall we say in standard VHS format?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Burning the midnight oil there, too, are you?”

Jay hesitated, irritation fighting guilt over the truth of the answer. “Absolutely. Goes with the territory.”

“Indeed. Well, good night to you, such as it is.”

Jay replaced the receiver carefully, replaying the words in his mind and searching for second and third levels of meaning. Perhaps he should stay up and study, but study what? It all came down to what was on that tape, and until he could view it for himself, all he could do was let Garrity and the as yet unseen solicitor take the lead. Besides, he needed the physical strength and renewed mental energy a few hours’ sleep would give him.

He set the nightstand alarm for 6 A.M. and turned out the light, falling asleep almost instantly.

The Aer Lingus agent handed a set of tickets over the counter and motioned to Jay, who was next in line.

“I understand you still have seats available on the nonstop to New York at ten?” Jay asked.

“Yes, sir, I believe we do. I’ll check. Just a moment.”

The agent pecked away at her computer keyboard for nearly a minute before looking back up at him. “Yes, we have seats in both coach and first class.”

“I’ll need two tickets, one way, first-class, please.”

“Your name, please?”

“J. Harris,” Jay said.

More pecking.

“Very good, Mr. Harris, and I’ll need to see your passport and a credit card.”

Jay handed over the credit card before turning to catch Sherry’s eye where she stood by the terminal entrance. She nodded and disappeared for nearly a minute, returning with the President in tow. They came up quietly by Jay’s side.

“They need your passports,” Jay said.

Harris smiled as he and Sherry handed over the blue-cover American passports, and all three watched as the agent flipped them open before looking up with an unreadable smile.

“Just a moment, please. I’ll be back straightaway.” She left the counter area, which was in the middle of the terminal floor, and entered a door off to one side.

“Oh, boy,” Jay muttered.

“I know. She took my passport with her,” John Harris said.

The agent emerged a minute later with a man trailing her. She resumed her position behind the counter as he circled around the front to where they were standing, and handed back the President’s passport.

“Good morning. I’m Richard Lacey, the station manager,” he began, his eyes darting nervously from John Harris to Jay Reinhart to Sherry and back. “Would you be good enough to come with me for a moment?”

“Mr. Lacey,” Jay said, “we’re trying to complete a transaction here and get on a flight. What’s wrong?”

“I’d… appreciate it if you would follow me,” Lacey said, ushering them away from the counter and through a series of doors to a small conference room.

“What’s this about?” John Harris asked when they’d shut the door behind them.

“Please, have a seat, sir.”

“I’m not interested in sitting, Mr. Lacey,” Harris said. “I am interested in getting on your flight.”

“I know that, Mr. President,” Lacey replied, his eyes on the table as he took a deep breath.

“All right,” Jay began, stepping forward. “If you know who President Harris is, then you’ve got a specific purpose in pulling us off the floor. What is it?”