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gotta go. I’m just coming up to National right now, and I gotta make some more calls before I get out of the car.”
    “Is Malone coming?”
    “Yeah, she’s coming, but you’re engaged.”
    “I was just asking, Louis. You got something going with her?”
    “No, I don’t. But she does. Have something going. I gotta hang up. See you in Houston.”
     
    WEATHER WOULD BE UPSET , Lucas thought, looking back at the construction project. The house was only halfway done and needed constant supervision. The wedding planning was completely disorganized, and needed somebody to stay on top of it. Finally, there was a political pie-fight going on at City Hall, as a half-dozen candidates jockeyed for position in the Democratic primary for mayor. The political ramifications of the fight were severe—the chief was already dead meat, her job gone. Lucas, as a political deputy-chief, was on his way out with the chief. But with a little careful maneuvering, they might be able to leave the department in the hands of friends.
    He could leave the politics, though—the chief was a lot better at it than he was. The real problem was Weather. Weather was a surgeon, a maxillofacial resident at Hennepin General. She and Lucas had circled each other for years, had had one wedding fall through. Lucas loved her dearly, but worried that the relationship might still be fragile. To leave her now, five months into the pregnancy…
    Weather’s secretary answered at Hennepin General. “Lucas? A patient just went in.”
    “Grab her, will you? I’ve got to talk to her right now,” Lucas said. “It’s pretty serious.”
    Weather came on a second later, showing a little stress. “Are you all right?”
    “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
    She was exasperated. “Lucas, when you call like this, and you say it’s important, and you’ve got to talk to me right away, tell Carol, ‘I’m not hurt, but it’s important.’ That’ll keep me from an early coronary. Okay?”
    Lucas sighed. “Yeah, sure.”
    “So what’s going on?” she asked. She was looking at her watch, Lucas thought.
    “Mallard called….” He told her the story in thirty seconds, then listened to four seconds of dead silence, and opened his mouth to say, “Well?” or apologize, or something, but didn’t quite get there.
    “Thank God,” she blurted. “You’re driving me crazy. You’re driving the entire construction company crazy. If you’ll just get out of the country for a few days, I could finish the wedding plans and maybe the builders could get some work done.”
    “Hey…” He was offended, but she paid no attention. She said, “Go to Cancún. God bless you. Call me every night. Remember: Flying is the safest way to travel. Have a couple martinis. Or better yet, there’s some Valium in my medicine cabinet. Take a couple of those.”
    “You’re sure you don’t—”
    “I’m sure. Go.”
    “You’re sure.”
    “Go. Go.”

3
    THE TRIP TO HOUSTON WAS THE USUAL nightmare, with Lucas hunched in a business-class seat, ready to brace his feet against the forward bulkhead when the impact came. Not that bracing would save him. In his mind’s eye, he could clearly see the razor-sharp aviation aluminum slicing through the cabin, dismembering everybody and everything in its path. Then the fire, trying to crawl, legs missing, toward the exit…
    He’d talked to a shrink about it. The shrink, an ex–military guy, suggested three martinis or a couple of tranquilizers, or not flying. He added that Lucas had control issues, and when Lucas asked, “Control issues? You mean, like I don’t wanna die in an airplane crash?” the shrink—who’d had three martinis himself—said, “I mean, you wanna tell people how to tie their shoes, because you know how to do it better, and that means you don’t want somebody else to fly you in an airplane.”
    “Then how come I’m not scared of helicopters?” The shrink shrugged. “Because you’re nuts.”
     
    IN ANY CASE , the