The Switch Read Free Page B

parking valets brought their cars around. One of the young men was staring so hard at the two of them, he nearly rear-ended another car.
    As they exchanged goodbyes, Melina made one final pitch. "You're going to regret passing up this opportunity." "Thanks anyway."
    "Gillian, he's a national hero! You'd be spending the evening with him. This could be the best gift I've given you since introducing you to the Miracle Bra."
    "I appreciate the thought."
    "Oh, I get it. You're still pouting."
    "Pouting?"
    "Because I couldn't arrange a meeting between you and Kevin Costner last month. Gillian, I've told you a thousand times that he was on a very tight schedule. There was absolutely no way."
    Laughing, Gillian leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "I'm not pouting. I love you, sis."
    "Love you."
    "Have fun with the astronaut."
    She winked, drawling, "You can bet I'll try."
    "I want details," Gillian called back to her as she climbed into her car. "The nitty-gritty."
    "Promise. I'll call you as soon as I get home."
    A strong wind blew across the desert floor, lifting sand and using it to scour the face of the mountain before scattering it among the scrub brush. At the peak where the air was thinner and cooler, the same wind made castanets of the saffron-colored leaves of aspen trees.
    The compound, situated in the midst of the aspen grove, blended so well into its setting that it was almost invisible to motorists on the highway that snaked across the desert floor miles below. The buildings were constructed of granite that had been handpicked and imported from Scotland. The rivers of color streaking through its basic gray background perfectly matched the dun and ocher and sienna hues of the surrounding landscape.
    The shaded terrace on the third level of the central building served as an outdoor temple for the one presently at prayer. His knees were cushioned by a maroon velvet pillow that was elaborately embroidered. The gold and silver metallic threads glittered in the sunlight that filtered through the trees.
    The cushion had been a gift to him from an admirer. It was said to have been brought from Russia by emigrants at the turn of the last century. A family heirloom, it had been the gift-giver's prized possession, and, as such, a supreme sacrifice, an enormous tribute to the one to whom she had given it.
    His head was bowed. His thick blond hair appeared almost white, silky in texture, angelic. His eyes were closed. His lips formed silent words of supplication. His hands were folded beneath his chin. He seemed the epitome of piety. God-touched. God-blessed. God-sanctioned.
    He wasn't.
    A man wearing a severely tailored dark suit emerged from the wide glass door separating the terrace from the vast room inside. Without making a sound, he approached the man at prayer and laid a sheet of paper beside his kneeling form, tucking the corner of it beneath the velvet cushion to prevent it from being swept away by the wind. Then he withdrew just as noiselessly as he had approached.
    The man at prayer suspended his petitions to the sky, picked up the note, and saw that it had been stamped with the day and time. Today. Less than an hour ago.
    As he read the typed message, a slow smile spread across his handsome features. His long, tapered hands pressed the note against his chest as though its value to him were inestimable. He closed his eyes again. Seemingly enraptured, he angled his face toward the sun.
    He didn't invoke God's name, however. Instead, the name he whispered reverently was "Gillian Lloyd."

CHAPTER 2
    As unobtrusively as possible, Colonel Christopher Hart checked his wristwatch. But apparently he wasn't as subtle as he had hoped to be. George Abbott, one of the men seated across from him, leaned forward. "More coffee? Or maybe something stronger this round?"
    Christopher—or Chief, as he'd been nicknamed by his NASA cohorts—smiled and shook his head. "No, thanks. There's a press conference prior to the banquet tonight. I