Patrick’s two sisters, Nancy and Margaret, still lived in Sacramento and still ran the little Irish pub downtown that had been in the McLanahan family for three generations. After Patrick, Gia, and Brad arrived and were settled in, the five made a visit to the historic family memorial complex at the Old City Cemetery, just six blocks south of the state capitol. So many McLanahans had been buried in the cemetery over the past 150 years that many called it the “McLanahan Cemetery.” For the past fifteen years, the cemetery no longer had room for any more burials, so Patrick’s father, a retired veteran city police sergeant with thirty years wearing a badge, was the last of the McLanahans to be interred there — Patrick’s wife Wendy’s and his brother Paul’s inurnment markers were in the historic family columbarium erected at the cemetery, as were vacant niches for the rest of the family.
Patrick and Brad spent a long time touching Wendy’s marker, as did Margaret and Nancy with Paul’s, with Gia respectfully looking on. Finally, Patrick kissed his wife’s and brother’s markers and patted them reassuringly. “I think it’s so sweet that you decided to keep Wendy here, instead of bringing her to Arlington National Cemetery,” Margaret said as they left the cemetery. “What an honor, for you and her to be laid to rest at such a historic place as Arlington, if you chose.”
“It would be,” Patrick said, “but I wouldn’t be buried anywhere else but here, with the rest of the family. And this place is older and just as historic as Arlington.”
The next morning, Patrick loaded Gia, Brad, and his sisters into the P21 °Centurion, and they flew to Deer Valley Airport near Scottsdale, Arizona. Patrick’s mother, Maureen, lived in an assisted-living facility nearby. Patrick’s arrival became a major event, not only for his mother but also for every resident of the facility. They were invited for dinner with the residents, but Patrick hardly had a chance to eat because everyone wanted their picture taken with and an autograph from the famous aviator and general.
Patrick had registered them in the Scottsdale Princess Hotel using his middle name, Shane, instead of Patrick so they were able to enjoy a much greater level of anonymity as they sat out at the pool bar with drinks. Brad had gone upstairs to watch TV and chat with his friends back home, and Gia was on her way to a twelve-step meeting in Scottsdale. “This is very nice.” Patrick sighed as he settled in with his second Balvenie single-malt Scotch. “The air and the temperature are the same, but Battle Mountain doesn’t have anything as grand as this.”
“Why in the world would you leave Las Vegas for someplace like Battle Mountain?” his sister Nancy asked. “I looked it up: it’s a bump in the interstate, and always has been.”
“I’m there not because of what Battle Mountain is, but because of what it can be, ” Patrick replied. “The base is an incredible facility. It’s over seven thousand acres, with a hundred acres underground .”
“Underground? How is that possible?”
“It’s one of the most incredible engineering feats on the planet,” Patrick said. “We can park B-52 bombers sixty feet underground . But that’s not the best thing about Battle Mountain. It’s centrally located between Salt Lake City, Portland, Reno, Sacramento, Phoenix, San Diego, Las Vegas, Seattle, and Denver, so it has a huge pool of well-educated talent it can draw from for advanced research and development. It has almost unlimited airspace for flying, it has pretty good weather most of the year, and easy access to Air Force and Navy restricted airspace for flight testing. Land and housing are cheap.” He paused for a few moments, adopting his infamous “ten-thousand-yard stare” that even his sisters recognized. “It just needs someone to… to commit to it. It’s ready to contribute, if someone would just commit.”
“What the hell are you babbling about, big brother?” Margaret asked. She giggled. “Or is that just the second Balvenie talking?”
Patrick chuckled, then waved a hand. “I’m just babbling,” he said, taking another sip of whiskey. “It’s all moot anyway. The air base is closing down soon; they’ll probably close down the airfield because the county can’t afford the upkeep, and I’ve been asked to go back to Washington.”
“Really? Doing what?”
“I can’t talk about it yet,” Patrick said. “It’s not even a paid position. But we wanted to keep Brad in school in Battle Mountain to finish with his senior class. Once Brad is off to college, Gia and I will go to Washington.”
“You and Gia,” Nancy said. “Is there a ‘you and Gia,’ Patrick?”
He shrugged. “I hope so,” he said. “Gia’s working through some tough personal problems. By the time we get ready for the move, we should know.” He set his drink down and leaned forward, looking directly at both his sisters. “But I really love her, guys,” he said. “She strong, she’s smart, and—”
“Great in the sack, right?” Margaret interjected.
“I was going to say ‘caring,’ Mugs,” Patrick said. His subcutaneous transceiver beeped, and his intraocular monitor told him it was Brad. He picked up his drink and smiled slyly. “But yeah, she is,” then held up a finger to tell his sisters he was going to take a call. “Hey, big guy.”
“Are you watching TV, Dad?”
“No. I’m down here with—”
“The ex-president — Joseph Gardner — is on TV — and he’s talking about your surveillance operation at Battle Mountain!”
“ What? You’re kidding !”
“He just mentioned you, Dad!” Brad exclaimed. “Hold on… now he’s saying you were ordered by President Phoenix to spy on people around Battle Mountain so he could circumvent the law. That’s nutso!”
“President Phoenix has nothing to do with what we’re doing, Brad,” Patrick said.
“Wait…” He could hear Brad take a sharp increase of air; then: “Dad, he just mentioned those FBI agents ! He said you chased them out of Battle Mountain by threatening their lives!”
“Oh God,” Patrick moaned. “It’s begun…” His transceiver beeped again, and his intraocular monitor simply said “private.” “I have to go, Brad. Talk to you in a few minutes.” He took the second call. “McLanahan.”
“Gardner couldn’t even wait for the morning shows before dropping the next firebomb,” Vice President Ann Page said. “I’ve got a call in to the Justice Department, and they’ll tell us what’s going to happen next. Based on what they’ve already said, you’ll have to shut down your operation, and anyone who was flying those surveillance missions might get in trouble with the FAA. The FBI might confiscate your equipment to see if what you were looking at violated the law. The president will take some major political flak for this.” She paused. “And you’ll probably be indicted by a grand jury and asked to turn yourself in.”
“Fine with me — I’ll be happy to get in front of a judge and tell what happened,” Patrick said. “I’m sorry the president will take some heat, but it’s not his fault at all.” That sentence got Nancy and Margaret’s attention, and they stopped chatting with each other to listen.
“How did this get out, Patrick?” Ann asked.
“I’ve obviously got someone in my group who talked to the press or the FBI,” Patrick said.
“Where are you now?”
“Scottsdale, Arizona.”
“Get back to Battle Mountain right away,” Ann said. “We don’t want it to look like you’re trying to flee.”