He stared at her in silence for a few seconds before laughing and shaking his head. “You’re a born litigator, Gracie. Just like me. You’d negotiate with God for a better deal at the very moment he was holding open the pearly gates for you.”
“Then, I can have the time?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No, sir.”
“Then go. See you back here at the end of four weeks.”
She stood and shook his hand. “And… I assume you’ll have the velvet handcuffs waiting?”
“Absolutely. You just think you’re ever leaving these offices again.”
General Mac MacAdams settled into one of the huge, leather wingback chairs facing each other in front of a roaring fire in his den and lit the cigar he’d just selected from a small humidor. A snifter of his best cognac sat on a side table. He glanced around at the warmth he knew was reflected throughout the stately home built as the commanding general’s quarters by the Army Air Corps at Elmendorf Air Force Base a half century before, and sat back, enjoying the aroma of the Indian Tabac Churchill.
“This is a fine cigar, even if it does have a somewhat politically suspect cigar band,” a male voice intoned from the recesses of the other wingback chair.
Mac turned to the visitor. “You know, don’t you, that I’m going to need your services for at least another year or two?”
“I expected that,” the other man replied. “What with all the civilian airliner installations you have to complete, as well as those in the military fleet. I figure you’ll have to ride herd on Uniwave for some time. The little mafia-style muscle they put on Captain Rosen is just a small example. Chairman Martin is a loose cannon on a rolling deck.”
“A bit harsh,” Mac replied. “What was the final word on that, by the way?”
There was a laugh from the other chair. “Frustrated ex-CIA covert-ops guy named Todd Jenkins decided to solve our problem by threatening Captain Rosen. Even put a bullet through his car for emphasis.”
“Martin ordered that?” Mac asked.
“No, no! It’s the Thomas Beckett syndrome. Jenkins knew that Will Martin was upset by the Rosens’ trying to defend themselves, so he figured that’s what the king wanted. He’s now enjoying an early retirement.”
Mac remained silent and took another long puff on his cigar and turned his head toward the man. “You need a light for that cigar, Colonel, or are you just wanting to get acquainted with it better?”
“Would it offend you if I smoked it later out by the lake?”
“Which lake?”
“Any lake. We have a bunch up here.”
“Of course not. You’re welcome to take it with you.”
The other man raised his glass and drained the last drops of the cognac, a broad smile on his face. “Top quality, Mac. I’m thankful I never fell into alcoholism. I’d hate to miss such a smooth, silky taste.”
“You know, I could still try to get you on a fast track to brigadier general,” Mac said.
The Air Force colonel chuckled, shaking his head. “Please, not that! They forced me to be a full colonel, Mac, even though I’ve spent my entire career hiding out in the intelligence community so I wouldn’t have to wear a uniform. I don’t want to wear stars. I just want to be where I can see them at night. Which is right here in Alaska.”
“You said you were going to take a month or two off. You taking a vacation?”
“No. Going home. There’s someone I need to see, and she’s been without me for too long, although she may not share that opinion.”
“Where is she?” Mac asked. “In Fairbanks? Seattle?”
There was the sound of rustling leather to the side of Mac’s chair, as the visitor rose to his feet and turned toward Mac.
“No, Mac. Kotzebue. She’s gone back to our home village to teach.”
“Way up there?”
“You forget, General. Underneath this covert-ops exterior, I’m also a stealth Inupiat.” Nelson Oolokvit smiled broadly as he shook Mac’s hand. “Thanks again for the dinner and the hospitality.”
When the front door to the MacAdams’s base home had closed behind him, Nelson walked to his car and paused to look up, immensely pleased to see a blazing canopy of stars twinkling overhead in the crisp air of a crystal-clear night. He checked his watch. In a few hours, Ben Cole would be arriving home on a late-night Alaska flight from a week-long cruise vacation. Nelson had agreed to meet him curbside, bringing along with him a large, bossy, and sometimes irritable feline named Schroedinger, who’d been his houseguest while Ben was gone.
And Old Man Schroedinger would be looking for his dinner.
About the Author
John J. Nance is the author of thirteen novels whose suspenseful storylines and authentic aviation details have led Publishers Weekly to call him the “king of the modern-day aviation thriller.” Two of his novels, Pandora’s Clock and Medusa’s Child, were made into television miniseries. He is well known to television viewers as the aviation analyst for ABC News. As a decorated air force pilot who served in Vietnam and Operation Desert Storm and a veteran commercial airline pilot, he has logged over fourteen thousand hours of flight time and piloted a wide variety of jet, turboprop, and private aircraft. Nance is also a licensed attorney and the author of seven nonfiction books, including On Shaky Ground: America’s Earthquake Alert and Why Hospitals Should Fly, which, in 2009, won the American College of Healthcare Executives James A. Hamilton Award for book of the year. Visit him online at www.johnnanceassociates.com