“Absolutely. But this time I’ll be one of the pathetic supplicants waiting outside security with the rest of the unwashed masses. Call me after your Coast Guard rendezvous, will you?”
“I will.”
There was a long pause from Seattle. “It may be important to salvage the Albatross, April, regardless of the expense.”
April nodded before remembering Gracie couldn’t see the gesture. “I know. I have the disturbing feeling that the believability of Dad’s story rests on the broken propeller blade, and if so, we may have no choice.”
Lieutenant Jim Hobbs was waiting just inside Starbucks when April arrived. He joined her in line and insisted on paying before motioning her to the most remote table.
“Why the cloak-and-dagger routine?” April asked, smiling and enjoying the warm, caffeinated aroma of the place.
Hobbs glanced around carefully, satisfied that no one seemed inordinately interested in them. He met her gaze. “Here’s what I can tell you. Yes, there were ships in the area. Yes, our radar out of Valdez did track what was probably your dad’s aircraft. But — and I haven’t seen any readouts or copies of what’s on the radar tapes — I’m told the targets did not intersect. The only other thing I can tell you is that I believe those tapes are in the public domain, but you may need to file a Freedom of Information Act request to get them.”
“They’re stonewalling?”
Jim Hobbs smiled thinly and glanced around, mentally tracking the various people in the store. He turned back to her. “Let’s just say this. Even in the most innocuous situations, the Coast Guard is institutionally nervous about letting civilians see their radar tapes. Second, in this case, there’s way too much official interest in the very same tapes for this to be routine, and before you ask”—he held up a hand to stop the question he saw coming—“I don’t know who’s behind that special interest, but it means I’ll deny that I ever talked to you about it. I was never here.”
“Why are you? Talking to me, I mean?”
He smiled nervously. “Because you’re a damsel in distress, and I’m a sucker for pretty women in need of aid and comfort. I guess that’s why I joined the Coast Guard to begin with. I thought ‘Baywatch’ was an accurate portrayal.”
“Babewatch was in California. This is Alaska.”
“The recruiter lied,” he laughed. “And then I got married,” he said.
By arrangement, April left first, motoring back to the hospital, where her brother and parents were waiting for the trip across town to the airport.
Arlie and Rachel Rosen both refused wheelchairs when they reached the Anchorage airport, but the deep bruises from the crash were forcing Arlie to move with uncharacteristic care as they went through security on the way to the gate, where he insisted on standing in line himself.
“Dad, April tried, “don’t you want to sit? There’s no shame in that. You and Mom went through a terrible ordeal.”
“I’m fine, honey,” he said, forcing a smile to hide the pain he was obviously feeling. A shaft of light from the low-hanging sun on the southern horizon cut through the glass of the terminal and illuminated his face, and April fought a sudden wave of sadness at how old and weathered he looked. She’d always thought of him as indestructible and ageless, a dynamo who held off the effects of aging by simply refusing to participate in the process.
But the orange Alaskan sunlight was telling another story, and she purposely refrained from glancing at her mother for fear the same truths would be reflected there.
“We’ll start looking this weekend for another Albatross,” Arlie Rosen was saying, as much to himself as to April. “It’ll take quite awhile to re-create the interior, but with the insurance, it should be straightforward.”
“How much recuperation did the doctor say you’d need before you get back on the schedule at United, Dad?” April asked.
Arlie snorted and smiled. “The kid doctor was really serious about that. He said maybe a month, but he has no idea what he’s talking about. Pilots are tougher than that. I’ll see my FAA flight doc next Monday and get re-cleared immediately.”
“Dad, you told me yourself you have enough sick leave to probably sit it out until retirement. Why not use it?”
Arlie reached out and placed the palm of his hand on her head, his infectious smile riveting her. “Now, once more April, let’s get this concept down. Repeat after me. Retirement is bad. Retirement is not our friend. Your father does not play well with retired people.”
“You’ve got four years left before—”
He quickly placed his index finger against her lips, shaking his head to expunge any mention of the hated age-sixty mandatory retirement rule. “We don’t use cusswords in this family. ‘Retirement’ is a damn cussword!”
“You just love to fly, don’t you, Dad?” Dean said, joining the exchange.
Arlie smiled and nodded as he snaked an arm around Rachel’s trim waist and pulled her close, bumping, hips. “There are two things I love to do more than anything else in this life. When your mother’s too tired, that leaves flying.”
“When was I ever too tired?” Rachel replied, looking mischievous.
April rolled her eyes at both of them. “You two are embarrassing me again.”
“Yeah,” Dean chimed in. “Me, too, for God’s sake.”
Arlie turned to his wife and winked. “Rachel, what say we start making out right here and really scandalize these two prudes we raised?”
“Dad,” April interjected, “no one says ‘making out’ anymore. And… we need to talk about serious stuff.”
Arlie grinned and patted Rachel’s rear as several other passengers turned to look. “This is serious stuff. That’s why I married her.”
“Dad!” April said through gritted teeth. “Okay, look. Admit it, both of you. I’m adopted, right? I was left by gypsies? Gracie’s got to be your natural child.”
Arlie was still chuckling, but wincing involuntarily from the pain around his ribs as he put a hand on April’s shoulder. “You said we need to talk. What about?”
She filled him in on the profile of the Washington lawyer Gracie had retained with her own money.
“I appreciate that,” Arlie said, “but tell Gracie that nothing’s going to come of that stupid altercation with whatshisname from the FAA.”
“Harrison.”
“Yeah. He’s a bastard, but there’s virtually no evidence I was doing anything wrong, and the NTSB will shoot him down if he tries to allege reckless operation.”
“Gracie’s not so sure.”
“Gracie’s trained to worry about everything, April. It’ll be all right.”
“You’ve never had an FAA violation, have you, Dad?”
He shook his head, looking mildly startled that his daughter would ask such a thing. “Of course not. Good grief. Not even when I was slipping into alcoholism, which was on my off time. Flying drunk was one thing I never, ever did, for many reasons, not the least of which was my number-one basic fear.”
“You have a basic fear?”
He nodded, the smile fading. “Fear of not flying, April. Fear of losing the right to fly,” Arlie said, his face suddenly gray and his words dead serious. “There’s no way… no way… that I could ever take that.”
SIXTEEN
WEDNESDAY, DAY 3 IN FLIGHT LATE AFTERNOON
General Mac MacAdams waved off the offer of a stiff drink and refocused his attention on dialing the secure satellite call he was placing to the Pentagon.
“Would you like a Coke or something then, sir?” the flight steward asked.