“Captain, I can’t discuss anything more over the phone. Maybe I could come down there and talk to you in Seattle or something, but I simply can’t say more right now. I could be in desperate trouble for even calling you, but my conscience won’t let me ignore this.”
“Were you the other pilot?” Arlie asked, rubbing his eyes.
“No, sir. I’m not a pilot. I just know… there was another aircraft in the vicinity. I’m only assuming you touched.”
Gracie was gesturing to him across the room and mouthing something.
“Hold… hold on, Dr. Cole,” Arlie said, putting his hand over the mouthpiece as Gracie did the same.
“We could have April hook up with him up there!” Gracie said in a stage whisper.
Arlie shook his head vigorously. “No.” He returned to the line. “Dr. Cole, let me have your number, and I’ll call you if we need more. I appreciate your call.”
There was a puzzled hesitation on the other end, and Arlie avoided Gracie’s astounded look as they exchanged phone numbers and disconnected.
“Captain, what on earth are you doing? He could be vital to us.”
“We’re dropping it, Gracie.”
“What?”
“I told you on the phone I want to drop it. You’re going to get in trouble with your firm. You probably shouldn’t even be over here right now.”
Gracie walked to him, her eyes searching his.
“Captain, this isn’t you. I know you care about my circumstances, but this isn’t you to run from a fight.”
Arlie was holding onto the center island of the kitchen with his left hand, and she could see him tighten his grip as he looked at the floor and licked his lips, tense seconds ticking by as Rachel watched in alarm from several feet away. At last he looked at Gracie, his eyes distant and hollow.
“There are… things I can’t tell you, Gracie. But I want you to withdraw the things you’ve filed and just… just wait.”
“But why? Your career hangs in the—”
“Because!” he snapped, instantly raising his left hand and shaking his head in apology. “Because,” he continued, more softly, “I have good reason to believe that if we just hunker down and stop the frontal assault, the FAA will reverse then stance without all the efforts.”
“Who told you that?” Gracie pressed.
He was shaking his head. “I can’t tell you, Gracie.”
She looked at him for the longest time, weighing the question she hadn’t wanted to ask, but compelled to ask it anyway. He was the closest thing to a father she’d had, but she forced that reality aside as she looked at Rachel, amazed that she knew without a word. Rachel nodded and left the kitchen, leaving them alone.
“Captain, I have to ask you something. I… don’t want to, but…”
His face hardened and she heard a disgusted sigh. “Was I drinking, right?”
She nodded in lieu of speaking the words, which wouldn’t come.
“You, of all people, Gracie, doubt me?”
“I’m your lawyer now, and… and I…”
“I don’t think I want to answer you. I’m very hurt that you’d have so little faith in me.”
“Captain, please, I just have to be able to say that I’ve asked the question, you know?”
He stood shaking his head, his eyes on the floor, the tension and resentment killing them both.
“What if I was? You believe I was?”
“No. I mean, that’s the last thing I want to believe, but when a guy who’s had the struggle you’ve had with alcohol buys several fifths of vodka…”
“Everyone just naturally assumes he’s fallen off the wagon. As do you. Stupid of me. Next time I plan to crash, I won’t visit a liquor store.”
She took a deep breath. “I love you, Captain. And I’m sorry. Do you want me to withdraw as your lawyer?”
There was another long, painful pause before he replied, his eyes on the other side of the room. “No,” he said quietly.
“Okay.”
“But by the end of the day Monday, Gracie,” he said, “I’m formally directing you to withdraw whatever you’ve filed.”
THIRTY NINE
SATURDAY, DAY 6 ELMDORF AFB, ALASKA 12 NOON
The cell phone had barely succeeded in ringing when Mac MacAdams yanked it to his ear, momentarily puzzled that there was no one there.
“Oh, yeah,” he mumbled to himself, realizing the electronic ringer that had gone off heralded incoming e-mail messages.
He maneuvered the screen around and grabbed for his reading glasses, spotting the series of numbers he’d expected, and launched himself out of the den chair he’d been in for the past half hour.
“I’m going out for a while, Linda,” he called, aware that his wife had been judiciously steering clear of him all morning.
Mac slid behind the wheel of the restored 1963 Corvair Spyder he’d had since pilot training more than thirty-six years ago and headed off the base into the downtown area. He parked around the block from the Hilton and went inside, zeroing in on one of the pay phones. He dialed a number and waited for an interminable number of rings and clicks before a voice came on the other end.
“Hello?”
“This is… ah…” Mac fumbled with a piece of paper, looking for the code name he was supposed to use. “Ed.”
“Of course it is! So, Ed, are you ready to receive some information?”
“Yeah, after I get an explanation of why you selected ‘Ed’ as my code name.”
He heard a hearty chuckle on the other end. “You remember that old TV show about a talking horse, Mr. Ed? Well, you have a lot of horsepower. It fit.”
“I never knew covert ops could be so much fun.”
“Yes, you did. Anyway… bottom line? You were correct that there was damage to the right winglet. It was discovered late Monday night on a postflight walkaround in the hangar, and it was quietly repaired during the wee hours and the paint touched up the following night.”
“Then, that sonofabitch flight test manager was lying.”
“I don’t think so. I doubt he knew a thing. I decided to target the maintenance lead who was on that night instead of him, and it was a good decision. The guy crumbled under the weight of my badge, so to speak.”
“You have a badge?”
“You’d be surprised what I get to carry.”
“You… didn’t beat the man up or anything, did you?” Mac asked.
“Of course not. I merely made it clear what would happen to him if he ever discussed my visit, and he elected to retain the use and possession of his favorite body appendage.”
“You’re all heart. What did he tell you?”
“It was a towing accident, or so he thought. He’d been threatened with termination before because that very aircraft had been damaged by a poorly trained member of his night crew six months back when they shoved the tail into the back of the hangar. He reported that damage, he told me, but his boss made a huge deal out of it and tried to hang him. He said when he did the walkaround Monday night and saw the ding on the right winglet, he about expired right there.”
“Figured they’d fire him, huh?”
“Exactly. Managers never learn how little it takes to drive people to lie.”
“He didn’t understand it was midair damage?”
“Still doesn’t. He said two of his guys weren’t paying close enough attention as they towed the plane back in and clipped the edge of a parked maintenance stand.”
“Is he sure? Did he inspect the stand?”
“No. He said the stand was gone when he went back out to inspect it, and he spent the next two hours threatening to kill his tow team, then marshaled them all together to work the rest of the night hiding the evidence.”
“And it worked? Well, of course it worked.”