“Yes, Mr. Secretary,” replied Mark, holding his trademark Hawaiian shirt in his hand, laughing.
“And don’t get someone else do to it, like Mike Klubb. You, you do it.”
“Wouldn’t even think of Klubby,” replied Mark, grinning, and looking at his watch. “He already home drinking his hot chocolate.”
“Last thing, Savona. I know you call me the ‘Old Man.’ Cut it out,” Cal told him sternly, his face slowly growing into a huge smile.
Much later on that evening, Ford lay awake in his hospital bed alone, reading Ric Edelman’s new book The Truth about Your Future. Ford had been a Ric Edelman fan for years, reading and following the famous financial planner with the national radio show since his dad had introduced Ford to him over twenty years ago.
Ford sat up a bit in his hospital bed, with IV pumping meds into his body still, trying to concentrate over the beeps, tones, and alarms of the hospital floor. He was alone in his private room now and switched his attention between the book, the flurry of nurses walking up and down the hallway outside, and the routine news messages appearing on his smartphone screen.
The vibration from a text message on his phone startled him, unexpected this late at night.
Private caller: i am glad your OK
Who is this at 1:30 a.m.? Ford thought. Grammar is awful.
Ford: Thank you. Who is this?
Private: I watched wille Wonka movie. went to Wegmans and Hersey Park mue zeem
Willie Wonka? Ford whispered to himself. Wegmans Grocery Store?
Ford: Who is this?
Private: u were rite about Netflix. You really can watch anything u want
No response from the private caller on text. A few seconds went by, so Ford continued with his texting.
Ford: Who is this? I don’t know you. You must have the wrong number.
Ten seconds went by, and no further messages appeared, so Ford continued with reading Ric Edelman. A nurse on her rounds stopped in to look at the screen and made a note for the chart at the foot of Ford’s bed.
Private: you looked really sick coming in, but much better now.
Coloring back.
This person must know me. Who is it?
Ford: Your name comes up as private caller. Who is this?
Private: it is me. got to watch new star Wars
Ford: Who is me?
Private: I got to see who won President. I ate a hot dog earlier today. Went to Nationals Cubs game. Got to do all my kick the bucket stuff we talked about.
Ford looked up from his phone and displayed the thousand-yard stare of horror, laser focused at his bathroom doorknob in front of his bed. His expressionless face was frozen, his breathing calm, his mouth gaping open, and his head titled sideways a bit. Is this my medicine? Ford squinted his eyes. The room was quiet, and now the hallway. Only one guy has ever mentioned Wegmans or Willy Wonka to me in my entire life.
Private: like the old days, Ford.
Ford: Look, I’m getting annoyed. I don’t know who this is. You had better stop texting me ASAP.
Private: Ford.
Ford: What??!!?? What the hell do you want?
Another few seconds of silence. The phone vibrated yet again.
Private: Ford.
Geez. This freaking guy. Then Ford noticed strangely his Peanut light was in the green, which meant whoever this was had the encryption software on their own phone.
Ford: Last time, guy. Then I block you. Stop.
Private: Jojo Rising, my friend.
“Jojo Rising?” Ford mouthed the words quietly.
Just then, a man in his thirties walked into the hospital room and closed the door behind him. Ford could not see who it was at first because his back was turned, as the hospital night-lighting was set on the hospital floor and made it hard to see.
Ford’s eyes squinted and then got bigger by the second. No way. It can’t be.
The man walked over with his face down, limping from a bad leg or knee, and grabbed Ford’s left hand. The Chinese man looked up and smiled at Ford.
Slowly, Ford began to recognize who was in front of him. Ford mumbled slowly, “Oh my, God, Wu. You… you’re… alive?” Ford said quietly and in shock. His eyes welled up.
Ford’s best friend, previously thought dead and buried at Arlington National Cemetery, stood in front of him and held his hand. Captain Wu Lee was, indeed, alive.
APPENDIX
Attention to all who enter here. If you are coming into this room with sorrow or to feel sorry for my wounds, go elsewhere. The wounds I received I got in a job I love, doing it for people I love, supporting the freedom of a country I deeply love. I am incredibly tough and will make a full recovery. What is full? That is the absolute utmost physically my body has the ability to recover. Then I will push that about 20 percent farther through sheer mental tenacity. This room you are about to enter is a room of fun, optimism, and intense rapid regrowth. If you are not prepared for that, go elsewhere.
PERSONAL NOTE
Wu Lee’s health condition was based off my close friend, John, a retired C-130 Delaware Air National Guard pilot and United Airlines pilot.
He was misdiagnosed multiple times, both in Europe and in the United States, and later passed away after fighting terminal pancreatic cancer for only six short months.
I appreciate the tremendous outpouring of support from readers who have related to Wu’s condition since writing The Devil Dragon Pilot. From kids sharing stories about their parents to coworkers sharing stories about their friends, I am happy to have helped bring a smile on your face and aid in celebrating their lives.
If you enjoyed The Black Scorpion Pilot, it would mean a tremendous amount to me if you were to leave a positive review on Amazon.com.
Thank you.
All the best,
Cheese Colby
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lawrence A. Colby’s first novel, The Devil Dragon Pilot, part of the Ford Stevens Military-Aviation Thriller Series, has been a worldwide bestseller in the United States, India, Canada, United Kingdom, and Australia and is published in twelve countries.
Writing with full authenticity from being part of a small group of pilots who completed both US Navy and US Air Force Undergraduate Pilot Training Programs, he includes real-world action from his experiences. He has flown six different types of civilian aircraft and ten different types of military aircraft from two different services. Known in the squadrons by the call sign “Cheese,” he is qualified in jets, propeller aircraft, and helicopters, and has completed multiple worldwide deployments. Cheese is also an FAA commercial pilot. His number of takeoffs match his number of landings.
Cheese is working on book three, titled Buffalo Rules. He and his family live in the Washington, DC, area.
www.ColbyAviationThrillers.com
Facebook/Twitter/Instagram: @ColbyThrillers