High Flight (107 page)

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Authors: David Hagberg

BOOK: High Flight
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“Did he make a difference, Mac?”
McGarvey sat at the kitchen counter drinking a cup of coffee laced with brandy that JoAnn Carrara had fixed for him. “Of course he did.”
“Are you sure? You're not lying to me? Because Phil said that you were one of the few men he knew who never lied about anything important. Have any of you made the slightest bit of difference?”
“We won the Cold War.”
She waved it off. “So many innocent people were killed on Sunday. Are you saying it was just an act of terrorism?”
“That's exactly what it was, JoAnn.”
“Funny, I don't know if I can believe you.”
“Phil did.”
“It could have been worse?”
“A lot worse,” McGarvey said.
She brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, and managed a slight, off-center smile. “Thanks, Mac.” She looked toward the den where her children were watching television. “You can find your own way out?”
“I think so.”
“You won't mind?”
“Not a bit.”
 
Finally he drove over to the Watergate. He parked in the visitors lot and took the elevator upstairs. He'd thought about returning to his classes at Milford, but it wouldn't be fair to Dominique. She was confused and frightened, as she had every right to be. Her carefully constructed world had been torn apart. It was as if she'd been living in a small town that was safe from the real world, and one morning she'd awakened to find out that a mass murderer had been living next door all along.
He rang the bell. There was so much that he wanted to explain to her, but he wasn't quite sure that she would understand any of it. His first wife, Audrey, hadn't, and she'd drunk herself to death. Nor had his second wife, Kathleen, understood, but she'd been smart enough to walk away before she was destroyed. He wondered now if he was in fact doing Dominique any favor by coming here.
He rang the bell again, and then listened at the door. But he could hear nothing inside the apartment. It was possible that she'd gone back to her brother's house in Detroit. She'd felt safe there. But there were other, darker possibilities.
McGarvey pulled out his gun, his stomach in a knot, and using the key Dominique had given him, unlocked the door. Standing to the side, he pushed the door open with his toe. The apartment was in darkness.
He slipped inside and, keeping low, made his way down the hall to the living room. It was night, but enough light came through the big windows for him to see that she wasn't at home.
“Dominique?” he called softly. There was no answer. He checked the kitchen and bathroom, then held up at the bedroom door which was slightly ajar. The apartment was utterly still.
“Dominique,” he called. He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself against whatever he might find. In his mind's eye he could see a legion of bodies in great piles and in trenches. It was like seeing a film made of the Nazi death camps after the war. Only these bodies were his responsibility.
He pushed the door open. Dominique sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt, and she held a gun in her lap.
Relief washed over him. He holstered his Walther, then went to her and took the pistol out of her hands and put it aside.
She looked at him, her eyes sparkling. “I wanted to kill him.”
“It's over,” McGarvey said. “No more killing.”
Her lip curled. “He called me his ‘dear little girl.' He asked if you'd told me that the killing never stops. He said it was in our nature.”
“Stop it.”
“You believe that, don't you?” she said. “Because now I do. And if I would have gotten the chance I would have killed him without even thinking about it. And I would have enjoyed it.” Her mouth twisted into a hard, ugly grimace.
McGarvey wanted to take her in his arms, but she was so fragile he was afraid she would break. He touched her face, and she shivered. “You don't believe that.”
“Oh, but I do. You were right.”
“No.”
“Then have the decency to explain what happened on Sunday before you leave me again.” She looked into his eyes earnestly. “Because either you're an incredible cheat and liar, or what you've done with your life—what you're still doing—is some kind of horribly macho bullshit game.” She shook her head, as if she were trying
to pull herself out of a daze. “Talk to me, Kirk. Tell me things. Mueller did. Make me see where I'm wrong, before you go.”
“I'm not going to leave you,” McGarvey said, hating the lie.
“Yes, you are. And the reason you're going to leave is because you love me.”
“No.”
“As long as I'm with you, I'll never feel safe. But when you're gone, it's much worse.”
“Everything will be okay now,” McGarvey said. He started to leave, but she took his hand and held him back.
“Not yet,” she said softly. “I want you to stay, for just a while.”
McGarvey felt as if he were falling into her eyes.
“I love you,” she said. “Just for a little while.”
“It won't work.”
“We'll make it work,” Dominique said. “I'll try, you'll try. Maybe it'll be different this time. Maybe you can stop running, and maybe I can stop being afraid. That's worth trying, isn't it?”
He took her into his arms, finally, and she was careful not to hold him where he was wounded.
“You love me,” she said. “That's enough for now. The rest will come.”
 
Sokichi Kamiya sat on his haunches in front of a low table on the broad teak deck overlooking the peaceful garden. A slight breeze caused the chimes in the gnarled tree to tinkle gently. He contemplated the rock, “future” and “hope,” as he thought about his long life in the service of the
Yamato Damashi
—the soul of Japan.
Chi, jin, yu.
Wisdom, benevolence, and courage.
He opened his spotlessly white kimono, pulled his arms out of the sleeves, and tucked the sleeves beneath his knees so that he would not fall backward in death.
 
 
WHEN HONOR IS LOST, 'TIS A RELIEF TO DIE.
DEATH'S BUT A SURE RETREAT FROM INFAMY.
He sat at peace with himself for a long time. With a heightened sense of awareness, he could hear the wind in the trees farther down in the valley. He could hear the water gurgling in the pond. And when the morning sun began to rim the horizon, he smiled.
He took the
wakizashi
, which was a nine-and-a-half-inch razor-sharp knife, from its sheath, wrapped a white cloth around its handle, and placed its point against the left side of his abdomen.
IT IS TRUE COURAGE TO LIVE WHEN IT
IS RIGHT TO LIVE,
AND TO DIE ONLY WHEN IT
IS RIGHT TO DIE.
He plunged the knife to the hilt into his body and, mindless of the horrible pain, drew it slowly to the right while turning it over, so that in the end he cut straight up.
 
David Kennedy sat across the dinner table from his wife, Chance. The doors were locked, the telephone shut off, the lights turned low.
“I'm sorry,” she said.
“Neither of us did very well. But we'll get past this.”
“Will we, David?”
“If we want it badly enough.”
“That easy?”
He shook his head. “It won't be easy, but I don't want to toss away what we had.”
“Now that Al is gone, you've got a struggle ahead of you.”
“I'm resigning. I think I can go back to work for NASA.”
“No,” Chance said sharply. “If you give up now they will have won. Everything.” She looked away for a moment. “It'd all be for nothing.”
“My marriage is more important.”
“
Our
marriage,” Chance corrected, looking into his eyes. “Don't ever forget it. I won't.”
 
The Guerin P/C2622 majestically touched down for a landing at Portland International Airport, six weeks to the day after the air disasters that had brought the United States, Russia, and Japan to the brink of war. A huge crowd waited in the grandstands in front of the terminal to watch the boarding ceremonies for her maiden flight to Honolulu.
Incredibly, in that short time, the country had gotten back on its feet, and many of the 2622's systems had been redesigned and rebuilt to include Kilbourne's redundant cross-check system. She was the most sophisticated, and now the safest, airplane that ever flew.
“Al should have been here for this,” David Kennedy said.
“He knew you wouldn't quit,” McGarvey replied. He shaded his eyes against the bright sun as he watched the magnificent machine turn onto the taxiway. Even on the ground she looked like she was flying at the edge of space.
“We would have, except for you.”
“It doesn't stop here.”
“I know,” Kennedy said, a dark look momentarily passing over his features. “But the next time we'll be ready.”
McGarvey looked at Dominique, and she smiled radiantly, only the slightest hint of fear and uncertainty at the corners of her eyes. He couldn't help himself from thinking that they were still so terribly naive that they actually hoped their troubles were behind them.
Kilbourne and Socrates came over as the big hypersonic airliner turned onto the ramp and came to a halt in front of the grandstands,
America
painted in bold blue letters across her fuselage.
“That was Al's idea, naming her
America,
” Kilbourne said. “He told me that it would mean hope, promise for the future, fair play, and honesty.”
Kennedy smiled. “We don't always get it right.”
“But we do most of the time,” Kilbourne said.
Dominique squeezed McGarvey's arm. Then again, McGarvey thought, maybe it was he who was naive. Maybe they were right after all.
My apologies to the city of Portland,
Oregon, and vicinity. Fact is I placed an
imaginary aircraft company in a real
locale. No disrespect was intended.
Portland just seemed like the right place.

Read on for a preview of

Retribution

David Hagberg

Available in January 2015 by Tom Doherty Associates

   A Forge Hardcover    ISBN 978-0-7653-3155-7
Copyright © 2015 by David Hagberg

PROLOGUE

Abbottabad, Pakistan

An hour and a half from their staging area at the airbase outside of Jalalabad, just across the Afghan border, Chalk One with eleven SEAL team assaulters crashed on the outer wall of Usama bin Laden's compound.
It was late, after midnight, and pitch dark under a moonless sky.
Barnes and Tabeek were first off the UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter, dropping eight feet to the ground, just avoiding the still spinning main rotors. No one had been hurt but it had been close.
This was the big deal that all twenty-two SEAL assaulters, their CIA translator, one explosive ordinance tech, and a combat dog had been waiting for ever since 9/11. The president had finally given the green light to take out UBL and the mission barely underway was going south.
The team aboard Chalk Two, the second Black Hawk, was tasked for fire support inside the compound as well as security along the outer wall. The Pakistani military academy and police barracks were less than a mile away. And those guys could be showing up at any moment.
Tony Tabeek, called “Tank” because of his solid build, raced across the inner courtyard and set the first breaching charge on the iron gate to the inner courtyard. “I'm going explosive,” he shouted.

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