Shattered Bone (19 page)

It wasn't until then that Jesse noticed the stale, musty air. The apartment smelled like an old tangy sweatshirt. She walked to the sink and saw the spilled orange juice that had been left there for over two weeks. It was now a smelly puddle of brown pulp. She opened the drain and turned on the water to wash it away, then propped open the front door and raised the kitchen window to let the outside air circulate through the room.

Jesse walked through the apartment, looking things over. Everything appeared just as she left it. She grabbed a notebook and pencil, sat down at the kitchen table, and tried to collect her thoughts. You're a smart girl, she said to herself. You can figure this out. After all, this wasn't brain surgery. The problem was where to begin?

She tried to consider every angle. But Jesse was not trained in counter-espionage and one very important consideration never entered her mind. It never occurred to her that Ammon's former master would have any interest in her. And though Ammon had warned her to go to the cabin, she never really thought that her life might be in danger.

Seven miles away, in another rented apartment, a man suddenly sat upright in his chair. For the first time in over two weeks he heard what he had been waiting for. Although he hadn't yet heard any voices, he could make out the distinct sound of light footsteps walking down the un carpeted hallway. He could distinctly hear the sound of a window being opened and then the faint rush of flowing water.

He immediately picked up the telephone and quickly dialed the number.

“Someone's in the apartment,” he said in a cool and even voice.

“Is it her?”

“I don't know, I haven't heard any voices. But someone is definitely there. I can hear them walking down the hall. Whoever it is, they don't appear to be in any hurry. It's not like they're rushing around.”

“Maybe it's just the landlord,” the voice at the other end of the telephone said.

“Maybe so. That's not my problem, is it? I'm just telling you what I know.”

“Has he tried to call her again?”

“No. Nothing but that one time. At least he hasn't left any messages on her machine. Lately it has been very quiet. The phone hasn't rung at all for three days.”

“Okay. Keep listening.” The line went dead.

Within a matter of minutes, a tall, burly man and his middle-aged wife climbed into an old Toyota. The man threw two canvas bags into the back seat, started the engine, and pulled quickly out into traffic on Southwestern Lane. His name was Clyde. His wife's name was Nadine. They were on their way to Jesse's apartment. They had about five miles to travel. It would take them twelve minutes to get there.

Meanwhile, Jesse Morrel sat at her kitchen table. As she doodled on the notepad in front of her, a plan was taking shape in her mind. She knew that the Air Force would know what had happened to Capt Richard Ammon. They would have to know, or at least have some idea. He couldn't just disappear without some sort of investigation. That was where she would begin.

But she also knew that she had no standing. Her marriage to Richard Ammon had never been reported to the military. She was not listed as a dependent on Ammon's records. She wasn't even a beneficiary on his life insurance policy. The only proof she had was the marriage license that had been issued to them from the Justice of the Peace at the white chapel. That was the way Richard had insisted it must be. He wanted no official ties that would lead the Sicherheit to Jesse.

But that was irrelevant now, and Jesse had already decided that, if she needed to, she would use the paper. She would go in and demand the kind of answers any other wife who had lost her husband had the right to demand. But she wasn't ready to do that yet. Maybe later, if Richard didn't reach her, or she didn't get any answers herself. But she would wait a few more days before she pulled out her trump card.

A slight breeze through the open window blew back the thin curtains, waving them gently. Behind where Jesse sat at the kitchen table, the front door stood slightly ajar, allowing the fresh air to circulate through the stale apartment.

Suddenly, she stood up from the table. She shook her head and shivered with unexpected excitement.

What about the mail? She had asked the apartment manager to check her mail! Could it be that Ammon had been able to write her? Maybe he couldn't get to a phone. Perhaps a letter was waiting for her now.

She grabbed her jacket and ran from the apartment, locking the door as she left. She jogged down the sloping sidewalk, and around the corner of the pool house on her way to the manager's office.

When Jesse entered the tidy, oak-paneled office, she was slightly out of breath from her run. Her brown hair tossed about her shoulders as she walked into the room. The manager, a pudgy man with a shiny, bald head, looked up from his small television and visibly brightened. He was glad to see her. She was one of his favorite tenants. He noticed the flush in her cheeks as she stood behind his desk and asked him if she could pick up her mail.

Without getting up, he rolled his chair across the plastic floormat and pulled out a paper sack tucked behind the counter. He handed the sack to Jesse with a smile. Once again, she didn't notice the look in his eye. She was too used to being admired.

She thanked him politely then, without asking permission, spilled the contents of the sack across the office counter. She sorted through the mail quickly. There was nothing there from Richard Ammon.

The manager noticed her shoulders slump. Whatever she was looking for, it obviously was not there. Jesse made no attempt to hide her disappointment, but the manager didn't offer any encouragement. After all, what could he say? He didn't want to be too nosy. Besides, he had already gone through her mail. He knew it was nothing but junk and bills. Nothing to get excited about.

Jesse gathered the mail up and dropped it in the paper sack, then stuffed the sack under her arm. She turned around to leave, hesitating for a moment while she thought. Finally, she faced the manager once again.

“I guess I'll be out of town for a few more days,” she said in a quiet voice, not really looking at the man as she spoke. “Would you mind collecting my mail again? I know it's a bother, but I really would appreciate it.”

“No problem, Miss Morrel,” he replied. “Anything else I can do to help?”

Jesse shook her head and gave the sack back to him, then turned and walked out of his office. The manager wondered for just a moment why she was leaving town again, then decided it was none of his business. He was about to return to “The Price Is Right,” when he suddenly remembered.

“Miss Morrel,” he called out after her. Jesse stopped at the door and turned around. “While you're here, would you mind if I come with you into your apartment? We are taking an inventory of all the appliances, and I need to get the serial number off of your stove and fridge.”

“Oh ... huh, sure, no problem,” Jesse responded, already lost in her thoughts.

Outside Jesse's apartment complex, a gray Toyota pulled in and parked, taking up two parking spaces right next to the dumpster. The middle-aged couple got out and made their way to Jesse's apartment. The woman carried a black, heavy purse. The man finished his cigarette as they walked, then flipped the butt into the gutter. They didn't hesitate or wander through the maze of identical buildings. They knew where they were going. They had been to Jesse's apartment before.

As they rounded the corner of her apartment building, Clyde and Nadine were a little surprised to see Jesse walking toward them. They both recognized her immediately. They had spent hours studying dozens of pictures of her.

But Jesse was not alone. At her side was a short, chubby man dressed in black slacks and a white shirt. The man hopped and skipped along beside her in an effort to keep up with her. As Jesse and the apartment manager approached, neither Clyde nor Nadine said a word. They looked at each other to avoid making eye contact with the girl and didn't slow their pace. Clyde grunted under his breath and Nadine sniffled in reply as they wordlessly communicated their decision. Without hesitation, they passed by the sidewalk that cut off to Jesse's apartment and continued down the path that led to the next building, where they quickly disappeared from view.

As Jesse and the manager walked up to Jesse's apartment, Jesse pulled out a large set of keys. She sorted through the keys slowly, trying to find the right one, while the manager waited patiently by her side. Finally she separated one key from the others, inserted it into the lock and opened the door. Jesse hesitated, then motioned for the manager to follow her inside.

It only took a moment for the manager to get the information and serial numbers that he needed. While he did his work, Jesse waited patiently by the front door. Five minutes after he had entered the apartment, the manager was gone. Jesse didn't take long to follow.

She picked up her duffel bag and purse. Inside the bag, she had everything she would need, so there was no sense in waiting around.

Twenty minutes later, Jesse was leaving the gray air of the L.A. basin. She drove northeast along highway 15, up through the San Gabriel Mountains and on to the high desert plains. This road would eventually take her to Las Vegas. But she wouldn't stop there. Instead, she would continue to drive for another fifteen miles, until she reached Nellis Air Force base, which lay just east of the glittering lights of the city.

Jesse drove quickly through the desert. The dry miles went by in a monotonous blur. She set her cruise control on sixty-nine miles per hour until she crossed the Nevada state line, then pushed the speed up to seventy-four. Traffic was light. She didn't pay much attention to her driving, and she never noticed the gray Toyota that flickered in and out of her rearview mirror.

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NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA

A
LTHOUGH SHE HAD THE ARTICLE PRACTICALLY MEMORIZED, JESSE READ
the tiny news item one more time, carefully mulling over each word.

KOREAN FIGHTER LOST IN YELLOW SEA

By Steven Little,
Air Force Times

Osan Air Force Base, Korea, - The Fifty-First Fighter Wing lost its second F-16 of the year late Wednesday night when a Fighting Falcon abruptly burst into flames and exploded over the Yellow Sea. The pilot, Captain Richard Ammon, was attempting to air refuel with a KC-135 from Kadina AFB, Japan, when the incident occurred.

Despite an intensive search and rescue effort, the downed pilot was never recovered. Late Thursday morning, rescue forces retrieved a life raft that was floating near the crash site. Further rescue efforts were called off when investigators confirmed the raft was from the missing F-16. According to Air Force spokesman Lt Jason White, the accident investigation board is focusing on the possibility of a fuel leak that may have occurred during air refueling. However, he conceded that, due to the lack of physical evidence, plus the fact that pieces of the wreckage were unlikely to ever be recovered, the Air Force may never fully understand what caused the downing of the F -16.

A final accident investigation report is due within thirty days. Meanwhile, the Fifty-First Fighter Wing continues to fly a normal schedule.

Jesse carefully tore the article out of the Air
Force Times
and placed it inside her purse. She stared at the hole that she had torn in the center of the newspaper, then pushed her finger through the two inch opening and out the other side. Too many holes, she thought. There arc too many holes in my life.

She was sitting in a small study cubicle in the library at Nellis Air Force Base. The library was small and silent, with only a few airmen quietly studying for their upcoming promotion tests. The metal building occasionally vibrated and rumbled as combat aircraft took off on the runway that was located just one mile away. For the last two days, Jesse had spent most of her time here, scanning all of the publications that she felt might carry the news of any aircraft accident that happened overseas. Then, on the second day, as evening shadows were forming outside, she finally found what she had been searching for.

The article confirmed what Richard had already told her. It was what she had expected from the day he called and left her the code. No one else would ever believe that, but Jesse knew it was true. She had already accepted his disappearance with at least some degree of inner assurance. Someday he would return. He had promised her he would, and she believed him. Of all the people in the world, Jesse trusted Richard the most.

Now the only question left was, what she should do now? She considered for only a moment, then realized she didn't have much of a choice. She would wait. That's all she could do. She would go back to the cabin and wait. At least for a few more days. She really didn't have any choice.

Jesse picked up her purse and thanked the librarian who had been so helpful, then hastily walked out of the lonely building. As she made her way through the parking lot, she heard an awesome thunder. Looking up into the sky, she saw two F-16s taking off into the evening's darkness, their wing tips almost touching as they flew in tight formation. Their afterburners spewed a hot blue flame behind them as they quickly climbed and turned out toward the north. Ten seconds later, they were followed by two more F-16s. It only took a moment for the four fighters to climb and disappear. Jesse stood and watched them as they faded into the darkness, thinking all the time of Richard Ammon. She pictured him inside one of the fighters, his broad shoulders cramped in the tight cockpit, smiling from the pure joy of flight. As she watched the lights from the fighters blend into the starry night sky, she missed him even more. She turned and walked quickly toward her car.

Passing by an old gray Toyota, she heard a voice. The window was rolled down, and a man stuck out his head. “Excuse me, ma'am, can you help me?” he asked. She studied the man for a moment, then cautiously answered.