Corcovado, Or Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars

He switched on the batteries and their gauges swung towards life, then, with butterflies tearing apart his gut he hit the starter...

The old Merlin coughed once then roared to life, and he saw his son standing down there on the asphalt outside the hanger, looking up at all the unknowns that had suddenly roared, roared at life. He motioned, roughly, for Jim to stand aside, then he pulled the canopy forward and applied a little throttle...

+

He watched his father taxi the old Mustang down to the end of the runway, heard the Merlin run-up once, then cut back to idle for a moment...then the Merlin howled again, this time leaving angry menace in the air around the valley, and his father's P-51 roared as it passed, arcing into the sky...

+

He felt alive...alive...for the first time in decades...as he reefed the Mustang into a hard left turn. He gasped as gravity pushed him back in the seat, then he pulled the old girl into an even tighter turn until he felt the white haze clawing for him. He rolled until he was inverted - his world upside down - the he pulled the reins, pulled the Mustang into another tight turn. He forced his head and looked down...down at the ranch and all those nights without his father...

+

"Gawd-almighty, Mom, I never knew he could fly like that..."

"He shot down twelve Germans over there, Jimmy. He was considered one of the best."

"What happened?"

"Dresden, I think."

"The fire bombings? I read about that some...was he there?"

"I don't know...he's never talked about it, Jim...but I think that night changed him."

"Jesus, look at that! A Split-S...he must be pulling three-Gs, too..."

+

He was too angry to feel the exhilaration in the air around him, to angry to feel the aileron buffeting as he pushed the throttles to the firewall...

He was aiming at the ranch house, now in a full-power dive, and he wanted nothing more than to have a full load-out for the 50 calibers. He wanted nothing more than to obliterate that house, to erase it from memory...from existence...

Then he saw them standing down there, still by the hanger, as he roared past thirty feet over the roof. He pulled the old girl into a steep, spiraling climb...aiming for a group of puffy cumulus high over the prairie. Inverted, he flew into the cloud, felt the all-enveloping coolness and he realized he was sweating now, and shaking - with rage...

He took a deep breath, rolled the old girl back to level as he cut the throttle...then he made a series of linked turns, bleeding speed as he looked at the scorched earth of his past, the shattered cities and screaming, burning souls one last time, then he looked into the infinite blue of time and shook his fist at God...

"Am I good enough now, you fucking bastard!" he screamed, then - "Will I ever be good enough, Dad?" he whispered. Then he turned and looked at Jim and Elizabeth standing in the shade by the hanger - in the light of a billion dying suns - and he knew what he had to do.

+

He saw the sun in the distance, down there on the desert floor, and he could almost feel the rumble when it was still five miles away. He stood apart from his father and his mother now, leaving them to say the things they needed to say while they still could, and he looked at them once before he turned to look at that impossibly bright light again...

How could anything be so bright, he wondered. It was, after all, just the headlight of a locomotive.

And Altair is just a star. A dying star.

He looked at that headlight and he saw Pops out there in his old yellow Waco, doing wing-overs and flying over his little canyon - looking for his cat - one more time.

And a minute later the Super Chief pulled into the little station at Lamy; Jim and his mother climbed aboard, but he turned and looked at his father standing out there on the platform, his hands still in pockets, that loose, lanky love still in his eyes. Then father looked at son for the longest time - before the train jerked and pulled away - and then the moment was gone. He leaned out the door of the vestibule, willing the moment to linger - even as the moment began to fade. Like almost everything between fathers and sons, there was something in that moment that might have been, but never was.

+++++

"You never told me about that, Dad. Why not?"

"Oh, they're just memories now, Ted. Things that happened along the way, I guess."

"But...they're who you are. In a way, they're who I am, too."

"Oh?"

Brigit was standing away from his bed, lost in a far corner, looking at him just then with an odd little smile in her eyes.

Then he was aware Susan was looking at Brigit, too, and he figured maybe she understood. Only Ted was too wrapped up in anger to see the obvious.

Then Susan turned back to him.

"What did that actress do after Pops died?"

"Oh, she tried to take the ranch. My mom took care of that."

"Took care? How so?"

He shrugged. "She was smart, knew the law. I guess she made things clear."

Ted was looking at him again. "And you never told me about the ranch, any of that stuff with your grandfather. Why, Dad? Why'd you keep all that from me."

"He needed a clean break, Ted," Brigit said, still looking into his eyes. "Some things have to end. They have to end for things to begin again."

And some things never end, he knew now. Like a snake coiled on the desert floor, like an errant fungus in the tidal flows of his past, some things - against all and reason - held fast...

+++++

She looked down at the Potomac, then up at the tidewater region ahead, beyond the JetRanger's windows, and she saw Quantico - standing there in the morning haze, now dead ahead. She was with the new AD, called in to take a look at a new recruit, a girl still in the academy.

"She reminds me of you," the Assistant Director had said on the phone two days ago. "I need your input."

Now...here she was...back in that world, that life - one more time. The life she'd turned away from years ago - when she quit and moved to the boat in Destin.

But they'd never really quit her, had they? When they had a problem they thought only she could solve, they called. They offered money...insane amounts of money...for her "expertise." Quick trips to Iraq, to Nicaragua, and to Macao followed, and she made more money in a day - in a split-second - than she had working a year in that other life - and they'd needed it, too. Jim's tuition had been more than expected, and James. He was sick all the time now.

She and James talked about sailing away, maybe to the Caribbean, but he fell inside that funk every time, that secret place of his, and one time he went there, and stayed.

Then Zeke Cromwell called. Zeke, her first real teacher, and now the Assistant Director for Operations.

"I need your input," he said, but this time it was more like an order - and she always obeyed orders. No...she thought, she always obeyed his orders.

She looked over the file again. Young girl just out of law school, Georgetown. DAs office in Atlanta, raped in college. Melissa Kerrigan was the name on the dossier, the girl's photograph didn't reveal much, however. On again off again engagement to a kid flying with Delta, she read, and she wondered what that was all about. Top marks on the range...almost as good as hers.

"She's a cool one, Liz," Zeke told her that morning, after her flight up from Atlanta arrived.

'Was she as cold as I was?' she wondered.

"Oh?" she said.

"The Director thinks she should go to Romania, with you."

"When?"

"Next week."

"You aren't serious...?" But she looked at Zeke, saw that he was.

"Yes, I am. And you're going to take her with you."

"What? Why me...? I've been..."

"That's exactly why, Liz, and you know it. They think you're out, they have ever since Cairo. That's why they've left you alone."

She knew he was right, too. Only now Jimmy was out of the house, James was slipping in and out of psychotic states, and, she had to admit - if only to herself - getting back into the game might be fun.

The JetRanger was circling the Academy now, bleeding speed, and she watched as the pilot de-powered the collective, gently settling the helicopter on the pad beside the range.

As she stepped out of the helicopter a wave of memory broke over her. The same grounds, the same armorers shack. Men in black BDUs standing in the shade, a girl in blue sweats standing at attention in the sun, waiting. She walked over, shook hands with her instructors, men she hadn't seen in years, then she turned and looked at the cadet. Not yet thirty, red hair, kind of stumpy - almost like a weight-lifter.

And an H&K PSG-9 on a bi-pod at the line.

She walked over, picked up the weapon and sighted downrange, then she pickled a switch on the trigger-guard. The distance to the target appeared under the reticle, and a moment later the wind-speed and direction registered...they she felt Goodway by her side, looking at the rifle, then at her.

She looked at Goodway, then handed the H&K to her.

"Ready?" the range-master said, handing ear protection to Liz. She backed away, watched the girl insert a magazine then sit at the bench.

"What round?" Liz asked.

"225 grain," the range-master said. "Serrated cavity point."

She nodded. "Mercury?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She stood behind Goodway, looked at the first target - a cantaloupe at the fifty yard mark - and almost jumped when the first concussive wave hit her. The cantaloupe exploded a millisecond later.

The second target - set out at the 500 yard mark - looked like a ping-pong ball taped to a standard issue paper silhouette. She watched Goodway for a moment, then looked downrange - just as the H&K barked again.

The ball had been filled with blue paint, and it simply disappeared in a bluish haze.

There was a new addition to the range, she saw now, a single thousand yard lane carved out of the forest. And now she saw the single target down there, lost among the trees. She turned and the range-master handed over a pair of green Steiner's, and she looked at the target and shook her head. A single face, generic, was printed on the paper, and she grimaced at the hard reality of that.

One more concussive jolt, and she watched the round hit the target a little left of center, in the face's right eye.

She turned and looked at the H&K. "Mind if I give it a try?" she said.

But the range-master walked over to the bench and opened another hard case, took out another H&K, and he carried it over to her. "It's sighted-in," he said. Just touch this area and the sight comes on, does it's thing. Give it about five seconds to come up with the solution."

Exasperated with the old man's inexhaustible supply of condescension, she looked at him then took the weapon. She looked it over, then walked to the bench and sat next to Goodway, slipped a magazine in and sighted in. When the reticle flashed from green to red, she pulled the trigger and watched the target's left eye disappear. Less than a second later she fired again and removed the nose, then put two rounds in the target's "mouth." Satisfied, she stood and carried the rifle back to the range-master. "The trigger's a little rough," she said, handing it back to the old man, then she walked over to Goodway.

"We need to talk," she said.

+

When they returned from Bucharest three weeks later, they were more than close friends, a simple observation that was lost on no one who saw the two of them together.

+++++

Ted and Susan left after he grew tired, but Brigit remained. Just as she had for weeks.

"You're pale again," she said, putting the back of her hand on his forehead.

"I feel like I'm on fire."

She nodded. "It's the Vanco. At least you're not nauseated this time."

He nodded. "Ted looked angry when he left."

She shrugged. "He'll get over it. Susan knows the score."

"I was surprised she came out this time. It's gotta be tough, ya know. She's in Boston, he's in Palo Alto."

"They're in love. Nothing's impossible when you're in love."

"You should know, huh?"

She grinned. "Yes, I do - now."

"You really think I'm getting out of this place alive?"

"Another week and the Vancomycin will have it back under control."

"Okay, let's assume that's true. Then what?"

She looked at him, wondered if he was ready for that conversation. The nerves in his right hand would never be the same, he'd never have the same control he used to. He'd never fly again, not even in a simulator.

"What would you like to do?" she asked - as always, looking him right in the eye.

"I think I'm done, Brigit. Done with all my yesterdays. I think it's time to move on."

"Where to?" she said, for the first time afraid of what he might say next.

He looked away, looked out the window. Lake Union was just visible from this room, and there were times he thought he could just see Altair's mast jutting up above the marina.

"Japan," he said, out of the blue.

"Japan?"

"Yeah. Maybe take off and head to Hawaii, then go to Japan."

"In Altair, you mean?"

"Hell yes. What did you think I meant?"

She ignored that, looked at the expression on his face. "Why Japan?"

"Why not?"

"Okay, then what?

"Who the hell knows. I'll face that question after I get there."

She looked at the grin in his eyes, wondered if he was being even halfway serious.

"I'm not going alone, if that's what you were thinking of asking next."

"Oh? Have someone in mind?"

"No, not really," he said - as he reached out for her hand.

She took his hand and kissed the top of it, then looked at the implications dancing in his eyes. "You sure you don't want to go alone...?"

"Not even for a minute."

She nodded her head, then wiped away a tear or two. He was asleep a few minutes later, and she slipped from his room for the first time in days.

+++++

He woke sometime in the night.

And there wasn't a light on in the room. Not one light, and that bothered him.

Had they found him again? Would they ever stop trying?

He felt a shadow ripple and turned an eye that way, careful not to move. Yes. There, in the corner, by the window.

A woman.

Was she dressed in black?

Then, the woman turned and walked to the side of his bed, and once there she looked down at him.

It was, he saw, Melissa Goodway.

"What are you doing here," he asked.

"Hello, nice to see you, too."

"Well? Did you come to finish the job this time?"

She looked at him for a long time, then she turned away, walked back to the window. "I'm sorry," she said a few minutes later.

"Sorry? What for? Not getting me the first time?"

"We had them," Goodway said. "We'd had them since we locked onto Tracy, and we pulled them in."

"Who is 'we'?"

"The FBI. We had them, Jim. The same group your mother was after."

"My mother? What do you know about my mother?"

She walked back to his bed, took his hand. "Jim, I promised your mother that I'd look after you. We had them, and I blew it. And you paid the price."

He was too confused now to understand what she was trying to tell him. "You promised my mother?"

"Yes."

"You knew my mother?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand."

"Your mother and I...Jim, we were in love, once upon a time."

"What?"

"If I tell you a story...will you listen?"

"Not if it's about that, I won't."

"When your mother got sick, I promised. That's all you need to know."

"You worked with her?"

"Several times, yes."

"And you were...?"

"Yes, we were. After your father's last break."

"After he was hospitalized?"

"Yes."

"I guess she'd been alone..."

"For too long, Jim. Too long."

"Who are these people? The ones trying to get me?"

"Chinese gangs, New York and Macao, mostly. We've been at war with them for a long time."

"So...why me?"

"Your mother, well, she had dealings with them. Let's just say revenge is their main motivation."

"I remember once, she had a rifle. Then something about New Orleans, I think."

"New Orleans, Philadelphia, Miami. Even Hong Kong. It's a long list, Jim."

"Do you mean..."

"That's not important now, Jim. What is important is..."

"Your promise."

"Yes. But I should have never made contact with you. That gave you away."

"What about Ted?"

"He's covered. He has been since he moved to Palo Alto."

"But...they got to me. What makes you think they won't...?"

She turned away again, paced the room for a minute, thinking of the best way to say what she had to say.

"Because, Jim, we let them get to you, or at least we let them think they could get to you."

"Apparently they did, right? Someone fucked up?"

"They lured us away that night, yes. And they used a drone."

"An armed drone? On me?"

"Yes. We got them at SeaTac."

"And?"

"They won't bother you again."

"Not this group, anyway. Is that what you mean to say?"

"Yes."

"I talked to Brigit today..."

"I know."

"And, what? You know what we said?"

"Yes."

"Oh, that's just swell. Thank you so very, very much."

"Obviously we can't keep an eye on you if we don't know what's going on."

"And, what...this is a lifetime proposition?"

"Yes."

"This is what my mother wanted? Is that what you're telling me?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And...you loved my mother? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Yes, very much."

"Damn."

She laughed at that.

"What's so funny?" he asked. "Why did you laugh like that?"

"Because that's exactly what your mother thought you'd say..."

+++++

He thought of his father standing right here, on this same little platform in Lamy, as the Super Chief pulled away into the evening, and he thought of his father in that Mustang so many years ago...beating up the sky...coming to terms with his demons.

He'd called for a taxi from the train, and here it was, apparently, waiting for him in the parking lot.

A porter helped him with his grip, helped him to the taxi, and he tipped the guy after he was in the back. He gave the driver the address and leaned back.

"Need some more air conditioning back there?" the driver, an old man, asked.

"No, maybe roll down the window some."

"Sure enough. Not many people go out this far these days. Isn't this the address of Ellis Patterson's old place?"

"It is."

"Did you know him?"

He looked out the window, looked at the passing piñons and the same familiar rolling waves of scrub-grass. "I did, once. At least I think I did."

He saw the old man's eyes in the rear view mirror; he seemed clearly puzzled.

"He was my grandfather."

"Oh...you don't say. So, you own the place now?"

"Yup."

"Word is developers are looking to buy it, build a bunch of houses out there."

"So I hear."

The old man laughed at that, as he turned onto the interstate. Santa Fe looked the same, at least from out here, but he hadn't been here in years. Ted had just gone to Boston and he'd needed to settle some questions about water rights, and developers had tried to corner him that time, too. They did every time he came out and, he thought, this taxi driver was probably working for them right now, trying to feel him out.

But he'd never sell, and they knew it.

The driver wound through town, turned southwest on Guadalupe and things looked more developed out here. Rows of new adobe houses, built to look a hundred years old. He knew they were so poorly built they'd not last fifty, and that made him laugh.

A half hour later the driver pulled through the main gate; tires rumbled over the cattle-guard then slid on the sandy track. Around a curve, skirting one of the bigger hills, and the hangers came into view, then the main house. Ben Stillwell, the new ranch foreman, and his wife were on the front porch, waiting for him, and as the taxi braked they came down to help him from the back. He paid the driver and began walking for the house, but he stopped, then turned and looked around. All the hanger doors were shut tight...