The Sampaguita

Ok folks, you've worked your way into a full fledged novel; 92,000 words, 266 pages in it's present format. Sorry for that format, by the way, this blog site uses an editing process that does not recognize anything but hard new line commands, which means I have to go through it line-by-line and reformat everything. You would think I would find all the typo's in the process, but you never do. Hope you enjoy.




The Sampaguita

A novel by Tony Killinger

Chapter 1

Matt Kellogg stood at the open door of his father’s study and looked inside. He had always liked this room; it had a warm, comfortable feeling to it. The shelves of books, the leather chairs and the rich, cherry desk gave the room an elegance the rest of the house never achieved. The house seemed content with a rather normal existence; the study on the other hand was a special place. It had been his father’s retreat for the past few years.
Originally, there had been two bedrooms and a bath in this portion of the tri-level house. His dad had the larger of the bedrooms gutted, removed the closet, had indirect lighting installed, decorated the room with a few tasteful pictures of hunting scenes and bird dogs, painted the walls in a dark green flat paint, hung heavy velvet drapes over the windows and a thick, plush gray carpet laid on the floor. He remembered how the two of them had struggled with the heavy wooden desk to get it up the stairs and into the room. Finally, in desperation and frustration, they had to dismantle the monster to get it through the door. When they had finished, the old man sat down in one of the red leather chairs, lit another cigarette and surveyed the area around him. He had looked like Alastair Cooke about to introduce another episode of Masterpiece Theater.
Those damned cigarettes; Matt thought to himself, they finally killed him. For a moment, he had forgotten that he held his father’s earthly remains, poured into a plain but elegant urn, in his hands.
Was this the end; was this what a lifetime was reduced to, a couple of pounds of ashes to be thrown to the wind in a peaceful valley in southern Utah? What about all the joys and sorrows, all the triumphs and tragedies which had proceeded that moment a few days ago when a heart so badly damaged by nicotine and overwork just could not make it to the next beat?
Who was this he held in two hands? Matt should have known better than any other person alive who it was, but at that moment, he found himself lost for any reasonable explanation or description. They were different, this father and son, and the difference had been the cause of some distance between them a few times, never hostility, just that undefined distance.
Joe, the father, was an outdoors person, he loved hunting and fishing, horses and pick up trucks. Matt, the only son, had tried all those things with his father, but they just didn’t fit him at that time. Still, he liked the camping trips they had taken together and he was fairly at home on the back of a horse, but never with the contentment it obviously brought to his dad.
From the time that his mother had died when he was twelve years old, Matt and his father lived in this house in Sandy. Joe had resigned his commission in the Navy and moved back to Utah when it became apparent that continuing an established and respected career as a Naval Intelligence Officer and raising a son were mutually exclusive responsibilities. Matt wondered at that moment if his father had ever resented giving up that life, the thought had never occurred to him before.
With a solid education behind him, along with the leadership skills he had developed in the Navy, Joe Kellogg had little trouble finding work in an area that had experienced an almost continual economic boom for the last twenty years, and more. His first job had been with a company that did automatic bookkeeping on modern machines. Back in those days, it was called data processing. After a couple of years of key punches and sorters, page printers and collators, his father and another young, bright, industrious guy started their own company. Things were tight for a while, that is why they had never moved away from this modest neighborhood.
Within three years, Joe had bought out his partner and ran the business by himself, along with a few dedicated employees, for the next decade and a half. The firm had progressed with the industry, incorporating computer technology with bigger, better and faster techniques as quickly as they came along. The investments were heavy and it kept profits down, but they had a first rate operation that kept them on the cutting edge of technology and the company was well thought of in the business community.
When his health started to fail, Joe Kellogg didn’t sell the company; he gave it to his employees. He had done that by incorporating the firm and giving the shares to those who had worked so long and hard to make it a success. He retained a voting share of five percent of the stock for himself.
At last, Matt walked through the doorway into the study. Stopping beside an open bookcase, he noticed a framed photograph of his father and him, taken on a summer camping trip in southern Utah, very near to the property that had been left to him as part of his inheritance. He sat the urn down on the sideboard of the bookcase and picked up the picture. The images that looked back at him were from a different era, an eon of time ago in a world that no longer existed. Yet, thinking back, it couldn’t have been all that long ago. The old rumpled leather flying jacket that Matt wore in the photograph still hung in his closet in California today. The snap on breast tag with the gold leaf lettering that read, “LT Bobby Kemper, USN” had long since been lost, but the jacket remained one of his favorite garments. A friend of his father’s had given him that jacket the day they left Spain, returning to a life that neither of them knew or what it held in store for them. Bobby Kemper, Matt remembered, was a big, tall man and the twelve year old boy was lost in the vastness of that old coat in much the same way he was lost to the reality of what was happening to him.
Matt couldn’t recall much about his mother any more; only that she was quite beautiful and that she had a lovely smile and that in the months before she died she seemed to have faded away, like a beautiful flower that simply wilts and is finally taken away by the wind. He remembered that he had missed her terribly, but the loss gradually loosened its grip on his heart and he was able to move on.
His father, on the other hand, never fully recovered from her death. To the best of Matt’s knowledge, his dad had never been involved with another woman on a personal level the rest of his life. Still, every summer, his father would take two weeks off from work and would go away. Often he would go overseas, spending time with his old Navy buddies where ever they happened to be. He couldn’t be absolutely sure that those trips never produced a relationship, but if they had, it would have been very much out of character. It had never been important to find out, and now it would be something he would never know.
After a few moments, he replaced the photograph on the shelf and sat down in one of the two chairs that opposed each other on either side of the square coffee table. He couldn’t help smiling; he was definitely not the Alastair Cooke type. His gaze wandered to the huge cherry desk. On top sat a computer monitor with small speakers attached to either side of it. Alongside the monitor was a fax machine with a telephone attached to it.
The only remaining adornment to the desktop was an oval silver photo frame which held the image of a young woman; his mother. As long as he could remember, that photograph sat closest to wherever his father spent most of his time. Generally, that would have been the desk in his office at the company. The presence of the picture here only served to confirm that this room had become the center of his life in these final days.
Indeed, it was at this very desk, in front of that monitor and in the full view of his mother’s picture that his father’s life had stopped. He wondered to himself if his father had suffered much pain or if he had simply stopped functioning. It would have been so much kinder, so much easier to deal with in his mind, if the latter were true.
Joe Kellogg was, in nearly every respect, a good and kind man, undeserving of a great deal of pain. It seemed to Matt that his father had always gone out of his way to avoid hurting anyone.
The keyboard for the computer sat on a shelf that could be slid back under the top of the desk when not in use. Somewhere behind one of those rich, red, wooden panels, the main components of the system were sitting, silently awaiting the spark of electricity that would bring them back to life.
Questions drifted through his mind as he looked at the orderly workspace; what had he been working on? Maybe, after all these years, he was finally going to follow his son’s advise and write the book, or the books, that were stored away in his memory.
Oh, the stories he used to tell; stories about the days when America had only one task, one mission, the defeat of Communism. Now, except for a few spots in the world, Communism was gone, or at least relegated to the role of a minor opposition party within a system that looked much like democracy in its infancy. Still, the world didn’t seem to be much better off than it was in the heydays of his father’s exploits. The threat of the bomb was forgotten, although everyone with any sense realized they were still out there somewhere, rusting away in silos or piled high within the bunkers of idle airbases all across the globe. How quickly we forget, how convenient it is for us not to recall the peril that poisoned the mentality of the generations of that age.
Tomorrow, Matt thought, I’ll get on that computer and see if the old man left any unfinished business. The thought had come from an uneasy feeling that kept filtering through his mind, the thought of something incomplete or undone.
He began to compile a checklist of things he needed to do. Much of it depended on his final decision as to what he was going to do with his own life at this point in time. Right now, it was no model of order or contentment that he would like to continue. He needed a change; a new challenge, a new goal and perhaps even a woman would be nice.
After graduating from college here at the University of Utah fourteen years ago, he had accepted a job with a firm in California that provided temporary secretarial service to various industries in the Sacramento area. He was the assistant personnel manager and made pretty good money, but the job was a dead end as far as he was concerned. He left the firm within a couple of years.
Following that, he had worked for the state of California as a purchasing agent. That was an interesting job, but he was caught in a reorganization that moved his position to Los Angeles and he had no desire to live there. He was reassigned to another personnel type position but he soon discovered that didn’t appeal to him any more than the first job he had and he quit.
For the last three years, he had been selling advertising space on a local radio station. For just about any other person in the world it would have been a super job. Plenty of money, lots of opportunity to rub elbows with celebrities, drinking, dinners, all the perks that make jobs attractive, but it wasn’t right for him.
The only thing that had provided him with any real satisfaction was the three short stories he had written and sold to magazines in the last five years. He had even thought of chucking it all, going back to school and studying journalism. Perhaps he could do that now with the relative independence his father had left him. It would be worth thinking about. But not right now.
The birth of his writing career coincided with another turning point in his recent life. While working for the state, he had met a woman who worked in the printing plant. She was a gorgeous blond with the body of a model and the mind of a child. What he had thought was love turned out to be a rather tangible lust, but by then it was too late; they were already married. The marriage didn't last much longer than the blond hair and he was almost relieved to arrive home one evening to find her gone. She’d run off with the pizza boy, poor guy.
She divorced him about a year later and Matt had been happy enough to reach a suitable community property settlement with her. It was a cheap enough price to pay to be done with it. He laughed out loud thinking about it now. He had brought this woman child home to meet his father one time. There was no hiding his father’s disapproval of the lady. At the time, Matt resented it, called his father judgmental and unfair. He remembered what his father had said, "yeah, whatever”. He laughed aloud again.
The absurdity of the situation suddenly hit him! Here he was, sitting in his father’s study, laughing out loud while his father’s ashes, barely cooled, were an arm’s reach away. Why wasn’t he sad? Why wasn’t he sitting here blubbering? Wasn’t that what he was supposed to be doing? He wasn’t devoid of emotion, but he felt no compelling need to be melancholy either. Was he being stoic for his father’s sake, as his father had been for him when his mother died? He doubted that. Perhaps he would analyze it later; right now, he felt no immediate need to explain his mood to himself and no requirement to do it for anyone else.
First things first! Matt had turned in his rental car and taken a taxi to the old home in Sandy. He had in his possession three sets of keys. One set was to the house, garage and storage shed in the back yard. An additional set was for a year old Dodge Ram pickup truck that would be parked on one side of the two-car garage. The other set of keys would be for a new Lincoln Mark that should be on the other side of the garage. That was all clear enough.
The only other thing that the lawyer had given him was an envelope that contained a copy of the will, a copy of the insurance claim made to the company that held his father’s policy, a copy of the death certificate and a copy of the lawyer’s bill. Later, according to the lawyer, the deeds to the property, the revised titles to the vehicles, financial statements and the necessary documents for the tax people would be forwarded to him at the Sandy address. Also, clear enough. All the bills that could be determined to be outstanding had been paid (listed, itemized and noted on the lawyer’s bill). Considering the fair market value of the house in Sandy, the hunting cabin and property in south-central Utah, the vehicles, a couple of old horses, bank accounts, insurance proceeds and the stock shares in the old company, the lawyer figured he was worth nearly $800,000. “Thank you, Mr. Kellogg, my secretary will show you out”.
That was how they had closed the next to last chapter of his father’s life. The final chapter would be the scattering of those ashes over Cedar Gate, the name his father had given to the land in Sevier County. The assholes, Matt thought to himself. They are tidying up the last vestiges of an account, at $250 an hour and only sorry that they won’t be getting any more of his business.
Finally, the strain of the last few days and the sheer weight of the catastrophe that had come upon him crashed upon his spirit. “And I’ve lost my dad”, his mind spoke the words as his body descended into a racking of tears and sobs.
When he awoke, Matt was still sitting in the red leather chair. The room was dark and only the glow of a small nightlight, plugged into a socket on the wall gave him any indication as to where he was. He had no idea of the time, but the darkness and the emptiness in his stomach told him it was time he needed to find something to eat.
He extended his arm to look at his watch. Nine fifteen, it read. He decided to take one of the vehicles and find a nearby restaurant. He dug his hand into the patch pocket of the gray tweed sports jacket he was wearing. Whichever keys came out would be what he would drive.
The first bunch of keys was to the house, but that was ok, he would need them to get into the garage anyway. The second try produced the keys to the Lincoln. His father was not the type of person who needed to flaunt his success but he always had this thing about quality. “You get what you pay for,” he had always said. Matt hadn’t bought anything of quality in so long that the idea seemed somewhat foreign to him. He bought whatever he needed at the moment and spent the least amount of money on it that he could get away with. Nothing had any permanence to it and nothing meant much to him.
It suddenly dawned on him that the few things that he really did care about were connected to his father and this house. Now what was he going to do with it? Keeping it made no sense at all. Matt had his apartment in Sacramento that met all his requirements. Yeah, right, he thought. It was a forty-five minute drive through insufferable traffic to get to a job that he didn’t like where he would associate with people who were about as genuine as plastic mannequins and every week seemed to have five Mondays to it. Fortunately or unfortunately, with his new independence he could put off making any firm decisions until he had time to think things out. He was grateful for that leeway and dreaded the time when he would have to make those tough choices.
Standing with the yard light shining over his shoulder, he looked at the ring of keys to determine which of them might open the garage door. Must be this one with the “G” on it, he laughed. Obviously part of the lawyer’s attention to detail, just the same as the other keys were marked “F” for front, “R” for rear and “S” for storage? “Assholes”, he muttered to himself again.
The key turned the knob and the door swung in. He explored either side of the door jam until he found the light switch, then he flipped it on. The two vehicles glistened in the brightness of overhead neon lighting. The Lincoln Mark was big, beautiful and luxurious and yet it had a sporty look to it. It was scrupulously clean and polished, its black exterior commanding your attention and your admiration, yet for just a second Matt wished that he had randomly picked the other set of keys. The Dodge pickup was gorgeous. That was his father’s kind of truck. The color was purple, the best that Matt could make it out, with the lower portions of the cab and bed done in a bright metallic chrome material. Matt laughed quietly, understandingly.
He must have known he had only so much time left and decided for once in his life he was going to have what he had wanted for so long. Matt hoped they had brought him some satisfaction. Still, he was going to have to deal with these things too, but except for getting them both back to California they presented no problem for him.
The driver’s side door to the big car was not locked and when he opened it, the dome light illuminated the interior of the car. He slid in behind the wheel, pushed in the ignition key and turned it to the on position. It took just a second to find the headlamp switch, but in the process, he found the windshield wipers. With the dash lights on he could see that the car had just over 7,000 miles on it. Above the sun visor was the garage door opener. He pushed the button and the door directly behind the Lincoln began its upward ascent. He turned the ignition key to start and the big car growled to life. He pulled the transmission into reverse, backed into the drive, and turned to head into the street. The machine moved effortlessly, the motion was nearly undetectable. It was a beautiful, functional and elegant automobile but he felt strangely out of place and character driving it.
Thirty minutes later he was still cruising the streets of Sandy, hoping that one of the franchise restaurants would catch his eye or spark some kind of interest. None of them did.
When he was a kid, Sandy was a little town with a few shops and stores, fewer places to eat, a small post office and a couple of gas stations. The population was now near 100,000. The proximity of the town to Salt Lake City, the mountains and the ski resorts had inevitably led to this sprawling growth, but the prosperity came at a high cost when he remembered the old days of open spaces, orchards and fresh air. It had been a good place for kids to grow up.
Progress usually costs something more than what we anticipated, he reasoned. People were people, some good, some not so good, some really bad and a few saints thrown in the make the mixture bland enough to gag everybody.
Unable to drum up an interest in his gut for any of the Chinese, Italian, Mexican, waffle, pancake, or gourmet hot dogs, he finally swung the Mark into the drive up lane of the local McDonald’s. The line was short. He drove up next to the menu board and the speaker welcomed him with a soft, sweet female but mechanical voice.
“Welcome to McDonalds Sandy, may I take your order?”
“Yeah, let me have two quarter pounders with cheese and a small chocolate shake”, Matt answered back. Pause.
“Would you like fries with that?” the female voice asked again.
“No thanks” Matt answered back. Pause.
“That will be five seventy six. Please pull up to the take out window,” the voice said, never changing inflection.
Matt wasn’t sure the car’s computer didn’t recognize the command before he did because it seemed to start rolling of its own accord. When he reached the window he pulled the transmission into park, sure that when he left it would be on his command, no subliminal message exchanged between these two machines. The machine, it turned out, had a pretty face, a bright smile and blond hair. She also displayed an ample cleavage when she reached out to hand him the bag and waxy milk shake container.
“Nice car” she grinned at him, leaving the cleavage in full view.
“Thanks” Matt smiled back at her; “it’s my dad’s. He doesn’t know I’ve got it so I have to get back home.”
She actually looked disappointed. Matt gunned the engine just a little to entice one more smile from the girl and pulled away. Maybe the dark circles under his eyes were fading.
Rounding the corner in front of the house, he hit the garage door opener switch. The door started up again and the light came on inside the garage. Two minutes later, he was inside the kitchen. The kitchen had always been the beating heart of the house and that was a strange fact too. The living room was seldom if ever used and you might think that a single parent and a teenage son wouldn’t spend that much time in such a room, but they did. It was their meeting room, their conference room, and it seemed that one or the other of them was depositing or withdrawing something from the refrigerator on a continual basis.
The house would probably appraise at a higher amount than it would actually sell for, he thought. Around here, you need more than just two bedrooms, which is what they had now that the upstairs had been turned into a study. It wasn’t something he wanted to deal with at the moment anyway.
Back in the study, he arranged his hamburgers and drink on the desktop, pulled out the high backed office chair and sat himself down in front of the monitor. A quick look around the underside of the desk located the master switch of the power and phone line monitor. He clicked the switch to on. From behind a panel, he heard the computer’s fan come to the life followed by the normal sequencing of the machine as it went through its diagnostic checks. Within seconds, the monitor was systematically checking off the components of the system, listing the status of each test and displaying the end results. After a few more seconds, a customized icon layout for Windows 95 was showing on the screen. One particular icon indicated that it was a shortcut to the Internet and he assumed that clicking on the image would activate the telephone dialer and get him started. He was correct. Had his father not checked the box that automatically remembered his mail password the entire exercise would have ended right there, but the box was checked and the routine continued.
He heard a faint telephone dial tone, the sequential beeping of numbers being dialed and then a single ring. A few data tones were exchanged by the modems at either end of the line and the icon was minimized and slipped into a position at the bottom of the screen. The next screen to appear was the Netscape home page. He was in familiar territory now, the same browser that he used on his own computer in California.
He paused for a few moments to take a bite of the hamburger and a sip of the thinning milk shake. If he had been at his own desk, in his own apartment, the first thing he would have done would be to check for email.
He checked his father’s incoming mail; there were no new messages. In fact, all the mail files were empty except for the trash and that contained only the normal assortment of junk mail. That uneasy feeling of incompleteness still nagged him.
Almost unconsciously, Matt toggled the button for his father’s address book. There were not that many people listed and most of them he knew but a few others were not familiar. He thought for a minute, reflecting on the events of the last six days. Joe had died late in the evening of the previous Thursday. Friday morning dear old Mrs. Cavenaugh had come to clean the house as she had every Friday for so many years that Matt could scarcely calculate it all. She had found him there, slumped over his keyboard, his last breath having passed from him several hours before. She had called 911 and the body had been removed a couple of hours later. Mrs. Cavenaugh had taken it on herself to phone Matt and give him the bad news. Matt in turn had called his father’s sister, the only other relative he had. He had also phoned the lawyers.
It turned out that Joe had left specific instructions with the law firm concerning his final wishes. He did not want a funeral and he didn’t want any public notice of his death to appear in the local papers. His only wish was that he be cremated and that his remains be given to his son for dispersal over the land he had loved so much.
It struck Matt that the people on his father’s email list were probably not aware of his passing. He decided that it would be only common courtesy to inform them. He drafted a short note explaining that Joe had passed away unexpectedly and that he would be available to handle any questions concerning his father and do what he could to complete any unfinished business. He clicked off each addressee in the table with the exception of his two aunts and a couple of cousins, moved the mouse pointer to “send” and clicked it.
* * * * *
It was Friday morning, the eighteenth of May. Matt had slept about six full hours in the single bed in his old room. Some of the leftover memories of his boyhood still hung on the walls. A University of Utah pennant, a Hillcrest High School graduation photograph, a black framed picture of a white Arabian colt that he had helped to break and train, and an old cork bulletin board where he once put up urgent reminders to prod him into doing assignments, they were all there just the way he had left them.
Six hours of sleep was about his normal quota of rest. Occasionally, on weekends, he would sleep in but it didn’t happen often. He had thought briefly of sleeping in his father's bedroom next to the study before he retired the night before but had given up the idea quickly. It just didn’t seem proper somehow. He was absolutely sure that Mrs. Cavenaugh had long since gone through the whole house and washed all the linens, towels, blankets and bedspreads, but still, that was his father’s room and probably always would be.
Knowing what he knew of Mrs. Cavenaugh he realized that despite the shock of finding his father dead a week ago this morning, and despite all the commotion that must have followed, she would have had the presence of mind to know that Matt would necessarily be coming home. She would have made sure his room was clean, that there were fresh towels in the bathroom and that all traces of disorder or chaos would have been swept away. The thought of Mrs. Cavenaugh caused him to jerk his wrist up and look at his watch. It was nearly eight. Unless someone had told her specifically not to come, she would be arriving at any minute. He got up quickly and headed for the shower.
The hot, steamy water felt good as it pelted his body. The thin vinyl walls of the shower stall resonated to the rhythm of the pounding water, but even so, Matt thought that he heard the back door open and shut and footsteps in the kitchen. Surely, it was Mrs. Cavenaugh.
He spent longer in the shower than he normally would have on a Friday morning, but today there was no urgency to head off to another day of selling commercial airtime. It was an absurd notion anyway! How could anyone sell time? How could anyone buy time? If it were possible, his father might have bought himself a few more years. In the advertising game though, anything is possible, even probable. Maybe that is why he had never been at ease with the business. Selling an intangible, selling an idea, selling a pie in the sky notion that a clever jingle or a booming voice was the one thing that could turn your restaurant, or your tire store, or your sex toy shop into a potential goldmine was all too far out for him to comprehend without feeling a little guilty. Yet, he did the job and did it well. He was making “good” money; at least he was able to spend it without anyone telling him it wasn’t any good. He hadn’t made the kind of money his father made, but his father had paid a high price for his success, an early death being the latest and best example.
Ever since he was sixteen, Matt had shaved while in the shower. It was one of his father’s recommendations. Now it was habit. He wondered if he would ever have the opportunity to pass little tidbits of male lore on to a son of his own. Time was not on his side for this one. He was creeping up on 40. Creeping hell, he was careening down a slick, steep, narrow slope that had a huge cement wall at the bottom with four zero painted in big, red numerals on it. If he were going to arrest that slide, the brakes would need to be applied quite soon.
Showered, shaved and shampooed at last, he stepped from the stall, retrieved a big, fluffy towel from the towel rack and began to dry himself. The towel too was another manifestation of his father’s tastes. “I want big, fat, thick, spongy towels”, he used to say. “Thin ones make good polishing rags for the car when they start to wear out, but they make lousy towels.” Had he thought about what his father liked and disliked so often before, or was it just in this last week that he was reminded so much of the influence and sway his dad had held with him? Perhaps, after all is said and done, it is the most ordinary of words that we speak during our lifetime that live on so long after we have passed. Most of us would prefer that it would be our values, or our profound statements on world politics, or culture, or the way we treat our fellow man that would endure. Yet, those grand gestures, those high ideals become footnotes, and our true character comes to the surface, marked, pocked and blemished, and we are remembered for our preference for thick towels, or a cold beer drunk on a shady deck, or a horseback ride in the mountain mist. Which is most valid? Probably, to those who really knew us and loved us in spite of the blemishes, the towel speaks volumes; the profound thoughts become whispers.
Back in his bedroom, Matt opened the canvas duffel bag that contained the belongings he had thrown in for this emergency trip. When the lawyers telephoned, they explained that there would be no formal ceremonies, so he had packed accordingly. One of the advantages of being single was that most of his leisure clothes were maintenance free. They could be thrown into a bag like this and be just as presentable as they ever had been. He pulled on a pair of Levi’s, a cotton/nylon tennis shirt and a pair of tube socks. He opened the closet door and looked to see if perhaps a pair of boots from the old days might be stashed away, lovingly preserved by Mrs. Cavenaugh, in hopes that one day this prodigal son might return to his boyhood haunts. They were there, but he knew they would be.
Actually, he often came home to spend a long weekend with his father and a couple of times had stayed a week, two, or three. He was not a stranger to this house, but his status had gradually become one of visitor instead of resident.
Coming out of his room, he was greeted with the smell of fresh coffee. Such a common occurrence as this became another source of memories, but the thoughts came and moved on quickly. He walked slowly up the stairs to the kitchen.
Mrs. Cavenaugh was a middle size lady, with a full-length apron and sturdy shoes, always with laces. That was her complete description. That was what she was, that was what she had been for as long as Matt could remember. The fact that she was the closest thing to a mother that he had since he was twelve, the fact that she loved him as well as any mother could have, all those things were inclusive in that simple description, neatly packaged and folded, stuffed into the bulging pocket of the apron. She was wiping the kitchen table with an oiled cloth when he walked into the room. She turned to face him and the arms of both of them extended towards each other. In the split second it took for him to reach her, he noticed that her hair was now snow white, the lines on her face were more pronounced and her eyes were set much deeper into her face than he had remembered. She was though, the most beautiful person that he had seen since the last time she held him in her comforting arms.
After a moment, she released her hold on him and pushed him away to arm length, an inspection routine she had developed since he had left home. A tear from each eye was making its way down the sides of her face, but she was smiling at him. She said nothing for a moment, but tilted her head from side to side, searching for whatever it is that women who love you look for in your face or expression. Either she found it and was pleased or she didn’t find it and that pleased her too. She hugged him again and then released him again, held his two hands in her own and pulled him to the chair across from her. They sat down in unison. Neither of them had spoken a word.
“This has all this been terribly hard for you, hasn’t it?” Matt asked her. The woman’s face bore the unmistakable signs of profound grief and sadness plus a possible hint of worry.
“Not too bad”, she said, smiling half heartily. “You know your father left me a lot of money and he only asked that I take care of you, if you needed it.” This new fact completely baffled him. He had been unaware of any provision made for her in his father’s will and had wondered about it when the lawyers said that he was the sole heir to his father’s estate. Apparently, the confusion showed in his face and she sensed it immediately. “It was an insurance policy he took out years ago, while you were still in school. He sat me down here at this very table one day and told me about it. He said that if anything ever happened to him, he wanted me to look after you. He was so proud of you, and you were a good boy. I told him I didn’t need money to do that, because I would be here for you anyway.” Having made her explanation, she arose from the table and was off to the kitchen range where she began to fix Matt a cup of coffee. She hadn’t asked if he wanted one, it was a thing she did because she had always done it. Matt watched her. She was old now, probably not capable of doing work for other people any longer, but there, at the stove, she looked as though she was doing her duty, the way she had always done it, and the way she would continue to do it until she died.
“I’m at kind of a loss,” Matt confessed to the woman as she brought the coffee to the table and sat it down in front of him. “I guess everyone who should be notified has been and as far as I know everything has been taken care of. Do you know of anything I need to take care of right away, anything he has been working on or preoccupied with?”
“Oh!” she scoffed with a bit of venom; “he sat in front of that computer most days. When I would come in on Fridays there would be a weeks worth of plates and cups and glasses piled all over the place.” The sweeping gesture of her arm indicated that she hadn’t been all that pleased with the condition of the study. The study, of course, was one of the minor provinces of her domain, but it caused her the most work, took most of her time, and caused most of her aggravations. That was true since Matt had left, but before that she had come four days a week and the kitchen was the throne room from which she ruled this land of hers. In those days, and before, the boy had made messes in all the rooms and they all got equal attention and equal scorn. Nowadays, the poor study had to take it all.
“Was he working on something special or just surfing the net, as they say these days?” he inquired.
“I have no idea what he was doing,” she scoffed again. “All I know is that since he brought that machine home, he didn’t get any mail at all anymore, except for junk mail and the likes.” Matt thought how much he had missed this old lady and her thinly hidden contempt for all things connected to or associated with modern technology. “If it wasn’t for your dear old Aunt Lorry, he probably wouldn’t have ever checked the mailbox at all and let all that stuff just pile up and cover the front porch.”
With that, she wiped her hands on her apron and started for the front door, obviously bent on getting the mail from the box. Matt gulped at his coffee and heard the front door open, the squeaking of the mailbox being opened and followed by the slightly hard closing of the front door again. The sound of her sturdy shoes preceded her appearance in the kitchen, but the hand containing a stack of flyers, brochures and sales bulletins was the first to enter the view of the inter sanctum. She waved the junk like someone wagging a finger in your face. “You see? Nobody writes anything any more, they call on the telephone, or they send it on the computer or they print it in this junk. Nobody knows how to operate a simple pencil anymore. Why, in my day, we wrote letters and post cards and the postman was somebody you waited for, not some silly fool in short pants and a sun helmet delivering newspapers. No wonder people turn their dogs loose on them.” She proceeded directly to the sink, opened up the lower cabinet door and deposited the material into the trash.
Having exhausted the possibilities of any insights she might have provided him, Matt spent the next few minutes just talking about general things. Mrs. Cavenaugh was like a weather vane and from her you could get a pretty good idea of how things were going in the neighborhood, the city, the country and the world. She was always upset with the way things were “overseas”. Matt could remember when he was still a kid and his father would be gone to some country or another, Mrs. Cavenaugh would expound for hours on why he shouldn’t have gone there in the first place, what was he going to do there among all them foreigners, was he going to bring home some deadly germ, etc., etc, etc. She had her own way of caring; it may have sounded a bit like criticism, but it was genuine concern.
“And how about you, Matt?” she said to him as she sat down across from him at the table. “Are you ok?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “Your father was so proud of you and had such hopes for you. You must always remember that. You know he understood why you never wanted to take over his business, that you needed to be on your own for a time, but I think he always believed that one day you would come home and settle down. Do you think you are ready for that now?”
“I’m ready for something; I’m not quite sure what it is just yet.” Matt admitted. “I’ve sort of told them at the station that getting things straightened out here might take me quite a while and if they couldn’t live with that I’d understand.” Matt stroked the old woman’s hand while several thoughts ran through his mind. “One day soon we will sit down and have a long talk on what we are going to do. Just give me a day or two to get it all straight in my own mind, ok?”
“You take all the time you need honey,” she winked at him. “I’ll come by every day to see that you are getting something to eat and that your room is made up. You just take all the time you need.” With that said the old lady was again off on her household chores, her heavy shoes thumping loudly on the steps to the basement. Her step was not as quick as it had once been, but she showed no sign of relinquishing any part of her duties. Her entire life had been consumed by hard work; it would have been impossible for her to do anything else at this late stage.
Matt took advantage of her absence and went up the stairs to his father’s study. Sitting himself at the computer he went through the same ritual he had performed the night before and within minutes he was again back at the point where he could check for incoming messages. Unfortunately, there were none. He was certain there would be an immediate response from someone, but the impersonal machine simply reported back what it knew to be the truth, “no new messages on server”.
The urn was still setting on the sideboard where he had left it the night before. Maybe, Matt thought, it would be a good idea to drive the 175 miles to Sevier County and scatter the ashes today. It would give him a chance to be alone and think things through. But another, stronger thought kept edging it’s way to the front of his mind; something that said this was not the right time. Something was incomplete, undone and until it was finished, that final act would have to wait. He moved the urn to the center of the bookcase and reached for his mother’s picture on the desk. He looked at it a moment, studying the image of the beautiful, young woman. He kissed the glass tenderly and set it alongside his father’s remains. Perhaps in a better world, they were together again, making up for the time that had been stolen from them. Perhaps they were watching him and they could influence the actions he would have to take in the near future. He desperately hoped so because at the moment he felt terribly alone and deserted.
A few minutes later as Matt was drinking his second cup of coffee, Mrs. Cavenaugh came up from the basement, having finished down there what she had to do. “Would you like me to fix you some breakfast?” She smiled lovingly at him.
“No thank you Missus Cee”, he answered. “I think I might take a drive to that place down by the freeway in Midvale and grab a bite there. I need to get moving or I’ll never get anything done.”
Mrs. Cavenaugh walked over by the kitchen table and stood for a moment looking serious and puzzled. “You know,” she started out, “I did happen to think of something that your dad said to me a few weeks ago. He was looking very upset and I asked him if there was anything on his mind. He said something about perhaps old friends turn into old enemies. When I asked him what that meant he said that someone he used to know many years ago looked very much like he was involved in some terrible plot or something.”
“Did he say anything else about it?” Matt questioned.
“No,” Mrs. Cavenaugh sighed, “after that he just went back up to the study and worked on his computer again. It continued to bother him though, I’m sure of that.”
“Well,” Matt said thoughtfully, “I just have this feeling, nothing I can put my finger on, but something isn’t quite right. Maybe it is because of the prospect of having to decide what I’m going to do with this house and all his things, the cabin down south, you, and a million other things. God, I wish he had left me a list of things he wanted done and how. It would be so much simpler.”
“Matt,” Mrs. Cavenaugh spoke to him gently, “there is no hurry on any of this. I would suggest that you just take it slowly. Go through a few items every day and be realistic. If you want to sell this house and the property down south, it will be ok. There isn’t any sense in keeping a lot of old junk to remember your father; you won’t forget him even if everything is thrown away. He isn’t in those things or this house; he’s in your heart and your mind. As for me, I’m perfectly all right. Lester is looking after the cabin and the horses just like he has always done. You’ll see; everything will fall into place with time.”
“I hope you’re right,” Matt sighed. “I’ll need your good council to get through this. I’d sort of forgotten how wise you are.”
Mrs. Cavenaugh laughed aloud. “Wise, is it?” She chuckled, slipping into her Irish accent. Matt remembered how easily she forgot fifty years of Utah English and reverted to a sweet, singing brogue where father became “fatha” and most sentences began with ‘tis’. “Any wisdom I possess comes from making my share of mistakes, just like everyone else.”
“I can’t imagine you being wrong about too many things,” Matt said, smiling. This woman had looked after him for so many years and his father too, but it was obvious that in recent times her service was his dad’s way of looking out for her. She was his responsibility now, regardless of any independence she had been provided and Matt realized that any plans he made for his future would necessarily include her.
A few minutes later Matt stood on the deck outside of the back door of the house. Everything seemed to be in order and the spring grass was as green as an emerald in spite of a cold, damp morning. Rain clouds gathered on the western sky and the chilly wind went straight through the light jacket he had borrowed from his father’s closet. He made a mental note to check with Mrs. Cavenaugh later to see who took care of the lawn and if any provisions had been made for details such as that. The old apple tree in the corner of the yard had shed most of its blossoms and the first hint of new green leaves peeking through buds promised that the bad weather was just an interlude in what must have been an otherwise warm spring. The house, the yard, the plants and trees all needed a family to tend to them. It would be a terrible injustice, Matt thought, to become an absentee landlord and turn this into a rental property where people come and go on an irregular basis and all leave having inflicted some major or minor hurt on the things that deserved so much better. He would rather part with it all than to see that happen.
He hadn’t bothered to lock the garage door when he had returned the night before; he could scarcely remember ever having to lock doors in this neighborhood. He was sure it must have been the lawyers who had secured everything when they came to check things out. He walked inside the garage, around to the driver’s side of the pickup truck, opened the door, and climbed in. The interior of the truck was done in black leather material and black plush carpets on the floor. It was nearly regal. Matt chuckled softly to himself as he inserted the key into the ignition and turned it to the start position. The engine roared to life with a deep, powerful growl. Matt chuckled again. It took a few seconds to find the garage door opener because a special compartment had been provided for it on the roof console, but having found it finally he clicked it and the door began to open. He glanced at the gas gauge, correctly assuming that this beast required frequent and massive transfusions of fuel. He was relieved to find it reading nearly full. He backed slowly out of the garage and the driveway and headed the truck into the street, pulled the transmission into drive and eased down on the accelerator. The vehicle proceeded slowly towards the corner crossing. Matt turned right and pressed a bit more firmly on the pedal; the truck leaped forward almost startling its novice driver. This wasn’t just a pretty truck, Matt decided; it was a pretty powerful truck. He chuckled again and slowed down.
By the time he reached John’s restaurant on 78th south in Midvale the rain had started. Matt had turned on the stereo and a compact disc was pumping rock music into the cab. It was a group favored by his father called the Alan Parson’s Project and the rhythmic music accompanied by the metronome arms of the windshield wipers helped dispel the gloom of the nasty morning. Puddles had already formed on the street and Matt made another mental note to wash the truck as soon as the weather cleared. It was something his father would surely have done, although he wondered if he would have subjected the vehicle to such weather in the first place.
Inside the restaurant Matt was led to an empty booth by a matronly looking waitress who automatically snatched a coffeepot and cup when she stepped out from behind the counter to greet him. She plopped the plastic sealed menu down in front of him as she poured coffee, never having determined if he wanted any or not. He did so there was no problem. “You need a minute to look that over or are you ready to order now?” She asked.
“I don’t know the correct number anymore,” Matt began, “but I’ll have a couple of eggs, over easy, two strips of bacon and an English muffin if you can manage that.”
“That is a one and three-quarter,” the waitress laughed. “Can I get you anything else with that?”
“You wouldn’t happen to have a Tribune somebody left behind, would you?” he smiled back at her.
“Sure,” the woman said, still smiling. “I’ve got a morning Tribune, yesterday’s Deseret News and a USA Today. Any or all, take your pick. You looking for a job?”
“No, not today,” Matt laughed. “Never know about tomorrow though. I just like to do the crossword puzzle while I eat breakfast. As I remember the Tribune has the easier one, so bring me that.”
“That isn’t a bad idea,” she giggled again. “It probably isn’t too good to look at what you are eating in here. The paper will keep you distracted. Don’t tell the boss I said that though.” She was off then and Matt fixed up his coffee with the proper amounts of sugar and imitation cream from a sealed pouch. Before he had a chance to stir it, the waitress was back with an untidy pile of newspapers, which she deposited on his table along with a freshly sharpened pencil. “I’ll bet you forgot to bring anything to write with, didn’t you?” She beamed at him.
“Yeah, I did.” Matt answered. “If you are in the running for employee of the month you get my vote.”
“Hell sweetie,” she giggled again, “nobody ever works here for a whole month. I must thrive on it though,” she laughed, “I’ve been here seven years. Guess I’m a glutton for punishment.”
Matt scanned the national, world and local news but nothing much caught his attention. In the business section he read a short item about some company introducing a newer computer chip that operated at speeds the made the unit that he had bought six months before obsolete. Even that could hardly be considered news; it happened on a regular basis these days. The waitress brought his food and Matt found the crossword puzzle and worked at it without a great deal of thought while he consumed the meal. After several minutes, he had finished eating and the crossword still had a few blanks in it. The cheery waitress came by with her coffeepot again and topped off his cup. She leaned across the table and studied the puzzle for a moment. “Gee, that isn’t a very pleasant thought, even if it is a rainy, nasty Friday morning.” She said, frowning.
“How’s that?” Matt said, unsure of what she was talking about.
The waitress scowled at him and thumped her index finger at some doodling Matt had scribbled on the blank margin of the newspaper. When Matt looked at it, he was taken aback; he hadn’t been aware that he had even written the simple sentence. “Old friends become old enemies” was all that it said.
He spent the early part of the afternoon sorting clothes from his father’s closet. The weather had cleared up and the sun was trying desperately to get through the remaining clouds and brighten the rest of the day. The house was locked when he returned from the restaurant. Apparently, some of the security he had taken for granted had been eroded in the years he had been away. He made another mental note to lock up when he left if that was the way it had to be. The sorting of the clothes and the realization that the things you took for granted in your youth might not apply any longer only served to intensify the uneasy feeling that had been his constant companion in the last few days.
He was just about to gather another armload of shirts, suits and jackets and take them to the garage and load them into the back of the pickup when the phone rang. He went through a small rehearsal before he snatched the receiver from the cordless unit on the kitchen wall. “Hi, this is Matt Kellogg,” he said as cheerfully as he could. He thought it best to alert the caller right away that it was not his father that was answering.
There was the slightest of hesitation before the caller responded. “Matt, this is Roy Austin. Do you remember me?”
Matt searched quickly through his memory banks and picked out the one name from long ago that he thought it might be. “Commander Austin?” Matt answered.
The caller chuckled a bit, almost as if he were conjuring up memories of his own that must have been pleasant to recall. “Well the world has made a few revolutions since those days,” the caller continued. “Actually its Admiral Austin now. I’m surprised you can remember that far back. You were just a pint-sized kid the last time you saw me. I was putting you and your father on board a C-130 aircraft in Rota Spain for a flight back to the states. We had to scrounge up a flight jacket to keep you from freezing to death.”
“I remember it well,” Matt confessed. “It was a long time ago. How can I help you Admiral?”
“I received the email you sent, my boy.” The Admiral said. “You might not have even been aware I was one of the addressees. I wanted to call you and tell you how sorry I am to hear about your father. It wasn’t exactly unexpected, but it still was a terrible shock. Please accept my condolences. Joe Kellogg was a brave and honest man.”
“Thank you very much, Admiral,” Matt said sincerely. “I take it you were still corresponding with dad after all these years.”
“Why hell boy,” the voice boomed, “he worked for me as a contractor off and on through the years. You probably weren’t aware of that I guess.”
A thousand thoughts rushed crazily through Matt’s mind at the same time. “You mean to tell me that dad was still a part of the Navy after we came back to Utah?”
“A very vital part!” the Admiral exclaimed. “It took a lot of extra work on his part; a weekend here and there, a week or two during the summer months or whenever he could get away from his business, but he was in harness right up to the end”
“My God,” Matt breathed, “this is amazing. I had no idea. I wonder why he never spoke of it to me?”
The Admiral’s voice hesitated again. “Because I told him not to.” He explained matter-of-factly. “Look Matt,” the Admiral began again but this time his voice was softer with an almost pleading quality to it. “I’d like to arrange a little recognition ceremony for your father. It will take me a couple of days to put it all together, but it would mean a great deal to me and to your dad’s comrades if you could come here to Washington and accept this tribute in his name. I can’t pick up the tab for a plane ticket, but I know Joe left you enough money to allow you to do that. So, for the sake of the United States Navy and some dear old friends, could you do that for us?”
It was Matt’s turn to hesitate. He repeated the request in his head and the words seemed to appear on a ticker tape banner that ran in front of his eyes. Suddenly two words seemed to stand out in bold letters, old friends. “Yeah, I think I could do that,” Matt said calmly. “When would you like me to be there?”
“Let’s try for Tuesday afternoon.” You could hear the Admiral grinning. “I can put most of this together over the weekend and get the rest of it set up Monday. If you can’t get a flight or if something else happens to prevent you from making it, you call me.”
Matt scrambled for a pencil and paper as the voice read off the phone number. Matt jotted it down.
“I’ll have one of my admin types make you a reservation at the Embassy Suites hotel in Alexandria. When you get in town you check in there and call me and I’ll have somebody pick you up.”
“Ok, I’ve got all that.” Matt said. “It’s very touching that you would do something like this for dad. I hope we have a little time to talk about it.”
“I’ll make time,” the Admiral emphasized. “And Matt,” he hesitated again, “I do appreciate you taking the time and going through the trouble for this. I’m sure you have a thousand and one things to do and deal with. We’ll try to make it worth while.”
They exchanged a couple more niceties and then the call was over. Matt thought about the conversation for a few minutes. Finally, he picked up the load of clothes and started for the garage. “Old friends, huh?” he muttered to himself.

Chapter 2


The weekend had been productive and satisfying, Matt decided as he scratched his signature at each place the counter clerk had indicated on the rental car form. The contents of two or three closets had been sorted; all the nicer garments taken to the Goodwill store, the older things thrown away and it had given him a good feeling to know that his father was still able to help people, even after his death. Accomplishing some of that preliminary work allowed him to feel better about this diversionary trip to the nation’s capital too.
Washington National Airport was busy and hectic and he was anxious to get out of there and into the relative tranquility of a hotel room. It was Monday afternoon and he wasn’t scheduled to meet with Admiral Austin until the following day, but the time difference between Utah and the east coast would have made it inconvenient for everyone if he had flown in on Tuesday so he opted for a flight on this day before. He was a stranger to this part of the country in spite of the fact that he had been born in the Naval Hospital at Bethesda Maryland, just a few miles up the road. His father was stationed at the Washington Navy Yard in those days, a bright, new, polished Ensign, eager to launch himself into a lifelong career in uniform. Matt had spent his infancy in this area but naturally, he didn’t recall any of it except the stories his father had told him. His dad was an excellent narrator; the words flowed easily from him and kept your attention. When Matt was old enough to understand, his father would relate bits and pieces of his exciting work and the boy would sit there and take it all in like some thirsty sponge.
After Washington, Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Kellogg, his pretty wife and his toddler son were sent to Long Beach California. Matt’s real memories began there. They lived in base housing and all of his friends and schoolmates were military kids whose roots were shallow and moving was far more commonplace than permanency. California military and naval bases were hubs of activity in those days because of the ongoing war in Vietnam, and more than once in those formative years he had seen his young friends endure the loss and heartbreak of their father’s death in that terrible action. He wasn’t old enough to realize how the country was being polarized and divided or that civil unrest was threatening the society those fallen warriors had served, but it was happening just the same. He was only aware that his dad was gone a lot of the time to places he wasn’t told about doing things he could never imagine. He also remembered that his mother worried a lot and seemed to become fragile and pale.
When he was nine years old, the navy had transferred the family to Rota Spain. They moved into a different type of base housing but except for the floor plan of their home little else changed. The kids he went to school with, played ball with, and hung out with, were cookie cutter versions of the kids he had known in California. Perhaps his dad wasn’t gone quite as much as when they were in the states, but it was still a frequent routine for them to rush his father to the airfield where he would meet some of the other men in his unit and they would fly off on some indeterminate mission to be gone for some indeterminate time. It only changed significantly when his mother became progressively ill.
With his father’s wheeled suitcase in tow, Matt walked out of the rental car office and onto the covered drive area where an attendant had parked the compact Chevrolet. The young man handed him a clipboard and check-off list where Matt was supposed to note any dents, scratches or blemishes prior to taking the vehicle off the lot. The small car was nearly new and there were no obvious faults with it so he initialed the list and pushed the handle of the suitcase into its telescoping receptacle before tossing it into the open trunk of the sedan. Seated behind the wheel, he reviewed the map the counter clerk had given him and he tried to orient himself to the landmarks highlighted on the paper. He read the detailed instructions once more, pulled the transmission out of park, and drove off. Within a few minutes, the vehicle had crossed over the Potomac River and was in Virginia. The Washington Monument, the Jefferson Memorial and the Pentagon had all come and passed from his view in those short minutes. It was all very impressive and just a little intimidating as the mid-afternoon traffic was moving at a good pace and offered little opportunity to absorb the sights while keeping a close eye out for his designated exit that was just ahead on the right. To the people who worked and lived in this area, the sights were all but mundane as they rushed to wherever it was they were going, to Matt it was like watching a lifetime of televised news reports or viewing picture post cards come to life.
The directions that had been provided were excellent and barely fifteen minutes from the airport he pulled into the check-in area of the Embassy Suites Hotel. Matt turned off the engine of the car and got out, leaving the suitcase in the trunk. He assumed he would have to move the car into a different parking area anyway and would gather up his belongings at that time. He walked through the automatic doors and into the lobby and glanced around to locate the reception desk. His appearance, quite normal and appropriate for Utah, and even California, had most eyes in the lobby turned to him. Perhaps the wheat colored corduroy jacket, the rough-out boots and the somewhat faded jeans were just a bit too informal for such a pretentious locale. He was a little overdressed to be a tourist and seriously underdressed to be anyone who might be knocking on the doors of Government.
A pretty, young woman waited behind the counter for his approach. “Hi,” Matt said in greeting. “Matt Kellogg, you should have a reservation for me.”
The woman smiled at him and poked a few strokes at a computer keyboard while she eyed her monitor. “Ah yes,” she said as the terminal relayed the information to her. “Originally you were scheduled to arrive tomorrow and this morning you changed it to today. Do you know how long you will be staying with us, Mister Kellogg?”
“I think until Thursday, but can we keep it open?” Matt answered. Staying an extra day qualified him for a discount on his airline ticket.
“Not a problem,” the pretty woman replied. “If you will just fill out this registration form and let me have your credit card so I can make an impression we’ll be all set.”
He filled in the obligatory spaces of the form and scratched his signature in the block next to the printed “X” while the woman ran the Visa card he had given her through an accounting machine. After that, she coded one of those perforated room key cards, grabbed a locator map and put it on the counter in front of him. “You’ll be in room 606,” she said while drawing an arrow with a felt tip marker to the closest parking area. “There is an elevator just inside the door from the parking lot and your room will be on the left of the elevator as you exit. It has a nice view of the area and is on the quiet side of the building. We’ll be opening up the lobby area for complementary cocktails in about forty-five minutes; I hope you’ll join us.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Matt said, barely smiling.
The hotel room was nearly as big as Matt’s apartment and a lot more orderly. The woman at the desk was right, it was quiet and the view of the Washington skyline was very pleasant. Outside the bedroom area there was a small but cozy sitting room with a long davenport and a breakfast bar. He stretched out on the sofa and within minutes was sound asleep.
When he awoke, he looked curiously at his watch; it read 5:15 but he realized immediately that was Utah time. He had reset the watch to reflect Mountain Time but had not changed it to the Eastern zone, which meant it was 7:15 here in Washington. For some unknown reason he felt rested and excited. He decided to go down to the lobby and see if the free cocktails were still available. In the bathroom, he splashed a little water on his face and checked the stubble on his chin. It wasn’t all that bad and he had no intentions of trying to seduce anyone anyway. He did brush his teeth and ran a comb through his hair though.
When the elevator doors opened at the lobby Matt stepped out. Only a few people populated the common area and it was obvious that the drinks were back on a pay-as-you-go basis. When the free liquor ran out the crowds vanished quickly.
Towards the rear of the lobby area, amid a forest of potted plants and ivy vines, Matt spotted the glowing neon sign of the cocktail lounge. He made his way casually in that direction. Inside the bar the lights were low and the place bustled with the after work and pre-dinner, just in town for a few days, put it on my bill, it isn’t like this in Des Moines young professionals typical of hotel bars. He climbed into plush, soft bar stool and waited for the bartender to move in his direction. “Yes sir,” the thirtyish young man with a long ponytail said as he spotted him. “What can I get you this evening?”
“Anything Canadian and seven-up,” Matt said, smiling.
“I’ve got Canadian Club, Canadian Mist, Black Velvet, VO just about anything else that has a maple leaf on it. Take your pick.”
“Velvet would be fine,” Matt said.
“Coming up,” the younger man returned his smile. “Gimme your room number and I’ll start you a tab.”
“I don’t think I’ll be here that long,” Matt said, trying to sound unconcerned.
The bartender slid the drink in front of him and then folded his arms on the bar as though he was settling in for a long conversation. “We get a ton of gray flannel, double-breasted types in here on a daily basis,” he started to explain. “Occasionally we get the Texas tycoon types too, but they are pretty genuine, generally. Lots of money and silver belt buckles, big tippers and loud talkers. Let me guess,” The bartender rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, “New Mexico, Arizona or Colorado; you’ve come up with a new, clean, environmentally friendly alternative fuel and are looking for some government backing?”
Matt chuckled. “I’m not sure where I’m from, to be perfectly honest. I live in California but most of my interests are in Utah at the moment and I don’t have an alternative for anything. I’m just in town to take care of a little family business.”
A soft but subtly familiar voice interrupted his laugh and someone touched his elbow. “Mister Kellogg, we missed you at the happy hour.” The voice said in a friendly manner.
Turning around, Matt saw the pretty woman from the reception desk. She was wearing a trim form-fitting green blazer. “I guess the jet lag caught up with me,” he said. “I fell asleep on your wonderful sofa. Sorry, I was looking forward to the free drink too,” Matt smiled coyly at the woman.
“Timmy,” the woman said to the bartender, “this one is on the house. Mister Kellogg is an old and valued customer.”
“My father was Mister Kellogg,” Matt explained. “I’m just Matt.” The bartender moved off toward the other end of the bar to answer the call of a rattling ice cube. “Now why did you tell him that?” Matt said mysteriously. “We both know I’ve never been here before in my life.”
“I’m Julia,” the pretty woman answered. “We have to keep an eye on Timmy,” she explained, smiling. “He is a wonderful bartender, but socially he either likes you and chews your ear off or he doesn’t like you and completely ignores you. There is no middle ground with him. Believe me; I’ve saved you from an evening of endless questions.”
“Well thanks, I guess,” Matt answered. “Actually he wasn’t bothering me but I only made it through his initial classification estimate. I was just going to ask where I should go to get something to eat and then I would have been out of here.”
“We have an elegant dining room right here in the hotel,” Julia offered. “I’m sure you would just love it.” She winked.
“I’m not the elegant dining room type,” Matt said smiling. “Where can I get something good to eat that is reasonable and comes without a lot of hassle?”
Julia continued to smile at him. “You realize that I am obligated to tout our own facilities don’t you? It’s part of my job description. You like barbecue pork?”
“Yeah, it isn’t something I have every day, but it sounds good.” Matt looked a trifle bit concerned. “I’m not real good on directions, is it near by?”
“It isn’t too far from here actually,” Julia explained. “But unless you are familiar with the area and all the one way streets, where to turn and where not to, it is a little tough to find. I tell you what though,” she was still smiling at him, “if you can wait about ten minutes, I’ll be off and I can lead you over there. Would that be ok?”
“That would be great,” Matt said.
“Ok,” Julia said, “get your car and I’ll meet you by the front entrance. Just follow me and I’ll take you right by the place. It’s called ‘The Dixie Pig” and it sets in a vee shaped intersection of two streets. I’ll give you some kind of high sign when we get there.”
About twenty minutes later Matt was seated in an old, very rustic, even a little run down place where the aromas and smoke filling the room were absolutely fantastic. He had followed Julia and her little red car to this place; she had rolled down her window, waved to him and was off. All the tables were rough-hewn planks with benches on the sides. Matt got a smaller table off to the side and ordered a beer and a barbecued chipped pork sandwich. What the waiter brought him was a full-blown meal with sweet corn and baked beans, coleslaw and the rest of the trimmings. When he finished eating he was stuffed and the plate still had enough left on it to feed another man.
After dinner, Matt drove the rental car into Washington and saw as many of the sites out of the window as he could. He managed to get a little better look at the monuments and memorials and even parked the car for a few minutes while he walked around the Lincoln Memorial looking for the Utah and California state blocks. His feelings were jumbled; there was nothing terribly important he had to do and yet he couldn’t quite relax. The long day was taking its toll on him though and he drove back to the hotel and turned in.
The next morning he awoke quite refreshed. The electric clock on the nightstand said 9 AM but his internal clock still said six or seven. Most people in the area were already hard at work in their daily routine. Looking out the window, Matt could see a steady stream of heavy traffic flowing into the city and back out again. The wheels of government and the wheels of commerce all seemed to be smoothly rolling in one direction or another.
Matt dug the phone number the Admiral had given him out of the pocket of the sport coat and sitting at the breakfast bar he punched in the numbers. There was only one ring before an efficient feminine voice answered, “Admiral Austin’s office.”
“Good morning, this is Matt Kellogg,” Matt stated directly. “I wonder if you would pass on to Admiral Austin that I have arrived, that I’m in the hotel and I await his instructions.”
“I certainly will, Mister Kellogg,” the woman answered. “Someone will be in touch with you within the next hour; would that be alright?”
“That will be just fine,” Matt said. “I’ll be in my room until I hear from you then.”
Satisfied that the ball was now in the navy’s end of the court, Matt made a cup of coffee from the packets of instant coffee, instant cream and sugar that had been neatly arranged on the breakfast bar next to a small water heater. There didn’t seem to be anything else to do except to wait around for the phone call and perhaps watch the morning news on the television. The instant coffee tasted strong and bitter but without any real flavor to it. He turned on the television only to find that the morning news programs had given way to a plethora of game shows and those horrible ugly exploitations of people’s bad choices. He had no desire to watch any of them and settled for about fifteen minutes of CNN. It seemed that little was happening in the world at large either. It was time to relax in the shower.
The phone rang just as he was dried and was wrapping the towel around his waist. It was the efficient feminine voice again. “Mister Kellogg, this is Admiral Austin’s office.” Matt wondered comically if Admiral Austin’s office had a name. “Lieutenant Carter will pick you up in the hotel lobby at 1:30 this afternoon if that would be convenient. He will be in uniform and you should have no trouble recognizing him.”
“One thirty will be just fine,” Matt replied. “Lieutenant Carter will probably have little trouble recognizing me either,” he said chuckling. He expected some sort of reply but there was none.
The doors of the elevator opened into the lobby about five minutes before the appointed hour. He had replaced the jeans with a pair of black wool-blend slacks and a lightweight white turtleneck sweater. Matt realized he probably should have worn a tie, but most of his adult life had been spent in a one-man crusade questioning the validity and origin of an appendage that made no logical sense at all.
Before he had the chance to look around a young naval officer approached him. Even from a distance, the young man was striking; his white uniform was spotless, his shoes the envy of any marine, his bearing stiff and dignified. “Mister Kellogg?” It was as much a statement as a question. “Admiral Austin sends his compliments. Welcome to Washington. I have a car waiting for us.”
“You must be Lieutenant Carter,” Matt said easily.
A look of total embarrassment crossed the young man’s face, as though he had just discovered he had left his fly open or something equally unforgivable. “I’m terribly sorry, sir,” the officer stated, recovering some of his composure. “I should have introduced myself. Please forgive me.”
“It’s perfectly alright,” Matt chuckled attempting to put the man at ease. “I’m not here to be impressed, but I’ll have to admit, I am.”
“Very good, sir.” The young man stated forcefully. He obviously was not going to relax. “Shall we go then?”
The two of them made their way through the lobby and out the front door. Directly in front of them a black Chevrolet sedan was parked. It had some official lettering on the side and a tall enlisted man opened the front and rear doors in a snappy military manner. When they were seated inside the car the tall man shut both doors and got in behind the wheel.
“Mister Kellogg sir,” the officer explained, not about to make any further errors, “this is Petty Officer Donovan. He will be our driver this afternoon.” The driver turned his head toward the back seat where Matt was seated and smiled. Matt nodded.
The car made its way through a maze of one-way streets and cloverleaves but the distance they traveled as the crow flies was not significant. The exit they took was called Crystal City. The placards on the buildings all seemed to be connected to the Navy department in some form or other and it could be assumed the navy was the principal tenant for the entire area. After about fifteen minutes, the car pulled into an alley and stopped in front of an unmarked rear entrance. The driver was out of his seat and had both doors opened almost before the vehicle was stationary.
“If you would follow me I’ll escort you to the Admiral’s office sir,” Lieutenant Carter said officially. Petty Officer Donovan and the Chevrolet drove away.
The hallway they walked down was typical of government or corporate offices. Each door was labeled with a room number and some vague identification of the activity going on inside. Within a short distance the vagueness became pronounced and the identification labels said only “Navy Department". Lieutenant Carter paused in front of a nondescript door, opened it and stood aside for Matt to enter. “Miss Jensen, this is Mister Kellogg,” Carter announced behind Matt and then he closed the door quietly.
The woman got out of her chair from behind a desk that was piled high with papers and folders. If he had to guess, Matt would have thought her to be in her middle to late forties and without having heard her speak he knew instinctively it was this person he had spoken with on the phone. She just looked the part. She had a serious look on her face punctuated with a faint smile and she extended her hand to him. “Hello Matt,” she said in a completely friendly and relaxed manner, totally different than she had sounded before. “I’m Mildred Jensen and I knew your father well. He was a fine man and we all share your loss.”
“Thank you so much,” Matt said sincerely. “Dad seems to have had more friends than I was aware of. It’s nice to know he was so well thought of.”
“He was one of a kind,” Mildred said, almost wistfully. “They don’t make’em like that anymore.” The serious look faded into a broad, pretty and genuine smile. “The Admiral would like you to come in and have a little sit-down with him before we get to the official part of the business. I’ll take you in. Would you care for a cup of coffee or something else?”
“Coffee would be great,” Matt said enthusiastically. “Cream and double sugar if you can manage it.”
“Coming right up,” Mildred replied like a waitress. “Let’s get you started with the grand old man.”
Across the office was another door that was unmarked and could have led to a closet or another office, it certainly was not readily apparent. The secretary grasped the doorknob, rapped softly with her knuckle and opened it. “Excuse me Admiral,” she said quietly, “Matt Kellogg is here to see you.”
Twenty-five year old memories do not serve too well and Matt searched his brain trying to recall what the man he had known that many years ago was like. There was just the dimmest of a blurred picture and little else. When the voice from the interior of the room crashed upon his eardrums, the picture sharpened and focused. The voice brought it all back. “Well by God, show the little fellow in here and let’s take a look at him.”
Mildred swung the door open wide and stood back and gestured for him to proceed in. She smiled and winked at him. “His bark is a lot worse than his bite,” she laughed. “He’s an old pussycat.
Matt walked into the room and did a very quick survey. By any standard, military or civilian, the office was sparse and empty. A large walnut desk stood against the far wall, flanked by two flags, one American and one Navy. There were two chairs in front of the desk and one behind it. That was the extent of the furnishing. No pictures on the walls, any pennants, trophies, keepsakes or memorabilia of any kind could be seen. The stark appearance of the room only added a punctuation mark to the man who was coming out from behind the desk to greet him.
Roy Austin was of medium height and that was the only thing about him that could be called medium. His head was as big and round as a pumpkin with large eyes, a broad nose and a walrus mustache; what hair he had was bristly and coarse, close cropped to his head but still fairly dark. His shoulders and upper body were massive and it gave him a fireplug look. His walk was quick and he moved slightly bent over at the waist. Matt stood his ground and waited for the onslaught.
“Good heavens boy, you make me feel a hundred years old, standing there all grown and filled out,” the Admiral said extending his paw-like hand. When Matt grasped the hand, the older man pulled him close and hugged him around the shoulders. For just a second the gesture seemed inappropriate but the feeling quickly passed. When the Admiral stepped back, he smiled a huge wide grin that seemed to fit the rest of his structure and he motioned for him to take a seat in one of the two chairs.
“I have to admit, Admiral,” Matt hesitated, “I couldn’t remember a lot about you except your name, seeing you again has brought it all back to me. Dad used to refer to you as ‘the bear’, did you know that?”
“And a lot of other names that weren’t nearly as endearing,” the older man laughed. “I demanded the very best of all my men and they gave it to me, and more, but once in a while I’d have to push a little hard to let them know they had it in them.”
The Admiral moved back against the desk and sat on the edge, a serious but sincere look on his face. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you see, Matt,” he began as if he was about to tell a story. “So much of what we do, by necessity naturally, goes on without any recognition or reward. I guess our reward is the fact that this country and this old world has not blown itself into a million pieces. It is our families that really get left with the short end of the stick though; they never know exactly what is going on, where we are or when we will get back again. That kind of uncertainty puts a lot of added stress on people. Your family is about gone now and I am happy that for once we can show you that the dedication your father gave to this job and to his country will be recognized, if only in this small way.”
“Well I’m honored to be here, Admiral,” Matt answered. “I wish I had known a little more about dad’s activities in recent years; as far as I knew his naval career ended the day you put us on that plane in Rota.” Matt smiled at his host and hesitated a split second before he continued. “I would have thought that all you old warriors would have retired by now and be content to go fishing or something like that.”
The Admiral laughed loudly, leaning back and roaring at the ceiling. “Well,” he said, still chuckling, “they don’t let me go to the field anymore, I spend all my time here preparing and justifying budgets and trying my best to keep this organization from strangling in red tape. By rights, I should have retired long ago and I occupy this desk only because the Chief of Naval Operations has asked me to stay on. I’m ready to be put out to pasture as soon as I get a couple of loose ends tied up.” The look on his face became immediately serious and he leaned forward, put his index finger across his lips, and then drew an imaginary line across his throat with the same finger. Matt understood the message but was totally confused as to why it had been delivered.
Admiral Austin got up, walked around behind the desk, and sat down in his chair again. He punched a button on the inter-office communicator with a fat, stubby finger and leaned close to it. “Mildred dear, bring the coffee in and please ask Captain Fowler to join us, will you please?” When he had finished speaking, he pulled a small pad of post-it notes in front of him and hurriedly scratched something on it, folded it neatly and reached across the desk and offered it to Matt, again making the silence sign with his finger across his lips. Matt put the slip into his jacket pocket and said nothing.
It seemed only a second or two later that the door opened and Mildred came in carrying a silver tray with cups, saucers, sugar, cream and a coffee carafe. She said nothing but placed the tray on the side of the admiral’s desk. There was a soft rap on the door she had left open and the admiral looked up, smiling. “Dick, come on in. I have someone here I want you to meet.”
The man who entered the room was probably in his early fifties and was a model of military decorum. You could tell he was in extremely good physical condition, everything about him proclaimed health and fitness. He was tanned, muscular, trim and straight. Matt found himself rising from his seat automatically, as though this person somehow deserved his respect. Matt noted that the admiral rose from his chair also.
“Dick,” the admiral announced, “I’d like you to meet Matt Kellogg; Joe Kellogg’s son. Matt this is Captain Dick Fowler, my Chief of Staff.” Once again, Matt accepted the offered hand and he felt the definite firmness in the older man’s grip.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Matt,” the Captain said in a low, quiet voice that rang with authority. “I haven’t been in Naval Intelligence long enough to have known your father personally, but I’ve heard many stories of the work he did during Vietnam and the cold war days.”
The statement sounded puzzling to Matt but he wasn’t able to pinpoint the reason. He hoped his expression didn’t reflect his confusion. “Captain Fowler,” Matt said without emotion, “thank you for making this gesture for my dad. It would have meant a great deal to him, I’m sure.”
The three men seated themselves in unison while Mildred poured coffee. The admiral sat at his desk with his hands folded, his thumbs pushing together, a look of total seriousness on his face. “Captain Fowler has been selected for promotion to Rear Admiral, Matt,” Roy Austin said. “He will put on his stars in July and will relieve me as the new Chief. As far as I’m concerned, they couldn’t have picked a better man for the job.”
Twenty minutes later Petty Officer Donovan opened the rear door of the Navy Chevrolet permitting Matt to enter. Matt placed the triangular presentation case containing an American flag on the seat next to him and held the black-framed document on his lap. The certificate of recognition was impressive and bore the signatures of Admiral Austin, the Chief of Naval Operations and the Secretary of the Navy. Matt didn’t say anything to the driver as the car started on its way into traffic, presumably headed back to the hotel. He reached into his pocket and took out the folded note. Glancing up he noticed Petty Officer Donovan watching him in the rear view mirror. The handwriting on the slip testified to the haste with which it had been written but Matt was able to make out the few words clearly. “Trust Donovan – nobody else!”
When he looked back up at the mirror Matt saw that the driver was still watching him. “Do you have a first name, Petty Officer Donovan?”
Donovan smiled at him. “Yes sir, I’m called Patrick, or Pat by my friends.”
“It’s a fine Irish name you have, Patrick Donovan,” Matt said in a made-up accent, “but I think you and I had better have a little talk.”
“Yes sir,” the young man replied, still smiling, “I suppose we ought to do that.”
The front of the building that Donovan drove them to was a classic old railroad diner with bright stainless steel panels and wide tinted windows. It was located in Arlington, on Columbia Pike only about a mile from the Pentagon. Around meal times, especially lunch, the place was probably thronged with people, but at mid afternoon Matt and Petty Officer Donovan had the place nearly to themselves.
“In about an hour all these Government buildings around here will start to knock off”, Donovan said quietly. “Columbia Pike will be jammed up bumper to bumper for two or three hours; it is really tough on a good engine.”
“Donovan,” Matt said forcefully, “If you brought me to this place to talk about traffic and engines, we have one gigantic misunderstanding about to happen. I’ve had this nagging feeling that something was wrong and it directly concerned my father. Then a little while ago your boss handed me a note that basically said that you are the only guy in town I can trust, and I want to know why.”
The young man looked coldly at his coffee cup and then back up again and finally let a hint of a smile play on his lips.” Because, until you can prove otherwise, we can’t take the chance of trusting anyone.”
Matt nearly choked. “Until I can? I don’t have any real reason to distrust anyone. Everybody I’ve met in this town has been polite, helpful, and straight up with me except you and old blood and thunder. My father left me an indirect message, almost from beyond the grave that said not to trust his old friends. The only old friends of my dad that I’ve met are Roy Austin and Mildred. Just what the hell is going on here?”
“You can add me to that list too,” Donovan said. “I knew your father, I worked with him, had a few beers with him and I’d be damned proud to be numbered among his friends.”
Patrick,” Matt blurted, nearly at the height of his frustration, “Do you mind if I call you Patrick? For some unknown reason I do feel like you can be trusted, but my father was much too ill to be involved very much in the things that you people do and I find it hard to believe he was.”
“Call me Pat,” the younger man smiled. “God what a mess it will be if you and I work together. Pat and Matt, sounds like some comedy team. But anyway, I think you might have a wrong impression. Intelligence is like a huge jigsaw puzzle. Any piece is sort of indistinct and insignificant by itself; the trick is to find out how those small insignificant parts fit together to make a picture of something. Sometimes it takes years to gather just one small bit of the puzzle and find out where it fits in. Back in the old days, your father was well known for his ability to go out and find those pieces, but later his real talent came to the front and that was his innate ability to put all of it together. Well, at least enough to get part of the picture in focus. He was a pretty smart man.”
“This is all just a bit much,” Matt confessed. “Even if what you are saying is true, and I have no reason to disbelieve you, what does it all have to do with me? I’m so far removed from any of this stuff that it is a complete stretch of reality.”
“I’d rather let the old man explain that to you," Pat chuckled. “I don’t have the kind of nerve he does. But, that brings us to the main point of this chat. The Admiral would like you to meet him tonight at nine at a bar in Fairfax called the Broadway. He will lay it all out for you. He ‘s counting on you Matt; hell man, we’re all counting on you.”
“I’m losing ground fast,” Matt sighed. “I ask a question and end up getting no answers and three more questions. If you guys are counting on me, you won’t need many fingers. My success record is not the most enviable in the world, and in case you hadn’t noticed, my father and I are, or were, different people. You tell your Admiral I’ll meet him there, if I can find the place and if the earth doesn’t open up and swallow me, but I don’t think it will do him a hell of a lot of good.”
That’s a start, we can’t ask for more than that.” Donovan grinned.
“Well, let me ask you this,” Matt hesitated. “How did you get all tied up in this business anyway?"
A fair question,” Donovan laughed. “About 10 years ago I was working on my car at the mechanical hobby shop over on Fort Myers one night and this old fart was standing there looking at me and watching every move I made. He started to get on my nerves a little. You have to be careful in this area because there are more high-ranking officers around than streetlights and I was a smart-ass E-3 with an attitude problem. Well, I finished grinding one valve and he walks over and taps me on the shoulder. ‘Come over here, kid,’ he says to me and he walks down to this bay where there is this gorgeous 1970, T-top Chevrolet Stingray with a 454 engine. He had the hood popped but the motor wasn’t running so I just sort of leaned in to take a look at this beautiful thing. The old man says to me, ‘if you so much as rub up against the paint on this car I’ll kick your ass so far over your shoulders you’ll need a rear-view mirror to tie your shoes.’ He was as serious as a heart attack, too. So, I asked him if he had brought me over here to enjoy his wit or did he actually want something. He had an exhaust vent tube hooked up to the beast and he got in, started it up, and let it idle; then he gets out and just stands there by the engine compartment and listens. Finally he turns to me and says, ‘what do you hear?’ and I said to him I hear a miss, real irregular, but that it seemed to be coming from the right bank, could be a fouled or defective plug. Oh, he scowled at me like I was an idiot then. ‘Don’t you think I’ve tried that?’ he said, all disgusted like. Well, I looked at the car and then I looked at him and I said, OK gramps, you obviously have a garage, because there isn’t any dust on this thing and no sun-fade to the paint. Tonight, when you get home, drive it into your garage, close the door and turn out all the lights. Then you pop the bonnet and look at that right bank and I’ll bet you will find a spark plug wire that has a tiny break in it somewhere and it will spark to the block once in a while. If you take too long to find it the exhaust fumes will kill you and you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”
Matt laughed softly. “How did it all end up?”
“A couple of nights later he comes to the hobby shop, in the Vet, which by the way is running smooth as silk, and wheels in behind the bay where I’m still working on my car. He walks up to me, hands me this little green notebook, and tells me to write my name, rank and service number down. I just about peed down my leg; I thought the old boy was going to write me up for insubordination or something. Then he just took off. Two days later I get a call from my division officer telling me to get on a set of clean dress blues and that I’d been assigned as some Admiral’s driver. I guess I don’t have to tell you who the admiral was.”
“And you’ve been together ever since?” Matt suggested.
“Just about,” Pat replied. “I’m his flunky, his gopher, his sidekick and when we go on the road I make sure he takes his high-blood pressure pills before I let him drink his one beer and one shot of Jack Daniel’s a night.”
“Sounds like a match made in heaven,” Matt laughed. “I assume you will just continue on when they make Captain Fowler an Admiral and he takes over?”
Donovan looked into his empty coffee cup and shook his head. “I wouldn’t drive Captain Fowler to his own funeral if the Pope himself asked me to.”
Deciding to err on the side of safety, Matt had Julia draw him a set of directions and sketch out a simple map to get to Fairfax and near the general vicinity of the Broadway bar and he had left the hotel with plenty of time to spare. It was only about 8:40 when he walked into the place and found a table toward the back with a full view of the front entrance. There were a few people at the bar and a few more scattered throughout the room at tables and there didn’t seem to be much of any discernable theme to the place. It was just a neighborhood watering hole. The closest fellow customers were an older couple, probably into their seventies who sat together at a table and looked fondly at each other. Matt watched them as the waitress made her way back to the bar with his order for a tall draught beer. He envisioned them walking slowly together each evening to this place, sitting for an hour or so and having a glass of wine and then returning home to lay in each others arms as they had done for so many years. It was a nice vision, probably untrue but it made him feel good just the same. Off in the opposite direction a thirtyish couple was seated at another table. The woman faced him; he could only see her companion’s back. She was beautiful, even in the dim light of the bar. Her eyes sparkled and she seemed to have an aura of refinement about her. Matt had a hard time keeping himself from looking in her direction too often. She was Latin, oriental or some of each, it was hard to tell. Their eyes met once, she smiled at him, and Matt looked away immediately, embarrassed that he’d been detected.
At precisely nine, the front door opened wide and Roy Austin walked in. On his round head he wore a Greek fisherman’s hat and a bulky Irish wool turtleneck sweater did it’s best to cover the Admiral’s bulk. He glanced around and walked directly to Matt’s table, pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Well, you follow orders and you’re punctual, I’ll give you that much,” the Admiral smiled. “It’s good of you to meet me like this, Matt. I know you have a million questions and I hope that I can answer some of them for you. Where would you like me to start?”
“I’m not sure if the beginning would be back far enough,” Matt said seriously. “For the sake of argument, let’s just say that will do; and you’re right, I do have a million questions.”
“There are four or five places we could jump into this story, but I’m afraid each of them makes about as little sense as the rest of them.” The waitress walked over and placed a small draught beer and a glass of whiskey next to the Admiral. Either he was a regular in this place or the waitress was a mind reader; Matt opted for the first idea. Roy Austin watched her walk away before he continued. “You can’t be in this business as long as I have without knowing you’re being had, and for the last couple of years I’ve had a nagging suspicion. We’ve gone to the well for water too many times and have come back with a bucket full of air. That happens occasionally and you learn to take it in stride, but when it happens too often, you begin to think that somebody knows what you’re after and when you’re coming and they shut off the water before you get there. To put it bluntly Matt, I think there is a hole in my security apparatus wide enough to drive a truck through and I haven’t been able to pin it down.”
“I assumed as much from your behavior in your own office,” Matt said quietly, “But I’ll ask you the same thing that I asked Donovan; what has this got to do with me?”
“I’m getting to that,” the Admiral said without a lot of patience evident in his voice. “I want to take you back to the day you and your father left Rota. Somebody gave you a leather flight jacket to wear on the aircraft; do you remember who that person was?”
“I don’t remember a lot about him,” Matt replied curiously, “but I still have the jacket and somewhere or other there is a name tag that was on it at one time. The guy’s name was Bobby Kemper. He worked with you and Dad didn’t he?”
“Indeed he did,” the Admiral smiled. “About a year or so after your father left Rota, Bobby Kemper was reassigned to a unit in the Philippines. Things were very cut and dried in those days and one of the rules you couldn’t break and get away with was a ban on any close and continuing relationship with a foreign national; especially a foreign national from a country that was considered to be part of the opposition. Bobby Kemper broke that rule. He became involved with a woman who worked at the Chinese Embassy in Manila and eventually he married her. He ended up resigning his commission and for quite a while he just dropped out of sight. Some years later we began hearing about an American who was dabbling in computer technology, buying it, stealing it, acquiring it any way he could and then peddling it to the highest bidder and most of the time that was China. You want to take a scientific wild-ass guess who that American turned out to be?”
Matt chuckled. “Could it have been Bobby Kemper?”
“You keep coming up with the same answer,” the old man said seriously, “but it’s the right answer every time. I took that matter very personally. Here was one of my own people, a man whom I had trained and nurtured, working against us. I had another asset I thought might be useful in such a case though, and I put that asset to work. It was your father. Joe was making a name for himself in the very field that Bobby Kemper was exploiting and it seemed to make good sense to me to pit the two of them against each other. To make a long story short, to this very day we have never been able to establish a direct link from Bobby Kemper to any activity, illegal, immoral or fattening that we could prosecute him for. Even if we had we would somehow have to lure him into a situation where we had jurisdiction and as far as we know he has never returned to the states in all those years.”
“Maybe you’ve got the wrong guy,” Matt said. “Maybe he didn’t go bad at all and you’ve been barking up the wrong tree. Have you thought of that?”
“Not only have I though of it, I’ve prayed for it,” Roy said honestly. “It just isn’t in the cards. He’s in it up to his eyeballs; the problem is that he was trained too damned well, he knows how to cover his tracks and he’s been able to outsmart and outguess us at every turn.”
Matt took a sip of his beer and Roy Austin did the same, following it with a sweeping motion of his arm and downing the shot of whiskey in one gulp. He dragged the back of his hand across his mustache and shook his head. “OK,” Matt said hesitatingly, “I’ve got the mystery man’s jacket. I still don’t see how that brings me into the situation. You think there is a secret message sewn into the lining or something? And how does a guy who worked for you twenty five years ago relate to a problem you are having in your organization now?”
“Damn it boy, will you shut up and permit an old man to do things in his own way and his own time or do I have to take you down a peg or two first?”
Matt smiled at him. “You could do that, but I don’t think you will. Right now, you think you need me. For what, I don’t have the slightest idea, but you’ll permit me a little leeway in order to get what you want from me. Besides, I’d never make trouble with a man who used to drive a Stingray.”
“Used to?” The Admiral laughed. “It’s parked right outside at this very minute. Donovan keeps it and me running in showroom shape. Now, where was I?”
Matt looked at the Admiral seriously. “I don’t have the faintest idea where you are, where you’re going or what happens when we get there.”
“You’ve heard two elements of this situation now,” the Admiral continued, his face showing genuine concern. “Your father and I shared the same feeling about what was apparently happening to some of our operations and he wouldn’t let go of the Kemper thing either. We began communicating in clandestine ways; he wouldn’t call me at the office and generally we would set up phone meetings where we would call on a public phone to another public phone. We even planned a couple of completely bogus operations and purposely bypassed my people and they went off without a hitch. It doesn’t give you a real warm fuzzy feeling when you realize that the thing you dread most has been shown to be true. At any rate, about six weeks ago, I talked to Joe and he was all excited and told me that he thought the two things, Kemper and the leak, were somehow connected. He didn’t give me any concrete information but he was hot on the track of something, I can tell you that.”
Neither man said anything for a short period of time. The waitress brought Matt another beer and he took a drink of it. “You want me to find out what that something is or was.”
The Admiral laughed, almost too loudly to remain inconspicuous. “Joe used to tell me all the time you were a lot smarter than you let on. I had my doubts about it. Every time he told me about your latest job or a new romantic involvement, I wondered about his judgment of you, too. Maybe he was right after all. Right now, I’ve got my back against the wall and I don’t have any other choice. You see Matt; I had to get you away from your father’s things before you had much of a chance to go through them and possibly destroy something that led him to his opinion. I hope you haven’t done that.”
“All I’ve gone through so far are some of his clothes and things of that nature,” Matt replied. “I haven’t gotten into any papers or things like that.”
“Great, then there is still a glimmer of hope for us yet.” The old man thumped the table, a look of relief and some joy on his face. “By God, this calls for another beer,” he whispered. Forty-five seconds later the waitress came to the table with another beer and set it in front of the older man.
“Why do I have this strange feeling that I still haven’t heard the rest of this story?” Matt questioned.
“Because you haven’t,” The admiral spoke in an abnormally quiet and deliberate way. “I can’t be sure where this is going to lead you Matt. You may find something and you might not, but either way, I want you to follow it to its logical conclusion. I can’t be with you to hold your hand and tell you what to do; you’re going to have to do the best you can with what you have available. This is strictly between you, Donovan and me. To involve anyone else on my staff would be too risky. Another thing, I can’t put you on the payroll because that would be too obvious. If things work out I will probably be able to reimburse you somewhere down the road and I owe your father some back wages too. I know Joe left you a little money and I’d bet he would approve of you using some of it for this. Keep track of what you spend and we’ll see what we can do with it one of these days.”
“At the risk of offending a man whom I am developing a fondness for,” Matt said, smiling while he said it, “do you realize how downright stupid this all is? I know nothing about intelligence, I know nothing of the navy and how it works, I have no access to any resources and I don’t have the slightest idea of what I’m looking for or where to find it.”
“I like a man who recognizes the impediments he faces when he takes on a job,” the admiral said, and then a very grim look came over his face. “What I don’t like is a man who thinks I’d leave him dangling at the end of a rope like that. You’ve got to learn to trust me boy. I’ll do what I can to provide you with those precious resources you’re so concerned about. Relax and drink your beer.”
He had said all he was going to say, and that was the end of the conversation. The admiral drained the last of his beer, rose up from his chair, and patted the top of his hat. “I’ll be in touch.” He turned and walked to the front door and made his exit. Within fifteen seconds, the male half of the thirtyish couple followed him.
“May I sit down?” The request came from the female half of what had been the couple. Up close, she was far more beautiful than Matt had been able to determine from across the room. She was neither tall nor short and she had coal black hair down to the middle of a long neck, shapely legs and terribly delicate hands. The sparkling eyes smiled and at the same time sent out a definite message. The message said, “Stay back.”
Matt looked up at her and into those eyes and put a look of terrible, sad disappointment on his face. “Please,” he said gesturing to the chair the admiral had just vacated, “but do me a huge favor will you? Lie to me and tell me it was my good looks and charm that brought you over here and has nothing to do with that man who just left.”
She laughed as she sat down. “Why, is your ego that fragile?”
Matt permitted himself a small laugh. “Actually, when you smiled at me a while ago, I could have leapt over tall buildings with a single bound.”
“If it is any comfort to you,” she said graphically, “when I smiled at you I didn’t know for sure who you were. You have a cheery sense of humor, Matt Kellogg. That should make our association a little easier.” She extended her delicate hand. “I’m Victoria Burton. Lieutenant Vicky Burton to be absolutely correct. Admiral Austin has made arrangements for me to assist you and help out where I can.”
“How do you propose to do that Lieutenant Burton?” Matt’s question was half serious and half joking.
“I’m a JAG officer,” Vicky said simply. “I might be able to get you into personnel records and things like that without it seeming to be unreasonable. I’ll just tell them I’m working on an investigation or something. Plus I know my way around the area here, I know a thing or two about intelligence and I can take you to some of the best barbecue restaurants in three states.”
“Oh God no,” Matt sighed into his hands which he had over his face. “Julia, the pretty woman from the motel? Is everybody in on this joke except me?”
Vicky smiled kindly at him. “Julia isn’t in on anything. We just asker her to keep an eye on you for us and make sure you didn’t get into any trouble. Stop complaining; you probably got the best room in the house and for a better rate than the usual customers.”
“How about the guy you were with?” Matt said hopefully. “Was he just a prop, too?”
“He was my reason for being here and gave me some legitimacy. He only knew he was supposed to leave when I told him to. You can do that to new ensigns.” Vicky laughed a clear and happy sort of laugh. “Don’t get paranoid on me, Matt. The group of people who actually know what is going on is very, very small.”
“Besides being very pretty you seem to be a smart, down to earth sort of lady, Vicky.” Matt said in full earnest. “Do you have a clue as to what we can do, who we can talk to, where we can go to find out the things we need to know. God knows, I don’t even have an idea of where to start.”
“Yes, I have some ideas.” She looked at Matt with some wonderment in her eyes. “I think we need to start by going back to the only beginning we know of; your father. I think we might talk to one other old friend first though, he might have a few ideas of his own.”
“Who do we trust? Dad told our housekeeper that old friends sometimes become old enemies.” Matt recalled Mrs. Cavanaugh’s words and they made him cautious. “That sort of turns me off on putting a lot of faith in anyone from his old days. How would you know these people anyway?”
“When I was a sophomore in college I spent the summer working for Admiral Austin as a midshipman intern,” Vicky began. “I guess I must have impressed him because the following year he requested that I come back. I worked that summer for him too and we pretty much had it all set up that when I got my commission the navy would assign me to his unit. Just before my graduation, I decided I was in love and all the plans got changed. Instead of a single gold bar on my shoulder, I got a single gold band on my finger. Two years after that the marriage was on the rocks, I was in the pits, my career was a non-starter and I just wanted to get away from everything and everybody that I knew. The navy seemed like a good bet and they worked out a deal where I could take a reserve commission, but of course, the assignment to Admiral Austin was dead in the water. Let me tell you something, Matt. You don’t often get the chance to meet, let alone work for and with a real-live hero. Roy Austin is the authentic article. He’ll never be famous because he doesn’t deal in fame. The establishment would never recognize him anyway; he doesn’t fit into the mold of a normal hero. He’s big, brash, crude, and even vulgar at times, but he has dedicated his life to this country and to the people in his care. I know many of those people and I think I know what sort of pain this is causing that old man. He has been forced to turn his back on the ones who have given him their unquestioned loyalty and it’s killing him.”
“He does sort of get under your skin, doesn’t he?” Matt smiled. “Apparently my father couldn’t tell him no either. As sick as he was he must have gone right on working for him, right up to the very end. I wouldn’t think you could command that kind of fidelity, it has to be given freely or it would be meaningless. All I know is that I wish he had a better set of options open to him; I’m not at all sure I can live up to his expectations and I’d certainly hate to see this fail because I’m not up to it.”
Vicky smiled and didn’t say anything for a minute. When she did speak, it seemed to Matt as though her voice was on the verge of breaking and some of the hardness in her eyes had softened the tiniest bit. “You’ll do alright; don’t worry about it. I can tell already that you care and that is a terribly important factor. How long has it been since you cared about what you were doing?”
“One hell of a long time,” Matt admitted. “I really couldn’t tell you and be honest with myself. Maybe as far back as the last time I mowed the lawn for dad. He didn’t demand perfection but he expected it. If you got it wrong he wouldn’t say anything, but you’d see him out there trying to make it right. If you did it right he wouldn’t say anything either but he’d bring you a beer and stand there on the deck looking pleased as punch. We had a strange relationship, I guess. I wish I could talk to him about it now.”
“Perfection is a tough standard,” Vicky said knowingly. “I know; I’ve missed that mark a few times myself. My parents wanted better of me than I came up with, at least a few times. It would be better if the ones keeping score would just go nuts and rant and rave; you can handle that and they get over it. What you can’t handle is that look of disappointment you get from them. God, it’s so damned heartbreaking. It gets to be easier not to try than to try and fail and get that look.”
“How about Roy Austin?” Matt asked, trying his best to lighten up the mood. “Will we be apt to get that look from him?”
Vicky chuckled almost inaudibly. “No, I’m afraid not. You would damn sure get the ranting and raving though. But, we won’t have to worry about that either.”
“And why is that?” Matt asked.
“Because we’re going to give this thing our best shot and that is all we can do. We aren’t going to fail Roy Austin, we aren’t going to fail your father, and we aren’t going to fail my folks either. That’s what it all boils down to.”
“Tell me something, Lieutenant Burton,” but Matt stopped and paused before he continued. “I can’t remember asking this many questions in one day in my entire life. Anyway, who is in charge of this two person team we have here?”
Vicky laughed again and it brightened up the entire room. “Why you are naturally. Officially, I’ve been detached on independent duty; I’m a non-entity.”
“Ok, then this is my first directive,” Matt said. “I’m putting you in charge of all the intelligence areas, you’ll make all the tactical decisions, we’ll try to agree jointly on the really important stuff, like where we’ll have lunch and I’ll handle the expenses. When we wrap this up in a fine neat package and lat it on the admiral’s desk, you’ll take the credit and you will minimize my role in the entire affair.”
Vicky looked at him, genuinely puzzled. ”Why in the world would I do that?”
“Because I want it that way, and you said I’m the boss.” Matt chuckled.
“You’re actually serious about this, aren’t you?” She questioned again.
“To quote a new friend of mine,” Matt smiled, “as serious as a heart attack.”


Chapter 3

Matt awoke early in spite of the confusion in his internal clock. He hadn’t slept well and woke up several times during the night. Too many things had been bothering him since his conversations with the Admiral and the pretty Navy Lieutenant. He had watched the day come to light from the motel window, the sun was now shining clearly, and it looked warm and pleasant. The freeway was crowded with cars heading into the nation’s capitol and from the city to the Virginia apron where so much of the government’s business was conducted. Last night seemed remote and unreal. It must have been some sort of temporary insanity on his part to agree to participate in this scheme. In the cold light of day, any involvement in this intelligence business was totally out of the question and somehow he had to find a way to excuse himself from any further participation. The Navy was going to have to handle this without him. It was all very sinister and shadowy, scenery from a bad movie with European backdrops and dimly lit narrow streets, not a sunny Washington, D.C. morning with people going to work on wide avenues with sunlight streaming into tinted windshields.
The telephone on the breakfast bar rang softly and Matt retreated from his window vantage point to answer it. He was pretty sure who the caller would be. “Matt Kellogg,” he stated without any emotion.
There was a slight hesitation as Vicky evaluated his flat response. “Good morning,” she finally said, a questioning tone to her voice. “Are you free for a cup of coffee in the motel restaurant, say in about thirty minutes?”
“Yeah, sure,” Matt answered. “We need to talk about a couple of things; I’m glad you beat me to the punch and got to me before I got to you.”
“You sound a little less enthusiastic than I expected,” she said, trying to put lightness into her tone. “Anything wrong?”
“Nothing specific,” he confessed. “I’ve got quite a few things to deal with and we can talk about it when you get here.”
“Well, let me suggest that you pack your bags while you are waiting for me.” Vicky said, still with some hesitation. “I’ve arranged for us to take a little trip into the countryside today.”
“I’m already packed,” Matt admitted.
Another hesitation, longer this time, filled the moment. “Good,” Vicky’s voice sort of trailed off, “I’ll see you down there as quick as I can.”
A short while later Matt had just finished adding his usual creamer and sugar to a steaming mug in front of him as Vicky approached his table from across the restaurant. Her appearance was strikingly different than it had been on the previous evening. She wore tight jeans; a lightweight white sweater and a white elastic band held her hair back from her pretty face. The hard heels of her western boots echoed on the tile floor of the room and announced to anyone within hearing that a woman was passing close at hand. You could nearly feel the eyes shifting in her direction, Matt’s included. It is funny; Matt thought silently, how distinctive the sound of a woman walking in heels is. A man, walking in those same boots would be a non-event. Men must have some innate ability to recognize the subtle difference the smaller foot and the lighter body gave to such an ordinary sound. At any rate, the sight of her allayed some of the darkness of his mood.
“Hi,” she said, quickly sliding into the seat across from him. “My radar picked up a sizeable blip of buyer’s remorse in your voice this morning. Am I right?”
Matt was impressed with her insight and even felt a little guilt at how transparent he must have been. “Lieutenant Burton,” Matt started hesitatingly, “regardless of how we got to this point, even if I got caught up in feelings of dedication and loyalty to my father, the simple fact is that I’m not the guy you need for this job. My real responsibility lies with a couple of aging people back in Utah who, a few days back, were suddenly put under my protective wing, so to speak. I think I should be there, looking after their best interests, not pretending to be something I’m not, looking for something or someone I probably can’t even recognize.”
Vicky turned a coffee mug right side up and poured from an insulated carafe before she spoke. “Who is the right guy we need for this if it isn’t you?” She said, finally.
“Hell, I don’t know,” Matt said, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe you, or Pat Donavon or Lieutenant Carter. I just don’t have the credentials for this, and surely you know that just like you probably know everything else about me.”
“Is that what is bothering you?” Vicky said, searching his face with her probing eyes. “Do you think we have you all studied, dissected and cataloged?” She didn’t wait for his response, but continued. “We have a few pertinent facts, but we need access to your father and you are the closest person to him that we have, now that he is gone.”
“You can have that,” Matt said calmly. “You can send anyone you like back home with me and I’ll give him access to whatever you think necessary. You can get into his papers, his belongings, his books, anything you like. I won’t get in your way and I won’t jeopardize anybody’s procedure with my lack of experience.”
Vicky smiled faintly, the corners of her mouth only slightly elevated and the flash of white from teeth barely exposed. “Tell me where it is you think we have misjudged you?” she said, the smile a bit more intense.
Matt felt immediately defensive. “Well, your precious Admiral already thinks I’m irresponsible, can’t hold a job, that I dally with the women, and that I’ll go through the money dad left me in record time. He’s wrong, at least about some of it.”
Vicky laughed, almost a giggle. She was pretty when she laughed. “Matt,” she said casually, “when you deal in facts a lot of the time, one of the first things you learn is that you can’t depend much on them. I can, and did, sit down at the computer for about twenty minutes and get all the public information available on you. I can tell you where you worked, for how long, how many marriage licenses you’ve been issued, how many times you’ve been divorced. I know where you’ve lived, how many traffic tickets you’ve been given and if you ever filed for bankruptcy. Do you think for one moment that I took those facts and presented it to Admiral Austin as the final and complete Matt Kellogg?”
“No, I don’t think you did that,” Matt confessed. “Part of what Admiral Austin believes about me came from my father, directly or indirectly. Not that it makes much difference, but what he believes is probably a widely held picture.”
“But you are doing the exact same thing to him,” Vicky admonished him. “You’re saying he’s making a judgment of you without a complete input, and you’re guessing what conclusions he reached. Your guess is wrong, I might add. Did it ever occur to you that he might see the same qualities of independence, brightness and ingenuity in you that he knew, through long years of experience, your father had, or even that he himself had at your age? Granted, he is driven by circumstance to take a chance on you, but I know that he would take the same chance if things were different. There is something about you that he admires, you can take that to the bank.”
Matt thought about it for long moments. “Oh, what the hell,” he finally said, half under his breath. I suppose it won’t hurt anything if you were to come back to Utah and rummage through dad’s stuff. If you find anything worthwhile we’ll see if you need to recruit me again. I’m still not entirely convinced this is even a good idea. Can we just leave for Utah this afternoon and get started? Maybe the quicker we start the quicker we’ll finish.”
Vicky smiled weakly. “You’re right about getting back to your father’s things as soon as possible, but I think it would pay us to spend another day here in the area. There is someone I’d like you to meet who was also a friend of your dad and I think they have been in contact recently. He lives out by Charlottesville and we could drive out there and be back by tonight, if we get a move on.”
“Well, I did say you were in charge of the tactical stuff,” Matt stated rather flatly. “My reservations are for tomorrow anyway. How do you want to work this?”
“You go check out at the desk,” Vicky said crisply. “They can send somebody up for your bags and we’ll have them put in my vehicle, take your rental car to the airport and turn that in and then we can get going. Sound okay to you?”
Matt looked at her, questioning. “If we are going to get back tonight, why do I need to check out of the hotel?”
“Floyd can put us up tonight and tomorrow we can return directly to the airport. I’ll have to stop bye my place for a few things but that won’t take us long. What time is the flight tomorrow?” She was gulping down the last of her coffee and sliding out of the chair at the same time.
“Four ten in the afternoon, from Dulles,” Matt confirmed. “It puts us into Salt Lake City just about seven. You need to make reservations?” Matt questioned.
“I’ll do it while you are checking out.” She was already on her way to the phone. “I’ll meet you out in front in a couple of minutes.” With those words, she was half way across the room. Matt got up reluctantly and headed for the front desk.
Julia was noting with her felt-tip pen where Matt needed to sign his receipt. He noted the charges; Vicky was right, it was a good rate. “We certainly enjoyed serving you on this short trip, Mister Kellogg. I hope we will have the pleasure of your company the next time you come to Washington.” Julia smiled and winked at him.
“This is a one time deal, Julia,” Matt returned her smile. “I’m not the Washington type. I’ll leave this all in your capable hands. I do appreciate all the special service though and I’ll recommend you to anyone I know headed this direction.”
“We can’t ask for more than that, now can we?” Julia laughed. “Your bag and incidentals have been put in Miss Burton’s truck. I think she is waiting for you.”
“Truck is it?” Matt laughed. “She is full of surprises, isn’t she?”
Outside, Vicky was parked under the entry veranda. Matt opened the passenger door of the red truck and slid in. Except for a pair of sunglasses, Vicky was the same as she had been yet somehow she looked a little less formal behind the wheel of the Toyota pick-up. “The rental is around the corner and about half way down,” Matt said, gesturing to the far side of the building. “I’ll have to admit, Lieutenant, I thought you were more the red convertible type. One of the things dad left me to deal with is a pretty nice, new pick-up. I used to drive his beat up old Ford when I was a kid, but these new age trucks are pretty fancy.”
Vicky scowled at him. “Don’t put me in any pigeon holes, Matt. You don’t have the luxury of knowing nearly as much about me as I do of you.”
Forty-five minutes later, they were headed in the direction of Charlottesville, the sun exaggerating the green of the new leaves, the rolling meadows lush with blossoming clover. The city was behind them and the clustered suburban housing had gradually given way to more open country. They hadn’t talked much. Matt breathed a long breath and let it out, almost as a sigh. “I’m sorry for the convertible remark, I didn’t mean for it to sound as tacky as it came out.”
“It’s okay,” Vicky smiled, although weakly. “I’m used to having people think that I’m a bit more glamorous than I actually am.”
“Maybe we’re both a little defensive,” Matt suggested. “Sometimes I wish I could get a job in a factory, or something like that. Someplace where I could just fade into the background and be more of the person I’d like to be.”
“You don’t much care for your present job, do you?” Vicky said, seeming genuinely interested.
“Oh the job is okay,” Matt protested, “if the right person had it. I guess I just get tired of smiling all the time.”
She laughed. “You deal with a lot of celebrity types and prospective clients, don’t you? Seems like it would be kind of exciting to me.”
“It’s better than selling vegetable slicers or vacuum cleaners, I guess,” Matt laughed with her, “but it is the same routine. You sell the features and benefits, you downplay the cost and hope in the final analysis that it all ends up looking like a deal you just can’t pass up.”
“In spite of what you say,” Vicky said quietly, “I’ll bet you’re good at it.”
“And I’ll bet you’re good at your job,” Matt returned, “very good. You said you were a JAG officer; does that mean you are a lawyer as well?”
“No, I’m an investigator,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Most of my time is spent gathering pre-trial evidence for court martials and hearings. My ex is a lawyer though, do I get any points for that?”
“Hmm,” Matt mused. “It sounds like an interesting story though. I mean, you know all the pertinent facts about me and I know nothing about you. I’d really like you to fill in any blanks you feel comfortable with.”
She turned her head and looked at him for a long moment, weighing the pro’s and con’s of what she was about to say. “Well, I’m kind of like you, in a way. I was a Navy brat. My father was a Chief Petty Officer when he retired and my mother was a wave for a few years. Dad came in the navy under a program they used to have where Filipinos could enlist and serve as stewards, working in the officer’s mess. If they kept their noses clean they could be naturalized and get their American citizenship. He did that and then he changed his career field and worked in the personnel office. He and Mom met in Baltimore and got married. That put Mom out of the navy and before long I came along. Dad retired here in Washington, I went to high school and college here, got in the NROTC and worked for Admiral Austin for those two summers I told you about. That is about the story.”
“You left out the lawyer.” Matt probed.
“Oh yeah,” Vicky laughed. The laugh faded quickly. “We met in college, but Jack was nearly finished with law school. I was an innocent schoolgirl, for the most part, and easily impressed by impending wealth, social stature and a fine, old Virginia family name. When we were married, Jack worked for a big firm in the district that did a lot of work for the people in Government; investments, some corporate stuff and things like that. Although it wasn’t highly advertised, the firm also had quite a large divorce section and that is where he ended up. I guess the temptation of all those young, rich, vulnerable, lonely wives got to him and he ended up doing a lot of his counseling from various local motel rooms. I found out about it almost by accident. I reacted badly, I’m afraid. I had a couple of flings on my own and so when we split there was enough blame to go around and we just called the whole thing quits. You know where it went from there.”
There was silence for two or three minutes. Matt wasn’t quite sure what to say. Finally, almost under his breath, Matt said simply, “the guy was an obvious idiot.”
Vicky laughed aloud. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “What a sweet thing to say. It took you a while to think of it though,” she laughed again.
Matt thought to himself for some moments, taking a short trip back through his own life. “Maybe it is more difficult for kids who had a pretty nice childhood to grow up, don’t you think?”
“That’s a different theory,” she chuckled. “You had one of those nice childhoods you speak of?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Matt returned. “It wasn’t an ordinary one by any stretch of the imagination, but dad went out of his way to make things easy for me, under our peculiar set of circumstances.”
“You’re referring to the fact that your mother had died, I assume?”
“Yeah.” Matt slid lower into the reclined passenger seat and looked absently mindedly out of the window. “But there too, he tried to lighten the load for me; hired the best stand-in mother a kid could want.” A smile drifted across his face. “No doubt you’ll get to meet her if you spend any time at the house.”
“Missus Cavenaugh?” Vicky chuckled.
“Now the existence of Missus Cavenaugh can’t possibly be a part of my public record, no matter how deep you looked.” Matt looked puzzled.
“This fellow we are going to see,” Vicky started, “his name is Floyd Lindsey. You may have heard your father speak of him.” Matt did a quick mental search and shook his head indicating he hadn’t. Vicky continued. “Floyd is quite a character. By profession, he is a behaviorist and he does contract work for several of the intelligence agencies and departments. He and your father go back quite a long ways. I think he even told me that he had been to Utah to work on a couple of things, but I think it was mostly so that he and your dad could do some hunting together. He is also a horse whisperer; are you familiar with the type?”
Matt shrugged. “I’ve read a few articles about them and their work, and of course I’ve seen the Robert Redford movie. They all seem to have come through some deeply spiritual metamorphosis that gives the whole thing a mystical quality, don’t you think?”
“Floyd has that kind of mystical thing about him too,” Vicky agreed. “One thing is for sure, after you spend a little time with him you go away with a completely different attitude about a lot of things. Anyway, I got off the subject. Floyd knows about your ‘Mrs. Cee’, as he does about old Les. Maybe he can give you some insight on how to handle some of your problems.”
“That would be welcome,” Matt said, still gazing out of the window. “It’s pretty country, isn’t it?” he said, almost offhand.
“It is,” Vicky agreed. “Virginia is such a study in contrast. It’s amazing that they keep it all together.”
“How’s that?” Matt laughed.
“Well, just look at it,” Vicky emphasized. “First of all you have Northern-Virginia. It has just about given up its soul to Washington, D.C. Then you have the tidewater area, down around Norfolk and that part of the state. It’s jammed with navy bases and defense installations. Then you have this part of the state. We left civilization behind us a few miles back. The whole state is such a conglomeration of history that it staggers the imagination. It all happened right here. The war of independence, the civil war, just about every major event in our history as a nation either took place here or was orchestrated from here.” She pointed to a section of wooded pasture. “Those huge old oak trees, up there; they were eye witnesses to a lot of it. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
The panorama of the countryside appeared and disappeared through the windows of the cruising vehicle. Blue mountains took shape in the west. An hour or so later they were making their way down a hard packed gravel road; the fields, pastures and woods looking like an oil painting of the country as it must have been a hundred or more years before. White rail fences defined boundaries and limits; the houses were broad and elegant looking. Vicky turned into a long, winding drive; it’s surface brilliant ochre red of crushed brick. The tires made a soft, grating sound. Interspersed between the colonial house, the white barns with verdant green roofs were a score of mammoth oak trees. “This place is called ‘Century Oaks’”, Vicky said quietly, almost a whisper one would use inside a church. “It’s aptly named, don’t you think?”
“Whispering to horses pays a little better than I had imagined,” Matt chuckled.
Vicky sniggled a bit. “The farm has been in his family for many generations. Floyd has spent half his life away from here, studying and learning, the other half here, teaching and trying to learn even more. You two are going to hit it off fine, you’re kindred spirits.”
There was no disguising the look of puzzlement on Matt’s face. “I hardly think I’d have much in common with a spiritualistic scholar,” he said, solemnly.
“Oh but you do,” Vicky smiled.
As the truck ground to a stop in front of the spacious house the front screen door opened and a man of medium build, dressed in jeans and a chambray shirt appeared on the porch. He was followed out the door by a huge dog that immediately sat himself next to the man’s legs. Together they waited there.
Vicky was the first to exit the pick-up and Matt purposely allowed her to take the point. Halfway up the walkway to the house she paused, stooped slightly and clapped her hands in front of her. The dog jumped from the porch and ran to her, his curled tail a happy flag sweeping across his broad back. The woman hugged the dog and spoke cooing baby talk to him. The man on the porch started toward the pair just as Matt started up the walk; they met about mid-point.
Vicky stood up from her dog hugging welcome and occupied the space between the two men. She turned toward the older man and held out her arms. “Vicky my dear,” he said with some wistfulness, “the sight of you makes an old man’s heart break. Where has my youth gone?” They embraced.
“You handsome, smooth talking old devil,” she crooned into his ear, “it’s so good to see you again.”
At last, the two released each other and Vicky held onto Floyd’s arm. “Floyd,” she said slowly, “would you have any idea of who this guy I have with me might be?”
“To be perfectly honest,” the man started, “you told me who he was when you phoned; but unless Joe Kellogg has found a way back to our mortal domain, this is surely his son.”
Matt extended his hand and smiled. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Mister Lindsey. Vicky has told me quite a bit about you.”
“Floyd, Floyd,” the man insisted. “You are a grown man and if anyone has a right to call me by name it is surely the son of a person whom I considered to be one of my few, and very best friends. Your father was an individual of unique character and intelligence, Matt. Anyone who knew him will miss him a great deal.”
“Thank you sir,” Matt said humbly. “I’m only learning how well thought of he was by so many.”
Floyd looked at the two of them, studying and calculating for several moments. At last, he smiled thoughtfully. “You’re going to find him, aren’t you? You’re going to find the Sampaguita.”
Matt and Vicky looked at each other, both knowing the answer to the obvious question and yet not understanding the inference. Matt waited for Vicky to speak but she didn’t, deliberately transferring the requirement back to him. “I’m not quite sure what you are saying, Floyd,” Matt said in a serious tone. “We are looking into some of dad’s affairs but I don’t even know who or what a Sampaguita is.”
“Let’s have a seat on the front porch,” Floyd offered. “It’s a hot afternoon and I’ll get us a glass of ice tea so we can talk a little. I’ll explain what I know to you and how I come to know it.”
Together they all walked back to the broad covered porch. There was a wrought iron table, several chairs, and an old-fashioned porch swing that hung from two small chains. Matt pulled out a chair by the table and seated himself; Vicky chose the swing and the big dog parked himself in front of her with a look of adoration on his face. The animal was immense. He was a wolf gray color with a soft bushy tail the curled over his back, four white stocking legs and a black mask over his eyes. His head was big and broad with triangular ears that stood erect. Until now, Matt had only seen the breed in pictures but he was not prepared for just what a formidable presence they projected. “He’s an Akita, isn’t he?” Matt questioned Vicky as Floyd disappeared into the interior of the house.
“He’s a sweetheart,” Vicky cooed. “Actually he is an Akita but you must be very careful about telling him. He thinks he’s human, and one of the more intelligent members of the race at that.” She laughed and held the dog’s face between the palms of her hands; the dog continued his adoration.
Within a few minutes, Floyd came back to the porch carrying a tray on which had been placed three tall glasses with ice and a large pitcher of tea. As he set the tray on the tabletop, he spoke to the dog. “Custer,” he said, rather forcefully, “you mustn’t be rude. Come over and say hello to Matt, he’s the son of an old and dear friend.” The dog stood and walked reluctantly to the side of Matt’s chair and slightly bowed his head as if giving his permission to be petted. The look on his face was one of resignation and not nearly as benevolent as those he had given to Vicky. Matt gave the obligatory pat and was awed at the mass and solidity of the skull his hand contacted.
“You are one very splendid looking fellow,” Matt grinned at the dog. The dog raised his head and seemed to grin back. “You were about to explain about the Sampaguita,” Matt said to Floyd.
“Ah yes,” the older man replied, pouring tea in Vicky’s glass and then seating himself across from Matt. “The Sampaguita is a sweet delicate flower that grows in the Philippines and several other places throughout Southeast Asia. Its aroma is so sweet and so pungent that the children make it into small wreaths and necklaces. They sell them at nearly every busy street corner. Unfortunately, the purpose of this lovely creation is often to cover up things that are putrid and decaying. I believe this mission the two of you have undertaken will probably encounter just that sort of situation.”
“It would be very helpful if you would just tell us what you know,” Matt stated, as gently as he could.
Floyd finished pouring tea and sat for a moment. “A few months ago Admiral Austin called me. That isn’t unusual, but I sensed that there was something very out of the ordinary about this particular call. I could hear sounds of traffic in the background and the connection was not of the best quality. As it turned out, Roy had purchased one of these pre-paid phone cards from a 7-11 or a convenience store of some kind. He told me that he had serious suspicions that his office and perhaps his staff had been penetrated. Obviously, he felt so strongly about it that he contacted me from a public telephone. He had very little to go on except that a small number of operations had recently gone bad and that some of his sources, primarily in southeast Asia had dried up. He asked me to work with your father, Matt. I was to wait until he contacted me because at the time we had no way of knowing if the phones in your father’s house had been compromised or not. Later we were able to determine that they had not been but that did little to open lines of communication except between your father and I. Neither of us could contact Admiral Austin directly.”
Matt nodded, indicating he understood. “The admiral and I had a short conversation yesterday evening. He told me the same story but he didn’t tell me anything about your involvement. Dad said something to Mrs. Cavenaugh that she relayed to me saying that he had reason to distrust old friends. I’m sure you will understand that I’m naturally skeptical if anything doesn’t make perfect sense to me.”
“And you should be,” Floyd said emphatically. “Until Vicky contacted me earlier this morning I had no idea you would be involved either. I have a distinct advantage over you, Matt, because I know you have no axe to grind, no relationship with Naval Intelligence at all and therefore no reason to be distrusted. You, on the other hand, will have to weigh and judge everyone you come in contact with.”
“Well, I don’t like the feeling,” Matt confessed. “It makes me just a little bit angry having to look at people and wonder if they are good or bad. That is a pretty heavy weight to put on an unsophisticated guy who had a hard time making up his mind between McDonald’s and Burger King.”
Vicky snickered; Floyd only smiled. “Perhaps we can talk a bit more about that later,” Floyd said. “Getting back to the matter at hand, at first the only thing your father wanted from me was information on a former member of Naval Intelligence by the name of Bobby Kemper. I wasn’t able to provide much because of a lack of material. Roy Austin and I had some lengthy conversations about him but I was not able to gain access to any of his old personnel records, as we couldn’t take the chance of tipping anyone off that we were interested. Added to that was the fact that several years had passed when no one had any first-hand observations. Joe, your father, was convinced that Admiral Austin’s security problems and Bobby Kemper were linked. Joe never confided in me how he had established this link or if it was anything more than a hunch. I suspect there was more to it though.”
Everyone was silent for some minutes. At last, Matt looked into Floyd’s eyes. “Well, we don’t know any more collectively than we know individually and I’m not sure if that is progress or not. Anyway, we’ve taken up enough of your time Floyd, and I feel like an absolute jerk for having come all the way out here just to confront you and insult your friendship with my father. I hope you will forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Floyd said solemnly. “The friendship between your father and I was built over many years and shared experiences. We were both widowed at an early age, we enjoyed many of the same things and both of us had the same thoughts on the basic goodness of our fellow man. I think you believe in that as much as we do and it is not a pleasant thing to come face to face with something that may be genuinely evil. The apple does not fall far from the tree. But we still have some talking to do, my young friend. Please accept my invitation to stay the night. We can take a ride and I can show you Century Oaks. Please, I promise it will be time well spent.”
Matt thought for a moment and looked over at Vicky. She seemed to be in agreement to what he was feeling although she hadn’t said a word. Matt looked sadly at Floyd. “Actually I would hate to leave without having the opportunity to make amends for my bluntness; besides I think my partner here really didn’t want to make that long drive back to D.C.”
“Good,” Floyd jumped up from the table. I’ll make arrangements to have some absolutely gourmet pizza delivered for this evening’s meal, we’ll ice down a few cold beers and I’ll show you some real southern hospitality.” He laughed graciously at his own humor and then his face became serious again. “Matt, you have the intelligence to pick up on subtle inconsistencies and the courage to rely on your own judgment and feelings. Occasionally we are forced by circumstance to use whatever resources are left open to us, even if they appear, on the surface, to be a last resort. By God, I think Roy Austin kept an ace of trump to play on the last trick.”
The late afternoon had not yet started to cool and the breeze had all but stopped. It wasn’t oppressively warm but the young horse Matt rode was lathered in sweat and he threw his head around in an incessant wave of motion. Vicky rode a few steps behind Matt and Floyd on a small pinto that was mostly white. She looked perfectly at home on the back of the horse and very striking, had Matt’s horse allowed him the time to relax and look. Floyd rode abreast Matt on a tall thoroughbred gelding that was acting the perfect gentleman.
A faint smile played about Floyd’s mouth as he watched his young companion. “About three years ago, when your father was still well enough to hunt, I came to Utah so he and I could have one last get together in the field,” he chuckled. “We stayed at the hunting cabin your dad called ‘Cedar Gate’. Beautiful little place it was. He had a couple of horses there and we rode them in the mountains on the hunt. They were both too old to take more than a half a day and then they needed rest, which was fine with us. Joe told me you raised and trained that Arab gelding I rode,” he asked of Matt.
“That would be old Hajji,” Matt said. “I’ll bet he never missed a step or gave you any trouble, did he?”
“He certainly didn’t,” Floyd agreed. “Was he very hard to train?”
“Oh, we had our moments,” Matt admitted, but the thought of the old horse and the times they spent together brought a smile to his face, nonetheless. “Somewhere along the way we just seemed to mesh and after that he and I became soul mates I guess. If you have been whispering to this colt I’m riding, I wish you had a few more conversations with him. He’d like to see me thrown about half way up one of these tall oak trees.”
“I believe it is you that he would like to have the conversation with.” Floyd’s voice was quiet and calm, distant and evoking. “Think back,” he said, “can you remember the way it was when you and Hajji made that first connection? What was it like? How did you speak to him? Where were your lines of communication?”
“We didn’t have any,” Matt said, almost wistfully. “We just seemed to know what the other wanted and it happened.”
“Then I expect that everything you did and felt was communication,” Floyd admonished him. “You haven’t forgotten how, Matt,” Floyd said. “Get a picture of it in your mind and then talk to this youngster in the same way. I know he understands.”
The picture came easily, although it had been so long ago. His father, standing by the rail fence watching, the boy and the horse gliding effortlessly over the ground, never seeming to make a footfall, moving like vapor or mist, without substance, without sensation. How it had happened or why, he didn’t know; it just did.
Matt reined the young appaloosa to a halt and let him stand. He released all pressure on the reins and pushed himself deep into the saddle. The youngster lowered his head slightly and Matt picked up the reins only enough so that the weight of the leather was all the horse could feel through the bit. He responded by gathering his hind legs under him. The horse raised his head slightly, testing the limit of his restraint and finding them, he again tucked his head. Matt squeezed his legs together slightly and the horse moved off at a quick walk, expecting to be checked. He was not checked and he felt the pressure of the legs against his side ease. Matt let the horse walk at his own speed for fifty yards and was pleased that the head tossing had ceased. He squeezed again with his legs and the colt stretched his neck and adjusted his speed, falling into a steady two-beat trot. Again, Matt touched the colt’s sides with his legs and leaned slightly forward in the saddle. For just a second, Matt thought the colt was going to duck his head between his front legs and ‘go to bucking’, as the old cowboys used to say, but he didn’t. The horse pushed his nose into the wind and within half a stride had found his favorite lead. His right front leg reached for the ground in front of him, his left front touching behind the lead. The lope was slow and smooth, a free movement of legs and body, the head and neck moving only to adjust the center of gravity as it shifted along the horse’s spine. After another fifty yards, cantering in an arrow straight line, Matt shifted his left leg an inch forward and pushed against the gelding’s side. The horse brought his front end to the right about five degrees and in performing the slight turn changed his lead. The transition was absolutely undetectable although it required hundreds of muscles to allow the horse to make that miniscule leap in mid-air. They rode like that for a quarter of a mile, weaving and shifting their way through trees and brush outcrops before Matt brought the horse into a wide circle and returned to Vicky and Floyd. They had stopped and were watching. “You have that same look on your face my dad used to have,” he smiled at Vicky. “Did you think I was going to get pitched off?”
“It never entered my mind,” Vicky said, seriously. “It is as if you were dancing together and very gracefully. Floyd, I think there may be a cowboy hiding in that salesman,” she laughed.
“A horseman,” Floyd corrected her. “They have always been around, the ones who are able to speak to their mounts and have never known the wonder of being spoken to in return. The ones who stumble and bumble their way into a horse’s head and only realize that it’s an easier and more humane way than whips and spurs. The pure pity of it is that they never realize how much more there is to know and understand. Joe Kellogg told me that Matt had that ability and now I see he was right.”
“Not me,” Matt objected. “I’m neither a horseman nor a horse whisperer, although I can’t think of anything that has given me more satisfaction in such a long time that this ride has. I want to thank you, Floyd.”
“Believe me, my friend, it has been my distinct pleasure.” Floyd chuckled.
The sun was setting and evening was drifting slowly onto the front porch of the old southern manor house as the three of them sat sipping the last of their beers. The remnants of pizza were scattered about the top of the wrought iron table and Custer looked longingly at them. Matt grinned at the dog and the dog returned the gesture with a look of pleading. “I’d give you these crusts if I didn’t think the boss would object,” he laughed at the dog.
“Go ahead,” Floyd smiled. “He usually gets what he wants anyway. In a minute he will push his bowl over to you and want some beer to go with it.” Matt had no doubt the dog understood every word being said.
“Tell me, Floyd,” Matt began. “How did you get into this horse whispering technique of training?”
Floyd thought for a minute. “All my adult life I have studied relationships. I knew from a lot of studying and observation how people relate to one another, but I began to look at how we relate to other species as well. It struck me as strange how different humans relate to equines as opposed to other animals we have domesticated. Look at yourself,” Floyd observed. “You talk to Custer as though he understands you, and indeed he does understand at least some of the nuances of your speech. He can tell, for instance, there is no malice in your tone of voice. He has learned that if he looks long enough and hard enough at some bit of food he would like to have, and if he maintains a high profile and low threat level with the person closest to that meal, he will usually be given it. Yet, he is a hunter, way down deep in his genes, and given his size and power he could easily take it from you. We have this bond with dogs; we have been mutually training each other for thousands of years. We protect flocks of sheep, tend herds of cows, shepherd goats and we look upon the prey animals as things we need to take care of. The horse though, he is a different thing. The animal that has been our closest partner in the advance of civilization, we treat entirely differently. The question is why do we do that? The answer is multi-faceted, I believe. We fear his size and strength; he and his kind can do us great harm. To lessen that threat we somehow came to believe that our only hope to dominate the species and to make them work for us was to make them fear us more than we fear them. As I was telling you this afternoon, once in a great while there have been individuals who seemed to have a rare gift, an ability to achieve remarkable results with horses without resorting to the violence and cruelty and doing it in astonishingly short times. These trainers appeared in nearly every culture but their accomplishments were usually regarded as some sort of magic or deception. It has only been in the last century or so that enough of their technique and observation has been written down and studied that we have been able to look at the overall picture and begin to put the pieces together. It isn’t so much a question of the new ways replacing the old, it is more that the oldest of ways is now starting to make sense.”
“Well, in my mind,” Matt observed, “it didn’t seem to make much sense that a 140 pound teenager could threaten an 1100 pound horse to the point where he would do my bidding. But I certainly couldn’t do it in anything even resembling a short time period. We did things hundreds of times until it was second nature to him and I used each preceding step as an introduction to the next step. Before we had the kind of cooperation I had with that colt of yours, this afternoon, Hajji and I had spent many, many hours together.”
Floyd chuckled. “Perhaps in the morning I can show you some things you already know and just didn’t recognize. Meanwhile, Custer and I are going for a walk. We do it most evenings and he would think himself misused if we missed an opportunity on such a lovely evening. You two can do as you wish; your rooms are ready if you want to retire or the run of the house is yours. We won’t be gone more than an hour or so.” Without a command, the dog started down the walk, the man followed a few steps behind. They walked slowly, past the barns and the paddocks where mares and colts stood and watched their progress.
“Floyd’s wife is buried in that plot of hard maples they are heading towards,” Vicky explained. Like he said, they go there most evenings.”
“I’m sorry I’ve hogged most of the conversation since we’ve been here,” Matt apologized. “Its pretty apparent you’ve been here many times before and that you consider Floyd to be something more than a riding instructor.”
“I first came here to get some insight and learn how to be a better investigator,” she said, seriously. “He taught me that, and so much more. We became friends. I still try to attend his lectures when he is at George Washington or any of the local schools. He is quite taken with you, in my opinion. It must be he thinks we need to get you up to speed and on the job as quickly as possible.”
“He uses horses as a way to teach?” Matt questioned.
“No, quite the contrary,” Vicky said, mysteriously. “He seems to know, or find out very quickly, some avenue that he and his student can walk on with some benchmark of mutual understanding. It goes from there.”
“And what was your benchmark of mutual understanding?” Matt asked.
Vicky laughed. “Lawyers,” she said, a hint of mirth in her voice.
Matt had been anxious to watch Floyd work with a young horse and had asked to be awakened in time to do that. Vicky, it seemed, was an early riser anyway and so it was still a few minutes before seven AM when the telephone in the hall outside the kitchen rang. Floyd went to answer it and neither Matt nor Vicky paid much attention to the conversation, thinking it was a business or professional matter. When he came back into the room Floyd looked pale and shaky. He sat down at the table and took a sip of his coffee before he spoke. “That was Pat Donovan,” he hesitated. “Something has happened. It might be nothing, but on the other hand it might be serious; deadly serious.”
“Just tell us,” Vicky demanded.
“It seems Roy Austin stopped bye his favorite neighborhood tavern on his way home last night,” Floyd narrated, hesitatingly. “While he was in there, two teenage boys somehow managed to hot wire his car. They drove the car only a few blocks and crashed into a power line pole, the gas tank exploded and both of the boys were burned to death.”
“Good God,” Matt said in disbelief. “Those poor kids. Not the joyride they had in mind, I’d guess.”
Vicky paused for a few moments. “They lost control of the car, that was the cause of the accident?”
“Possibly not,” Floyd said, again a mysterious look about him. “Donovan got a call from the senior detective of the accident division of the Arlington County Police. They say the brakes failed and that the carburetor linkage was jammed at full throttle. Although nothing is conclusive, it looks very suspicious.”
“You don’t suppose Donovan,” Matt started to say but hesitated and then began again, cautiously, “you think perhaps Donovan got something misadjusted or out of line someway? Hell, I don’t know what you might do to allow something like that to happen.”
“Not one chance in a million,” Floyd declared emphatically. “If it was not an accident then it was Roy Austin who should have been driving, not those unfortunate boys. Pat Donovan is absolutely devoted to the Admiral and would never permit anything to be done on that car that did not meet his imposed tolerances. The fault must lie somewhere else.”
“Could someone clandestinely make those maladjustments, unnoticed, in the time it takes one old man to drink one beer and one shot of whiskey with enough time left over for two boys to hotwire that same car?” Vicky wondered aloud. “It doesn’t seem possible.”
“No, it does seem to be a stretch of the imagination.” Matt offered.
They were all silent for a few moments before Vicky spoke again. “I’ve done enough work with the local authorities that I could probably get some pretty savvy detectives working on this thing. If I could get it done without anyone hearing about it is a different matter. Do you think I should try?” She directed her question to both men.
“No,” Matt said quickly. “It should be the Admiral who brings the pressure onto this thing. Isn’t that what he would do normally?”
“You’re right,” Floyd smiled. “If this happened in normal times under normal conditions, Roy Austin would be all over the police to get a handle on it. Doing anything but that would be questionable.” Floyd’s face brightened, as though he had forgotten something for the moment. “Oh yes, he wants both of you to meet him this evening. Can we change your reservations for tomorrow and get that taken care of?”
Vicky and Matt looked at each other and nodded agreement. There was little else to do. “Good,” Floyd said. “Vicky, my dear, I want you to call and make the changes for your reservations. Secondly, call Donovan on his cell phone, no calls into the office. Set up the time and place for this meeting.” He looked at Vicky, questioning. “Do you have a cell phone?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I got it so that I could talk to all my wannabee suitors and lovers. I haven’t used it in so long that I’m not sure it works.”
“It will work, I’m sure. Get it charged up before you leave.” Floyd was directing, quickly, efficiently and professionally. “We are going to have to stay in touch, no matter where we are or what we are doing. We can phone each other directly, from here to Utah or on Vicky’s cell phone if necessary. We can also reach Donovan on his cell. Donovan can relay directly to the Admiral. We will make it a point to contact all points of our net at least every twenty-four hours. Anything any longer than that, we’ll consider it as trouble, understand?
Vicky and Matt nodded again. “Another thing,” Floyd accented, “make it a point never to use the word…” he paused, thinking, and then he smiled at Vicky, “lawyer, in our conversations. If that word comes up it will be a danger flag. Are we all clear on that?”
They all nodded again. “Then let’s all get to work.” Floyd said.
Matt grinned in spite of the seriousness. “You intelligence people actually do things like this, don’t you?”
“Apparently there is a lethal aspect to this situation that we had not counted on,” Floyd spoke in earnest. “We’ll take the uncomplicated approach and try to be better prepared for any further escalations. Matt, you come with me.”
Together, Matt and Floyd walked towards the paddocks. “What are we up to?” Matt questioned.
“A cram course in understanding,” Floyd smiled at him.
Floyd had two or three hands working at Century Oaks, although it seemed they had gone out of their way to remain behind the scene. When they reached a small, round pen they found an Appaloosa colt, alone and obviously agitated. Matt assumed that one of the invisible hands had put the colt there on Floyd’s order. The pen was about forty feet across and the young horse ran around the perimeter stopping only to call to his mates somewhere not far away, but out of sight. When they answered him, it seemed the young horse became even more frustrated. About six feet outside the fence was a bench and Floyd gestured for Matt to take that seat. Retrieving a coiled rope from the top rail of the pen, Floyd ducked between two rails and walked to the center of the enclosure.
“First of all,” Floyd spoke loudly enough for Matt to hear plainly but without raising his voice, “tell me what you see.”
Matt studied the setting a few seconds and answered in the same tone that Floyd had used. “Well, I see one very well put together Appaloosa colt, chestnut with a white blanket with two white rear stockings, a blaze face, about eighteen months old, I’d guess, and very displeased with his present situation.”
“Very good,” Floyd chuckled, “but he’s just thirteen months.” Floyd slapped the coiled rope against his leg and clucked at the colt, shooing him off on another round of the pen. “Why do you think he is displeased? Be as specific as you can.”
Matt thought again. “I suppose because he’d rather be back with his buddies than getting hassled by some guy with a rope. Are you sure this is the right time for this?”
Floyd chuckled again. “It’s the only time we have, so we’ll make do. Matt, I’m going to keep this fellow moving, using energy and letting the hopelessness of his situation sink in while I explain a couple of things to you. You’re absolutely right about his displeasure but you didn’t explain the basic need he has. What you see in front of you is a creature who is programmed by an eon of genetics to react exactly the way he is. This is a herd animal. He and his kind have been prey to the tigers, lions, wolves, bears and canines for so long that he can’t help what he is feeling. His place is in a herd. The herd gives him definite advantages. For one thing, it provides lookouts that he relies on to keep him informed of any of those hunter types that might come around. With the lookouts on the job, he can eat, sleep, play and have the good life. If by chance the sentry does spot the hunters, the herd takes the appropriate action and that action is usually to run. They aren’t much for fighting, none of the herd animals are. Their offensive and defensive weapons are mostly used among themselves; fighting for dominance, fighting for sex, and very rarely to do damage to a would be consumer of horseflesh. They would much rather outrun their dangers.” Without warning, Floyd stepped into the colt’s path and raised his arms like a bird. The young horse skidded to a near halt and reversed his direction while Floyd returned to his position at the center of the ring.
“Hasn’t anyone bothered to tell these prey animals that we are just about out of lions, tigers and bears and they can relax?” Matt’s question was not all in jest.
“It wouldn’t do any good,” Floyd said. “In every cell of this young fellows being he knows that he is in mortal danger. He has been separated from the herd. The herd is his safety and he can’t get to them.”
“Floyd,” Matt said with some disdain, “this beautiful, graceful colt was probably born on this very farm in a box stall with oak shavings for bedding. I’ll bet he has a pedigree that goes back more generations than I can trace my own. He is so far removed from a herd of wild horses he would be appalled at your lack of sensitivity for even mentioning him with such low circumstances.”
Floyd said nothing for a few moments. “Just watch,” he said finally. “In a minute or two, this guy is going to start to rethink our situation. He is going to ease up a little. First of all, he will probably lower his head and slow down. He’d like to stop and if he stops facing me, or turns toward me, I’ll allow him that. If he does not face me, I’ll keep him going. Pay attention to his ears. If he gives me one of his ears, if he is listening in my direction at the same time he is listening for his mates, that will be a good sign too. If he licks his lips or makes a chewing motion with his mouth that will be a bonus.”
Matt watched. Even to the untrained eye, you could see that the colt had lost some of the panic in his look and demeanor. Occasionally the horse would turn his head and look in at Floyd. Before, the youngster had his head high, his eye above the top rail of the fence, constantly looking for his friends. Now, his head bobbed with his stride and he sought a more comfortable running stance. Matt knew from reading and experience that the colt could have kept up the pace he was moving at for hours, yet it did seem that he wanted to slow up or stop completely.
“You want to talk this over?” Floyd said softly to the young horse. The colt slowed his pace a little and looked in at the man. Floyd turned with the horse, presenting him a full frontal picture. The youngster slowed to a fast trot, bobbed his head and stopped, turned a half turn toward the man and ran his tongue over his lips. “Now that’s a good fellow,” Floyd cooed softly to the colt. They stood eyeing each other for a full minute; the colt’s ears pricked toward Floyd, the man standing calmly, unthreateningly still. After the pause, Floyd stepped cautiously toward the horse and then resumed his static pose. The horse did not move but tensed. When he relaxed again, Floyd took another step towards him. Again the tense and then the relaxation. Then Floyd turned his back on the youngster and walked away, coming to the rail next to Matt.
“What you accomplished with Hajji and didn’t realize is the same process as I have just started with this guy,” Floyd explained. “He and I became a herd. Unless this horse, or any horse, is entirely isolated, he will be part of a herd. If we were to take this horse and put him in with one horse he had never seen before, they would go through a process. They would decide between them who was in charge, who would accept the responsibility of leadership and what each of them had to offer to ensure the welfare of the group. Add or subtract one horse from any group of horses and they will go through the exact same process. You and the Arab you raised and trained went through that process, you just were not aware of it. You convinced that horse that you would take the responsibility for his safety and that you would decide when you were in danger. You never harmed him, you made sure he was fed and watered and you never made him go away, outside the security of your herd. If you ever watched an old mare teaching her offspring the rules of behavior, the most terrible of punishments is to run her misbehaving baby outside the group and not letting him return. It is what they fear more than anything else in the world. Alone they are vulnerable and at the mercy of the hunters.”
“I see what you are saying,” Matt confessed. “Looking through their eyes it does seem the world is a pretty nasty place and that you better find yourself somebody to rely on. I wish I knew more of the vocabulary.”
“The language is there to be learned, either through observation or from a linguist.” Floyd smiled thinly. “I hope one day that we have the time and the leisure to learn more of it, together.”
“I think I would really enjoy that,” Matt said.
“It is a remarkable thing,” Floyd said solemnly, “to find that you are able to exchange thoughts with another species. We know now that we can transfer understanding through sound, body language, touch, attitude and even chemically. We don’t use all the receptors that some species do, although we have the ability if we would practice it. Humans resort to reasoning and when dealing with other forms of life we often reason from our own position, not from theirs. We are very often wrong when we do that.”
“There is something you’re trying to get across to me,” Matt hesitated. “Something you think I need to keep in the back of my mind?”
“Just this,” Floyd said. “If you want to understand what really motivates a person, then you must first understand what it is they are afraid of. Walking a mile in one’s moccasins is a worthy and lofty ideal, but use that opportunity to take a look behind and see what is following.”
Floyd climbed out of the enclosure. They had spent perhaps thirty minutes with the horse and Matt would spend many hours thinking of what had happened. Floyd had opened a curtain an inch or two and Matt already wanted a clearer view.
They walked back toward the house. “What are your plans, Matt?” Floyd asked objectively.
“My immediate plans?” Matt quipped.
“No, I mean for the long term. You’ll finish this thing with Admiral Austin in a week, or a month, or a year, but it will come to an end. You’ll still have a lot of living to do after. What then?”
“I really don’t know just yet,” Matt admitted. “Dad left me the house, the hunting cabin and the land down south, a couple of vehicles and some money. I suppose I can use the money, but I don’t know what to do with the rest of it. He also left me the responsibility of taking care that a couple of old people we both loved and took care of us when they were able. I can’t just forget about them. I have no real desire to go back to California and no reason to go anywhere else. Vicky mentioned you might put me on the right track. Got any insight for me?”
Floyd chuckled the little laugh that was becoming so familiar to Matt. “I don’t see the impasse you might, at this point. If you were to envision the best possible result in your mind, what would it look like?
Matt laughed. “You and your visions. I suppose the best would be to have a small place, out in the country I think, just enough to be utilitarian and not too much for Mrs. Cavenaugh to keep up with, so I could keep her around. Being here with you these couple of days and with horses makes me think I might like that again and that would keep Les active. I don’t suppose I have to go back to work for a little while, but I’m not sure what I’d do to keep from going bonkers.”
“That doesn’t sound unreasonable to me,” Floyd said genuinely. “I’m fairly certain that your father left you enough financial resources to do all of that, and more. Just getting it accomplished will take up enough of your time to keep you busy and allow you an opportunity to go over your options after that.”
“Well,” Matt said thoughtfully, “it doesn’t seem as troubling as it did a day or so ago. Just being here has done a lot of good. You know, I could have made a ride like we did yesterday a thousand times with my dad. I wish I had, now. I wonder why I didn’t?”
“Staking out your independence, I’d guess.” Floyd had a look of understanding on his face. “Your father was quite proud of your independence, you know? He thought of it as a good sign. I’m not saying he wouldn’t have been just as proud if you had remained in Utah, taken over his business when his health failed, but the fact that you struck out on your own and slugged out life on your terms was gratifying to him.”
“I guess he didn’t notice some of the black eyes I came home with,” Matt laughed.
“Oh, he noticed. The point was that you always came home.”
* * * * *
The truck made steady headway in a general northeast direction, the lights of the nearly unending cities of the Washington complex casting an eerie yellow-red glow onto the nighttime horizon. The rolling hills of the Virginia hunt country gave way to townhouses and apartment projects. The names sounded like they were far from the crowded mass of humanity they encompassed but the super expressways told a much different story. Fox Meadows, Timber Ridge, Oakmont, they were elongated buildings of concrete and stucco with none of the pastoral vistas they proclaimed. The traffic of the day was nearly gone; only the morning would bring the thousands of vehicles streaming back onto their choked lanes.
“Are we going to be on time?” Matt asked as he glanced at the digital clock on the truck’s instrument panel.
“We’re okay,” Vicky smiled. “I thought I was going to have to pry you away from Floyd and your horse conversations. Didn’t I tell you he was quite a person?”
“Somewhat of an understatement,” Matt said seriously. “He’s a fascinating conversationalist. It must take years to train yourself to think past the obvious and to take into consideration the base motivations that rule so much of our lives. You remember the Star trek series? Captain Kirk was always trying to catch Doctor Spock thinking like a human. Little did he realize that thinking like a human is not all as emotional as it seems.”
“I don’t think Floyd meant to convert your entire thought process, Matt,” she laughed softly, “he just wanted to point out to you that there are other things to be considered besides the first knee-jerk reaction that pops into our heads.”
“Maybe so,” Matt mused. “I know I’ll never look at a horse again without wondering what element of his genetic background is driving his behavior.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’d like to spend about a year just working with him, learning from him and seeing if I could ever reach that level of understanding.”
Vicky laughed again. “Well, why don’t you? I don’t see Floyd passing from the scene any time in the immediate future and it shouldn’t take you too long to get your affairs in order, once we finish this little task we’ve undertaken. It isn’t like you have a wife and kids to tie you down or anything like that.”
“That’s true enough,” Matt said, a hint of frustration in his voice.
Vicky’s laugh was a bit more jovial than her previous chuckles. “Do I detect an inflection in that statement? Maybe disappointment?”
Now it was Matt’s turn to laugh. “You detect things in my voice, like yesterday when I wanted to chuck this whole thing. Floyd tells me to see pictures in my mind. Between the two of you, I feel like an open book.”
“So, things haven’t been so great on the personal relationship plain lately?” Her voice had a different tone to it.
“I don’t know,” Matt started, the frustration still evident. “Have you ever felt like it just isn’t worth the effort?”
“Quite often,” Vicky said sympathetically.
“You know, I think I used to pick out women I knew my father wouldn’t approve of just so I’d have an excuse for not letting things get too involved. I’d blame him and I’d get out of it Scott-free. God, now I won’t have any excuses. I wonder if he planned it that way?”
“You’ve never really been smitten; head over heels, goofy, giggly, out of your head in love?” Vicky’s chuckle was back at its previous level.
“Well, we’ve known each other for the better part of three days now,” Matt said, rather flatly. “Do I seem the giggly, goofy, head over heels type?”
“I’ll have to admit, you seem much too serious for that.” She was smiling, grinning, although Matt couldn’t see it. “Still, I think somewhere inside that stern outer crust there has to be something wanting to just bust loose. It would be fun to see.”
A few minutes later Vicky pulled the truck to the curb and stopped. “Here we are,” she said. They were in Fairfax, just off the freeway and in front of an old shopping mall that had seen it’s better days pass quite a few years before. At the back of the sparsely utilized parking lot was a beer joint with a Budweiser sign in the window that illuminated only the first three letters and the last two. The ‘open’ sign seemed to work properly, except that it flickered a little. Matt scanned the cars in the lot. “I wonder if he’s here?” He wondered aloud.
“I’d guess he is driving a rental or something like that,” Vicky suggested. “But I’m sure he’s here. He’s a stickler for appointments.”
Matt held the weather-beaten door open and let Vicky precede him into the bar’s dim interior. “The old guy sure has a thing for seedy, smoky, smelly taverns, doesn’t he?”
“Considering that the odds of running into one of Washington’s ruling elite, which he abhors, its pretty understandable,” Vicky grinned. “But he does delight in poking around on the edges of society.”
Admiral Austin was seated at the far side of the room and waved joyously at the pair as they walked in. He was wearing an old, bent, straw cowboy hat; a sparkling white western shirt embroidered with crimson-red roses and as he stood a silver belt buckle the size of a small saucer became apparent. “So much for being inconspicuous,” Matt said under his breath.
“What you see is what you get,” Vicky stated objectively.
After the simplest of greetings the three of them sat, one on either side of the obviously pleased Admiral Austin. Matt smiled and looked at the older man with a hint of knowledge. “I noticed a beat up old Chevy truck in the parking lot,” he grinned. “I think it used to be green at one time but now it has an orange hood and one yellow door. You wouldn’t happen to know who owns it, do you?”
Roy Austin laughed. “As a matter of fact, it belongs to a librarian from Arlington. She lets me borrow it on special occasions. I realize it’s a classic, but I must tell you it isn’t for sale. Besides, you already have more vehicles than you need.” The admiral changed his look. “Without turning around, tell me how many people are in this place,” he said seriously to Matt.
Matt could see nearly half the room without turning his head. “The ones sitting in front of me you can count yourself,” he said. “Behind me, I seem to recall two pretty big country types sitting back towards the corner, two couples at the bar, fortyish I’d guess, and one guy in advance stages of semi-consciousness at the far end of the bar.”
“How did you put me behind the wheel of the truck?” Roy continued.
“I didn’t,” Matt said. “It was only after I saw your disguise that it made sense.”
The admiral laughed, loudly. “You’ve got instincts, my boy. They could serve you well. But, I have to tell you one thing. This isn’t a disguise. I was born and raised on a cattle ranch in Montana. I grew up in clothes like these, and I don’t forget my roots.”
“We could have been back with my father’s things by now, maybe have this whole thing wrapped up. We aren’t and we haven’t, I don’t need much instinct to know that.” Matt was serious. “I hope this twenty-four hour delay was for something more than a test of my powers of observation.”
Roy Austin turned towards Vicky. “He sure is awfully anxious to get rid of us. Obviously Floyd didn’t get to talk to him about patience.”
“It seems to me that for someone who could be in mortal danger, you could be a little more concerned,” Vicky admonished the older man.
“I am concerned,” Roy said flatly. “However, being concerned does not mean that I have to go off and cower in a corner. I’ve got a job to do and I’ll do it the way I’ve always done it, with a bit of dash when possible. When I get to the point that I can’t do that any longer, I’ll hang it up and grow roses or be a professional greeter at Wall-Mart.”
Matt was about to say something when the front door opened. A cloud of smoke and stale beer odors made a break for the fresher air outside and Pat Donovan’s lanky frame, clad in civilian clothes, walked across the floor towards them. He arrived at the table almost simultaneously with a waitress that Matt had not accounted for in his survey.
“Sit down, Pat,” the admiral ordered. “Bring us a pitcher of lite beer,” he directed the waitress.” When she had retreated toward the bar Roy turned his attention to Donovan once again. “Did you find out anything from our friends in Arlington?”
Donovan nodded at everyone and smiled broadly at Vicky. “Well, nothing definite. The accident pros are thinking that we might have a combination of bad luck and deliberate tampering but its all theory at this point. They found a fault in the brake fluid hose, which might have ruptured under severe stress, but the carburetor linkage they think had to be human intervention. The fire consumed most of the vehicle, and was so hot that it actually melted some of the softer metal parts. They don’t feel we’ll be able to go much further than we are right now. If the force of the impact hadn’t torn the left front wheel completely away from the wreckage, we would never have found the hose.”
“Pat, let me ask you something,” Matt said hesitatingly. “How do you go about jamming a carburetor to run wide open?”
Donovan thought for a minute before answering. “To just jam it in all the way is no big deal, but apparently this was something else. It couldn’t have been wide open when those kids got in; they drove a few blocks before it went wrong. I’ve been working on cars for a long time and I don’t know of a way to do that.”
“How about a radio control device, would that work?” Vicky injected.
“That is a possibility,” Pat consented. “What’s left of that car is a glob of molten fiberglass and metal. I doubt that they will be able to find any trace of a device, but we can hope.”
“Even if they do find something,” Roy Austin mused, “it won’t tell us much about how it got there or who put it there.”
“Who wants you dead, Admiral?” Matt asked with total seriousness.
“Nobody and everybody,” the admiral chuckled. “I suppose over the years I’ve made some enemies and raised a welt or two but it was all in the business. It seldom gets down to personalities.”
“I might be new at this,” Matt quipped, “but I doubt that it gets much more serious. If we go with Vicky’s idea there had to be some one watching that triggered that device. That person couldn’t have made a mistake and not noticed there were two kids in the car and not a stumpy old man.”
“Stumpy old man?” The admiral boomed, but then he stammered, lost for words.
“Ease up on him,” Donovan grinned. “He might have lost a second or two from his fastest hundred yards, but he’s still pretty agile.” Donovan hesitated before he spoke again. “I’m sure we have all of our communications set up and we know what you and the lieutenant will be doing for the next couple of days. We’ll stay in touch. We’re going to just try and hold things together on this end. I’ll keep digging on the car thing and the admiral is going to play his part at the office. We are in a strictly defensive mode until we get more information. They have us pushed back into our own end-zone, but we’ll break out soon.”
The jukebox was playing a quick little two-step kind of country song and the admiral was not paying attention to the conversation. “Stumpy old man indeed,” he muttered, half volume. “Vicky, let’s show these two what a real man and woman can do. Honor me with this dance please,” he said, already rising. Vicky grinned and walked with him to the vacant part of the floor.
“Is he really as nonchalant as he seems?” Matt asked Donovan.
Pat’s smile was thin. “He’s really worried. Not so much about himself as he is the service. Operations are all but shut down. He can’t take the chance anymore and it is killing him. Whoever is behind this doesn’t know him, I can tell you that. If they did, they would realize that they are backing him into a corner and when he comes out there will be hell to pay. He’s helpless and that is what sticks in his craw.”
“Pat,” Matt started slowly, not knowing just how to phrase his question. “I’m not privy to a lot of things that you folks are and I might not understand everything that’s going on, but tell me how serious a thing it is that we are dealing with.”
“Pretty serious.” Pat’s remark hit a medium tone. “It won’t stop the world but it could batter us around for a long time to come. A few years ago the CIA had a guy who went bad, you might remember it. Some people died because of it. They caught the guy and in the process, they revised some procedures that probably made the agency safer. The FBI also had a pretty serious leak and they found that too. We’ll find our leak and the repairs will make us stronger too. Meanwhile, we’re pretty impotent.”
“I was afraid you were going to say something like that,” Matt sighed. “What if we can’t come up with anything from dad’s things? Damn, I wish this had landed in some other poor bastard’s lap.”
“You ever do any fishing?” Donovan smiled.
“Yeah,” Matt said emphatically. “In the last couple of days that’s all I’ve done.”
“Remember when we had those crappy bait casting reels? You’d make a cast and look down into the reel and there would be nothing but a bird’s nest of tangles and loops. If you didn’t loose patience and throw the whole damn thing overboard, you learned that if you just pulled those loops and kept a little pressure on the line, eventually you could find the one tangle that came undone and freed up the mess. Just pull on the loops, Matt. We’ll keep the pressure on the line. The first loop is your father’s things. If we get lucky it might all straighten up right there.”
Matt watched as Vicky and the admiral twirled around the floor. He couldn’t help but smile. Vicky was smiling too. She was very pretty when she smiled. Actually, she was very pretty all the time but her smile was captivating. The music wasn’t terribly loud, but loud enough so that neither Matt nor Donovan could hear a remark that one of the two big men at the table on the edge of the dance floor made. Vicky stopped smiling and the admiral grinned. A half-minute later, the song ended and the couple came back to the table. Roy Austin did not sit down but held a chair for Vicky. When she was seated, he turned around and walked back towards the two men. Matt started to rise, sensing something was wrong but Donovan’s hand on his shoulder sat him down again. Donovan only shook his head slightly.
The admiral approached the table in his slow, slightly forward bent. Both men were seated on the same side of the table, which afforded them a full view of the dance floor. Roy Austin pulled out a chair at the far end and sat down. “Bubba,” he said, with full contempt, “that wasn’t a very nice thing to say to that lady, or to me, me being the old man you were obviously referring to. Now, I don’t want to have any trouble with you so let’s just do it this way. You and I will arm wrestle. If I win, you and your other brother Bubba here will leave. If I lose, I’ll buy you both a beer and we’ll forget about the whole thing.”
The young man grinned. “How about if I just kick your ass?”
“No,” the admiral almost whispered, “that wouldn’t look too good to have a young, big strapping fella like you kick and old man’s ass. Let’s just do it my way.”
The admiral leaned across the table and placed his elbow on the surface, his arm up and his palm open. The two younger men looked at each other in total amazement. “I’ll kick his ass later, first I’m going to break this old bastard’s arm,” the one nearest to the admiral said in a mocking tone. He pushed the sleeve of his shirt up over a pretty massive arm and started to lean forward. The movement was quick, almost cat-like; it was the admiral’s free arm that intercepted the younger man’s, wrenching it around behind him, twisting him back and around. The admiral caught him with a forearm across his neck and then completed the lock with his other arm. The other younger man jumped to his feet as Roy Austin took a half step to the side and swung his booted foot into the other’s groin. He fell to his knees in terrible pain, out of the action for any foreseeable minutes. The admiral whispered into his captive’s ear. “Under the fat part of my fist is the artery that supplies blood to your brain. It’s shut off. In about thirty seconds you’re going to start to faint; it’s what the police call a chokehold. If I hold it for about two minutes you’re going to start peeing down your leg and when you wake up you’re going to be a whole lot dumber than you are now because that pea sized brain of yours will be starved for oxygen. I’m going to let you go shortly, and when I do, I want you to pick up this pile of puke on the floor and leave. Do you understand that?”
The man did his best to nod his head. The admiral let him go. With some difficulty, the man steadied himself against the table and rubbed his throat. He was too ashamed to look up. He reached down, grabbed his companion’s shirt, and pulled him partly erect. They somehow got started towards the door.
None of the three said anything as the admiral came back to the table. He was busy brushing at a dirty stain on the sleeve of his snow-white shirt. “Stumpy old man, huh?” he said softly. “I can usually take two insults before I get nasty,” he said, directly at Matt. “You’re lucky yours was the first.” Matt said nothing. “Anyway, I’m out of here, as they say. Have a good trip back to Utah, Matt. Lieutenant, keep us informed please. We’ll have to do this again, soon. I haven’t had this much fun in years.”
“That’s a pretty tough bunch you run around with,” Matt said to Vicky as they prepared to leave the bar. Donovan had paid the bill and smoothed everything over with the owner of the place. Matt assumed that Donovan would make sure that the Admiral would not be identified should the two Bubba brothers file a complaint with the local law enforcement types.
“They were both a couple of foul mouth maggots,” Vicky said, defending what the admiral had done, “and you had already ruffled his feathers. I think I told you before; he is not cut from the mold that you usually associate with people of his time and position. It probably did him a lot of good,” she laughed softly, “neither of them were really hurt, except for their macho pride.”
“You know, if they are waiting outside to jump us,” Matt said smiling, “you’re going to have to handle one of them. I’ll take the one with the aching groin, I could probably outrun him.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Vicky laughed, “the big, bad navy lieutenant won’t let anything happen to you.” Matt thought to himself she was probably right.
Back in the truck and heading towards the city again, Matt relaxed in the passenger seat of the pick-up. “I feel like I could sleep for a week,” he spoke through his fatigue. “Are you taking me back to the same motel?”
Vicky hesitated. “No, you’re going the spend the night at my place. And you’re not to worry,” she added hastily, “my intentions are honorable and your virtue is not in any danger.”
“Absolutely not,” Matt laughed, “I’m too tired to even put my virtue to a test. Still, I don’t want to put you out. Are you sure it isn’t any trouble?”
“No trouble at all,” Vicky said, smiling. “I’m assuming you won’t put me out in the street when we get to Utah, so I’m just returning the favor in advance. I’ve got one of those Asian versions of a roll-a-way, but it shouldn’t be too bad for you.”
Vicky’s apartment was in the northeast section of Washington in a quiet neighborhood on a street lined with big trees. There was a spattering of rain falling but the night was warm with a steamy mood to it. Matt had heard his mother and father speak of the insufferable summer nights in Washington but he had been too young to remember what they actually felt like. This muted and watered down version made it easy to imagine how heavy they might become.
The truck was parked in an uncovered lot in front of a typical red brick building with white columns and shutters that gave the place a colonial look. Inside the entryway, Vicky opened a brass mailbox and retrieved a hand full of correspondence that had accumulated during her absence. Her apartment was at the far end of the hall, away from any noise that might come from the street. Vicky opened the door and stepped in, switched on a light and motioned for Matt to follow her. In a small dining room, she leafed through the mail and tossed it all, unceremoniously onto the table. Matt pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. Vicky checked an answering machine just inside an equally small kitchen but apparently found no waiting messages. “How about it?” she asked nonchalantly, “a nice cup of green tea or do you just want to call it a night?”
“I suppose I could drink just one,” Matt answered. “Nice little place you have here; it sort of reminds me of my place in Sacramento, but I suppose all apartments share certain similarities.”
“And now you can leave that all behind you,” Vicky chuckled. “God, how I envy you.”
“Its another one of those things that might not be worth the effort,” Matt said, that hint of disappointment back in his voice. “The house I grew up in is ok but the whole area is busting at the seams. Salt Lake City and those quiet suburbs are hell-bent on becoming another teeming metropolis complete with smog, sprawl and crime. You think the world really needs another one?”
“About ten years ago I went back to my mother’s home town to attend my aunt’s funeral. It was sort of a railroad hub in its day, now the trains hardly slow down and the town is surviving on the farms in the area and as a bedroom community for the automobile plants within commute distance. It has big trees and sleepy streets, almost as many churches as taverns and no taxi service. If I could make a living at something, anything, I’d find a little town like that and throw away my suitcase.”
Matt smiled at her. “Two days ago I wouldn’t have thought that of you; now it sounds exactly the way you are.”
Vicky laughed softly. “I hope you aren’t too disappointed. I’ve never lived in a place like that and maybe I couldn’t, all I know is that it seems to make more sense than spending your life here on the east coast. Maybe I’m just bored with it all.”
“You said you father was Filipino,” Matt questioned. “Have you ever had the opportunity to visit his home?”
“No,” she laughed mysteriously, “daddy grew up in a Maryknoll orphanage. He was found floating on some debris in the river after a flood. He was just an infant. They never found out where he came from or who his parents were. Maybe they drowned in the same flood. He’s completely Americanized now and has no desire to go back. I’d love to go there just the same. It must be that some of the tropics is in my blood or maybe it’s just that I’ve spent too many winters shoveling snow and driving in slush. Nobody waits for spring the way I do,” she laughed again.
“You laugh so easily,” Matt said to her. “The world is falling apart, the economy is in shambles, and it all seems to keep its distance from you. Even your apartment has a cheery atmosphere to it and my own is like the black hole of Calcutta. If I were to envy anything from anyone, it would be your attitude.”
Vicky placed a small, intricate teapot on the table and sat down alongside him. She looked at him seriously for a moment or two. “It takes practice, you know? Somewhere along the line you have to decide that not all the defeats are going to kill you and that you can extract a little victory from almost all of them. The world isn’t really falling apart, its just going through a period of readjustment. Maybe the economy isn’t as booming as it was, but you’re keeping body and soul together. You have to learn to rejoice in those little battles you’ve won. Hot fudge sundaes, a good old western movie on the TV, watching babies or just sitting around talking with a friend, you just squeeze all the good out of things like that and before long you find there is more to be happy about than sad.”
“Big, fat, soft towels,” Matt murmured.
“A personal preference?” Vicky asked.
“One of my dad’s,” Matt answered. “He was like you in that respect. He always found something worthwhile to expound upon. He liked things with a lot of mass to them even if they weren’t the most elegant choice to make. They had to be sturdy and useful, like thick towels, things like that. I grew up thinking he would always be like that, strong and indestructible. All the things I thought we would eventually get around to saying to each other could wait, there was no big hurry.” The words clung to the stillness of the room; their melancholy accenting the vacancy Vicky’s laugh had filled short seconds before.
Vicky placed her hand over Matt’s and squeezed gently. “It sounds like he put a high value on quality,” she said softly. “I find it rather appealing myself.”


Chapter 4


It hadn’t taken long for Matt and Vicky to pick up their luggage from the revolving conveyor belt, check out through the Salt Lake City Airport security, take the short ride to the long-term parking lot and deposit the bags in the gaping trunk of the Lincoln. The evening was warm, which was unusual for that altitude even half way through spring. The normal would be for the temperature to drop substantially as soon as the sun went down. Even late May in the mountains can produce a snowstorm, especially on the trailing edge of the lake. This evening was much milder than it had any right to be and it had an immediate effect on Vicky. She felt energetic and happy, nearly ecstatic. She ooh’ed and ahh’ed at the lights of the city, babbled on about the sparse traffic, the wide freeways and how polite and courteous the people in the airport had been. She ran her hand over the plush upholstery of the Mark and adjusted the electric seat several times before she started to relax the tiniest bit.
Matt almost hated to ruin her mood with the pure logic of her surroundings, but he risked it just the same. “It’s the altitude, you know,” he laughed softly. “You’ve been breathing sea-level air for so long that your brain is just a bit low on oxygen, almost as if you have had a little too much to drink. The same feeling of euphoria you sometimes get in a plane that most people write off to being excited about going on a trip is what you’re experiencing. I don’t mean that everything you’ve observed isn’t as nice as you think it is, but the feeling will pass. In a few hours your body will get used to the thin air and you’ll be your old self again.”
“But you said last night that I laugh so easily,” Vicky objected. “I think I’ll just go on feeling euphoric. You can be a gloomy Gus if you want to. No matter what you say, the car is beautiful and comfortable and it is a pretty city.”
“I kind of thought you would rather not have the scientific explanation,” Matt laughed again. He was feeling the altitude too. “Right up there on the side of the mountain,” he said, pointing to the left, “is the University of Utah, my Alma Mater. I used to ride a little Honda motorcycle to school during the good weather months, the rest of the time I had a bus pass. Sometimes I would ride the bus home as far as Murray and get off there, walk down to dad’s office and ride the rest of the way with him. I did a lot of my homework sitting at his desk waiting for him to run someone’s business accounts. He was forever promising work that he knew was going to cost him some overtime or that he would have to do by himself after hours. I guess in the long run those kinds of things made the business the success it was. It still is, for that matter.”
“You did well in school, I’ll bet,” Vicky surmised.
“I did okay,” Matt said, remembering. “I was no brain, not like some of the people up there, but I never flunked anything. The sheer power of some people’s intellect still amazes me. Occasionally it is the other way around too; I don’t understand why some people can’t see the forest for the trees. I guess it is just the way we perceive things.”
“How is it that you never went to work for you dad?” Vicky questioned, genuinely interested. “You were a business major and I can tell you had a special relationship with him, regardless of the remarks you make to the contrary.”
“I’m not quite sure,” Matt said truthfully. “For one thing, the field never stood still. It was a constant state of change. The technology was so transient and so expensive; I don’t know how dad ever kept up with it. Well, I do know, actually. He read everything in every publication he could get his hands on. In the evenings he would sit in his study and read articles and smoke cigarettes until all hours.”
“Perhaps you just didn’t want to stay around and watch him killing himself.”
Matt turned his head to look at Vicky. She was looking back at him with tenderness and understanding. He didn’t acknowledge her statement one way or another.
The drive from the airport in Salt Lake to Sandy, on the far south side of the city only takes about twenty-five minutes during the late evening hours when the freeways are relatively deserted. Traffic was just a bit heavier because of the people heading into town for the weekend revelry, but it wasn’t long before Matt was pushing the button of the garage door opener and guiding the Lincoln into it’s berth alongside the Dodge truck. The sight of the truck brought another round of superlative adjectives from Vicky. Matt gathered up the suitcases and led the way into the back door of the house.
“Why don’t you root around and find the necessary ingredients to make us a cup of tea,” Matt suggested. I’ll take your things upstairs. Don’t ask me where anything is because I don’t have the faintest idea.”
“Then how do you know there is anything around to even make a cup of tea?” Vicky called after him as Matt ascended the short set of stairs.
Within a minute, Matt was back down in the kitchen, a wide grin on his face. “Just as I suspected,” he said, continuing to grin. “Missus Cavenaugh has fresh linens on the bed in your room, clean towels out in the bathroom, and I knew she would have everything ready, no matter what I needed. Therefore, everything we need for a nice mug of tea, as she prefers to say, is around here somewhere.”
“In spite of the oxygen starvation in my brain,” Vicky laughed, “I’ve already found the tea kettle, which was on the range, and the water, which came from this clever little gadget on the sink. Not bad for a start.”
Matt opened a couple of cupboard doors in succession and soon came up with cups, saucers and a bowl of sugar. The tea was found in the next compartment. “There, you see,” he crowed. “Between us we might manage to get something done after all.”
“I don’t want the guided tour,” Vicky said mysteriously, “but would you mind if I just took a look around on my own? I don’t want to be distracted by explanations.”
Matt looked at her with a bit of amazement, not understanding her meaning. “Sure,” he said, finally. “Be my guest.”
Vicky walked slowly up the stairs and Matt could hear her quietly going from room to room. She spent more time in the study than she did in the bedroom and then came back to the main floor. The inspection of the living room and the kitchen was little more than a walk through and then she descended the steps into the lower level. Matt couldn’t track her with sound, but he heard the door to the basement open and then close approximately a minute later. When she came up the steps to the main floor again she was deliberately slow, slower even than Missus Cavenaugh would climb then. The water for the tea had already boiled and Matt had poured it into the pot and added a couple of tea bags. He knew the strong English blend that his Irish housekeeper had on hand would not require much time before it was full bodied and deliciously aromatic.
“What do you think, Inspector? Matt questioned, still looking a bit puzzled.
“It is sort of like watching a boxing match on TV,” Vicky explained. “Sometimes the announcer just can’t be as neutral as he would like to be and his narrative tends to slant towards his favorite. The punches he throws are subtly more powerful and the ones he gets hit with are never quite as devastating. You have to turn off the sound to see the true picture.”
“Did you discover any of our terrible secrets then?” Matt asked again.
“Only that nice people live here,” she said, whimsically. “One slightly gentler than the other, but both much more comfortable with compromise than confrontation.”
“You got that from a couple of bedrooms and bookcases and overstuffed furniture?” Matt chuckled. “And I hate to disappoint you, but only one person lives, or lived, here. Missus Cavenaugh has never lived in, and I’ve been gone so long that there isn’t much at all of me in here anymore.”
“Umm,” Vicky hummed. “You’re wrong about that. I was speaking of you and your father. Except that everything is scrupulously clean, there is no sign of a woman here at all. And you are here; there are signs of you everywhere. Even the things that were once a younger you have been lovingly preserved. A hardcover volume of ‘The Lone Ranger Rides Again’ in your father’s headboard, a Batman lunchbox in the basement; you may have been away but you have been close enough to touch when you were needed. I can’t wait for daylight to look outside.”
Matt smiled, as much inwardly as out. “I think you read a little too much into things. You will probably find that lunchbox is full of various assorted nuts, bolts, washers and other junk and dad was never one to throw something away that could serve a useful purpose.”
“Tell me about the cd’s and record albums,” Vicky asked. “Yours, your dad’s or a combination?”
“Unless I happened to leave one here by accident, they are all dad’s,” Matt answered.
“A strange collection for a man of his age,” Vicky said, an understanding tone in her voice. “Willie Nelson and Andre Bocelli right next to each other and close to the top and a heavy emphasis on classic rock music filled out with Segovia and a few other guitar masters?”
Matt did laugh then, gleefully. “I guess it must seem a little strange. He always said he never grew out of rock and roll, but his favorites were the guitar bands. He just loved the guitar, it didn’t matter what master musician was playing it.”
The minutes stretched into hours while they bantered back and forth. The tea was gone and the little that remained in the small pot was cold when Matt looked at his watch for the first time in hours. “My God, I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I’ve kept you up way past your east-coast bedtime. You must be exhausted.”
“I’ll survive,” Vicky answered sleepily. “We’ve both had a busy day, traveled a lot of miles and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.”
“Well, tomorrow we’ll get right to work. If you aren’t awake by ten I’ll come and shake you out,” Matt chuckled.
Vicky cleared the table and deposited the dishes into the sink before walking to the stairs leading to the upper bedroom. She turned and looked at Matt for a long moment before she spoke. “I hope we don’t find all the answers too quickly,” she said softly. “Goodnight, Matt.” The door to the bedroom had already shut quietly but Matt was still unable to come up with any words of his own.
Vicky awoke to the smell of freshly perked coffee and the sound of humming in the kitchen. She glanced at the electric clock on the nightstand; it read 7:55. She had been asleep less than six hours but she felt refreshed. She tousled her hair with both hands and slipped into the robe she had laid across the chair next to the bed. She opened the door and as she walked bye the bathroom she made a cursory check in the mirror. She decided she didn’t look all that bad and she descended the steps and turned into the kitchen.
An older, white-haired woman wearing a faded house dress and a full length apron was standing by the stove, about to pick up a slightly dented aluminum coffee pot. The woman looked at her and smiled, not seeming alarmed in any way. Vicky returned the smile, weakly. She stammered for half a moment, not quite sure what she should say. “Hi, ah, good morning,” she blurted out, finally. “I’m Vicky Burton. Matt and I will be working together for a few days.” It all sounded terribly transparent. “But I guess he’s probably already told you,” she continued. “Where is he anyway?”
“Still sound asleep,” the woman said, quietly. “He’s tired, I can tell by the way he is breathing. He won’t be up any time soon. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“I’d love one,” Vicky said. Her head was clearing and she felt her composure returning. “You must be Missus Cavenaugh. I wasn’t aware you came bye on weekends.”
“Normally I don’t,” she replied. “I’ve been keeping an eye on things and I like to be around when Matt gets up. He needs somebody to talk to in the mornings. He likes a cup of coffee, sometimes two. It helps him get organized for his day.”
Vicky smiled at the woman’s concern and had the distinct feeling she was being instructed as well. “You’ve been looking after him for a long time, haven’t you?” Vicky said with some admiration.
“Too many years, my dear,” Missus Cavenaugh laughed softly. “He and his father. My two boys, as close to me as if they were my own. Different as night and day, they were, and so much alike that it frightens the wits from me.” She poured coffee into two heavy mugs and then wiped the table with a wadded cloth she had stuffed into the bulging apron pocket. Vicky seated herself on the far side of the table and began to add cream and sugar to her cup but her attention was riveted to the white-haired woman.
“You’re frightened for Matt because he is like his father?” Vicky said, emphasizing her feigned confusion and prodding the woman into a further explanation.
“Joseph was a settled man,” Missus Cavenaugh began. “His life was that boy, his business and his duties to them. He did whatever had to be done so that both of them would be okay. He was principled and fair and he put his own happiness aside for them, but he was content with that. Matthew has those same principles and that same dedication but he hasn’t found an outlet for it. One day he will though, if he doesn’t drive himself crazy looking.”
Vicky looked into the woman’s eyes, hoping to find an insight to her. It was vague and disguised. “You’ve given up things for both of them,” she said. “They have been a big part of your life too.”
Missus Cavenaugh’s thoughts drifted for a moment and she brought them back to the present with some difficulty. “My husband was killed up at the copper pit when I was just a young thing. I did what work I could find and not all of it was what you might call proper.” Her eyes sparkled for a second, a smile settled comfortably on her lips. “When I found these two I needed them far worse than they needed me.” She laughed softly again.
There seemed to be little more Vicky could ask without being invasive and she was surprised how easy it had been to get the woman to speak so openly. She turned the conversation towards less personal things and they talked back and forth for nearly an hour. Occasionally Missus Cavenaugh would tend to some tiny kitchen chore but their exchange never ceased. At the end of that hour, the two women had learned a great deal from each other without having been aware they had shared anything of value.
Finally there came a sound of activity from the lower level of the house; a door opening and closing, a slight, quiet whistling of an unidentifiable tune and then the running of water in the downstairs shower. “Darn,” Vicky said in exasperation. Matt is up and I’m still in my housecoat.”
“You’ll not need to worry, child,” Missus Cavenaugh smiled. “He’ll be a while yet. He shaves in the shower, same as his father. I left some mail on his bureau that he hasn’t gone through yet. You have plenty of time.”
“You know just about everything about him, don’t you?” Vicky said, again with that same admiration in her tone.
“I know he’s as strong and brave a boy the good Lord has made in many a day,” she cooed. He and his father endured a heart-break that would have broken lesser men.”
“I kind of like him too,” Vicky laughed as she headed for the stairs.
It was a few minutes after ten when they sat down together at the kitchen table again. Missus Cavenaugh had made a breakfast hearty enough for farmers and then stood by her post at the stove and watched the younger ones eat. She smiled with approval even though she wouldn’t admit, even to herself, what she was approving of. When they finished, Matt took the phone from the hook on the wall next to the table and punched in a series of numbers. “Guess we had better check in,” he said with some humor in his voice. He spoke first to Pat Donovan who had nothing to report and then he called Floyd. There was nothing from there either, but the daily routine had been maintained.
“Would you like some unsolicited advice?” Vicky said, hesitating.
“Sure, lieutenant,” Matt smiled at her. Missus Cavenaugh noted the use of the official title and frowned slightly. “What is it?”
“Well, I was just going to suggest that as long as you are in a talkative mood,” she hesitated again, a second longer, “why don’t you call the radio station in California and tell them you won’t be coming back.”
Matt looked at her with astonishment. “Why on earth would I want to do that?”
“Exactly!” Vicky beamed. “Because that is what you want to do. You’ve been thinking about it for days now and you know there is no logical reason for you not to. Make that first step towards your independence. Go ahead.”
Matt laughed. “It’s Saturday. The only ones at the station will be the DJ’s who aren’t out on a local somewhere.”
“They don’t have voice mail?” Vicky chided him.
“What am I going to do with my apartment and all my stuff? I’ve got a car back there, some grungy furniture and a couple of old sweaters I’m really fond of. Am I just supposed to desert all that?” While he spoke, his eyes sparkled and the smile never faded from his lips.
“You can deal with all of that later,” Vicky insisted. “You don’t give a damn about any of that stuff anyway, you’re just making excuses. Unless you haven’t told me the whole story, the things you care about and those who care for you are here.” Vicky gestured towards Missus Cavenaugh. “This dear, sweet woman who has taken care of you for most of your life would love to see more of you than a weekend a couple of times a year. Now, what are you waiting for?”
Matt continued to smile, his thumb on the cut-off switch of the phone receiver. “One day,” he said finally, “you will have to tell me why it is that you are able to read me so well. Actually, I woke up this morning with that very same idea. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but terribly close. At least if it goes wrong now, I’ll have you to blame it on.”
“I’ll risk it,” Vicky laughed. She got up from the table and crossed over to the kitchen range where Missus Cavenaugh was still standing. She put her arms around the older woman and hugged her. Missus Cavenaugh hugged back and smiled although her eyes were half filled with tears. Vicky then walked out the back door and onto the deck. The morning sun was warm and the mountains to the east were starkly set against the clear blue sky, their white peaks shining in anticipation of a beautiful day. It was already a beautiful day.
Vicky spent the better part of the afternoon reading through the files on Joe Kellogg’s computer. Both she and Matt had agreed that Vicky had the best chance of catching something suspicious. Matt, they thought, might know a name or recognize a company and tend to dismiss correspondence out of hand. She did ask him for inputs a few times but nothing was blatantly obvious. While Vicky worked on the computer Matt went through every book in his father’s study, hoping to find a loose note or something of that nature. Eventually he went back to sorting things from closets, carefully checking every shirt and pants pocket.
Missus Cavenaugh had left shortly after the breakfast dishes had been collected into the dishwasher and the wash cycle begun. She had seemed somehow happier and younger since Matt had phoned his now ex-employer in California. Matt too felt some elation, but the logistics of the problem still nagged him. He tried to focus on one item at a time and work out the best possible solution. The apartment, for instance, was no problem. He had held the lease long enough so that he now renewed on a month-by-month basis. The furniture too was of little concern. There was nothing he needed from there that he didn’t already have here. It was of no great value and he could donate all of it to some charity. The same was true of his three-year-old car. Matt realized he was going to take a sizeable hit on income tax from his inheritance; the write-off from the furniture and the vehicle would soften that blow a tiny bit. There were a few bills, charge accounts, utilities and things like that, but nothing substantial. He called a friend and neighbor and arranged to have his mail forwarded. By five o’clock in the afternoon most of his ties to California had been severed. A yellow legal pad on the kitchen table gave evidence of his progress. Lists of to-do items had been neatly crossed off. A few marginal notes remained but they were the things he would have to do in person, and in the not too distant future.
Vicky came down the stairs from the study shaking her hands and arms, both cramped from the long afternoon of sitting in front of the monitor and diligently reading every page that appeared in front of her. She looked fatigued and deflated the tiniest bit. She sat down at the kitchen table and looked around the room, silently wondering and knowing at the same time. “This is it,” she said finally. “This is where you spent your times together, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Matt answered her. “Sometimes we would watch a little television together, but not often. I wasn’t here that much after I got into my teens, at least not while dad was home. I’d be off with friends and he would be at work, or upstairs with his magazines and professional publications. When we talked, generally it was in here.”
“You don’t get the feeling of communications anywhere else in the house,” Vicky surmised. “The living room seems almost sterile compared to this room.”
Matt laughed softly. “As far as both dad and I were concerned, you could have made that room into about anything else and it would have got more use than we gave it. It was a big reception area and not much else. If someone came to the front door, they would be met there and usually ushered into the kitchen. Everybody who knew us came to the back door.” Matt looked at her and saw the slightly depleted spirit. “Hey,” he said, upbeat, “you’ve been working like a mad woman all afternoon. How about a beer?”
“That would be nice,” she smiled as Matt headed for the fridge. “You’ve been busy too,” she pulled the yellow pad over and scanned the notes. “I hope you got more accomplished than I did.”
“Not much luck, huh?” Matt guessed out loud.
“Your father kept pretty busy,” Vicky offered. “A lot of technical stuff but most of it dealing with computer technology and a lot of that is somewhat dated. Lately he seems to be more into avionics. Does that raise any flags?”
“Heavens no,” Matt stated emphatically. “I’ve never heard him mention anything about things like that. I guess it would raise one big question mark, that’s about all.”
“Then perhaps it is significant,” Vicky sighed. “Right now I’m too frazzled to think about it. I think I’ll go out onto the deck and drink this beer. Come and join me?”
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Matt smiled. “You go on out.”
As she stepped out the door onto the deck Vicky was greeted with a blast of chilled air. The sun was making its way down into the cradle of the western mountains, casting long shadows across the valley. The children who had been playing in the park next door had deserted the playground and there was the slightest hint of burning charcoal in the air. The neighborhood was quiet and settled.
Matt came through the door and held out a thick wool shirt to her. She giggled. “I guess you already knew the temperature had dropped out here,” she said.
“Yesterday was an abnormality,” he stated simply. “With a clear sky, like we had today, the heat escapes very quickly and the cooler air settles naturally into the valley. Even in mid-summer you’ll find that a jacket comes in handy when the sun goes down.”
“The view though,” she said, looking off into the darkening eastern sky, “do you ever get used to this view?”
“You do and you don’t,” Matt said casually. “You don’t see it a lot of the time because it is always there. It is only when you stop and really look at it, or into it, that you realize that it is real. The mountains are part of your life out here, just like the searing heat in the summer and the numbing cold of the winter.”
“I tell you, its pretty awesome for a girl who never got further inland than Michigan. That was where Mom was from, and I’ve only been there that one time. I guess that’s a problem when you come from a small family like mine is. No relatives to go visit in the summers. You too, I take it,” Vicky questioned.
“I’ve got an aunt, dad’s sister, back in Illinois somewhere. Missus Cee writes to her every once in a while I think. We’ve never been close.”
“No grandparents either?” Vicky asked.
“A very unlucky subject,” Matt said mysteriously. “Both my mother’s and my father’s parents died together. Dad’s parents were killed in a car accident back in the fifties and my mom’s parents were caught in a forest fire on a camping trip. So, even though we have been alone we were used to it. I never felt as though I need any more family than dad and I and missus Cee. I ran around with this kid who lived just two doors up the street and he took me along to a family reunion one time. I was amazed that he could even remember the names of them all. He finally confessed to me that he couldn’t actually remember the names of some of them. It made me feel kind of superior.”
“Your stories are sad and funny at the same time,” Vicky chuckled. “I wish you had a big fireplace out here with a roaring fire and I could snuggle in close to it and let you ramble on and on.”
“Those stories I had published in magazines were all about big families,” Matt laughed, “like I had any idea what it was like to be part of a big family. You suppose that is some subconscious fantasy of mine?”
“It could be,” Vicky answered flatly. “You should look up that aunt of yours when you have some time. You might get a lot of good from it.”
“Yeah, that’s another possibility,” Matt speculated. “Right now I think we had better get you in the house. You’re shivering.”
“I could fix us some dinner, if there is anything in the house to eat that missus Cavenaugh didn’t already cook for that breakfast,” Vicky laughed again.
“I couldn’t say one way or another,” Matt confessed. “I’d bet there isn’t an awful lot. Dad went out most of the time and his favorite formal dinner at home was cold cereal and toast. On the other hand, Salt Lake has more restaurants than you can imagine. There is every ethnic variety from Albanian to Zulu. You won’t find many bars but these folks enjoy their food. Anything tickle your fancy?”
Vicky pretended to be in serious thought. “Let’s go somewhere real exotic and real warm. I’m about to freeze to death.”
Matt checked off places in his mind he thought might be right for an informal evening. Suddenly his face brightened. “I know just the place,” he crowed. “It is an English Pub, has good but simple food and a huge fireplace. You’ll like it; a lot of lawyers hang out there.”
Vicky scowled at him. “You aren’t very funny at times, Kellogg,” she scoffed. “The fireplace sounds good though. One more thing,” she said hesitating, “do you think we could take that beautiful truck instead of the Lincoln? It’s a wonderful car and all that; it’s just that I’m more at home in a truck. I guess I’m just a country girl at heart.”
“Sure you are,” Matt laughed. “And I’m Robert Redford.”
“Nope,” Vicky laughed again. “Robert Redford doesn’t have a truck that pretty.”
* * * * *

To Matt, Sundays had always been a day stranded in a part of the week that had no direction. If you were religious, Sundays meant going to church and dinner with the family, things like that. If you were into sports, it was football or basketball games on television, looking forward to some playoff series or an all-star game. The outdoor sportsmen had their hunting and fishing and would be off to the mountains or one of the reservoirs. In his school years, he would go with his dad occasionally, but since he had left home, Sundays usually just made him sad. It was a strange feeling because on this particular Sunday he awoke without the dread that normally followed the realization of what day it was.
Before he got out of bed, he lay very still and listened for any sound coming from the floors above. There were none. That was a good omen; he wanted to be up first and activated by the time Vicky came down. He jumped up and headed for the shower.
Twenty minutes later he bounded up the stairs and into the kitchen, absolutely confident that he had achieved his goal. After returning from dinner the previous night, he and Vicky had laughed and talked in the kitchen for a while before she yawned one too many times and had went to bed. Matt had cleaned off the kitchen table, put the cups into the dishwasher, and even wiped the oak table down with one of missus Cavenaugh’s oiled cloths. But now, the kitchen table was strewn with credit card receipts, a calendar and notes written on another one of those yellow legal pads. Matt picked up the coffee pot from the range; it was half warm and half-full.
The morning sun was beating down on the deck, not yet fully able to drive off the morning chill, but it was pleasant. Vicky was sitting on one of the long benches that defined the perimeter of the deck, her arms wrapped around her knees, the thick wool shirt he had given her the evening before thrown over her shoulders. She was gazing into the view of the eastern mountains, lost in their magnetic splendor.
“What is that cleavage that is right in front of us, low down on that mountain?” she asked without looking towards Matt.
“Its called ‘Little Cottonwood Canyon’” he answered. “If you go up Little Cottonwood you eventually come to the ski resorts; Alta and Snowbird. If you keep on going you can go all the way to the other side and descend into Park City. It’s a nice drive if the snow isn’t too deep. I’ll take you up there if you’d like to risk it. I haven’t been there in years, and they may have finished that road before the winter Olympics.”
“Do you think there is much snow left up there?” Her voice was peeked with interest.
“Not much, we’re just a few days from the first of June you know. There will still be some though, on the glacier slopes and the avalanche fields. Some years it lasts until the new snow comes in September or October. That doesn’t seem to happen too much anymore.”
“Global warming?” Vicky smiled, finally taking her eyes from the panorama in front of her.
“Who knows?” Matt answered. “It does go in cycles. Seems as though it has been on a dry cycle for a lot of years, which is not a good things for this valley. All of our water comes from that snow. No snow, no watering lawns or washing cars and no tourists shushing down those ski runs scattering hundred dollar bills in their wake.”
“I think if I lived here I would want to build a fence around it all and not let anyone in,” Vicky said mockingly.
“I’m afraid the destiny of those hills was written many years ago. Eventually what is even remotely accessible will be turned into some kind of playground for the ones who can afford to pay the price it will cost to develop it. Not exactly the purist of motives, but it will put bread on the table of the people down here who honestly care about the mountains,” Matt said, dryly.
“You don’t want to see that happen?’ Vicky probed.
“No, I don’t,” Matt answered honestly. “I don’t want to put a fence around it either. Somebody said you could never go home again. Part of the reason I left here was to avoid seeing it all be changed so radically from what it was. Its much easier to go somewhere that you could care less about; where the changes only bother the unlucky ones who had to watch it happen to their little paradise.”
“We seem to have put a rather gloomy pall on a beautiful morning,” Vicky smiled. “Lets change the subject for a while. Come on in the house, I want you to look at a couple of things.”
Vicky gathered up her empty coffee cup and started for the back door. As she drew close to Matt, she put her arm around his waist and gave him a gentle squeeze. “There’s always Mongolia,” she laughed. “Maybe you should go there and open up a McDonald’s.”
“Maybe they don’t want a McDonald’s,” Matt laughed with her. “If I went to Mongolia I’d learn to eat whatever it is that Mongols eat. I wonder what that is?”
“The livers of their enemies,” Vicky snickered.
Inside the kitchen, Vicky directed Matt to the piles of credit card receipts. “What happens in Richfield?” she asked.
Matt chuckled softly. “Nothing much happens in Richfield, that is it’s basic charm. You won’t find any ski resorts down there and the mountains are fully as spectacular as they are here. Why do you ask?”
“Because in the last couple of months, your father has bought gas there on an average of once a week” Vicky said seriously. “It isn’t close to the city, I take it.”
“No, its about 170 miles south of here,” Matt answered with a mysterious tone. “Dad’s cabin is about 15 miles out of Richfield, near a little town called Joseph. He wouldn’t be going there that often in the spring months normally. Funny, missus Cavenaugh didn’t mention that he’d been making any trips down there.”
“Most of them were over weekends,” Vicky said. “It looks like he would leave on a Saturday and come back on a Monday or Tuesday. Missus Cavenaugh might not have even noticed it.”
“Well, I suppose,” Matt hesitated while he thought, “he might have known his health was failing rapidly and he just wanted to spend extra time down there. He did love the place, there is no doubt about that.”
“Not much to go on,” Vicky commented, “but another question mark. We’ll make it a point to check it out with Fiona.”
“With who?” Matt blurted.
“Fiona,” Vicky said emphatically. “Missus Cavenaugh.” Matt looked at her blankly. Vicky smiled at him, tenderly. “You honestly didn’t know her name was Fiona?”
“I didn’t know she even had a first name,” Matt chuckled. “She’s just missus Cavenaugh; always has been, always will be.”
Vicky looked at him sympathetically. “You’re so perfectly uncomplicated,” she said. “Let’s get our daily check-in accomplished before we tackle anything else.”
Matt took the phone from the wall and punched in Donovan’s number. It rang twice before Donovan answered. “Pat,” Matt started. “Matt Kellogg here. Anything happening in the big city on a Sunday morning?”
“Yeah,” Donovan said interestingly, “I got a call from the police in Arlington last night and it looks like Vicky might have been right. They found some electronic components in the engine compartment of what was the Admiral’s Stingray. They couldn’t positively say what they were, but we know they weren’t part of an onboard computer or anything of that nature. Back in those days the mechanic and the driver were the only computers involved.”
“Well, it looks as though we’ve gone way past coincidence anyway,” Matt sighed. “Have you told his lordship yet?”
“Matt,” Donovan said with some exasperation, “he already knows what happened. We might get some confirmation from authorities, but a millisecond after he heard the sirens and came out and found his car gone, he knew he had been targeted. As a matter of fact, he is probably feeding on it. If somebody wants him, it must mean that they consider he is too dangerous to leave in place. He won’t go to ground either; he’ll stay silhouetted against the skyline, hoping they will give themselves away trying to get him.”
Matt had a picture of it in his mind; the stumpy old bugger, his hands on his hips, daring this unseen enemy to come on out and fight like a man. It wasn’t comical though. “Vicky has some ideas brewing in her pretty little head and I guess we are going to try to follow up on them,” Matt offered.
“Okay,” Pat said, preparing to close off the conversation. “Give Floyd a call; he said he might have something for you too.”
“I’ll do that, my friend.” Matt acknowledged. “Do what you can do to keep the boss in one piece until we can get a handle on this. Stay tuned.”
“You get an A+ for intuitive reasoning,” Matt said to Vicky while he punched in the numbers for Floyd. “Seems they found some remnants of electronics in the junk.” Vicky nodded. “Floyd?” Matt spoke into the phone. “Understand you have something for me?”
“Possibly,” Floyd said slowly. “I was going through my notes, trying to come up with anything that might bear on this. Matt, do you know the name Herb Nelson?”
“Sure,” Matt said immediately. “Herb is the guy who now runs dad’s corporation. I know him well. Haven’t spoken to him a quite a long time though. Why do you ask?”
“Joe said, almost in passing one time, on the phone, that he was going to see this man. I don’t have any further notes on it, so apparently the meeting didn’t take place or there was nothing to it. At least your father didn’t mention it again.”
“It will be easy enough to check out,” Matt answered. “As a matter of fact, he would be a logical person to talk with. Dad never quite broke the habit of looking in on things there. We’ll drop in on him tomorrow and see what he has to say.”
By mid-afternoon Matt had another sizeable load of clothes and miscellaneous articles ready to go to the trash or to charity, as the item deserved. In a way, it was hard to take the small pieces of his father’s life and pass judgment on them, deciding their final fate. But, he realized that just as Missus Cavenaugh had said, his father wasn’t in these things and what was him would never be lost. It was strange how each item had its own memory attached to it though. Even something so insignificant as a small stack of neatly ironed handkerchiefs evoked some recollection that in the coming years would become even more meaningful. “A gentleman should always have a clean handkerchief in his pocket.” He father had lectured him. “What if you came upon a woman who was crying? It would be terrible to hand her a crumpled up, dirty old handkerchief, wouldn’t it?” Matt smiled to himself. In all his life, he had never come upon a crying maiden, but he always had a clean handkerchief, just in case.
“I think we need to take a trip to your father’s hunting cabin,” Vicky said in a tone that was on the thin side of a question. “He wasn’t going down there for the scenery, he was working there.”
“Why do you say that?” Matt questioned.
“Well, thank Goodness he kept every scrap of anything concerning expenses,” Vicky stated. “He must have been audited at one time or another.” She laughed, but not heartedly. “It sure makes comparisons relatively easy though. Until recently, when he went down there it was plain to see why he went. There were usually receipts for things like horse feed, farrier bills, vet bills and things that apparently Les had been holding for him. In the last few months, I don’t see that happening, at least not every trip. Now I see things like office supplies and groceries. He must have been staying in and not going to restaurants the way he did most other times. I think we ought to go and have a look.”
“How about tomorrow?” Matt said. “There is a load of stuff in the truck we need to dispose of in the morning and then I’d like to stop in and have a talk with Herb, but we could leave right after that if you’d like.”
“Great,” Vicky bubbled over. “I have a feeling we are going to find something solid to go on,” she avowed.
“You amaze me,” Matt said. “I could have gone through the things you have in ten minutes and dismissed it all without a second thought. You look, study, figure, and come up with scenarios that make immediate sense. It’s a good thing the admiral sent you along. You’re a smart lady.”
Vicky laughed. “It’s all in knowing what to look for,” she giggled. “But thanks for the compliment anyway. Its nice to know I’m not just a pretty face.” She giggled again.
“The pretty face has it’s own benefits,” Matt laughed.
She looked at him, wondering, and a questioning expression on the pretty face. “Take me to dinner,” she ordered in a commanding voice. “Pizza and a pitcher of beer would be just wonderful.”
“Yes mamm, lieutenant,” Matt replied. “We’ll have to take the Lincoln though, the truck is loaded up.”
The offices of BTN, Incorporated were located on a main thoroughfare of one of Salt Lake City’s suburbs, Murray. The street hadn’t always been a thoroughfare; it had been forced into its role by events and growth it had no control over. The entire area of metropolitan Salt Lake is physically confined on the eastern and western sides by mountains and partially by the Great Salt Lake itself. When the space around the city was consumed by commerce, expansion had to be to the north or south. It was like stepping on a tube of toothpaste with outlets at both ends. Murray was the first main wagon-stop south of the Mormon Church headquarters a century and a half ago, when the city was planned. The toothpaste has oozed as far north as Ogden and as far south as Provo, an expanse of over a hundred miles. BTN, a clever abbreviation of “by-the-numbers” was a part of that ooze and an integral component of the business community.
Matt eased the Dodge Ram into the only vacant parking space in the lot next to the office building. The late morning was warm and dry, one of those late spring days that disguises itself as mid-summer. By afternoon, it was going to be hot. Vicky had chosen to dress casually, anticipating the drive to central Utah when this unscheduled meeting was over, but she wasn’t feeling comfortable about it. Matt had on jeans, cowboy boots and a pullover shirt. He had the obvious advantage of knowing that Herb Nelson was just an ordinary guy who happened to be in charge of a fairly successful enterprise.
Matt swung one of the glass double doors open and held it for Vicky to enter. The reception room was little more than a space in the hall with a couple of chairs and a small table in it. On the immediate left was a window that opened into the secretarial office. The door had not fully closed when a squeal of delight came from that office. A second later a short woman of ample girth ran from the space and nearly threw herself at Matt. “Matt honey,” she shouted, “I just knew you were going to pop in here one of these days.” Her babble continued without waiting for any acknowledgement. “We were so shocked to hear about your father’s passing, you know we all loved him and we would have done something for him if we had known.”
Matt disentangled himself from the woman’s arms. “Vicky,” he said quietly, and with some reverence, “I’d like you to meet LaVerle Baker. LaVerle was dad’s right arm for so many years that we don’t talk about it anymore. And this is Vicky Burton,” he beamed at the older woman. “Vicky and I are handling some of dad’s things. You know how that goes.”
The women shook hands and Missus Baker smiled warmly. “I’ve known this scamp since he was..” and she hesitated, “well, for a very long time. We’ve watched him grow up and treasured him as one of our own.”
Another door, behind the group, opened and a tall, stout man leaned into the hallway to check out the clamor. He broke into an instant grin. “Hey Matt,” he called in a loud, raspy voice. “Come and give your uncle Herb a hug.”
The reception went on for another ten minutes and each new face that appeared in the hall had the same type of friendly, cherished welcome. Sometime during the rounds of introductions and renewals, Vicky completely relaxed with her casual appearance. She had the feeling that she had just met the family.
Some minutes later, the three of them, Matt, Vicky and Herb were able to break away and find quiet refuge in Herb’s office. It was orderly cluttered, showing signs of busy activity and personal dedication. Vicky pictured a teen-age boy sitting behind the desk pouring through large textbooks and scratching notes onto a spiral pad.
“How much did you see of Dad in the last couple of months?” Matt asked his old friend, now seated behind the broad desk with his feet propped up.
“Not an awful lot,” Herb admitted. “Practically nothing the last month before he died. Before that, he came in occasionally. You know how he was about this place. He kept us up to date on what you were up to and things like that. He also wanted to check with me to see if I had any interesting articles for him.”
“Articles?” Matt questioned. “What sort of articles?”
Herb chuckled. “I kind of got the impression he was writing his memoirs, or something of that nature. He was always looking for some strange or humorous aspect of the business. He liked to keep up to date on new developments and that sort of stuff too.”
“Were you ever able to give him anything?” Matt continued.
“Oh yes,” Herb acknowledged. “It all started a couple of years ago. I had been to a convention in California. An old friend of mine, a guy who has a software company, does a lot of business for the Department of Defense, told me about this incident. Seems this guy comes in and wanted to buy some applications for direct access to DOD computer terminals. Naturally, my friend threw him out. I guess he called somebody who watched over security and reported it but he never heard if they caught up with the guy or not. It’s funny how bold people are. You’d think they would be smarter than to expect they can purchase stuff like that like it was a cribbage game or something.”
Vicky glanced at Matt but said nothing. “Probably just some whacko,” Matt said, dismissing it. “Dad was looking for things like that though?”
“Yup,” Herb said wistfully. “I guess it is true of any industry, but you sure could write a book about the weirdo’s you run across in this field. It would be a best seller. Comedy, tragedy, brilliance and stupidity, all wrapped up a nice, tidy, package. I’ll bet Joe had plenty of it written down on that laptop computer we gave him.”
The look that Matt and Vicky exchanged expressed all the questions that needed no words to communicate. “You gave dad a laptop?” Matt probed. “You must have had a good year,” Matt said, trying to put a humorous note in his voice.
“Some years are better than others,” Herb stated seriously. “But, we’ve been in the black every year since your father incorporated, knock on wood.” Herb rapped his knuckles on the flat of the desk. “We lived on the accounts he had and on the good will he created in the area for the first couple of years. Since then, we’ve managed to build on that foundation and we’re still building. I hope that five years from now we will be in our own complex and right in the thick of it. The board has already approved the preliminary stages of that little undertaking, and Matt..” herb paused, “our main office will be in the brand new Kellogg building and I’ll let you guess who the subject of the first portrait we hang in the lobby of that building will be.”
“Wow!” Matt expelled a puff of air, “that sounds just great Herb. Does that mean my stock is going to take care of me in my old age?”
“You’ll have to keep it into your old age, that’s for certain,” Herb laughed. “We haven’t changed your father’s primary vision of the company and we put all the profits right back into it. Now, I’m not talking about a skyscraper or something like that, but it is sure a long-term investment. We’ll do okay though, and you know there will always be a place for you in this organization.”
The passenger door of the pick-up had not fully closed before Vicky asked the obvious. “Where is the laptop computer Herb was talking about?”
“I don’t know,” Matt offered seriously. “I’ll swear it is not in the house; I’ve been through everything and I certainly haven’t missed it. If you’re thinking the same thing I am, we’re headed for the next best place to look for it.”
“The story Herb told about the attempt to buy software,” Vicky wondered aloud, “do you think that might have been the start to all of this?”
“On it’s own, it isn’t much,” Matt guessed, “but it might have peaked dad’s interest and made him look around for other things. Isn’t that the way you guys work?”
“You’re starting to think like an intelligence man, Kellogg.” Vicky grinned, widely.
The Intermountain-West has competed for prominence in our country’s time-line of history without a great deal of success, until recently. There have been moments when it achieved temporary fame, but those moments have been fleeting. It has been generally thought of as an area where bounty flowed out, headed either east or west, to the part of the population that really got the important things done. The trappers sent back their furs; the miners sent the coal, iron and steel, the ranchers sent the beef, the loggers sent the timber. It was a stopover for the pioneers headed for California and Oregon. It was a deserted wasteland where you could detonate atomic devices without upsetting too many people. The northern expanses were too cold in the winters; the southern deserts were too hot in the summers. It came as a shock to the world to find that somehow this area was growing way beyond expectations, some cities experiencing the fastest growth in the nation. The once dismissed sleepy little towns like Las Vegas, Salt Lake City, Butte, Albuquerque, Phoenix and a dozen more were suddenly viable entities. The people had a strong work ethic, the area had recreational assets worth trillions, and families thrived. Companies and corporations retreated from the coasts and headed inland.
The routes that brought them into the region are as old as any on earth. They began their life as game trails, pounded smooth by the hooves of millions of buffalo, deer and bighorn sheep. Moccasins followed the game along with a few hearty trappers and hunters. Eventually the army followed the trails too, doing away with the moccasins. Then came the cattlemen and the settlers and the pioneers and prospectors, the card dealers and the ladies of the evening. The preachers and the teachers came too, each group imprinting the area with its own personal aspect of culture. The trails became roads, the roads became highways, the highways became superhighways, and the west was saved.
Interstate 15 is one of those game trails gone berserk. It starts at the Canadian border, in Montana, tip-toes across the continental divide a few times, plunges south through Idaho and Utah, nips off a tiny corner of Arizona and Nevada and finally comes to rest, safe in the bosom of downtown Los Angeles. Eighty percent of Utah’s population lives within spitting distance of that long, cement ribbon. Just south of a little village called Santaquin, Utah, it climbs a long hill and when it reaches the top of that hill it gulps in a breath of fresh air, the first it has had in a hundred miles. At the top of that same hill, Matt toggled the switch for the electric window on the driver’s side of the pickup and lowered it an inch or so. The serious look on his face gentled a tiny bit, the furrows in his brow disappeared and he seemed to sink a little into the welcoming seat. He set the cruise control on 75 miles per hour and stretched his accelerator leg out in front of him.
“Well, that’s it, at least as far as we are concerned,” he nodded to Vicky. “Take a look behind us. That halo of gray air you see wafting above the Utah and Salt Lake valleys marks the end of civilization. You are about to be immersed in the real Wild West.”
“Wonderful,” Vicky laughed. “I can hardly wait. I’ll assume we are in no danger from desperadoes and other nefarious types?”
“Not as long as we keep moving,” Matt laughed with her. “Cattle rustlers are still fairly common though. They are a bit subtler than they were in the old days but now and then, a steer will come up missing and these ranchers keep a wary eye out for strangers pulling a stock trailer. When the market price is up, a good steer is worth a thousand dollars and these small outfits can’t afford a loss like that.”
“I suppose the big outfits don’t much like it either,” she said, trying desperately to sound western.
“There aren’t many,” Matt explained. “Utah was settled differently than most of the west. The Mormons worked collectively, set up small communities and kept their farms and ranches within reach of those little towns. They generally own just enough land to raise winter feed for their stock and their herds are small. In the warm months, they lease grazing permits from the government and the cattle spend their time up in the high country. The system afforded them mutual protection and the church was able to direct production a lot more efficiently than by just letting everyone do what they pleased. You don’t find the cattle and land barons they had in Texas and Wyoming. It also made it very difficult for outsiders to establish themselves in the society.”
“They did that on purpose?” Vicky asked, seriously.
“And still do, to some extent,” Matt smiled.
“How did your father end up here then?” She continued.
“Well,” Matt said, trying to explain, “the Mormons just didn’t have all the talents they needed to establish their own empire in the west. Most of the ones who first settled the Salt Lake Valley were farmers driven out of Illinois and New York. When they found they needed miners, they offered jobs and property to miners from England and the Scandinavian countries. When they needed gunsmiths, they did the same. It was always better to have Mormon settlers, but in a pinch, they took what they could get. Even at the height of the expansion, around ten to fifteen percent of the people coming into the territory were non-Mormon. My great grandparents were part of that minority.”
At a little town called Scipio, they turned off I-15 and headed southeast towards Richfield, Salina and the junction of I-70. The truck climbed steadily for fifteen miles onto the Sevier plateau, skirted around a catch basin that formed a long lake that is dry during the summer months, and then descended into Aurora. Small groups of cows and their winter calves grazed on the hillsides and the alfalfa fields were deep and lush.
“You couldn’t have picked a better time to see this country,” Matt said. “Everything is green and growing. About August, it starts to brown and the sun saps the life out of all these spring grasses. In September the Aspen trees on the mountains start to turn and then the hardwoods and there is a whole new kind of beauty, but these few weeks in late spring and early summer have always pleased me the most.”
“Umm,” Vicky agreed. “I can see why.” Her eyes took in the panorama in long, steady sweeps, starting at the very tops of the eastern mountains, down across the valley, and then steeply up again to the west. “How much further is it to the cabin?” she said, her voice serene and calm.
“Is that one of those, ‘are we there yet?’ questions,” Matt chuckled.
“Not at all,” Vicky scolded him. “I could ride through this country forever and not be anxious to get anywhere.”
“Gee, that’s too bad,” Matt laughed again, “because we are about a mile from our exit.”
They exited I-70 at a small village called Joseph; it was little more than a crossroads with a convenience store with a few houses clustered around. About three quarters of a mile through the town, Matt flicked on the left turn signal and pulled into a long drive. In front of them were a large alfalfa field, a few corrals, a fairly new steel barn and a small cabin. “This is it,” Matt said flatly.
Vicky looked with some amazement and possibly a hint of disappointment. “I thought when you said a hunting cabin that it would be up on the mountain, in the trees.”
“Well, that would be great,” Matt grinned, “but you and the government own those mountains and we can’t build a cabin up there. Even if we could, it wouldn’t be accessible for a large part of the year and the horses wouldn’t have anything to eat. You’re going to have to settle for this little chunk of the valley. It grows on you, don’t worry about it.”
The truck crunched softly on the gravel drive while Vicky took a closer look. The cabin was sort of a modified “A” frame with tall windows making up the majority of the front wall. A long deck ran the length of the front of the building and a small green lawn blended the cabin into the fields. A young, tall aspen tree shaded the front deck. All in all, it was a pleasing picture.
When the truck halted on the side of the cabin Matt and Vicky stepped out, almost in unison. Vicky kept turning around, surveying the surroundings. Towards the back of the barn, a long corral opened into a smooth pasture. Within moments, two horses galloped up the lane, into the pen, ran to the fence closest to the house, and stopped; reaching across the fence with their arched necks, they nickered and shook their heads. She couldn’t be certain, but it seemed to Vicky that Matt’s eyes were half filled with tears as he walked towards the animals. He walked between the two heads and wrapped his arms around their necks. He stood there a moment and said nothing. When he turned around his face looked younger and more content than she had ever seen it before.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I think it probably does grown on you.”


Chapter 5

The cabin was not old by any standard, but it was rustic, and it was meant to be just that way. The elements that made it seem a bit less refined and utilitarian were subtle but planned. The entire structure was one great room, except for a full bath that was strategically placed on the northeast corner of the building. The front of the cabin faced directly south and was nearly all glass. A sunny day in mid-winter heated the building without the aid of the propane furnace that was also hidden from view in the bathroom’s interior. A small but sturdy table was on the west wall, directly opposite what could have been classified as a kitchen. There was an apartment size range and a matching refrigerator, a single sink and a small amount of counter space. The remainder of the open area was used for a couple of sitting chairs, a long davenport and a gun cabinet. In the exact center of the floor was a ladder that led to the loft area above. The loft was only half a floor but there was ample space for one double bed, one single bed, hardly larger than a cot, a small writing desk and a chest of drawers. Hand hewn pegs were embedded in the walls every couple of feet and several sets of impressive mule deer antlers were hung tactfully on both levels. There were doors on both the east and west walls, the one on the west coming from the driveway side, the one on the east opening to the long deck that ran across the front of the building and around the corner only enough to meet with the door.
Vicky walked to the center of the room and folded her arms. She started a slow, even revolution that allowed her to take in all the building’s attributes in that one scan. She climbed the ladder to the loft without hesitation and performed the same ritual. Matt took a neutral position by the kitchen sink and said nothing. When she descended the ladder again, she went to each small window and looked out. Her tour ended as she stood in front of the south wall and took in the vista that appeared in front of her.
“And?” Matt said finally.
“It suits you,” she said turning around to face him. “It suits both of you, in fact.” Her voice was calm and respectful. “Where will you scatter your father’s ashes?” she said in a tone that seemed genuinely reverent.
Matt let out a long sigh. “The wind usually blows from the southwest. I think if I were to just walk out front a few yards and drop them there, the wind would take them across the field. There is also a clump of cottonwoods down by the river,” he said, gesturing to the east, “He liked that spot too.”
“You haven’t decided exactly just where yet?” Vicky said, almost as a statement.
“It isn’t like I could pick them up again and try another spot,” Matt said quietly. “I want to get it right, so I’ll just have to wait until I’m certain. Right now I’m not, but it will come to me.”
“I’m sure it will,” Vicky whispered.
A dash of sunlight caught their attention and they turned toward the front windows to see an old Chevy pickup turn into the drive and head towards the cabin.
“That will be Les coming to do the evening chores,” Matt offered. “Are you up to one more introduction?”
“Everyone so far has been very pleasant,” Vicky mused. “I can’t imagine this one will be any different.”
“Well, get three beers out of the fridge,” Matt smiled. “He won’t stop at the cabin until he has the horses fed and watered, checks out the tack room, moves a few bales of hay around and makes sure everything is shipshape out there.”
“He’s pretty reliable, I assume,” Vicky asked, smiling.
“Twice a day, every day,” Matt avowed. “If he isn’t able to make it he gets one of the town kids to come and do it for him.”
“How did you ever find him?” Vicky asked again.
“He and dad were drinking buddies,” Matt snickered. “Les is an old rodeo cowboy that has been busted up about every way you could think of. When dad came down to hunt or whatever, he used to stop at the bar in Marysvale, just up the road a bit and would always run into Les. They hunted together a few times and when dad built the cabin and moved the horses down here, Les just took over the care of them. That’s been quite a few years now.”
“You’ve been blessed with some very loyal friends,” Vicky said. “I know now why you’re been so concerned that they are treated fairly.”
“I’ve been feeling a little better about that in the last couple of days,” Matt admitted. “There are a couple of ideas running amok in my head that I’ll fiddle with until they make sense. One of these days when they are a bit firmer I’ll tell you about them and see what you think.”
Vicky raised her eyebrows. “And what have I done that my judgment rates so highly with you?” She laughed, brightly but not very loud.
“Your laugh is absolutely contagious, it makes everything around you seem somehow brighter than it has a right to be,” Matt blurted out, certainly before he had time to consider what he was saying; however having said it he flushed slightly. He lowered his eyes and did not see the tender look he received in reward.
Within a few minutes there was a quiet tapping on the door. Matt smiled and waved his arm, gesturing for Les to come in. There was a scuffing sound as the man stomped his feet on the jute mat lay in front of the entryway. He pushed open the door and entered slowly, deliberately. He was not a tall man and the slightly stooped carriage of his body and legs that seemed bent in places that would normally be straight emphasized his shortness. He walked directly towards Matt and extended his hand.
“H-lo Matt,” he uttered in a slow, quiet voice. “It’s good to see you again. Sorry about your dad.” The words were sparse but the feeling was evident and eloquent.
“It’s good to see you too,” Matt returned. “I thought I’d come down and see how you were doing and find out how things have been.”
“They’ve been just fine,” Less answered with a slight smile. He glanced at Vicky and the smile widened.
Matt made the introductions and threw in a few of Les’ more famous rodeo accomplishments. “Les rode a bull in Cheyenne named Junior one time,” Matt explained. “The old cowboys say when Les threw his leg over and jumped to the ground the bull was so ashamed of being ridden that he went to the far end of the arena and lowered his head and bawled.” They all laughed together.
“It didn’t last long,” Les explained. “Two years later in Denver old Junior threw me so high I busted my right leg when I hit the sand and then he gored me. He let all the air out of one of my lungs and they had to take me to the hospital and blow me up again.” The laughs weren’t quite as gleeful as they had been.
For a few minutes, they all sat around the table, drank beer, and reminisced about things that happened in years before. When the light began to fade, Matt arose from the table and lit two kerosene lamps that hung on the walls. The last sunlight danced on the mountains through the front windows. Les placed his hand over Vicky’s. “One year, I guess this kid was about fifteen I think,” he began. “It was near enough to the twentieth of December. Joe had decided he and the kid were going to spend Christmas down here. Well, right away, Matt wants me to drive him up the mountain in the pickup truck so we could get a Christmas tree. I told him the next morning, bright and early, we’d drive up. That night it snowed about two feet here in the Valley and I knew there was no way we could take the truck up to the high country. I had a couple of pretty fair calf roping horses, so I rode one and led the other over from my place to here. Joe and I put every stitch of clothes we could gather up on that boy and somehow managed to get him up in the saddle and then he and I took off for the mountain.” Les pointed out the front window towards the rapidly disappearing hills. “It was a three hour ride and colder than the hubs of hell out in the wind, but he stuck it out. He picked out a pretty balsam tree and we chopped it down, cleaned the butt off a bit, threw a couple of ropes on it and brought it down. It was as close to dark as it is right now when we got back and the kid’s hands and feet were near froze. Joe was about to notify the sheriff thinking we’d been caught in an avalanche or something as bad, he was that upset. We got the tree in the house and just stood it in the corner and Joe poured a cup of coffee and a shot of whiskey down Matt’s throat to get his circulation going again. Joe’s hands were shaking and Matt just looked at him calmly and said, ‘I don’t know why you were nervous, dad, you knew I’d take good care of old Les didn’t you?’”
Matt returned to the table, his eyes slightly misty. “It was a pretty tree,” Matt explained. “We didn’t put a single decoration on it, just stood in there in front of the window. It was a great Christmas.”
An extended moment of silence descended on the room before Matt spoke again. “Les,” he asked simply, “why was dad spending so much time down here before he died?”
Les drained the last of his beer. “Well, I guess he just wanted to be down here in the peace and quiet. He was working on something, paperwork I guess. I know he was planning on making a trip to Washington, D.C.; he was going to go the Monday after his time run out.”
“He was going to visit some old friends?” Vicky questioned.
“No, I think it was more of a business trip. He only mentioned it to me in passing, but he made it seem official like.”
They talked back and forth for a few minutes but it was apparent that Les had little more to add than what he had already given. Vicky was anxious to start her search for the laptop even though she had enjoyed the conversation up to that point. Matt sensed her anxiety and rose from his chair. “Come on, old timer,” he motioned to Les. “I’ll get a light and see you to your truck. We wouldn’t want you falling in a gopher hole or something.”
Les smiled warmly at Vicky. “You see, he’s still looking out for me.”
Outside in the chilly evening air, Matt waited for Les to start his cantankerous old truck. After a few turns of the starter, the engine coughed and settled into an irregular thumping. The old man eased a pillow under him and situated himself before he turned his face towards Matt. “That one’s a keeper,” he said, nodding towards the cabin. “Take an old cowboy’s advise and don’t try to make it on your own. You’ll just end up lonely and bitter. Now, your miss Vicky, a guy would be crazy to ignore someone as smart and pretty as that just because he was thrown once before.”
“She isn’t my miss Vicky, Les,” Matt said softly. “We’re just friends and we’re doing some work together.”
“Well then you’d better get busy and do some courtin’, boy, before some no account bull-rider steals her away.” He laughed, ground the transmission of the truck into an undefined gear and drove slowly around the corral and out the driveway.
Matt stood with his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and watched as the taillights of the truck disappeared. He smiled and looked up at the billions of stars that were making their appearance in the night sky, took a deep breath and let it out again, slowly. Life seemed so simple and straightforward to some people, he thought. You do whatever it is that you do best, set your sights just a little higher than you hope you can achieve and then live it with all the energy you can put into it. He laughed softly to himself, shook his head, crossed the grassy lawn in three strides, and bounced up the two steps to the door.
Once inside, he heard Vicky going through the chest of drawers in the loft. “Here it is,” she announced. A second later she appeared, holding the laptop securely in her hands. “I hope the battery is charged,” she said anxiously.
“I’m sure there is an adapter for it somewhere,” Matt smiled. “Find it and just plug it in. The kerosene lamps are only for effect,” he laughed. “There are even electric lights up there if you throw the switch,” he laughed.
Vicky was already setting up her work place while Matt was speaking. “Rustle us up something to eat,” she laughed. “I’ll get started on this and see what I can find.”
The cabin was dark except for the small light on the desk in the loft when Matt felt Vicky shaking his arm. It took a second or two for him to orientate himself but he soon realized where he was. He had thrown together a makeshift meal of spaghetti and meatballs, the meatballs made from a package of ground elk he found in the freezer. Vicky hadn’t said a word as she poured over the contents of the laptop computer and Matt was becoming accustomed to leaving her alone while she worked. He had washed and dried the dishes and tried to read a couple of outdoor magazines on the davenport. He must have dozed off and now Vicky was waking him.
“That father of yours was quite a detective,” she barely breathed. “It’s all here Matt, or the greater part of it at least.”
“That’s great,” Matt slurred, sleepily. “What are you talking about, and what time is it?”
“Its about two-thirty,” she smiled at him in the dim light. “The Sampaguita,” she said, “the Bobby Kemper thing and his dealings. There are about twenty pages of it. I think your dad was about to take the whole package to Washington and he just didn’t make it.”
“Well, I guess you will have to take it back them,” Matt said, a bit more coherency in his voice.”
“It might not be quite that simple,” Vicky hesitated. “There are a few loose ends and some things that need checking out. We’ll wait until they are up in Washington and then call Donovan, tell him basically what we’ve found and let them decide where we go from here.”
“Tell me what we’ve got first,” Matt said, pulling himself into a sitting position.
“It’s some pretty amazing work,” Vicky started. “Your father, working through friends in the industry, was able to put together five or six instances where some high tech equipment or software was bought or at least interest was shown. The would-be buyers, possibly just a single individual, represented a company called Transparent Technologies in Los Angeles. Supposedly, the company was doing research and development for the Department of Defense and for Naval Intelligence in particular. Apparently, nobody ever bothered to check them out with DOD or with Naval Intelligence to see if they were legitimate or not. Actually, there weren’t many transactions that resulted in any real sales and what was purchased wasn’t classified and didn’t require certification from the Government Accounting Office. Your dad must have seen some pattern in what was being bought or something. He didn’t specify what it was that caught his interest, but I’m betting that it has something to do with aviation. Remember all the aeronautical reading material we found at the house and on his computer? I’m sure it all goes together somehow. Anyway, Joe tried to follow the money. All the real purchases were made with certified checks issued by American Express in the Philippines. He tried locating the address in Los Angles and that turned out to be just a mail drop service that is paid for by an import-export outfit located in Cebu, also in the Philippines.”
“And the last known whereabouts of Bobby Kemper,” Matt finished Vicky’s statement. “You’re building a strong case here, Lieutenant, even I can see that, but there certainly isn’t anything concrete.”
“You don’t start with concrete, Matt,” she admonished him. “You start with some grains of sand and small pebbles, then you mix in some cement and water and then you let it cure. We’re getting there, be patient.”
“Okay, I’ll be patient,” Matt smiled at her. “You’re doing very well, by the way. Why don’t you try to get a few hours sleep before we call Donovan?”
“I’m too wound up to sleep,” she laughed. “That big bed does look inviting though. Maybe I’ll just lay down and try to relax.”
“Atta girl,” Matt chided her. “You’ve earned a rest.”
“Are you coming up?” Vicky asked.
“Sure,” Matt yawned, “I’m not too wound up to sleep. I don’t want to disturb you though.”
In the loft, Matt stopped to look over the material that Vicky had spread over the writing table. The soft light of the lamp showed how she had arranged his father’s notes into a chronology of events. On another sheet, she had constructed a list of the materials that had been purchased and ones that had only been sought. He read through the page of the document presently displayed on the laptop’s small screen and immediately recognized his father’s writing style, clear, concise and impersonal. It was so different from the style he used when telling a story or even in his letters or emails when his caring and warmth came through so evidently. “This is so typical of dad,” Matt muttered in a low voice. The expected response from Vicky didn’t come. Matt turned his head to see if she had heard him. She lay on the big bed, her knees drawn up into a semi-ball, her arm tucked under the pillow. She was sound asleep. Matt turned off the computer, took a soft cotton blanket from the foot of the single bed, and covered her. She smiled, unconsciously and drew the blanket around her. He switched off the desk lamp and stretched out on the small bed.
It seemed like only a moment passed and again he was being awakened. Vicky sat on the double bed, her cell phone to her ear and she was jostling his shoulder. This time he was wide-awake when his eyes opened. Vicky handed him the phone.
“Matt, this is Roy Austin,” the gruff voice in the earpiece bellowed. “We’re going to have to move quickly, but I need you to do a couple of things for me right away. First, I need you to get Vicky to a place where she can send me that report by email. If you have to go back to Salt Lake to do it, do it. If you can get it done locally then do that. Secondly, I want to know if you have a passport. I don’t want to look it up on the computer files right now, you understand.”
“Yeah, I understand perfectly; and the answer to your question is yes.” Matt replied. “I don’t have it with me, its back in my apartment.”
“That isn’t a problem, I’ll have it picked up. You didn’t strike me as a world traveler,” the Admiral chuckled. “Why do you have one?”
“One of my big accounts was going to take me to Costa Rica on a promotional tour until his accounting practices attracted the attention of the SEC,” Matt chuckled in return. “Are you planning on sending me on some other kind of promotional tour?” Matt asked, puzzled.
“If that is where this thing is leading us we don’t have many other choices but to keep following the leads. I’ll keep you informed as soon as I get a look at this material Vicky is sending,” the Admiral said. He hesitated slightly. “By the way, Matt, you guys are doing a hell of a job. You’re not done yet, by any stretch, but you’re getting closer all the time.”
“Well, thanks for that confidence builder,” Matt chuckled. “Honestly though, all I do is drive this wonder woman around and she does all the work. You should have never let her get away from you.”
“I never let an asset get away from me,” the Admiral said, slowly and deliberately. “Now, get busy and get me that email.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Matt chuckled again. “We’ll have it on your desk by this afternoon.”
As he punched the end button Matt heard the shower in the bathroom come on. He climbed down the ladder and walked to the front window, tested the stubble on his chin and looked out at the sun just making its way over the top of the eastern mountains. He considered the options for a moment and decided quickly that the easiest and fastest way to get everything done the Admiral had asked for was to return to the house in Sandy. There might be an Internet café kind of facility in Provo, but Sandy was just another thirty minutes from there. He wanted to get back anyway to talk over a couple of things with Missus Cavenaugh. He wasn’t too concerned about Les; Les had his home and a veteran’s pension of some sort, plus whatever his father had paid him and what Matt would continue to pay him. What he had in mind would be okay with Les; it was Missus Cavenaugh, or Fiona, as Vicky preferred to call her that he wasn’t sure of.
A minute or two later Vicky came out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around her. Her black hair was disheveled and damp, frizzy from being towel dried, and she looked gorgeous. Matt gulped and tried not to be obvious. She looked at him devilishly for a moment and then laughed. “What’s the matter?” she giggled, “we have known each other for nearly a week now. The way the world operates these days, we should be living together by now.” Then she laughed again. “Come to think of it, I guess we are living together, for the most part.”
“No comment,” Matt sputtered as he headed towards the bathroom. “Did you leave me any hot water?”
“Try it cold, like I did.” Vicky laughed.
Half way back to Salt Lake Vicky turned in her seat and looked seriously at Matt. “You want to talk about your idea?” she asked mysteriously.
Matt thought for a moment, unsure if he should vocalize what had been germinating in his mind. “What did you think of Cedar Gate?” he asked, finally.
“Oh Matt,” she said smiling broadly. “It’s perfect. Like you said, it grows on you. I honestly hated to leave.”
“Yeah, you never got a chance to formally meet Hajji and Sheba,” Matt laughed. “Good thing too, I guess. You already have old Les in love with you.”
“He’s a sweet little old man,” Vicky continued to smile. I hope I get to see him again, and the horses. Now tell me about your idea.”
“Well, what would you think if I decided to sell the house in Sandy, come down here and live in the cabin while I have something built that is a little roomier and maybe had the basement done in a small apartment where Missus Cavenaugh could live? Dad’s house needs a family; people who would look after it. I’ve about had it with metropolitan life anyway. Down here, I could find something to keep me busy and if I didn’t, no big deal. I can live off what dad left for quite a long time if I watch myself. Hell, I’ve got everything I need and I’ve never been a big spender.”
“I think it’s a fantastic idea,” Vicky blurted. “I can’t think of anything that would make Fiona happier, it would take twenty years off her age to have you back underfoot again. Who knows,” she laughed, “maybe she and Les would hit it off.”
“Wouldn’t that be something to behold?” Matt laughed. “I’ll talk to Missus Cee as soon as I can get to it. I’m not sure she would want to leave the Salt Lake area. She has no relatives there that I know of, but coming down here, she might not care for the idea at all.”
“Just one woman’s intuition,” Vicky offered, “but I’d bet my life she will be ready to go long before you get things rolling. She’ll love it, trust me.”
It was just a couple of minutes past noon when the truck pulled into the garage and Vicky bolted out, the laptop clutched in her arms. Matt fumbled with the key to the back door while she fidgeted impatiently. “Make us a sandwich,” she ordered as she started upstairs to the study. “I’ll get this report sent off and then we can have a little lunch.”
It took Vicky only a matter of minutes to transfer the report to a floppy disk and to attach that to an email back to the Admiral. When they finished lunch Matt tilted his chair back against the wall. “Well, what now, Lieutenant?” He inquired.
“Unless you can think of someone else we should talk to,” Vicky surmised, “I guess we just wait to hear from the boss. Do you have any other ideas?”
“Nope,” Matt smiled. “That’s why I asked you.”
Vicky wrinkled her brow for an instant and then an idea must have come to mind. Her eyes brightened and she smiled. “Take me to the nearest bookstore,” she demanded.
Matt waited in the Lincoln with the motor running and the air conditioner on while Vicky shopped at the Deseret Book store in a shopping center called Fashion Place Mall. Deseret was what the Mormon pioneers called their territory and the use of the name normally indicated a Mormon connection to any business or enterprise. The Deseret News, for instance, was owned and published by the church. The Salt Lake Tribune was an independent, but the church had tried to buy a controlling interest in the paper since its inception.
When Vicky emerged from the mall, she had a brown paper bag that looked to be filled with magazines. Matt didn’t bother to ask what they were, but he knew she, like the Admiral, had something in mind.
When they arrived back at the house, Matt sat down at the kitchen table after grabbing a beer from the fridge. Vicky sat beside him and unceremoniously dumped the contents of the paper bag in front of him. There were at least half-dozen books of house plans strewn across the table. “Okay,” she ordered, “we might as well put this down time we have available to good use. You start picking out designs and I’ll play the devil’s advocate and tell you what’s wrong with each one.”
“Now?” Matt questioned. “This idea is still in its infancy, besides I’ve never done anything like this before in my life. I wouldn’t know a good plan from a disaster.”
“I work cheap enough,” Vicky laughed. “Ideas aren’t like wine, you know? They don’t get better just because you leave them in a vat for a few years while they age. This morning you had a pretty clear picture in your mind of what you wanted Cedar Gate to look like, and I’m betting there is something very close to that picture in one of these books.”
“You really think so?” Matt mumbled as he picked up the first of the books and thumbed through it.
Vicky was about to answer him when the phone rang. She snatched it from the wall and indicated for Matt to continue looking. The conversation was short and apparently very direct. Vicky’s only comments were a couple of “Okays” and then she hung up. “We need to go to Hill Air Force Base tomorrow and talk to a man by the name of Jack Story. Colonel Jack Story. This time I do the talking and you stand in the background and look pretty. Is that alright with you?”
Matt laughed. “Sure,” he answered. “I won’t be nearly as good at it as you are though.” * * * * *
A pretty, young civilian woman led the way to Colonel Jack Story’s office. The new brick office building was just across from the runway of Hill Air Force Base and two F-16’s rattled the windows as they roared into the sky. She knocked softly on the unmarked door and opened it without waiting for a reply. Matt and Vicky walked in and the woman closed the door behind them without having said a word.
The man seated behind the desk was already rising to greet them, a wide smile on his face. Vicky was dressed in civilian clothes; a smart blue suit with a wide, white collar on her blouse that made her look cold and efficient. Matt had dressed for the occasion too, but he wore the same gray slacks and turtleneck that he had taken to Washington.
“Colonel Story,” Vicky began, “I’m Navy Lieutenant Vicky Burton of the Judge Advocate’s office, and this is Matt Kellogg, a fellow investigator.”
As the colonel turned to shake hands with Matt the smile vanished from his face but he said nothing. Vicky produced her military identification card along with another card that verified she was assigned to the JAG. The Colonel studied both documents carefully and then handed them back to her. “I’m very glad to meet you Lieutenant,” he said, the smile almost back on his face. “We’re always glad to lend assistance wherever possible. How can I help you?”
Vicky popped open the clasps of the briefcase she had been carrying and took a single sheet of paper from the case and laid it in front of the Colonel. He picked it up and gave it a cursory scan. “If I were to give you that shopping list and had you obtain all the items on it, what would I have bought when you were all done, sir?”
Jack Story looked over the items on the list for several minutes while two distinct furrows inched their way across his brow. When he looked up all traces of civility and cordiality had disappeared from his face. He poked an index finger at his inter-office communicator and sat back in his chair, the reclining springs protesting loudly. “Lieutenant,” he said sternly, “yesterday I got a back channel message from the Chief of Naval Intelligence asking me to assist you in obtaining whatever information you were after. I don’t like back channel messages. They usually mean that somebody is taking shortcuts, and I don’t like shortcuts either. There is something else I don’t like, in fact I don’t believe in it much anymore, and that is coincidence. I don’t know if you are aware of it, but you have just exceeded the maximum number of coincidences I can tolerate without becoming moderately alarmed. If you care to look you will find two Air Policemen posted outside my door and unless I get some satisfactory explanations you will both be leaving here in their custody.”
Vicky’s expression did not change one iota; she remained completely professional and aloof. “I’m very sorry, Colonel,” she stated officially, “I’m afraid I don’t have the first idea of what you mean. I’d be very happy to explain to you if you will tell me what it is that you don’t understand.”
“Well to cite an old baseball legend, this is like de ja vous all over again. This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked to go over this same list for the same reason you just requested and the first time was by somebody named Kellogg. Do you think that might be stretching the bounds of coincidence just a little?”
Vicky smiled, although thinly. “No sir, it was very observant of you. That would have been Mister Joe Kellogg and he was Matt’s father.”
“Was?” Jack Story asked.
“Yes,” Vicky said as reverently as she could. “Joe Kellogg passed away before he was able to close this particular case. I’m sure you were aware that Mister Kellogg was also working with Naval Intelligence and we were hoping you could put us back on track.”
The Colonel lifted his body to a more upright position. He was back in charge again, a position he was apparently fond of. Vicky had given him the one opening she knew he couldn’t help but respond to.
“When Mister Kellogg first gave me this list it didn’t make much sense to me,” the colonel admitted. “Later, I got to thinking about it. The list was obviously incomplete and I kept thinking what other components would logically go along with them. There were only a couple of key elements that kept it from jumping right off the paper at me. After that I checked your father’s bona fides with some federal people in town and they verified he was authentic,” he said turning towards Matt. I tried to contact him but I was never able to get hold of him again.”
“He was spending a lot of his time away from home,” Matt explained. “We’re very appreciative that you managed to solve the puzzle, colonel. Just what is the solution?”
“Fly-By-Wire,” the Colonel boasted. “That’s what it is.”
Vicky flashed her best stupid look at the Colonel. “I’m sorry sir, could you expand on that just a little?”
“Sure,” Jack Story crowed. “An aircraft moves on three axes; pitch, roll and yaw. Pitch is when the nose of the aircraft moves vertically, up and down. Roll is when the nose rotates, clockwise or counterclockwise. Yaw is the movement of the nose in either a right or left direction. You got all that?” Both Matt and Vicky nodded their assent. “We use various controls to regulate and limit those movements and to steer the aircraft, make it climb or descend, and so forth. The problem these days is that aircraft fly at speeds so fast that applying or not applying those controls can sometimes be disastrous. If you don’t do it quickly enough you might put the plane into a bank, a dive or some situation that subjects the airframe to enough stress to cause it to literally come apart. If you apply control for too long or too short a duration, you probably end up with the same results. You still with me?” They nodded again. “When you add new technology incorporating radar invisibility by changing the physical shape of wings and elevators, rudders and ailerons, you probably end up with a platform that doesn’t have any business ever being off the ground, according to the laws of physics. There isn’t a pilot alive who can calculate the amount of control required to keep an unstable platform like that airborne. It has to be done by computers. The computers get their input from sensors and their output goes to synchronous motors and servos that are capable of instantaneous and constant minute adjustments. The software necessary to operate a system like that is complicated and expensive, but actually it is made up of thousands of rather simple routines that any programmer with a masters degree can whip out in two or three years of unbelievably hard work. And that is what your list is looking to put together. Like I say, there are some pretty large gaps in it, but you’d have the basics.”
Vicky thought for a long moment. “How much of this is classified?” she asked finally.
“None of it,” the Colonel laughed. “Now, put it all together into a system, that’s another story. Then it becomes so highly classified that only a very few people can even touch it. What it all comes down to is this. You can’t buy it, you can’t build it, and you can’t steal it. The only way you can have it is to own an aircraft that has it installed. Even if you had one, took it apart, and put it back together again, it probably wouldn’t work. There is a reason we are the only surviving superpower, and it is because we have things like this and we can make them work.”
Vicky let out a long sigh. “I’d feel a lot better about it if our colleges and universities were rated as highly for their science departments as they are for their party reputations,” she said sadly. “I assume any potential adversary who makes supersonic aircraft would like to have this technology?”
“Anyone who makes supersonic aircraft already has a system similar to ours,” the colonel explained. “If they didn’t have one, they couldn’t fly those planes. The difference is that our systems work well, don’t break down and we’ve eliminated the bugs in our software. The short answer is they would love to have this technology.”
“Colonel Story,” Matt said, rising. “We’ve taken up enough of your time. We certainly thank you for giving us this briefing. We do appreciate it.”
“It was no trouble at all,” Jack Story replied.
At the main gate of Hill Air Force Base, Matt stopped the Lincoln long enough to lower the driver’s side window and hand the sentry the temporary pass he had been given to enter the military compound. “Well, what did you think of that little foray into aerospace-101?” Matt asked.
“Kind of a pompous ass,” Vicky grinned, “but interesting. At least he didn’t have us thrown into the slammer.”
“He admitted there isn’t anything classified about what he told us,” Matt said. “I suppose we could have got the same lecture from any aircraft engineer worth his salt. He did make me squirm in my chair a little bit though. I will have to say that what he said gives this whole thing a new level of seriousness though. It looks like Bobby Kemper has some pretty lofty aspirations.”
“I suppose,” Vicky sighed, “we better call in what we have and find out what happens next. I really don’t see much else we can accomplish here.”
“You don’t need to sound so disappointed,” Matt smiled. “Wasn’t that what we were supposed to do? Get them something to go on? I’d say we’ve given them quite a bit.”
Vicky was silent most of the way back to Sandy and it seemed to Matt that some of that undefined firmness he had seen in her expression the first night they met was back. She was so different than he first thought she would be. For over a week now they had worked together so closely that they had seldom been out of each other’s sight, yet there had not been so much as minor disagreement between them.
Normally, Vicky would have called Donovan, reported the results of the meeting with Colonel Story to him, and let him disseminate the information to Floyd and the Admiral. This time she called Floyd directly. It wasn’t that she thought Donovan incapable of understanding the technical jargon but she wanted to make absolutely sure that the message was clearly understood. Donovan’s strongest fields were automobile mechanics and loyalty, not aeronautics.
Floyd was excited to receive the report and Vicky could imagine him scribbling notes as he listened. “When I last spoke to the Admiral he was pretty sure you were getting at the heart of this thing. I’m sure this information will reinforce that idea even more,” he said with some conviction.
“Well, we’ve just about run out of places to dig,” Vicky answered.
“On the unofficial side,” Floyd chuckled, “how did you enjoy your short trip to the hunting cabin?”
Vicky’s eyes brightened and her expression relaxed. “I was captivated by the whole area,” she said gleefully. “I think I have Matt convinced that he should build this beautiful, sprawling Spanish hacienda and sell the home in Sandy. Don’t you think that would be a wonderful idea?”
Floyd chuckled but did not respond. “You two have done a splendid job out there; you make a good team.”
“Matt takes orders well,” Vicky laughed. “But he still hasn’t let me drive his truck.”
They ended the conversation shortly thereafter. “Hacienda?” Matt injected as soon as the phone was back in its cradle. “I had something more like a plain two story house with a basement in mind. Remember Missus Cavenaugh?”
“She’s the reason you should consider the hacienda,” Vicky stated forcefully. “Steps, up or down, aren’t good for her and as time passes they will become a real barrier. The open areas of a Spanish home would make it so easy to incorporate her small efficiency; she would have her privacy and still be close at hand.”
“In California I see thousands of those type homes,” Matt observed. “I suppose they wouldn’t look quite so suburban in a setting like the Sevier Valley. Let me guess; you already have a particular model in mind, right?”
Vicky snatched a book from the bottom of the pile and began paging feverishly. “Here,” she announced almost triumphantly, “Isn’t this just scrumptious?”
Matt looked at the plan without any genuine interest and with just a little doubt that he could be convinced that this style of building would ever be attractive to him. The pristine picture drew him toward a closer inspection and he began to see the obvious advantages of the layout. It was exactly as Vicky had said; convenient, charming and it would blend into the valley without seeming awkward or out of place. He sketched in the general skyline the mountains would provide in reality and drew in the extra bedroom, bath and kitchenette that would be required for Missus Cavenaugh. The cabin would remain, he decided, at least for the immediate future. The hacienda would fit nicely a bit further back on the property, on the eastern side of the large corral. The drive could be extended so it passed to the side of the house and then circled the barn. The entire plot was rapidly taking shape under the defining lines of the felt-tip marker and he didn’t even notice when Vicky tiptoed out of the room. It was a full half hour later when he walked down the stairs to the family room. Vicky was curled up on the davenport, unconsciously watching something on the television. “How does prime-rib sound?” he said, leaning over the back of the davenport.
Vicky looked up, a puzzled expression on her face. The fact that she was not especially fond of prime-rib vanished from her mind, and something in the way he looked at her said that this particular prime-rib might be worth the effort. “It sounds fine,” she lied. “Are you cooking or am I?”
“It just so happens that about a half-hour’s drive from here is some of the best prime-rib in the country. In the middle of the week, like this, we should have the place practically to ourselves. They have great breads and fantastic deserts. How about it?”
“Maybe I should change,” Vicky hesitated.
“I think I’ll get all gussied up,” Matt chuckled. “First I’m going to take a long, hot shower though.”
Vicky looked at him for a long moment, studying his face. “Not maybe,” she said cautiously, “I definitely need to change.”
“Forty-five minutes?” Matt said.
“It’s a date,” she laughed.
About the best outfit he could assemble didn’t seem to be quite what he had in mind, Matt decided, looking in the mirror. The gray tweed sports jacket had been his father’s, one that he had saved from the charity pile. The black slacks he had worn earlier that day, but they were clean and pressed. He didn’t have a dress shirt and tie with him and even if he had he probably wouldn’t have worn them, but the soft charcoal lamb’s wool sweater might have been a bit too casual. He ran a comb through his hair and decided it would have to do, and his forty-five minutes were just about up.
Vicky was just coming down the stairs from her room when Matt walked into the kitchen. “Wow,” was all he could say for a second. “I realize it didn’t take up much space in your suitcase, but I’m surprised you had anything quite so striking with you,” he said in amazement.
“Every girl takes her basic black dress with her,” Vicky laughed. “You just never know when it might come in handy. Do you approve?” she said, pirouetting.
“I’m stunned,” Matt said appreciatively. “You look fantastic and I must look like I’m in bib overalls in comparison.”
Vicky laughed the way she did so often and so easily. “You look very handsome. Not stuffy suit and tie formal and not unfinished either. We’ll just call it elegantly casual.”
The restaurant was not too crowded, just as Matt had predicted. They were seated at a small table towards the rear of the large dining room. The red tablecloth and candle struggled to make the mood slightly romantic but the business was known for it’s good food, not it’s ambience. Matt thought he might have made a better choice had he thought about it a little harder. Their meal was excellent. They talked softly and smiled a lot. While they lingered over coffee, Matt covered her hand with his. “You look stunning in candlelight,” he said softly, discovering it more for him than for the very pleased woman who returned his smile from across the table.
After dinner, they drove up Holiday Boulevard, high on the east bench. The city lights sparkled below them like diamonds in a glass bowl. A crescent moon drifted lazily across the sky.
When they arrived back at the house Matt graciously opened the door and let Vicky out of the car. He held the door when they entered the house too. Without turning on the lights, he walked her to the foot of the stairs. Only the flood light from the deck provided any light and that was filtered through the windows. He put his index finger under her chin, tilting her head up and kissed her softly. “Tonight was very special,” he said. “Could I call on you sometime?”
“Uh-huh,” Vicky gulped hoarsely after a few moments of silence.
“Good,” Matt said softly and kissed her again. “I’ll see you in the morning.”


Chapter 6


“Listen, Matt,” the voice of Admiral Austin barked on the other end of the phone, “I know I probably rousted you out of bed, but I’ve got to be quick about this. I ducked down to the cafeteria to have coffee, which is not a normal thing for me. We’ll just have to take the chance it doesn’t arouse anyone’s suspicions. My boy, I’ve pulled a couple of strings with some old friends of mine and I gave them a package for you. It will arrive at Alameda Naval Air Station late this afternoon. It contains your passport, Lieutenant Burton’s passport and a couple of names you might need when you get to the Philippines. Are you still listening?”
“Yes sir,” Matt replied. “You want us to go the Philippines?”
“That’s the general idea, lad,” the Admiral continued. “It seems that is the next link in the chain and I certainly can’t send anyone from here, so you two are it. You do know where NAS Alameda is, don’t you?”
“Yeah, sure,” Matt answered. “Who do I contact there?”
“Go directly to the Military Airlift Terminal. When you get there, ask to see Commander Tom Parker. You’ll have to do this during normal working hours, Matt, I didn’t let on that there was anything urgent or sinister about this, just that I was sending some stuff that I didn’t want to get out of military channels until it got to you.”
“Okay sir, we can handle that,” Matt breathed. “When did you tell him we would be there to pick it up?”
“I wasn’t specific,” the Admiral said softly, “I just said you’d probably be by sometime tomorrow. You don’t need a visa to get into the Philippines; they will give you a ninety-day permit when you arrive in Manila. Go out there and see what you can dig up Matt.” There was a slight hesitation. “And be careful, boy, both of you. Stay alert.”
“We’ll do that, sir,” Matt said as convincingly as he could as Vicky came down the stairs into the kitchen, tying her robe and running her hand through her hair. “Should we fly into San Francisco or just how do you want us to handle this?”
“You can handle it anyway you want, my boy,” he blurted, “as long as you get there tomorrow and be outbound for Manila as soon after that as possible.” Again, the Admiral paused for a second or two. “I think I’ve been spotted. Keep track of your expenses.” The phone went dead.
“What was that all about?” Vicky asked as she opened the cupboard door and got out a coffee cup.
Matt took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “We’ve got less than thirty-six hours to get to the Naval Air Station in Alameda and pick up a package.” He spent a moment gathering his thoughts before he continued. “We’re probably going to have to spend a little time doing some shopping for both of us unless you have clothes along for some real warm temperatures.”
“Alameda isn’t that warm,” she laughed. “It is probably warmer here than it is there, so I’m just fine. I think you should be okay too.”
“Well, watch your toes because I’m about to drop the other shoe,” Matt said seriously. “Alameda is just the first stop to pick up our passports. He wants us to go to the Philippines and do some more digging. I sure hope this is all worth it, chasing half way around the world for something we have only a passing mention of in dad’s notes that were based mostly on speculation to begin with.”
“It’s the next logical step, Matt,” Vicky said, now trying to sound as convincing as she could. “It would have been nice had we found this entire affair all neatly tied up and stashed away on your father’s laptop, but we didn’t. What we did find was a reasonable conclusion that several of the elements of the case manage to find their way to and from Asia.” She walked up close to him, put her arm around his waist, and gave a firm squeeze. “We’re doing okay for a couple of amateurs,” she smiled, you haven’t heard any ranting or raving, have you?”
“No, I guess I haven’t,” Matt replied. “Oh, I don’t know, Lieutenant, we just seem to be tripping along here, having a pretty good time while we’re at it, picking up a crumb here and a crumb there and telling ourselves that we are hot on the trail of a whole bread truck somewhere ahead. Maybe we are just kidding them, and ourselves too.”
Vicky turned herself to face Matt directly. Her face was soft with understanding and caring but at the same time, it was easy to distinguish the determination and professionalism reflected there also. “Its true, we have had a pretty good time and I for one won’t apologize for of it. We get along well, you and I, and I really like being with you, a feeling I haven’t experienced for quite a while. Thank God, I say. But Matt, there are two mothers back in Fairfax, Virginia who are going through hell right now, thinking they are probably responsible for the deaths of their sons. Maybe they didn’t hold as tight on the reins as they should have, but they deserve a better explanation than what they are being given right now. Somebody, for profit or for some other equally insufficient reason, is selling this country’s security to the highest bidder and willing to kill to protect himself. It isn’t a bread truck we’re after, Matt, its evil of the lowest form, and we’re going to keep right on going until we find him or we have nowhere else to look. Aren’t we?”
Matt smiled and hugged her. “Yeah, I guess we are,” he whispered. “You need to keep me on the right track in more ways than one. I can stand a lecture from time to time as long as its you doing the lecturing.” He breathed heavily again. “I figure it is about a fifteen hour drive to the bay area, give or take, or do you think it would be a better idea to get reservations to Manila with a stopover in San Francisco?”
Vicky made no attempt to dismantle Matt’s hug and kept her head against his chest. “I suppose the wiser thing to do would be to fly,” she said. “We wouldn’t have to worry about breaking down or having an accident between here and there, but it would be a lot nicer if we could make a slow, leisurely drive over there. We could stop off at some outlet mall and pick up whatever else we need as far as clothes. I hate just waiting around for something to happen. I vote we throw a couple of empty suitcases in the Lincoln and head out right after breakfast.”
Matt chucked, almost to himself. “We start out driving across one hundred miles of salt flats before we get to Wendover. There is nothing in Wendover except gambling casinos and a couple of gas stations. After that, we drive across Nevada and even the gas stations disappear. We’ll be in Sacramento before we even come close to an outlet mall, but it sounds good to me too.”
Vicky maintained the hug. “You could stop by your apartment and pick up anything you needed there and I don’t need much more than what I have with me. I’ll leave whatever I don’t need here. It will give me an excuse to come back here,” she laughed.
“What if I just give you an open invitation so you can come anytime you want?” Matt whispered into the top of her head.
“That would work too,” Vicky answered, paused and added, “for a start.”
By the time they both got around, showered and all the other things, Vicky spending an inordinate amount of time on the phone and the computer looking up flight schedules and bargains, it was just a minute or so after eleven in the morning when they backed the Lincoln out of the garage. She had been able to book business class seats on a Thai Airlines flight from San Francisco that left at 4:15 the following afternoon. With a layover in Honolulu and a plane change in Taipei, the trans-Pacific flight would be nearly twenty-four hours long. Matt had relayed their schedule and all the details to Floyd and Pat, making sure that everyone understood they would be out of contact longer than usual. Floyd correctly pointed out that Vicky’s cell phone would be useless from the other side of the world so communications would have to be conducted on an “as available” basis from the following day on.
Shortly after 1PM, they reached Wendover, the state-line of Nevada on I-80. It was as Matt had said, a collection of casinos and little else. The parking lots of the gambling houses were filled with automobiles, trucks and busses. The Lincoln looked suspiciously at home with the plethora of other vehicles; some new and sparkling, some so decrepit they wondered how they made it to this place even if they only came from down the street. “Why don’t we stretch our legs, grab a bite to eat and gamble away my inheritance?” Matt laughed.
Vicky’s look was one somewhere between puzzled and astonished. “You are kidding, aren’t you?” She asked.
“No, I’m serious,” Matt answered, “at least about stretching our legs and getting something to eat. I can’t say that I’ve ever gambled away more than twenty dollars in my whole life. I guess I like money too much for that, and if the truth were known, I don’t care much about money either.”
“Well good,” Vicky sighed. “It’s a terrible vice! I just don’t understand how people can take perfectly good money and throw it away in places like this,” she sputtered.
“Are you speaking from experience?” Matt smiled.
“Absolutely not,” Vicky sputtered again. “I’ve never been in a casino.”
“Neither have any of these people,” Matt laughed as he waved his arm over the parking lot. “Notice a lot of the license plates come from Utah. The last I checked, Utah was about 75% good Mormon stock, so it can’t be any of them. It’s about a hundred miles in any direction before you reach a settlement of any size, so it can’t be locals. I wonder who these people are?” Matt laughed again.
Inside, the place hummed with activity. Bells rang, whistles blew, the electronic machines made a music of their own accompanied by the constant metallic thumping of coins being deposited in slots and the occasional crash of nickels, dimes and quarters being spilled into pay-off trays. Waiters and waitresses scuttled about the game room carrying trays of drinks, dropping off diet cokes to gray-haired ladies who sat glued to overstuffed chrome stools parked permanently in front of flashing neon devices that seemed to have hypnotized them. Cowboys in jeans and faded shirts exercised their roping arms with the constant pulling of slot machine handles, tourists in Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirts huddled around black-Jack tables. The very air seemed to be electric and alive in spite of the smell of stale cigarettes and spilled beer.
When they finished their B-L-T sandwiches and iced tea, Matt paid the check and retrieved three quarters from the busty cashier. “Here,” he said, handing them to Vicky, “sin a little.”
Just before exiting the building, Vicky paused at the last quarter slot before the door. She dropped in the first coin and pulled the handle. The machine spun her a loser. The second coin brought the same results. She deposited the final coin, pulled the handle, and crossed her fingers. The double cherries paid her five to one. She played the five with no additional winners until the last, which paid her ten. She looked at Matt and smiled, scooped the coins out with her delicate fingers and dropped them into her purse. “That was fun,” she giggled. “We better get out of here.”
Matt was still smiling when they approached the car. He toggled the unlock button on the key fob and the machine responded by blinking its lights and popping the door locks. Matt tossed the keys to a rather surprised Vicky. “Here,” he said, “no sense in me having all the fun. You drive from here to Battle Mountain and then I’ll take over again. We should be able to split it up fairly even from here to Sacramento.”
“Hey, I love to drive,” Vicky answered. “I’ll drive all the way if you want to rest. The traffic shouldn’t be too heavy, should it?” She asked.
Matt chuckled. “We are the traffic until we get clear over to the Sparks-Reno area. We will need to get worn down a little anyway; that twenty-four hour plane ride will get pretty boring if we can’t sleep most of the way.”
Outside the windows, the desert droned on, mile and mile after mile. Late in the afternoon, the setting sun glared relentlessly through the windshield, overpowering sunglasses and visors, reflecting from any shinny surface and making clear vision nearly impossible. Although only half way through his second shift at the wheel, Matt pulled off the interstate at Winnemucca and parked in front of a Bosque restaurant he had been to many times before. “Banana cream pie,” he said, nudging his half-asleep partner. “That’s what we need; banana cream pie and a cup of Portuguese tea. We’ll hole up here for an hour or so and let the sun get behind the western mountains.”
Vicky pulled her head out from under a pillow; her eyes squinted against the brightness. “Matt,” she said drowsily, “do you have some secret fantasy where I weigh two-hundred pounds and waddle when I walk?”
Matt laughed. “My secret fantasies are just that, secret!”
“Well, ever since we’ve been together you seem to have this obsession to keep me well-fed,” she grinned. “Still, I wouldn’t mind hearing about the fantasies.”
He popped the side of her leg with the back of his hand. “Just come and have your pie and leave my fantasies alone,” Matt said.
The diversion used up slightly more than an hour and the delay caused them to hit Reno in the early evening when traffic heading to the strip was heavy. They had clear sailing once over Donner Pass but the volume of vehicles steadily increased as they approached Auburn, Roseville and the outskirts of Sacramento.
They had gained an hour on the clock when they crossed the state line into California and it was just a few minutes past midnight when the Lincoln stopped in front of Matt’s apartment. Matt turned off the engine and lights and stretched his arms in front of him, clasped his hands together and bent his fingers back. They made a soft popping sound but it relieved the tenseness in his wrists and lower arms. “Where are we?” Vicky grumbled from her semi-conscious state.
“We’re at my place,” he replied wearily. “That’s my apartment, right up there on the second floor with the dim light showing through the window.” He was just about to pull the handle on the driver’s door and exit when a shadow passed the curtain of his front room. “My God,” Matt exclaimed excitedly, “I think there is someone in there!”
Vicky craned her neck around to get a clear view. “Where?”
“Second floor,” Matt said again, “there! He just moved again.”
“Maybe it’s the neighbor you asked to forward your mail,” Vicky said, but even to her the possible explanation sounded thin.
“Not at midnight,” Matt said coldly. “Either somebody is on to us or I’m being burglarized and to be perfectly honest, at this point I’d just as soon have it be the later.”
“What do you think we should do?” Vicky asked.
“I don’t think it would be too good of an idea to go up there and confront whoever it is,” Matt said deliberately. “He might be armed and we’re pretty defenseless. Lets just wait here for a few minutes; there is a small parking lot in the rear but that is all assigned parking, my car is back there. More than likely, he is parked here on the street somewhere and we might get a look at him.”
“And then what?” Vicky said.
“I don’t know,” Matt hesitated, “we could follow him I guess, see where he is going; maybe that would tell us something. You’re the investigator, what do you think?”
Vicky thought for a minute. “Its worth the chance, but I doubt he will reveal anything. You know, it just could be that instead of looking to take something from your apartment, they are going to leave something. I don’t think we should go up there. They may just want to know when you come and go, so possibly they have planted a listening device or a camera. It makes better sense than having someone watching twenty-fours a day.”
“Good thought,” Matt offered. “It doesn’t give you a real warm and fuzzy feeling though.”
It was only five minutes later when a short man, wearing a brown leather jacket, gloves and a baseball cap, stepped slowly out of the front entrance of the apartment building. He glanced up and down the street and turned, walking away from their position on the far side of the street. He carried a rather small briefcase, or perhaps it was a tool kit of some sort.
“Anybody you know?” Vicky whispered.
“Definitely not,” Matt said softly, “but he’s our man, I’d bet on it. Nobody looks both ways before getting on the sidewalk unless they are worried about who might be looking back.”
The stranger did not hurry nor did he go too slowly. He crossed the street at the next intersection and entered a gray car on the driver’s side. Matt noticed there were other open spaces nearer to the apartment. Matt started the Lincoln but did not turn on the headlights. He let the car go about a block and then pulled into the street and started to move slowly in the direction the man had taken. The lead car turned right at the next intersection and Matt turned on his headlight and sped up. When he turned the same corner their target was about two and a half blocks ahead of them. At the next corner, he turned right again. “Oh-oh,” Vicky said almost silently. “Stay back but keep following him. If he turns right again, keep on going straight ahead a block past where he turns. He has either spotted us or he is doing a pretty standard evasion. Damn, I wish there was little more traffic.”
“I think he might have picked this particular time of night for just that reason,” Matt opined. “He’s turning again; what’s my maneuver?”
“Go a block past, turn in the same direction and go straight for about three blocks,” Vicky instructed. “We’ll see if we can parallel him.” Matt did as she instructed but they didn’t see the other car again. “He probably doubled back on us,” Vicky said.
“I think we never got close enough to see for sure,” Matt started, “but I never even thought to look for his license number.”
“We didn’t,” Vicky answered. “He was wearing gloves and I’ll bet he didn’t leave any fingerprints inside the apartment.”
Matt’s expression softened slightly. “If we are lucky and the intelligence guys can do a little arm twisting, we might have his picture though,” Matt smiled.
“How could we get his picture?” Vicky asked puzzled.
“He was parked right across from the ATM outside the convenience store, down at the corner,” Matt said. “I know it was just past midnight when we pulled up, so if they can get the film from about five to ten minutes after twelve, they should have him.”
“All we can do is report this and tell them about the ATM,” Vicky said without a great deal of hope in the tone of her voice. “Anyway, this leaves us with a few more things to accomplish tomorrow. Now we’re both going to have to do some shopping. Let’s find a place to bed down for the rest of the night.”
“Okay,” Matt said, “but it might be better if we got out of Sacramento altogether. Lets keep going toward San Francisco; we can find something around Vallejo.”
It was a little more than an hour later when they pulled off the freeway and into the lot of a small motel called “The Vineyard”. The place was all but dark, but one small light beaconed from the office next to the lobby. A young Hispanic fellow sat behind a glass barrier and watched TV. He looked up as Matt approached the window. “You wouldn’t happen to have a double left, would you?” Matt inquired.
“One or two,” the guy said. “Nothing on the first floor though, you’ll have to walk up.”
“That’s okay,” Matt said dryly. “We’re tired enough not to care right now.” He filled out the form and got out his credit card and the man ran it through his machine. The key the young man tossed through the cash tray of the window rattled loudly in the deserted silence of the lobby. Matt slid it out onto the flat part of the counter along with the signature card, signed it and slipped it back into the tray.
Vicky leaned against the door jam, an almost empty valise held in her right hand. Matt twisted the key in the lock, the door opened and Matt pushed his hip against it so Vicky could enter. The interior of the room smelled from pinesol or some other equally pungent commercial cleaner but it was only partially successful in masking an underlying odor of stale, damp air. Two queen sized beds used up most of the available space; a flat desk and a small television on a rotating base took the rest of it. Vicky dropped the valise on the desktop and went directly for the bathroom, turned on the light and surveyed its interior. “Actually,” she stated in a voice with a bit of disappointment in it, “I’m almost glad that most of the night is shot.”
Matt laughed in spite of his weariness. “In its day, this was probably a pretty nice little place. I’m rather surprised that they could stay in business with the competition that the big franchise outfits must put on them.”
“Wait until the bars start closing,” Vicky smiled. “This place will probably be packed for a few hours with most of the customers leaving before first light.”
“Oh quit being such a Victorian,” Matt laughed again.
Vicky grabbed the bedspread of the closest bed and pulled it completely off in one fluid motion and tossed it unceremoniously into the corner. “The sheets and blankets have probably been washed,” she said, flatly, “but I’ll bet these spreads have been on here since they bought them.” She kicked off her shoes, pulled the blanket down and crawled into the bed fully clothed. “Goodnight Kellogg,” she muttered. “Sleep tight and don’t let the…….; oh, never mind.”
By the time they went through all the formalities of obtaining a visitor’s pass, having the Lincoln inspected, searched and safety checked, it was well past 9AM when they arrived at the Military Airlift Terminal. Vicky was back to her normal, cheerful self, having shook off the skid-row blues of the previous night. She had sealed all the clothes she had worn in a plastic laundry bag and put them in the trunk of the car. The bundle had been part of the reason it took so long to clear security at the main gate. The terminal was almost deserted; only a few men in uniform lounged in padded chairs or stood looking at information boards that listed the days expected flights. Matt and Vicky headed for a counter underneath a large “Check-In” sign. A young seaman in glasses and blond curly hair looked up and smiled. “Good morning,” he said, politely. “Can I help you?”
Matt took the lead. “Hi,” he said cheerfully, “I’m Matt Kellogg. I’d like to speak to Commander Parker if that’s possible.”
“I’ll check and see if he is in his office, sir,” the young man replied, still smiling. “I’m not sure he’s back from Officer’s Call yet.” The young man left his place at the counter and disappeared into a door to the rear. It was only about two minutes later that the door reopened and an officer carrying a large manila envelope walked up to the counter.
“Mister Kellogg?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” Matt replied courteously. “This is Lieutenant Burton. I understand you have been holding some documents for us.”
The officer nodded towards Vicky and laid the manila envelope on the counter. “I’m glad we could be of service,” he smiled.
The events of the past three weeks were taking their toll on Matt’s trust. He wanted to believe this man was, in the best scenario, an ally, or at a minimum just an innocent participant who had no idea what was going on. The smile he returned to Commander Parker was thin and artificial, much like the ones he used to flash at potential customers who neither amused him nor irritated him; it was just the thing to do. “You’ve been very helpful, Commander,” Matt offered. “I hope we are in a position to help you out one day.”
“We’re going to have to hustle,” Matt said to Vicky as they exited the main gate of the Naval Air Station. “We should be at the airport by two o’clock, at the latest.” He glanced at his watch and did a quick mental calculation. “I guess we should be okay; it won’t take that long to get the car parked in the long-term lot and take the shuttle back to the terminal. We’ll just have to keep close track of the time we spend shopping.”
Vicky chucked. “You’re not a shopper, are you?”
“You think gambling is a terrible vice,” Matt smiled, “I think shopping is far worse. To be honest with you, I can’t think of anything I like less than shopping, especially when I have no idea of what it is that I’m shopping for.”
Vicky reached over and squeezed his arm in mock tenderness. “Poor baby,” she cooed. “Do you have enough with you to make it for a couple of days at least?”
“I’ve got enough with me to make it for a couple of years if we have access to a washer and dried every few days,” Matt laughed. “People might get tired of seeing me in the same pair of jeans and a couple of different polo shirts, but it will definitely bother them more than it does me.”
“Well then,” Vicky said seriously, “we’ll just go with what we got and when we get to Manila I’ll scout out the nearest bargain bazaar and fill in the blanks there. That sounds like more fun anyway.”
“I’m betting by the time we get to Manila, we’ll be so beat down you won’t want to do anything but sleep for three days.” Matt said with some seriousness.
“You obviously have no concept of what a woman faced with a new and unexplored shopping adventure can endure,” Vicky giggled. “You just give me your Visa card and I’ll take care of the rest,” she laughed again.
The expected ordeal of picking up tickets, going through security, x-raying bags and all the other horror stories one hears on the nightly news, never happened. The business class tickets afforded the couple some reprieve at the counter where they were politely received, speedily processed and sent on their way to the security gate. All the metal detector posts were fully manned, probably in anticipation of the Friday evening exodus that marked the close of the business week. Matt had to remove his boots and belt, but that was their only delay. They had a full two hours before boarding when the processing was all completed. Fortunately, Thai Airlines had given them an invitation to the business lounge and they were able to relax in some comfort. Olive skinned, almond-eyed attendants brought around trays of snacks and an open bar allowed passengers to pour their own drinks. Matt settled on a bottle of beer, Vicky had a glass of white wine. Matt read a newspaper, the first he could remember reading since that morning, exactly two weeks past when he had breakfast at John’s, the same day the Admiral first called. He found himself thinking back over the events of those two weeks and how much his life had changed in the short fourteen days. Still, there didn’t seem to be that much new in the news, the world hadn’t altered its direction to any great degree and life moved forward. Yet, he couldn’t escape the feeling that he had one foot nailed to the floor, unable to move forward with the rest but confined to one small circle. Somehow, he had to break out of the circle and define his own direction.
“Are you worried about the flight?” Vicky whispered to him from across the small circular table they were seated at. “You seem to be a little preoccupied, maybe a little tense.”
He looked into her eyes and recognized that caring look he had become so used to seeing. “It has been a long, long time since I’ve made a flight even close to what we about to take,” he smiled. “I’m not worried, just a bit concerned that we’re going to go on and on with this thing. I’m just getting tired, I guess.”
“Me too,” Vicky sighed. The remark surprised Matt immediately.
“Hey,” he replied, “don’t let my foul mood bring you down too. One of us has to stay on top of things.” He hesitated for a few seconds. “I suppose I’ve always left that up to you, haven’t I? I’m sorry; I let you carry most of the load most of the time. I promise I’ll do better from now on, what do you say?”
“Hmm,” Vicky mused, “what do you plan to do differently?”
“Well, for one thing, “Matt began, “I ought to start thinking about this a little more. So far about the only thing I’ve contributed is driving us from one place to the other. I’m a fairly intelligent guy, actually, or I’ve always told myself that I was. I should be able to come up with a plan that gets us somewhere. Nothing elaborate, mind you, but a simple, clear plan that stands a fair chance of succeeding.”
Vicky smiled at him. “Matt, neither of us have done anything spectacular during this whole thing, but we’ve both done all the right things. The conclusion to all of this isn’t going to come about because we’ve called the magic number out of some nonexistent play book, it will come because we’ve plodded along, step by step, putting the pieces together and being as thorough as we possibly can. You seem to have this innate ability to get people to trust you and you ask the right questions. You’ve done a lot more than drive the car. Just be patient, it’s coming together.”
They were somewhere between San Francisco and Honolulu when Matt looked up from a magazine he was browsing through. They had finished a nice dinner a couple of hours before, a couple of glasses of wine and had relaxed a bit. Vicky had a blue velvet blanket thrown over her lap; a fluffy white pillow tucked under her head and was making her way steadily but slowly towards a welcome sleep. “What was the name of that import-export outfit in Cebu?” he asked quietly.
“Umm,” Vicky thought for a minute. “Trade Winds Shipping,” she said sleepily. “Are you germinating an idea?”
“Possibly,” Matt smiled. “Let me think about it a little more.” He paused a few seconds. “Comfortable?” he asked.
“Deliciously,” Vicky cooed. “I’ve never traveled business class before.” She turned slightly on her side and put her hands on Matt’s upper arm. “You aren’t tired enough to go to sleep for a while?”
“Maybe in a little while,” he answered her in a hushed tone. Most of the passengers in their compartment had closed the window shades and were settled in for the long haul of the flight. The 747 pushed steadily west, chasing the lowering sun but never managing to catch it. Still, it would be quite late before our mother star would extinguish itself in the deep blue of the wide Pacific. “You sleep if you can,” Matt whispered to her. “You’re going to have a busy day tomorrow, or whatever day it is when we get there. What is the time difference, do you know?”
“Manila is twelve hours earlier than Washington, I think,” she answered. “We lose a day traveling and make up half a day with the time zones. We’ll be literally on the other side of the world.”
“So, we leave Friday afternoon, travel twenty-four hours and arrive Saturday morning?” He shook his head. “All a bit much for a country boy to comprehend,” he chuckled.
She squeezed his arm. “Try to rest a little, country boy.”

* * * * *

As the big jet touched down on the long runway of Manila International Airport, the sun peaked cautiously from behind a passing rain cloud. Matt had tried his best to tidy up in the cramped lavatory of the 747 before the final descent began, but it was a hopeless cause. The stubble on his face and the dark circles under his eyes betrayed the weariness in his body. He should have showered and shaved during the long layover in Taipei but by then, he was already numb and it just didn’t seem important. Vicky, on the other hand, looked like she had just awakened from a restful nights sleep and was ready to tackle the world, and indeed she was. She had been babbling since the seat belt sign came on.
It hadn’t seemed much different, looking out the window of the taxiing plane. The fuel trucks, the catering service trucks, the service vehicles of all types that darted about the tarmac could just as well have been in Los Angeles or London, or anywhere else in the world. The sameness vanished as they departed the forward door and walked into the gate area. People were everywhere. There were about five or six gates in the immediate area and apparently, they were for flights that were scheduled to leave within a short time. Every available seat, bench, chair or flat surface had somebody seated in or on it. The din was overwhelming. Babies cried, children laughed and played, people close together talked in normal tones, those further apart shouted, three or four boom boxes broadcast a conglomerate of different music making all of it totally incomprehensible.
With passports and custom forms in hand, they followed the overhead signs to the immigration area. Although they had been one of the first off the plane, deferring only to the few in the first class seats, at least a hundred people had overtaken them in a mad rush for the lines that grew suddenly longer in front of the eight or ten glass booths occupied by uniformed officials. “It kind of gets your blood pumping,” Matt smiled, feeling a mild excitement creeping over him.
“Well, it isn’t the altitude,” Vicky laughed. “I think we are about ten feet above sea level.
Matt stood with his toes dutifully on the yellow line as Vicky presented her documents to the smiling customs guard. He spoke to her, Vicky shook her head, and he heard her reply, “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Tagalog.” There followed some additional dialogue but finally the man pumped an official stamp onto her passport and smiled again as he handed it back to her.
Matt stepped forward to the counter of the booth and handed his own passport to the still smiling young man. He opened the document and glanced up to compare the photograph to the individual in front of him. He thumbed through the pages attempting to locate a visa and not finding one, he stuck it between the keyboard and monitor of his computer. “Your first trip to the Philippines, Mister Kellogg?” he said, officially.
“Yes it is,” Matt replied just as officially.
“Business, or will you just be taking in our sights?” the man continued to smile.
“Just a tourist,” Matt replied again and returned the smile.
Thump, thump went the rubber stamp and the guard closed the passport and handed it back across the counter. “Have a pleasant visit,” the guard said, still smiling.
Vicky had waited a few steps beyond the booth. “That was easy enough,” Matt said as he approached her. “Did you have some kind of problem?” he asked her.
“I guess he just took it for granted that I spoke Filipino,” Vicky laughed. “I hope that doesn’t become a pattern,” she said.
“You never know,” Matt mused. “It might come in handy if you need to go undercover here.” He hesitated, looking around him and spotting the luggage area some distance away. “I guess we had best go collect our meager belongings. I don’t have the faintest idea what we do after that,” he said seriously.
“Relax,” Vicky chucked. “I’ve got it all set up.”
They had about a ten minute wait at the luggage carousel and probably five minutes more before the last of their three pieces were all safely in tow. The baggage inspectors did not seem to have any particular program. Most people were just waived through, but occasionally they would single out someone for a cursory search of a bag. Both Matt and Vicky had only to hand their customs form to a chunky woman who stuffed them into a receptacle.
Outside the terminal, the morning sun was gaining strength but the air felt heavy and close. Under a covered veranda a line of stunning white sedans were parked, bumper-to-bumper. A hoard of prospective baggage handlers, taxi drivers and vendors descended on the pair as they came out of the door. The drivers of the white sedans all wore sparkling white boxy shirts, dark slacks and sunglasses. The remainder of the crowd was dressed in just about every imaginable array. The line of taxi’s they seemed to be touting was outside the veranda, a long line of yellow and black vehicles. A short, young man stood slightly back from the rest of the clamoring hands and voices, a broad smile on his face. Matt reached through the throng and tapped the guy on the shoulder. “What’s the score here?” he asked the man.
“Expensive,” he smiled pointing at the white sedans; “cheap” he said pointing in the other direction.
“You have a taxi in the cheap line?” Matt said.
“No problem,” the driver replied.
Matt grabbed Vicky’s elbow and pulled her out of the midst of the vendors. The driver took the one valise that Vicky had been carrying and slung it over his shoulder. He also took one of the two that Matt had. “Just follow me,” he said, threading his way through the throng.
The taxi wasn’t new; in fact, it hadn’t been new for a lot of years. There didn’t seem to be a latch on the trunk; the driver just opened it and deposited the suitcases. Vicky seated herself in the back seat and immediately moved over a few inches having sat on a rather sizeable lump. Matt squeezed in alongside of her, his legs forced up to his chin. The driver got in and turned the ignition switch. What followed was a grinding sound, unlike anything Matt had ever associated with mechanics. Another turn produced a start but the start was accompanied by a rather distinct backfire and a puff of black smoke.
“No problem,” the driver smiled into the rear view mirror. “Where would you like to go?”
“Now there is a sixty-four dollar question if I’ve ever heard one,” Matt laughed.
“Do you know a place called the Molave Apartment Hotel?” Vicky questioned. Matt looked at her, puzzled.
“No problem,” the driver said again, still smiling. He pulled the car into a grinding gear and headed into the street.
“You know where we are going?” Matt said to Vicky.
“I told you to relax,” she giggled. “I took care of it on the internet. This place costs about forty dollars a day and if we are on regular per dium rates, we should have it well covered. We can even afford to eat.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Matt chuckled. “Hey, no problem,” Matt said, directing his voice to the driver. “Do you have a name and how much is this trip costing us?”
“About three dollars,” the driver smiled into the mirror. “My name is Eddie. Eddie Gamboa, at your service sir.”
Matt sniffed the air inside the taxi and detected a sweet and pungent odor. It was then he spotted the circle of flowers that hung from the mirror. “What do you call those flowers, Eddie Gamboa?”
“They’re called Sampaguitas,” Eddie answered.


Chapter 7


The Molave was certainly a pleasant enough looking place, not ritzy or ostentatious in any way, but clean, orderly and quiet. It sat on the end of a side street perhaps three blocks from a busy boulevard. As soon as Eddie’s taxi stopped running, which was several seconds after he turned the ignition switch off, he was into the trunk and retrieving suitcases. Matt was left to carry the smallest bag and Vicky had started up the three marble steps into the lobby before he caught up. Eddie was making his way towards the elevator.
There wasn’t a lobby, in the strict sense of the word, but there was a counter area manned by a pretty good-sized Filipino wearing a maroon blazer with a gold braid around one shoulder. He smiled as they approached. “Mister Kellogg?” the man inquired. Matt simply nodded. “We have everything ready for you, if you’ll just fill out this registration card and I’ll have someone escort you to your room.”
“We don’t have much luggage,” Matt objected. “We can probably make it on our own.”
“Whatever you wish, sir,” the clerk responded. “You will find several small stores in the neighborhood if you want to stock up on things for the kitchen, plus you can find some supermarkets closer in to the city. Just ask any taxi driver, they will be happy to assist you. We have a van of our own that normally makes runs into the city, but right now, it is out of service. It should be back within a day or so.”
The fatigue was replacing the excitement that Matt had felt at the airport, but he was able to muster up a thin smile for the clerk. In return, he was given two keys, both with large fobs on them with the obligatory names, telephone numbers and directions to drop into any mailbox. “Do you need to get an imprint of my credit card?” Matt asked, rather puzzled.
“If it would be convenient,” the clerk started out hesitatingly, “it would be better if you could pay in cash at the beginning of each week. Dollars would be greatly appreciated.”
“I see,” Matt smiled. “I’m sure we can do that.”
As Matt turned from the counter, Eddie was opening the elevator door and holding it for Vicky. He also held it for Matt. Matt pushed the button for the 2nd floor.
The hallway was a little on the dark side, but it was cool. The elevator made some noise in its effort to make it two floors up from the ground and Matt was relieved to see that the door marked 206 was at the far end of the hall, well away from the racket. He put the key in the lock and turned. After the dimness of the hallway, the brightness of the apartments interior was nearly a shock. The floors were marble with area rugs under each piece of furniture. The walls were almost a hospital white, so strikingly bright that the tan colored davenport and easy chairs stood out in stark contrast. At the end of the conjoined living and dining rooms, there was a balcony that looked out on the neighborhood beyond. The view was not glamorous, but the breeze from the sea felt wonderfully fresh and brought a scent of saltiness with it. The two rooms together were huge. You could have set up a small bowling alley in the distance between the front door and the balcony. Two slowly rotating ceiling fans hummed softly and did their best to move the warm air around. Eddie sat the bags down in front of the door that led to the kitchen and surveyed the place. “Not too bad,” he said, putting some emphasis on it. “I’ve never been inside this place before. I’ll remember to recommend it to my regular customers.”
Matt chuckled. “I’m surprised you have regular customers. They must be some pretty brave folks or not too concerned about making it to where they are going.”
Eddie smiled from ear to ear. “Its no problem, sir,” he beamed. “I never break down, never get stopped by the police and always get you to where you’re going five minutes ahead of schedule.”
Matt liked this brassy hack. “Well tell me, Eddie Gamboa,” Matt started, “what would it take on a daily basis for you to be our driver? We have no idea where anything is or the best way to get there. We don’t know the stores or where to shop. We’re lambs being led to the slaughter, so if you want to take advantage of a couple of dumb tourists, now is your big chance.”
“No problem boss,” Eddie said, apparently already settling into his position without the bargaining having even begun. “Twenty U.S. dollars a day, and you buy the gas. How’s that?”
“It sounds like you’re giving me the bargain here so I’ll take it. Deal?” Matt offered his hand.
Eddie wiped his hand on his jeans, grasped Matt’s, and pumped forcibly. “You won’t be sorry boss,” Eddie said, still beaming.
When Eddie’s shaking was finished, Matt felt he needed to explain a couple of things. “Eddie, my name is Matt and this is Vicky. Let’s just keep it informal, okay? And one other thing Eddie, do you suppose you could fix that lump in the back seat?
“No prob……,” Eddie started to say but stopped. “I promise you won’t even notice it the next time we go anywhere,” he concluded.
Vicky had been looking over the rest of the apartment while negotiations were going on. “I’ll take the front bedroom,” she called, “its closer to the kitchen. You take the back.” She walked up close to Matt’s side while Eddie studied them with an extremely puzzled look on his face. “It’s nice and cool back there, why don’t you go take a refreshing nap and Eddie and I will try to scout up some groceries.”
The driver’s objection was almost immediate. “Miss Vicky,” he started to say, the ‘V’ in Vicky having a slight ‘B’ sound to it, “please, if you can wait for approximate thirty minutes, I’ll come back and pick you up.”
Vicky nodded, assuming he had a previous pick up to make or some such thing. “Just ring from downstairs when you’re ready and I’ll come down and meet you there,” she smiled sweetly.
Eddie touched his hand to the brim of his baseball hat in a half salute and made his way to the door. “I’ll be back in a flash,” he said behind him.
“He’s a funny kid,” Vicky said shortly after the door was closed. “It was a pretty good idea, hiring him on a daily basis. We don’t have anywhere to go once I get some things around, but if we do I’m sure he’ll get us there by hook or crook.”
“Oh, we’ll have places to go, don’t worry about that,” Matt hinted. “Nice place you’ve picked out here, Lieutenant. We should be able to operate out of here very efficiently,” he laughed.
“No problem,” Vicky giggled.
“I’d best go put my meager wardrobe away,” Matt said, the weariness evident in his voice. I’m not up to doing any immediate additions to it, but we’re going to have to pick up a few things eventually.”
Vicky opened the flap of her shoulder bag and took out a small notebook. “Here,” she said, handing the book to Matt, “write down your appropriate sizes and I’ll see what we can do.”
“Are you sure you aren’t just faking this enthusiasm?” Matt questioned genuinely. “You have to be as tired as I am.”
“Honestly,” she protested, “I’m fine. I think I was able to sleep a lot better than you did on the flights. Maybe the shorter legs have something to do with it,” she laughed.
“Yes,” Matt agreed, “I wasn’t uncomfortable, just never able to get all stretched out and covered up at the same time. I need a bed, or at least a sofa, to really nod off.” He scratched a few sizes on Vicky’s notepad and handed it back to her. “Here,” he said, reaching into his pocket, “take this money, get whatever we need and by the time you get back, I’ll be rearing to go.”
Vicky took the four fifty-dollar bills and stuffed them into her purse. “That should get us a couple of bowls of Wheaties,” she laughed. “I’ll check the kitchen to see what we have to work with. You go check out your bed.”
Matt retrieved the suitcase containing his clothes and toiletries from the spot where Eddie had deposited them and made his way to the back bedroom down a short hallway. Inside the room, it was quiet, dim and cool. A small window air conditioner droned softly on the rear wall. There was a queen size bed, a large bureau and a smaller chest of drawers, a roomy closet and a door that led to a compact but nice bathroom. The contents of the suitcase fit easily into one of the drawers, the toiletries scarcely used one shelf in the medicine cabinet of the bathroom. He sat down on the bed and bounced a time or two to test the softness. The mattress wasn’t overly firm nor was it spongy or fluffy either. He stretched out, full-length after pulling the spread down enough to expose a snow-white pillow. It would do, he decided. There wasn’t much of a debate about it, that was certain. His eyes closed for an instant but he had a firm resolution in his mind that they would open again in just a minute or two. That was the last thing he remembered.
“Breakfast in twenty minutes,” Vicky shouted through the partially opened door of Matt’s bedroom. Rise and shine, Kellogg.” Matt grunted, pulled the light blanket that covered him away from his face and opened his eyes. It took a few seconds to get back to full consciousness, but he managed it in tiny steps. Finally, he sat up and tried to orientate himself within the unfamiliar surroundings. He stood and headed for the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, he had showered and shaved, although without the aid of a mirror. He made a mental note to pick up a small one on some future outing. Except for a little stiffness in his neck, he felt very rested and quite hungry. The reflection in the mirror reminded him that he needed a haircut, but not urgently.
The underwear he had tossed unceremoniously into the drawer when he unpacked had been neatly folded and stacked next to his socks. There were additions to both piles. The pullover shirts were no longer in that drawer, or anywhere else within the bureau. He opened the closet door and saw several garments hanging on the bar. Besides the couple of shirts he had brought there were three of the boxy type shirts he had seen on several men in the airport. In addition to the one pair of jeans he had brought along there were two pairs of slacks, both made with a good quality light fabric. The boots he had kicked off before testing the bed were placed neatly beside a pair of new loafers and a pair of black sneakers.
Matt emerged from his bedroom to be greeted with the smell of frying bacon, toast and fresh coffee. “Grab a seat at the table,” Vicky called to him. “I might not be Missus Cavenaugh, but it should fill up the hole in your stomach,” she laughed.
On the table in the dining room, two places had been set, complete with place mats and linen napkins. A copy of the Manila Times was laid next to one of the positions. Matt selected that one and sat down. “My, don’t you look tropical,” Vicky smiled as she came from the kitchen carrying a large platter of eggs, bacon and toast. “That shirt looks good on you.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever worn a shirt that had lace on it before,” Matt laughed. “You think it looks a bit too ornate for a cowboy kid?”
“They are called Barongs,” Vicky explained. “Eddie says they are acceptable for all occasions and all the business men wear them. He picked out all the stuff we got for you.”
“You both did a great job,” Matt said, fixing his coffee. “I didn’t mean you had to spend all that money on my stuff alone though.”
Vicky’s laugh was genuine. “It probably won’t come as a disappointment, but I got just about as many things for me as we did for you, plus we have a pantry full of groceries and you have a couple of twenty dollar bills in change coming.”
“Wow,” Matt exclaimed, “you did find a shoppers paradise, didn’t you?”
“I also found a real rip-off too,” Vicky complained.
“What was that?” Matt asked.
“I’ve called Washington twice, from here in the apartment. They are all up to date back there and didn’t have anything new for us, but the charges for the phone are billed through the hotel and run about four or five dollars a minute,” she explained.
“You called two times?” Matt questioned. “Did you forget something the first time?”
“Well, once for yesterday, while you were asleep, and once for this morning, which is really last night, if you get my meaning,” Vicky laughed.
“In our world, this one right here and now,” Matt quizzed, “what day is it and what time is it and how long did I sleep anyway.”
Vicky laughed again. “It is bright and early Monday morning, June sixth, I think, and you slept for fourteen hours.”
“Good grief,” Matt exclaimed. “No wonder I feel so rested. You, on the other hand, must be beat.”
“Oh no,” Vicky chided him, “I got a full nights rest after I banged around here, putting things away, running in and out of your room a dozen times, turning up the volume on the television, playing the stereo and everything else I thought would wake you up.”
Matt smiled as he slid a couple of fried eggs and a few strips of bacon off onto his plate. He was just about to reply when a buzzer in the kitchen went off.
“That will be Eddie,” Vicky announced. “I asked him to come over early this morning in case you had something you wanted to do.” She walked into the kitchen and pressed the button under the counter. “I signaled him to come on up.”
“I guess he managed to get that rattletrap cranked up one more time,” Matt said chuckling.
Vicky came out with three large tumblers and a big pitcher of orange juice and sat down at the table. “They have a juicer in the kitchen, so I bought a huge bag of oranges and ran them through. That didn’t wake you either. Have some, its delicious.” She poured juice in all three tumblers and then walked to the door and opened it slightly. When she was reseated, she continued her explanation. “When Eddie came back yesterday afternoon he had put on a white Barong, like yours, a pair of nice slacks and shined shoes. He was also driving a different car. We’re getting the full treatment. He was an absolute angel shopping. He took me to places that I doubt I could ever find again. All I had to do was to tell him what I had in mind and we were off to some new place where he just happened to know the owner, or it was a relative. I think he probably save us a lot of money. You know those slacks of yours were just a couple of pieces of material yesterday? By evening they were ready to be picked up and today you look like you just stepped out of an Asian fashion magazine.”
I hope he knows where we can pick up a couple of cheap suitcases when we are ready to go home,” Matt laughed.
There was a gentle tapping on the door followed by Eddie’s appearance in the hallway. “Good morning, boss,” he sang out. “Good morning to you too, Miss Bicky.”
“Come sit down and have a glass of orange juice,” Vicky answered back. “We have lots to eat if you haven’t had breakfast.”
“I usually just have one mango for breakfast,” Eddie said, sitting down on the long side of the rectangular table. He took a long drink of the orange juice and replaced the glass onto a napkin he slid from the middle of the table. “So,” he said slowly, “where would anyone like to go today?”
Matt hesitated a few seconds. “Eddie, we’re not your normal tourist couple here. We have some business to take care of and I’m not even sure where we are going to start. Vicky tells me you seem to know just about where everything is and have some insight as to where we need to look when we do have something in mind.”
“Right,” Eddie said emphatically, “you just tell me what you need and I’ll either know who to see or I have enough contacts to find out.”
“About the only thing I can think of right now is that I need a haircut,” Matt said smiling. “You know anybody who can take care of that?”
“No problem,” Eddie laughed. “I’ll take you to my very own sister who has a shop in the Malate district. First class service all the way,” he crowed.
Thirty minutes later, Matt and Eddie walked out of the lobby area and into an already warm morning. Fortunately, a soft breeze rustled through the palm trees and moderated the effect of the damp heat. A few clouds in the sky foretold a possible rain shower later in the day. “Hey boss,” Edie sang out, “you look pretty sharp in that Barong and new slacks. We had a little trouble finding one in my cousins shop that was long enough in the sleeves for you, but you look good.” Eddie led the way up the street a half a block to where a blue Toyota sedan was parked. It wasn’t brand new, but it was at least a decade or two newer than his black and yellow taxi. Eddie opened the back door and waited for Matt to enter.
“I’ll just sit up front, if that is okay,” Matt said. “I’m not used to having a chauffeur, I’m just someone along for the ride.”
Eddie smiled and slammed the door. “Hop in,” he said, still smiling.
“How far is it to your sister’s shop?” Matt asked.
“Fifteen minutes,” Eddie answered, “twenty minutes top. We will kind of skirt around the traffic heading into the city.”
As Eddie started back towards the boulevard, Matt was deep in thought. “Eddie,” he said, slowly, “I don’t know if they do things here the way they do in the states, but I need a special kind of lawyer. I don’t want to go to the biggest name in town or the most expensive office layout, I just need to talk to a guy who knows about the business world. Back home, we call them corporate lawyers. Do you know of anyone like that?”
You could tell by the furrows on his brow that Eddie was going through his mental Rolodex and wasn’t coming up with a suitable answer. “I know they have guys like that, but I don’t know of any personally. My sister might know one though. She does some pretty important people at her shop. We’ll ask her.”
The ride through suburban Manila was quite unlike anything Matt had experienced in his life. His memories from Spain were nearly lost now, and his mother’s failing health had prevented the family from taking many outings. His father undoubtedly had many experiences in foreign countries and would have found this particular ride on this particular Monday morning pretty uneventful. Most of the shops they passed were tiny cubicles jammed one against the next, beyond the sidewalk and jutting hazardously into the street. The real storefronts, along the sidewalks, were nearly invisible. One had to know what they were looking for and where to find it to get what they were after. The shops seemed to be in groups; full blocks of food stands followed by more blocks of auto parts, followed by more blocks of electronic and appliance stores. Just as it seemed that Eddie’s allotted time was running out they pulled up in front of a beauty shop, flanked on both sides by other beauty shops. Eddie parked the car next to an available section of curb not taken by any kiosks and tossed a coin to a young boy standing nearby.
Eddie noticed Matt’s interest in the transaction. “Manila’s version of the parking meter,” he explained. That kid will watch the car to make sure nobody steals it or anything inside. He’ll also make sure that no other cars park too close and no dogs come along and pee on the tires.”
“Hell of a lot more efficient than a plain old parking meter that doesn’t do a damn thing but attract meter maids and take your money,” Matt laughed.
Eddie led the way into the shop and their arrival was met with several loud screeches. One very pretty woman in a blue nylon frock ran up and hugged Eddie around the neck. “Lourdes,” he said reluctantly, “this is my friend Matt. He needs a haircut, can you fix him up?” He turned to Matt with a sour look on his face. “Matt, this is my sister, Lourdes. Watch out for her, she’s between boyfriends.”
Lourdes grabbed Matt by the arm and started leading him towards the rear of the shop. Eddie made his way around the shop greeting each of the four beauticians and three manicurists. They all seemed to know him and were delighted to see him. The pretty woman backed Matt into a barber chair that was much to low for him. She put her hands on the arms of the chair, effectively confining him in the seat. The look she had on her face was devilish and sexy. “Just a little off the sides and back is all I need,” Matt smiled at her.
“What you need doesn’t have anything to do with getting your hair cut,” Lourdes said huskily. She stood up and snatched a plastic throw cloth from a peg on the wall behind her. When she swung it over his lap she looked like a matador doing some beautiful graceful move in the bullring. After first stringing a sheet of tissue around his neck she fastened the cloth with a clamp and then dug her fingers into his shoulders. “Don’t get all tense on me honey,” she cooed, “we both have to keep our heads about us if this is going to work out.”
Matt chuckled out loud. “I’m putty in your hands,” he said, a note of resignation in his voice.
By this time, Eddie had made his way to the back of the shop where Lourdes was starting to wield her scissors in rhythmic snips. “Hey sis,” he started, “do you know any mid-grade lawyers that deal with business matters?”
“If you need a lawyer it’s probably a criminal matter,” she laughed.
“I don’t need one, Matt does,” Eddie stated firmly.
“Oooh,” Lourdes slipped back into her husky tone, “he’s a business man too?” She made a puckering, kissing motion at Matt.
“Just cut it out,” Eddie scolded her. “Do you know a lawyer or not?”
“Hector Avila,” she answered her brother nastily. “Next block, half way, second floor, above the pan de sol shop.”
The remainder of the haircut didn’t take too long. It seemed to Matt that Lourdes stood very near the chair whenever possible and even a few times when it wasn’t possible. When she undid his bib and tissue strip, he stood up and unconsciously brushed off his pants. He scanned his image in the full-length mirror and Lourdes took her place next to his arm and smiled to his reflection. “It looks great,” he told the beautician, “my hair grows really fast. I’ll probably be back tomorrow for a trim.”
Lourdes laughed loudly and squeezed his arm. “Give me sixty pesos you good looking devil and I’ll be waiting for you about nine in the evening.”
Matt looked to Eddie for guidance on the money; Eddie held up two fingers, apparently indicating that Matt should pay her two dollars. Matt took a five from his pocket and tucked it gently into the protruding upper pocket of Lourdes frock. “Thanks for the information on the lawyer too,” he added.
Eddie started making his way towards the front entrance again, waving to all the girls and customers on the way out. Lourdes followed close behind Matt. “I’m not really between boyfriends,” she smiled, “but that could be arranged if you decide to come back.” Matt waved and walked out the door.
Hector Avila’s office was cool and dim. A very efficient looking lady sat at a desk on the side of the room. She was poking away at a computer but looked up and smiled at Matt and Eddie as they entered. “How can I help you?” she said, directing her communication towards Matt.
“I need a little quick advise on some business matters,” Matt stated objectively. “I don’t have an appointment and I haven’t phoned, but I wonder if it might be possible to get a few minutes of Mister Avila’s time.”
“I’d be happy to check with him to see if he has some time,” the secretary replied. “Who should I say is waiting?”
“My name is Matt Kellogg,” Matt replied without expression.
The woman got up from her desk and started towards a door in the middle of the room but paused and gestured towards a row of chairs on the outside wall. “Please have a seat; I’m sure it won’t be long.”
Two minutes passed before the door opened again and the secretary walked back towards her desk. She was followed by a short man with an ample belly who walked directly up to Matt and extended his hand. “Mister Kellogg, how can I be of assistance to you?”
Matt stood and returned the handshake. “Just some advice and perhaps a bit of information, if you can find it for me.”
“Fine,” Mister Avila replied. “Why don’t we step into my office and you can tell me more about it.”
Eddie remained seated. “I’ll wait,” he said tactfully.
Matt took the deep leather chair offered to him while Hector Avila took his place behind his desk. “Mister Avila,” Matt began, “I’m thinking of doing some exporting out of Asia to the United States. It is all perfectly legal but I will probably need some warehouse space while my goods wait for the proper import documents into the country. An associate of mine has recommended a company here in the Philippines that might be able to handle both the shipping and the warehousing. I don’t know anything about this company and I want to be absolutely certain that they are on the up-and-up. I was wondering if you might be able to do a little research for me and check out their licenses and things like that.”
“And what is the name of this company?” the lawyer said, reaching to get a pencil and a yellow legal pad from the far corner of his desk.
“They are called ‘Trade-Winds Shipping’ and they are located in Cebu.” Matt answered. “I’m not certain if they have branches here in Manila or other places in the country or not.” He hesitated before continuing, allowing Hector to write the name on his legal pad. “I’m particularly interested in the controlling interests of this company, especially if they have any American backers. I would hate to find out at some later date that I’ve hired a company to ship for me and they have competitive interests.”
“Yes, I see how that might become a problem,” Avila said seriously. “I would be more than pleased to handle this for you, Mister Kellogg. I assume you want any inquiries made confidentially.”
“Absolutely,” Matt emphasized. “I wouldn’t want my name connected in any way.”
“This shouldn’t take more than a day or two,” Mister Avila said, “still, I’ll need a retainer fee and an agreement signed by both you and me. Shall we say,” the lawyer scratched a double line under the name he had written on the yellow pad, “three hundred U.S. dollars?”
“That is perfectly agreeable,” Matt stated without emotion.
Hector toggled the switch on his dated office intercom and spoke in Tagalog to his secretary, obviously with instructions for some document. When he finished, he looked at Matt, a smile playing on his face. “Are you presently living here in Manila?”
“I’ve set up temporary arrangements at the Molave Apartment Hotel,” Matt offered. “You can reach me there through their switchboard, apartment 206.”
“I’ll make a note of that,” Hector said, again scratching off the information on his yellow pad. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow afternoon with at least the preliminary results of my inquiries. Would that be satisfactory?”
Within a few minutes, the secretary appeared with the document and both Matt and Mister Avila signed it. They shook hands and Hector showed Matt to the door. They shook hands again at the outer office door, exchanging a couple of pleasantries. Eddie was not in the outer office and Matt wondered for a moment if he’d been deserted.
The morning was rapidly giving way to mid-day when Matt walked onto the sidewalk once again. The heat, especially within the confines of buildings that acted as a barrier to the sea breeze, was excessive and heavy. The clouds in the western sky were moving slowly towards an inevitable shower, probably within the next hour or two. He headed towards Lourdes’ beauty shop, suspecting that Eddie had given up the dullness of Hector Avila’s waiting chairs for the bustle of Lourdes’ pretty employees. His suspicions were wrong. As he approached the spot where the car was parked, Matt saw Eddie lounged back in the driver’s seat of the Toyota. The motor was running and undoubtedly the air conditioner too. Eddie was nodding as Matt opened the passenger front door.
“You paid that guy way too much money,” Eddie said sleepily as Matt sat down into the coolness of the front seat and closed the door.
“Why do you think that?” Matt questioned.
“Well,” Eddie hesitated, “I’m not sure what it is you want him to do, but I heard his instructions to the secretary on his intercom and I know for three hundred dollars you get your mother-in-law murdered.”
Matt laughed. “I don’t have a mother-in-law. Besides, this job will take him a couple of days, probably, and I’m also paying for his discretion. It isn’t a bad deal.”
“You really are a lamb being led to the slaughter,” Eddie chuckled, straightening up in his seat. “I’m going to keep you in check or you won’t have enough left to pay me.”
“No problem,” Matt laughed. “I’ve got your money stashed away in my sock.”
“Yeah,” Eddie scoffed, “that’s the first place a thief looks after he turns you pockets out. Okay, where to next?”
Matt wrinkled his brow. “We might as well head on back to the apartment and see what Vicky has been up to this morning. It looks as though we may have a rain shower coming in this direction anyway.”
“Just about every day at this time of the year,” Eddie volunteered as he pulled into the relatively light traffic of the street.
The rain cloud moved a little quicker than Matt had anticipated and huge drops splattered against the marble steps of the hotel as the men made their way from the parked car. The drops were scattered for a few seconds while the squall gathered momentum and then the rain fell in one torrential sheet. They had made it to the shelter of the awning by the time it hit. The temperature fell ten or fifteen degrees almost instantly and the palm trees writhed against the sudden blasts of screeching wind. Eddie had suffered two direct hits of the preliminary drops, both of them leaving large wet spots on his barong shirt. “We made it just in the nick of time,” Eddie laughed. “This won’t last long. Give it thirty minutes and it will have blown over.”
“Thirty minutes of this kind of downpour could have us up to our knees in water,” Matt laughed along with him. “Let’s go up and see if Vicky bought any beer yesterday.”
“I made sure of it,” Eddie stated, brushing back the thick mat of black hair that had been disturbed by the wind. “You have a case of San Miguel in the refrigerator.”
“I’ve heard tell its pretty good beer,” Matt smiled. “Any truth to that rumor?”
“Best in the world,” Eddie stated with some authority.
Matt knocked a couple of times on the front door of the apartment before he turned the key. He didn’t want to catch Vicky unaware in case she was running around half naked or something. The thought of it made him smile. She hardly seemed the type to be running around half naked. “It’s just us,” Matt called as he opened the door.
“Well, where have the two of you been off to all morning?” she said cheerfully from her place on the davenport. She was looking out of the balcony windows and the already slackening rain.
“Oh, you know how it goes with business these days,” Matt said wryly, “places to go, people to see, papers to sign, all that mundane sort of stuff.”
Vicky wrinkled her brow. “What kind of papers to sign?”
“I retained the services of an attorney at law,” he stated tactfully. “I’ve got him doing a little research on that shipping outfit in Cebu. He should be able to give us a little better idea of what we’re dealing with.”
“That’s a great idea,” Vicky smiled. “I kind of thought you had hatched up something in your nimble mind while I was sleeping on the plane. What does that leave us to do?”
“Until Mister Avila gets back to us, I can’t think of a thing.” Matt laughed. “It doesn’t look like a very good afternoon for shopping either.”
“How about a sandwich then?” Vicky offered.
“And a beer,” Matt suggested. “Eddie tells me it’s the best in the world.”
“We have some nice sliced chicken breast, nice leafy lettuce and the bread looks absolutely wonderful. Together they should make a great sandwich.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Matt replied. “I’ll get us all a beer.”
The beer and a sandwich turned into two beers and two sandwiches, at least for Matt and Eddie. Just as predicted, the rain had diminished to just sprinkles by the time they had finished eating.
Vicky had been clearing the table while Matt and Eddie finished their second beer. She had a puzzled look on her face when she came out to wipe the table. “Eddie,” she questioned, “do you have a thing like the yellow pages that shows the address and telephone number of the businesses in the city?
“There is a book,” Eddie said, “but you have to be a subscriber. So many of the small businesses don’t even have telephones, and even some of the larger ones don’t get in the book because the charge is a bit heavy. People usually just go to the places they have always gone to. If that one closes there is usually another one close by.”
“That’s true,” Matt offered, “I noticed that this morning. Seems like whole blocks of the same type stores are clustered together.”
“Well, that makes it easy enough,” Vicky thought out loud, “why don’t we take a drive through the areas that have a lot of import-export and shipping places. Maybe we can spot our ‘Trade-winds’ friends.
“You’re looking for a company called Trade-Winds Shipping?” Eddie asked.
Matt nodded. “Yes, do you know it?”
“Never heard of it,” Eddie smiled. “But I know how to get around the waterfront fairly well.”
The South-China Sea pours into and out of Manila Bay; the Passig River feeds Manila Bay and much of Asia’s produce and products find their way to one of the myriad of docks and piers along that river. It is a place that truly never sleeps. In days gone by, a ship would put into port and tie up alongside one of those piers, her crew would disembark and spend their time and money at hundreds of bars while the ship was unloaded and reloaded. When the process was completed, the ship would sail for another port and the whole thing begin all over. Even today, Filipino crews man most merchant ships. With the advent of the container ship, the process changed dramatically. What took a few to several days before can be accomplished in a matter of hours today. One giant crane lifting and lowering containers up to forty feet long have replaced hundreds of dockworkers and stevedores. Stores, cargo, fuel, water and supplies are rushed on board in the short span of time required for the crew to catch a quick nap. Tugs and pilots guide the big vessels in and out of the harbor at all hours, the seemingly endless parade of ships never ceasing.
Technology has changed the makeup of ships and crews too. Computers run turbine engines. A technician with a clipboard who takes readings on the quarter hours has replaced the old black gangs of coal shovelers, oilers, boiler tenders and machinists. The education of the modern merchant seaman has much more to do with digital technology than any other science. The sea now calls to a new breed of sailors, ones more likely to know an if-then routine from a sheepshank.
In spite of the advances made, the Manila waterfront remains and intimidating, ominous place. The old warehouses and endless stacks of containers just seem like places that would not give trouble a second look.
Eddie drove slowly from street to street while Matt and Vicky scanned the signs on weather beaten office doors. For nearly two hours they cruised through streets, back alleys and wharfs but never found anything resembling ‘Trade Winds’ or a similar logo.
“I guess that idea was a bust,” Vicky sighed. “We might as well give up and wait for your hired gun to come up with something.”
Eddie could contain his curiosity no longer. “If you guys would just tell me what it is that you are looking for, maybe I can help,” he said, nearly pleading.
Vicky and Matt exchanged glances, neither of them knowing exactly what to do or say. Finally, Matt took the lead. “Actually, what we are looking for is an American who has been living in the Philippines for many years. There is just a possibility that he has some connection to an import-export company in Cebu called ‘Trade-Winds Shipping’, but that is just a guess on our part. We also have reason to believe this is one very dangerous individual. We don’t want to expose you to that danger, Eddie.”
“I guess you were telling me the truth when you said you weren’t going to be normal tourists,” Eddie smiled. “I’m probably in less danger knowing there is some danger than just stumbling along in the dark. Don’t worry about it; I’ll keep a watchful eye out, for all our sakes. Now tell me who this guy is.”
“His name is Bobby Kemper; the Navy sent him here during the Vietnam days, he married a Chinese woman, got out of the Navy and stayed here. We understand he is sort of a shadowy character but from what we’ve learned, he must have a pretty extensive organization. I wouldn’t think you can just disappear and still be that active,” Matt concluded.
“When you say shadowy, do you mean this guy Kemper is into smuggling and things like that?” Eddie asked.
“There might be elements of that too, along with some possible legal cover business, but we think his primary dealings are espionage and foreign intrigue,” Matt explained.
“This really does sound like a bad guy,” Eddie said, still smiling. “The Philippines is a land of open secrets. If somebody finds a source of money, even if it happens to be outside the law, the word generally gets around to his relatives and friends. If he does have an extensive organization and he is the source of good wages, a lot of people know about it. Let me see what I can find out.”
“Eddie, we don’t want you to take chances like that,” Vicky pleaded. “You could be hurt or killed.”
“I could be hurt or killed driving this car down Roxas Boulevard,” Eddie laughed. “I’m a sneaky little rat; I’ll be very careful.”
The sun was setting over Manila Bay and the evening brought the gentle breeze in across the sea. It was cooler, the air dryer than it had been during the day and it was quite pleasant as Matt and Vicky sat on the small balcony of the apartment. The neighborhood was quiet as people sat down for their evening meal and the air was filled with pungent, delicious aromas. Some family close by was having fish, another chicken because their telltale scents drifted along with the breeze. The sanpaguitas, still fragrant from the afternoon rain lifted their particular sweetness into the air also. Coconut palms fluttered gently and made a soft, whispering sound, their contribution to the evening’s symphony. The stereo, from inside the living room, wafted soft melodies past them. It was a near perfect setting, yet Vicky sat, seemingly transfixed in her thoughts.
“Not much progress today,” she finally said with a sigh.
“A bit too early to judge, I’d think,” Matt replied. “We set some wheels in motion, let’s just wait and see.”
“I’m tired of waiting,” she snapped. “Do you think that lawyer you hired is going to call us tomorrow with Bobby Kemper’s address and telephone number?”
“That’s a possibility,” Matt chuckled audibly. “If he does, we’ll pick it up from there and see where it goes. If he provides some useful data on ‘Trade-Winds’, we’ll work with that. If it all turns out to be a dead end, we’ll take some other avenue. We still have those names the Admiral gave us, but I thought we’d save them as a last resort.”
“Who are they, anyway?” Vicky’s voice was still sharp.
“One of them is a police inspector, right here in Manila,” Matt kept his voice purposely calm and detached. “The other one is a Catholic priest on one of the other islands.
Vicky’s reply was a “humph” or some sort of snort. It didn’t convey any positive meaning.
Matt chuckled again.
“And what’s so damned funny, Kellogg,” she asked.
“Well, for a change, I feel pretty good about how things are going,” he explained. “It’s refreshing to see you frustrated, that’s all.” Matt drained the last of his San Miguel. Vicky’s empty wine glass was on the floor next to her chair. “I think I’ll have one last beer for today. Can I get you another glass of wine?”
The look on her face and her voice softened just the tiniest bit. “Yes, please, maybe that will improve my shitty mood.”
Matt stood up and picked up her glass from the floor. He put his hand on her shoulder. “You can have your shitty mood if you want, Lord knows you’ve earned it. I can take the pressure until you come around.”
He had just finished pouring her wine and opening his beer when she came walking in from the balcony. He steps were direct and deliberate. Matt backed up a step or two and found he was up against the refrigerator. Vicky stopped directly in front of him, her hands on her hips.
“Another thing I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” she said forcefully. “About a century ago, somewhere on the other side of the world, you kissed me goodnight. Do you have any immediate plans to do that again?”
“Yeah, I had, but the opportunity just hasn’t presented itself. We’ve either been on airplanes or in a run down motel or I’ve slept my way past it.” He was smiling, but the wine glass in his hand was shaking just a bit.
“How about tonight,” she said as though she had just read the first question on a quiz.
“I’d really like that,” Matt answered, quite tenderly. “When the time comes for goodnights, I’d really like that.”
Vicky took the jiggling wine glass and the beer bottle from his hands and set them on the counter. “It’s goodnight time somewhere in the world,” she said softly. She reached around his neck with both arms and brought his face to hers. “Say goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Matt obeyed.



Chapter 8


Somewhere in the back of his brain, Matt heard a buzzer. It seemed like he had heard this sound before but for the moment, he just couldn’t place it in the right context. Suddenly, it came to him and his eyes popped open. It was the buzzer from the front desk signaling that Eddie was probably waiting downstairs. He disentangled himself from the twisted sheet and Vicky’s arms, grabbed a light blanket that had fallen or thrown onto the floor, draped it around his shoulders like a robe and headed the few steps from Vicky’s bedroom to the kitchen. The opened bottle of beer and the remains of the glass of wine that he hadn’t spilled were still on the countertop. He punched the buzzer a couple of times and then made for the front door. Poking his head out of the door, he viewed the hallway but there was nobody in it. Eddie was apparently waiting for his signal before coming up.
Matt hurried back to Vicky’s room and shook her gently by the shoulders. She was lying face down, still very much asleep. “Hey Lieutenant,” he crooned softly, “Eddie is on his way up.”
“What time is it?” she mumbled as she turned over and smiled.
“I have no idea,” Matt said, returning her smile, “I just woke up”.
She pulled his head to her lips and softly kissed him. “I like the way you say goodnight,” she cooed. “And it was a good night, a very good night.”
“We’d best get started on today though,” Matt smiled. “One good thing about every day is that it’s followed by a night.”
“I’ll think about that all day long,” she laughed.
“I’m going to jump in the shower,” Matt laughed. They heard the front door swing open and Eddie called in his cheerful greeting.
Matt closed the blanket around his shoulders and walked down the short hallway into his own room. Vicky stuck her head out of her bedroom door. “Eddie, do you know how to make coffee?” she said loudly.
“Weak or strong?” he answered back.
“Just kind of medium,” Vicky laughed. “We’ll be out in a few minutes. I guess our alarm clock didn’t go off.”
“Can you imagine that,” Eddie chuckled.
Twenty minutes later Vicky was pouring coffee into three mugs. Her hair was still wet and a bit disheveled but otherwise she was completely outfitted for the day. Matt came from his room trying to look nonchalant but it wasn’t working. He sat down across from Eddie at the table. “Did you get anything accomplished last night,” he said, nodding at the driver.
“No problem,” Eddie smiled, on the verge of an open laugh. “How about you?”
“No, we stayed in for the rest of the evening,” Matt said seriously. The serious didn’t work completely either.
Eddie stirred his coffee for a few seconds before he started talking. “Your guy is definitely still around. He works almost exclusively out of Cebu but he does come to Manila on occasion. It seems the police here in Luzon have been trying for years to get something on him, so he avoids showing up around the city. Down south, he probably has enough police and politicians on the payroll to live in comfort and relative safety. He pays well, according to what I’ve heard.”
“Where does his money come from?” Vicky chimed in. “If he is paying politicians he must be into something fairly lucrative.”
“I think a better description would be anything lucrative,” Eddie answered. “Lucrative and illegal. The word is that whatever you need, he can get for you. I guess he travels a lot to Hong Kong and Macao also. He has enough money to be a player in the markets too, so it would be hard to separate the legal from the illegal, if you know what I mean.”
“Good old American ingenuity at it’s finest,” Matt speculated. “I wonder how we could get to him?” Suddenly Matt’s face went pale. “Oh my God,” he hesitated, “when’s the last time we checked in with Floyd or anyone else?”
“Relax,” Vicky smiled. “I called last night while you were catching a few winks of sleep. Everything is fine there.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “Well, let’s have some breakfast and wait to see if our Mister Avila has anything for us. You’ve done a great job, Eddie. Maybe we should have let you handle the whole thing.”
Eddie beamed. “Oh, I’m sure the lawyer will have his own slant on things. My information tends to come from the working level of society, he will undoubtedly have information from a slightly different group of people.”
“Let’s just hope he has done half as good a job as you have,” Matt said enthusiastically. “Somehow, we’ll see to it that you get a bit more of a reward than a pat on the back though.”
They had finished eating breakfast and were just about out of coffee when the phone rang. Matt answered it and waited for the switchboard to put the call through. “Mister Kellogg,” the voice on the other end asked.
“Yes, this is Matt Kellogg,” he answered.
“Mister Kellogg, this is Hector Avila. I’ve managed to put together a few facts on the subject we discussed yesterday. I wonder if it would be convenient for you to drop by my office? I’ll be in the entire day.”
“Certainly, Mister Avila,” Matt said. “How about an hour or so from now. Will that be okay?”
“Yes, that will be fine,” Hector said cheerfully, “I’ll be waiting for you.” The two men exchanged a couple of courtesies and Matt hung up.
“Hector has some input for us too,” Matt spoke to both Vicky and Eddie. “We need to go down to his office.”
“I need to fix my hair,” Vicky said as she cleared the dishes from the table.
Matt laughed aloud. “Don’t worry about it,” Matt grinned. “Eddie will take you in to meet his sweet sister Lourdes while I talk to Avila. I’m sure she can give you a comb-out.”
You could tell by Vicky’s look she didn’t understand, but she agreed. Fifteen minutes later, they were all in the car headed for metro-Manila.
* * * * *

“In many ways our legal system is modeled after the United States,” Hector explained to Matt. “In the area of business and corporate law, I’m afraid our codes are not quite as sophisticated as those in your country. Sometimes that is an advantage; at other times, it is a definite limitation. In the case of Trade-Winds Shipping, it is a little of both. Trade-Winds Shipping is owned by a partnership of Filipino businessmen in Cebu. They have no offices outside Cebu. You may or may not be aware that any foreigner cannot own property or a business in his own name within our country. That inevitably leads to an absolute maze of deals, partnerships and agreements. Two of the partners in Trade-Winds also own a company called South-China Enterprises. They do have an office here in Manila and a warehouse in the waterfront district. Although not listed as a co-owner or partner, there is one American listed as a member of the board and as a principal investor. His name Robert Kemper. He does not own his home but leases it from one of the owners of Trade-Winds. I haven’t finished my investigation yet, but it does seem at first glance that most of the business these companies engage in, is done within Asia. I find little or no dealings with Canada, Mexico or the United States. Do you want me to keep looking or will what I have so far be sufficient for you to make your decision?”
Matt rubbed his chin, lost in thought for a moment. At last he looked at Mister Avila. “Have you run into any barriers getting the information you have so far?” Matt asked.
“No, not really,” Hector replied. “I did have to make a couple of phone calls to Cebu and talk to some people off the record, as you say.”
“Just hold on to what you have now,” Matt said seriously. “I’ll call you within a couple of days with instructions to either continue or to call it all off.” Matt paused again, slightly longer this time. “You didn’t happen to learn the location of that residence Mister Kemper leases, isn’t that what you said his name was?”
Hector smiled. “It isn’t exactly what you would call an address, it is a large compound located near the airport in Cebu. It is named Westwind.
A few minutes later, Matt was hurrying through the doors of Lourdes’ shop. He spotted Vicky in the back chair, the one he had been in the previous morning. Lourdes was just finishing up. Eddie was talking to one of the manicurists about half way down the line of chairs. Lourdes looked up as he approached. “Hmmm,” she mused, “you have a different look on your face than you did yesterday. As a matter of fact, it almost looks the same as the one this lovely lady has on her face. Is that why you missed our appointment last night?” she laughed.
“It might,” Matt smiled. “You weren’t too disappointed were you?”
“I was simply devastated,” Lourdes laughed. “Vicky wasn’t though, I can tell you that.”
“How did it go with Hector,” Vicky said, blushing.
“I think we had better book a flight to Cebu,” Matt said smiling. “Remember yesterday when I said he might come up with a name and address? Well, that’s what we have. I say we go down there and walk right in and find out what the hell is going on.”
“Just like that?” Vicky said, amazed.
“What other choice do we have?” Matt questioned. “I doubt we are going to learn anything peeking through a fence or watching the place. Maybe the blunt approach will flush something out of the bushes.”
“I’m not sure about this,” Vicky said. “We know what this man is capable of, and to be completely honest about it, I’m frightened of that fact.”
“We aren’t absolutely sure about anything,” Matt tried to make a point. “There isn’t anything that we know that directly connects him to anything. Hell, we might go down there, have a little sit down talk with him and find out we are way out in left field.”
“Sure, sure,” Vicky said weakly, “the man is just a big teddy bear.”
Lourdes made one more pass with a can of hair spray, flipped a tiny curl down on Vicky’s brow, stood back, and admired her work. “Well, if you do go, you’re going to look good going. What do you think?” She spun the chair around until Vicky was facing the mirror.
The effect was dramatic. Vicky looked for a long minute, turning her head from side to side. The smile on her face widened. “You’ve made me look Filipina,” she said proudly. “I do like it, very much indeed.”
“Just a snip here and there, a flip and a tuck, that’s all it takes,” Lourdes bragged. “I just knew where the highlights were hidden and how to bring them out.”
“You do look quite stunning,” Matt said, slightly embarrassed. “We’d better get back to the apartment and make some reservations and get packed.”
Lourdes pushed Vicky back into the chair just as she started to rise. “You two listen to me,” she said, hushed. “I want you to be careful down there. You’re going to be a long way from anyone who knows you or can help you. If you get into any trouble, you get back here as fast as you can. If you can’t get hold of Eddie for some reason, you call me.” She took a business card from the stand next to the mirror. “The phone rings in here during the day and upstairs in my rooms at night. I don’t want to lose two new customers, they are hard to come by.”
“Thanks lady,” Matt said sincerely. “We’ll try very hard to stay out of trouble. It’s nice to know we have somewhere to turn, just the same.”
They spent the remainder of the day doing the mundane but necessary things that needed done. They changed money, did some laundry and got the recommendation of the desk clerk at the Molave for a place to stay for a few days in Cebu. Except for picking up the couple at the apartment the next morning and taking them to the domestic airport for their eight o’clock flight, Eddie was turned lose to resume his taxi driver enterprise. He was still on the payroll; Matt insisted that he understand that.
The rain showers came a bit early on that Wednesday morning. They had to make a mad dash from Eddie’s blue Toyota to the protection of the permanent awning outside the domestic terminal through a light, but steady, drizzle.
As the crow flies, it is four hundred miles or so from Manila to Cebu. Depending on air traffic and weather, it is about a two-hour flight. The sun was shining brightly as they disembarked from the Boeing 727 and crossed the tarmac to the terminal in Cebu. The runways and taxiways were still wet however, a misty, steamy haze drifted skyward in the heat.
The desk clerk had recommended they stay at the Holiday Inn, high on the hill overlooking the city but their taxi driver suggested they might be better off at the Ramada Inn; the building was newer and the restaurant better. They took his recommendation and by eleven, they were checked in and settled.
It took a couple of Canadian’s and seven to work up the courage, but they finally walked to the main door of the hotel and asked the attendant to hail a taxi for them. Matt told the driver they wanted to go to a place near the airport called Westwind. The driver was not sure where the place was and he retreated to the interior of the hotel and asked the bellmen and desk clerks until he received a reasonably accurate set of directions. The drive was more or less a retrace of the route they had taken from the airport through mostly suburban parts of the city. The surroundings were not much different than Manila with the possible exception of more and larger varieties of trees.
Westwind was indeed a large compound, covering an entire city block. There were few houses in the immediate area and they were spacious, sprawling enclosures of the same type. It was obviously an area of some wealth. A large stucco fence ringed the compound, concertina wire and bits of glass bottles placed strategically on top of it. There were two heavy steel pipe gates in the front, each covered with heavy cyclone fencing. At one gate, there was an enclosed sentry post and the taxi driver stopped next to it.
A guard in a dirty tan uniform with red epaulettes came out of the sentry post and approached the taxi cautiously. He had a stubble of beard, greasy fingernails and carried a rusty old M-1 carbine. He peered in at the driver and then moved his gaze to the back seat where Matt and Vicky were seated. “What do you want?” he said rudely.
Matt tried his best to look friendly and benevolent. “We’re here to see Mister Kemper,” Matt smiled, although thinly.
The guard retraced his steps to the shack where he had been standing and picked up the phone. They could not hear the ensuing conversation, but the guard looked out and into the taxi a couple of times, apparently reporting what he could see. Finally, he came back to the taxi again and stooped to see into the window of the back door. “What’s your name?” he said curtly to Matt.
“Matthew Kellogg,” Matt answered truthfully, not knowing what else he could have said that would gain them entry. Perhaps that might not be enough if the name wasn’t recognized but he had the distinct feeling it would be.
The guard returned to his post, picked up the dangling phone and relayed the information. When he returned to the car, his expression had not changed from the surly look it had previously. “You’ll have to walk in,” he directed.
Matt paid the driver the amount indicated on the meter of the cab and threw in a small tip. “Thanks,” he told the driver, unsure if he should direct him to wait or not. “We’ll take it from here.”
The guard unsnapped a large collection of keys from a belt loop on his pants and fumbled through them looking for the right key to open the brass lock securing a heavy chain that held the two sections of the gate together. When he had successfully removed the chain, he separated the two halves only enough to allow Vicky and Matt to pass through. “Go to the front door,” he directed. “You will be met there.”
The interior of the compound was not nearly as stark as the outside. Short, green sections of garden and grass were laid out on the edge of a sparkling white circular drive. It was approximately thirty yards from the front door to the gate. Inside the wall, various bushes and ornamental plants gave the area an attractive atmosphere. Matt heard the gate behind them shut and the rattle of the chain being replaced.
As they walked onto the portico, the front door opened. The man who stepped out was tall, broad shouldered and occidental. His dark hair was streaked with gray and he smiled broadly at the couple. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said, still smiling. “This is a surprise. Come in, come in.”
As they walked into an ornate sitting room, it occurred to Matt that he didn’t have the slightest idea of what he was going to say to this person. He couldn’t even say for sure that he recognized him, only that some of his features did seem familiar. The man gestured to seats and the couple sat alongside each other on a large, velvet sofa.
“Let me say, first of all, I was very sorry to hear of your father’s death, Matt,” he said with some sincerity. “Of that whole bunch, he was the only one who ever came close to sharing a friendship with me. We didn’t know each other very long in Spain and afterwards only in an abstract way.”
“I still have that flight jacket you gave me before we left Spain,” Matt said, hoping he hadn’t wrongly identified this man. “It fits me better than it did then, but there is still room for a lot of sweaters under there.”
The laugh confirmed that this must be Bobby Kemper at least. “Just one of the accoutrements of a life lived long ago. I hope you get some use from it.”
“I suppose you are wondering why we’ve come here,” Matt said without knowing what his next line would be.
“Oh heavens no,” Kemper laughed. “I know exactly why you’re here. I didn’t expect you would show up here in Cebu, at least not quite this early, but I don’t think you’ve significantly changed any plans. When did you leave Manila, by the way?”
“Just this morning,” Matt said, his confusion obvious.
“You see,” Bobby said, “in my line of work, when people start asking questions, especially the wrong sort of questions, I hear about it very quickly. You’ve been elusive, or very lucky, but I’ve kept pretty close tabs on you since you were in Washington last month. The last positive location I had on you was in Salt Lake City, back a week or so ago. Did you bypass California on your way here?”
Some things started to make sense in Matt’s head. “No, not bypass, but I didn’t linger there. I think perhaps I just missed your man in Sacramento.” He had intentionally avoided using the term ‘us’ or acknowledging Vicky as Kemper hadn’t mentioned her either. Perhaps they were not aware of her involvement.
“It was a long shot anyway,” Kemper laughed. “You’re here now, that’s all that really matters.”
“I don’t quite understand,” Matt said.
“You will, soon enough,” Kemper said, an ice-cold tone in his voice. “Roy Austin is using you to get to me; I’m going to turn the tables on him. Now he will have to come to me directly, and believe me, the old bastard just isn’t up to it.”
Matt suddenly felt very defensive but he contained his anger and refused to respond.
Vicky had been sitting silently, a look of complete disdain on her face. “Mister Kemper,” she began, the venom dripping from her tone of voice, “I believe you are the lowest form of life on this planet; a traitor. You’ve betrayed your country and you’ve betrayed your friends. I have no doubt you are a killer too, but I wouldn’t be too smug when evaluating your ability to deal with Roy Austin. He eats punks like you for breakfast.”
“I may be all those things Miss Burton, but I am also very wealthy and Roy Austin owes me. He could have saved me all those years ago when I was young and stupid. He could have gone to bat for me and saved my navy career, but he didn’t. Him and his god damned rules. Maybe I did fall for one of the oldest ploys in the world when they tempted me with a beautiful woman, but he should have supported me. He’s the one who has defined the way things have gone since that time. Now I have the opportunity to get rid of him and his rules. I’m somewhat sorry both of you had to be a part of it, but that’s life.” Kemper gestured with his hand again and two men came from a small room on the side of the sitting room. They were both carrying guns. “Joe, Danny, show our guests to their quarters.”
One of the armed men led the way, the other followed, with Vicky and Matt herded in between them. They were taken to a stairway that led down into a basement. At the bottom of the steps a steel door with a small window opened into a large, nearly empty room. By any description, the room was sparsely furnished, lifeless and just a bit damp. There were no windows, bare concrete walls, two cots, a small table and at TV set mounted on the front wall. There were a few cardboard cartons stacked against the rear wall, alongside a door that led to a bathroom. Joe or Danny, they didn’t know which man was which, motioned for them to sit. They sat together on the nearest cot. The one man who had made the motion sat down at the table on one of the three chairs. The other man left the room, closed the door and they heard the lock turn. No one said anything.
Several minutes passed while Matt weighed their situation. In his mind, he thought he had it figured out. Kemper was using them as bait to lure Admiral Austin out of Washington and onto Kemper’s own playing field. He could only surmise the reasoning. Was he going to kill the Admiral? Was he going to kill him and Vicky too? He dismissed that as unlikely, at least for the immediate future. They were just going to have to let this play out and see what happened.
A few more minutes passed before he whispered to Vicky. “You going to be okay?”
He felt her shudder against him but she caught herself and stiffened. “Yes, I’m okay,” she said quietly. “I think, for the time being at least, they need us. The only question is how long are they going to need us?”
The man sitting at the table with the gun looked up menacingly. “Shut up, you two,” he commanded. “You,” he said pointing to Matt, “go sit over there on the other bed.” Matt did as he was ordered.
About an hour later, the first man returned and the one who had been sitting at the table went upstairs. The same process was repeated about an hour after that. Matt thought it strange that they hadn’t bothered to search either he or Vicky, not that it made any difference, neither of them was carrying a weapon of any kind. Still, it seemed like an oversight that professionals wouldn’t have made. He was left with only his assumptions.
After what seemed to be endless hours, they heard a thumping on the stairs followed by a banging on the door. Their guard backed cautiously towards the door and looked through the small window. He apparently recognized the knocker, took a key ring from his pocket, and unlocked the door. Bobby Kemper entered the room carrying a videotape.
“I certainly wouldn’t want to be accused of unkind treatment of my guests, so I taped a copy of the evening news for you. I thought you might like to see the highlights.”
Kemper went to the television set, turned it on and slipped the tape into the slot for the VCR. At first there were just blurs and scrambled signals that dissipated, leaving the split screen image of a Filipino news anchor on one side and the exterior of the Molave Apartment Hotel on the other. The newsman read in a clear, concise English. “The Metro-Manila and national police launched a nation-wide manhunt this afternoon for an American business man believed to be connected to the brutal murder of a Manila lawyer. The victim has been identified as Hector Avila, a forty-six year old father of three children and a long time resident of the Malati district. The American is believed to be a Mister Matthew Kellogg of California. It is unclear at this time what the connection was between these two persons, but Mister Avila’s body was discovered in an apartment leased to the American. Sources tell us that they believe Mister Kellogg fled to Cebu early this morning accompanied by a woman suspected of being a Filipina prostitute.”
“I must apologize for that terrible misrepresentation of your character, Miss Burton,” Kemper said coldly. “I’m sure they will straighten it all out before much longer. Sometimes Manila policemen have a bit of trouble seeing the obvious. However, with one American positively identified, the FBI, or someone from the American Embassy, will be working with them and they will most likely ferret out the truth. That won’t help you much I’m afraid, the police in Cebu will shoot you down without hesitation, regardless of how you make your living. As for you Matt,” he said grinning, “you’ve made every American, European and Australian a walking target. Your life expectancy on the street is probably very close to zero right now.” Kemper switched off the television set and sat briefly on the edge of the small table. “Now that you’ve enjoyed the evening’s entertainment, I’ll have the chef prepare something for your dinner. Oh, and one other thing before I leave; I understand my associates have not permitted you to speak to each other. I’ll loosen that rule a bit. You may converse during meal times and for five minutes each hour. That way you can reassure each other and perhaps even maintain some low level of morale. Please don’t abuse my hospitality and use those times to attempt to plan something stupid that will just embarrass all of us. Feel free to use the bathroom whenever you need, you may even want to take a shower from time to time. There are no windows and you are eight feet deep in solid Philippine soil. Besides, you are far safer in here with us than anywhere outside. Goodnight, my friends.”
“You really are some kind of scum,” Matt said, fairly hissing. “Hector Avila was no threat to you, just some poor guy trying to make a living for his family. How do you sleep nights?”
“Fairly well,” Kemper replied, “with a different beautiful woman or two every night, on a mattress of pure Russian Eiderdown. Oh don’t be such a Nathan Hale, Matt. This patriotism stuff is all a bunch of bullshit. Do you think I care the slightest if this country or that country has this or that bit of technology? All I care about is that they are willing to do business to get more or sell what they have. If the Chinese want to sell missile parts to the Arabs and I don’t play the middleman, don’t you think someone else will fill that void almost immediately? You’re an intelligent man; untrained for sure, but I’ve been impressed with your tendency to keep plodding along and doing what you can. Perhaps, when this is over, we can sit down and have a long talk. I can use someone like you.”
Matt looked at the man for a long, drawn out moment, studying his face, calculating his seemingly invulnerability. The revelation came to him in a comforting, soothing serenity. “You can never go back,” Matt said softly.
“What do you mean?” Kemper snapped.
Matt smiled. “No matter how much money you have, no matter how long you lie to yourself, no matter what way you rationalize it, you can never go home. They won’t have you. Even the bums on the street will spit on you. If you go to prison, the inmates will kill you. The only element that will ever have anything to do with you will be the ones who prey on you. You’re a man without a country, without a family and without anyone who sees you as anything more than a money machine. You’re a sorry, slimey slug, Bobby Kemper, and I’m going to burn that jacket and you’ll burn in hell.”
Kemper’s face went from white to red and back to white again as he stood motionless. His anger was fierce but he maintained control, at least for the moment. “We’ll see who survives,” he croaked. “We’ll see.”
About forty-five minutes after Bobby had stormed up the stairs, a third, unknown man brought down two simple meals on trays. Matt and Vicky were allowed to sit at the table but their guard moved his chair away, closer to the door. “I think you hit a tender spot,” Vicky smiled at Matt. “Something intentional or did it just happen that way?” she asked quietly.
“Something Floyd said to me,” Matt explained. “Find out what a person is most afraid of, or words to that effect. It just seemed to me that if I were in that position, the weight of it would be overwhelming. I’m not sure it did any good though, but it made me feel better.”
“It might be just a pebble in his shoe,” Vicky surmised, “but he’ll never take another step without that little irritation reminding him of where he is headed.”
The guard was watching them, but not intently. Matt had finished eating the items on his tray but Vicky had been a little slower. “Hey, I’ll arm wrestle you for that piece of mango you have left,” Matt said to her, winking slyly.
For a split second, Vicky failed to understand his meaning but then she returned his smile. “You never learn, do you Kellogg?”
They slid their trays to the side of the table. Matt made an elaborate motion, shaking his arm, twisting his neck and grimacing his face. They had peaked the guard’s attention. Vicky calmly put her elbow on the table, her hand open. Matt took a similar position and their hands clasped together. The mock battle began, each of them putting the most into their respective roles. They let each other take small advantages but always came back to the vertical. After several minutes, Matt slowly eased his pressure and Vicky brought his hand down to slam against the table. Vicky laughed, ran her index finger across her tongue and made an imaginary mark in mid air. “One more,” she touted.
The guard looked on amused and even chuckled softly.
There was no change in their routine for the next twenty-four hours. They performed the same arm wrestling act for the same guard another time; he was amused again and even shook his head. He also made some mention remark of Matt’s remarks to Bobby Kemper, saying something to the effect that his employer continued to be upset and impatient. They weren’t sure what he had meant by impatient. It seemed best not to ask.
It was difficult to measure time with any accuracy. While it was true the guards changed every hour or so, the same repetitive process lost any definition after so many, many times. Matt even felt some empathy for the guards; they must surely be tired. It was always the same two and occasionally one other thrown into the mix. That meant that, at most, they had not been permitted more than two hours of sleep in a row. Surely, Matt reasoned, this would not go on much longer or his captors would be so fatigued they would fall asleep at the table.
After their second evening meal, the schedule changed abruptly. When the guard changed after eating, he stayed at least two hours. When it was changed again, the new guard was there for three hours, at a minimum, it was hard to tell exactly. Matt tried to calculate in his mind and he was sure that Vicky was doing the same thing, although they never spoke of it. The evening meal came close to 6PM, two more hours and then three hours more, it was approximately 11PM. It would soon be Friday morning. When the guards changed again, the one Matt mentally named the ‘chuckler’ came back. He looked a bit more refreshed than before. It was very difficult, checking off the minutes and hours but he was pretty sure they were past the two-hour point and not yet close to the third hour. It was something past 1AM. They would have to act soon.
Matt arose from his cot and nodded towards the bathroom. The guard nodded back. He shut the door to the bathroom with a little more force than was necessary, but he hadn’t slammed it either. He wanted to get Vicky’s attention and make sure she was awake. He went to the bathroom and washed his hands. He shut the door hard again when he came out. The guard must have been feeling sleepy; he was up from the table and walking back and forth on the television wall. Matt casually took a seat at the table. “It isn’t time for breakfast,” chuckler said gruffly.
“I’m just having a hard time sleeping,” Matt said. “We haven’t seen our host in quite a while. I guess there isn’t anything on the news he wants us to watch.”
Chuckler smiled. “He took off this evening. He’s still upset with you, I don’t think he’ll offer you a job the next time he sees you.” Chuckler moved closer to the table. “How come you let that girl beat you at arm wrestling all the time? You trying to get into her pants?”
Matt laughed aloud. “Is that what you think? She’s a hell of a lot tougher than you can imagine,” Matt bragged. He put his elbow on the table, a challenging look on his face. “Let’s see if you can beat me. If you can, you might stand a chance of taking her.”
The chuckler was no small man, but certainly no bigger than Matt. He sized Matt up for a few seconds, slipped his pistol into the waistband of his pants and sat down across the table. Their hands clasped and chuckler tried to catch his opponent off guard with a quick jerk. Matt caught it and laboriously forced their arms back to the vertical position. He kept enough pressure on the guard to keep him grunting but he realized he probably could have forced him down. Seconds dragged on and Matt eased the pressure. Chuckler made one more, valiant effort and forced Matt's hand to the tabletop.
Matt slumped back into his chair, breathing heavily. He shook his arm vigorously while chuckler sat there grinning. “No wonder she can beat you, you’re soft,” he said, probably surprised that he had defeated his prisoner.
“That might be, but you couldn’t beat Vicky, I’ll bet.” The grin on Matt’s face was mocking.
“Get over here,” the guard snapped at Vicky.
Vicky got up slowly and walked towards the table. Matt stood up and Vicky took his place at the table. She extended her hand, a look of disdain on her face. Chuckler took her hand in his. “Hold it,” Vicky said before the grip was tightened. “Your arm isn’t as long as Matt’s, I have to reach too far. Let me sit at the narrow end of the table where we can get closer together.” Matt moved back a step and a step closer to chuckler as Vicky shifted to the chair at the end.
If anything, Vicky’s move was quicker than the Admiral’s had been in the bar; she whipped chuckler’s arm before it was fully extended which accelerated his spin. Her free hand covered the guard’s mouth and it was Matt’s foot that smashed into chuckler’s groin. He bent over so violently that it nearly threw Vicky over his shoulder. Matt’s knee jerked up and caught the poor man flush on the chin, glanced off and hit his Adam’s apple.
“Grab two towels from the bathroom, tie his wrists and gag him with the other,” Matt ordered as he pulled the gun from the waistband. By the time she had knotted the towel behind the guards neck Matt was unlocking the steel door. She tiptoed silently up the stairs, one step behind Matt. At the top of the stairs, Matt peeked cautiously in the three directions open to them. A right turn would take them to the sitting room and the front entrance, he guessed. Left led down a dim hallway with a door at the end. In front, it looked like a door to a bedroom or some other internal room. He opted for the left. He motioned behind his back for Vicky to follow, then eased into the hall. The floor was solid stone. It probably wouldn’t creak but a hard footfall would sound like a drum. The fifteen-foot transit to the door took a full half-minute, each of them hardly daring to breath. At the door, Matt did a quick inspection of the frame; there didn’t appear to be any alarm trips or wires in evidence, but his hand trembled as it gripped the knob. For a millisecond, it seemed the knob would not turn and it slipped under Matt’s sweaty palm. His heart nearly stopped. On the second try, the knob caught the bolt and he brought it ever so slowly, ever so quietly back and cracked the door slightly. A gentle cool breeze rushed onto his sweat-streaked face.
On the veranda just outside the door, one small light glowed. Five yards away a decorative palm would provide cover and concealment if they could reach it unseen. He resisted the impulse to make a dive for the bush, yet he knew he would have to move quickly. There really wasn’t a choice. He reached behind him and took Vicky’s hand. She moved alongside him and he made signs of what his intentions were. He would move to the bush and be in a position to return fire if he were detected. She would have to follow him under cover fire. He looked at the pistol in the dim light. He wasn’t even sure where the safety was or if it was engaged or not. Vicky reached over his shoulder and pushed the button on the rear of the trigger guard. He smiled weakly.
Vicky opened the door wide enough for Matt to stand in the frame for a second. He crouched, expelled his breath and moved onto the veranda, the gun pointed towards the outer wall. Two steps and he halted, checked the darkness as best he could, then he moved the last two steps into the shadow of the palm. His heart was hammering in his chest but there was no gunfire, no sound of alarm being raised. He motioned for Vicky to move. She moved as silently as a cat and he felt her behind him.
The palm was only the first of several decorative plants that grew a yard or two from the wall the circled the compound. Not all of them were big enough to offer any concealment but again, they had little choice. Matt was trying to weigh all the factors in his head at the same time. The uniformed guard would be looking towards the road in all probability, those inside, and he had no idea of how many that might be, would be asleep or like the chuckler, unconscious. Matt pointed at the next large bush, touched his nose with his finger and then clenched his fist. Vicky nodded. He expelled his breath again and moved the twenty or so feet into the next shadow. It took ten minutes to leap frog along the wall to where they were within reach of the corner next to the gate. Fortunately, there were several thick bush and tree combinations to hide them, but they were now confronted with the problem of the chain locked gate and it’s attending guard. The house was behind them and in complete darkness except for the lights on the front and the side where they had exited. If they rushed the gate, they would have to shoot the lock open and hope the guard’s rusty, old carbine would malfunction. That was definitely not an option; Matt didn’t want to shoot anyone, especially some poor fool who was probably asleep in his shack hoping to get home for breakfast in a few hours.
“Got any ideas?” Vicky whispered.
Matt shrugged his shoulders. They were both on all fours and Vicky’s hand closed around a fallen limb about three feet long. She smiled and motioned for Matt to move away from her, deeper into the bushes. She herself retreated slightly from her position to where she would see the guard shack through the mesh of the gate. She thrust the limb into the low bush in front of her and rattled it violently. There was no movement in the shack. She repeated the thrashing again, even harder than the first time. The light in the shack seemed to dim as a figure filled the small window. She thrashed again, paused and repeated it once more. The door of the shack opened and a man took one step outside and stood silently, looking into the darkness and listening as intently as he could. Once more, Vicky rattled her stick. The man moved one step further but made no attempt to unlock or enter the gate. When Vicky rattled again, a low, raspy growl came from her throat. The guard retreated into his shack and Vicky was close to tears thinking her ruse had not worked. To her surprise, he reappeared a second later with a flashlight. He took the key ring from his belt loop and held the light as he probed with the key into the lock. A second later Matt heard the clanking as the chain slid across one of the metal pipe struts. The guard came a step at a time, moving the flashlight in front of him in a swinging arc. He was mumbling some incoherent words as he inched along. Matt removed his finger from the trigger but he dared not take the chance of putting the gun on safe, it might make a noise loud enough to give him away. The guard passed two feet in front of Matt and unless he guessed wrong, the next arc of the flashlight would illuminate Vicky’s frightened features. He directed the blow to a point just above the guards right ear and swung with all the strength he could muster. “I sure hope that didn’t kill him,” Matt breathed.
“He’ll live,” Vicky said thoughtfully, “he’ll miss a day or so of work and they will probably fire him or kill him later, but he’ll survive this night at least.”
“Now what? What in hell can we do now?” Matt’s words, whispered as they were, had no direction and expected no answer.
“We get out of here, that’s the first thing,” Vicky breathed.


Chapter 9


They had walked about a mile, always heading in the general direction of the last major street they remembered, but staying in the shadows whenever possible. There had been no incidents, no vehicles that they were aware of, speeding in the direction of Bobby Kemper’s compound, nothing that enhanced the constant fear they already felt.
About a block ahead, they saw a street; the traffic wasn’t heavy by any stretch, but cars went by every few seconds. They even noted a taxi or two. “We have to find a place for you to hide for a while,” Vicky whispered. “Maybe that building under construction a block or so back.”
“Why just for me?” Matt answered her, but he already knew he would be the one most easily recognized. She, on the other hand, could probably move about with some ease.
“Because, I’ve got to find us a way out of this town, off this island and back to Manila,” she smiled thinly.
“Babe, it’s two o’clock in the morning,” he objected. “What can you possibly do at this time of night?”
“Whatever I can,” she said seriously. “You go on back to that construction site and stay hidden. If I’m not back by dawn, it will be because I’ve been picked up. I’m not sure what to tell you in that case. We know Kemper has some of the police in his pocket, so avoid them.” She sighed, her discouragement evident. “We’re not in a real good situation here, I hope we have just a little more luck saved away, we’re going to need it.”
Matt reached out and brought her close to him. She seemed smaller somehow, perhaps because of the enormity of the task she had in front of her. “You’ve been my luck ever since this thing started,” he whispered to her. “I don’t need anything else. Just be careful and don’t take any unnecessary chances, I’ve got a lot more plans for us than just getting back to Manila.”
Vicky tilted her head up and a broad smile spread across her face. “I’ll be back soon,” she said sweetly. “Hold on to that thought.” He kissed her, held her for a second and then she walked towards the street.
He turned around and walked the other way, retracing the route to the new building. A set of headlights came towards him and he turned into the shadows; the car passed by without slowing. The night was warm and he prayed it wouldn’t rain although it might have provided more cover for him if it did.
The soft earth and gravel crunched under his feet as he turned into the construction site. In the darkness, he could see that only two walls of what would eventually become a house or building of some kind had been partially erected. Piles of sand and gravel stood in a few places where workmen had been mixing cement. There were no tools lying about, no buckets or anything of use. Apparently, everything was locked up somewhere. He made a mental note of it in case a police or private patrol came by occasionally to check things out. In the corner made by the junction of the incomplete walls, a crude table had been made with a few boards. A couple of similarly constructed stools stood nearby. “Have a seat, Matt,” he said to himself. “Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” He answered himself. The pistol he had slipped into the back of his waistband felt as big and heavy as a brick; he removed it and sat it on the table in front of him. He started out calculating the eventual size of the finished building. It was sheer conjecture, he had no idea if it would be one story or more, and the partial walls could extend further than they had already. He noted there were no footings buried in the earth and surmised this must be a pretty small operation or they had no building codes in Cebu. He heard the sound of a car approaching and he got down behind the table. The car passed by. There were no other building components around either. No re-bar, no studs, nothing that would indicate that work was progressing at all. He walked over to a sand pile and poked his finger into it. It was uniformly moist, at least to the end of his finger. He wished for one of the few times in his recent life that he had worn a watch. A few blocks away he heard a horn honk. He listened to dogs bark some distance away. One time he thought he heard a mouse or rat rustling through some potato chip bags and various garbage scattered around close to the table. It didn’t matter what he did or what he thought of, it couldn’t keep his mind from returning to Vicky, out there all alone with an impossible task to do while he hid in the darkness.
Vicky had been gone for hours, or so it seemed. Matt stood with his arms atop a partial section of wall, studying the skyline in all the directions open to his vision. He could see only darkness, but he was sure it must be approaching dawn. Although it is supposed to be a definite male characteristic, he had no idea of what his bearings were. There was no north, etched permanently into his internal compass. He did have a general idea that Cebu was situated facing east, towards the rising sun. If that were true, the lights of the city must be overpowering the fragile dawning, wherever it was. He heard a car approaching.
He crouched behind the wall, convinced this car, like the others, would pass without slowing. But this one was slowing. He was ten feet from the table and the pistol. The car stopped and he heard a door opening and the crunch of gravel a second later. For an instant, he remembered hearing Vicky as she walked through the coffee shop in that motel in Washington. God he wished he were back there with her right now. The crunching stopped.
“Matt,” he heard the hushed whisper clearly. His heart jumped and then calmed slightly as he recognized Vicky’s voice. He arose slowly from his crouch and walked quickly in the direction of her voice. “Matt?” she said a bit louder, this time a question in her voice as she heard the movement.
“It’s me, Lieutenant,” he chuckled. “Boy am I glad to see you.”
They embraced for a second or two. “They are still after us, but there are reports we were seen around Baguio, on Luzon, so possibly the pressure has let up a little here.”
“Then why have I been scared stiff for the last three hours?” Matt said sincerely.
“I’ve only been gone a little over two hours,” she smiled. “Come on though, we have to hustle a little.”
“Where are we going?” Matt insisted.
“We have about forty minutes to catch a ferry to Iloilo. Let’s go!”
“I’m ready, but tell me what is an Iloilo?”
“It’s another island, silly,” she grinned. “We’ve got a long ways to go but we should be relatively safe on the ferry, once we get aboard.”
“I’m sorry to spoil your plans,” a voice from the shadow of the partial walls interrupted, “but my boss insists that you return to the compound.” The voice took form and stepped out of the shadows, but even in the darkness, the chrome plated revolver was quite visible. The man nodded towards the street. “I spotted the taxi. A taxi only waits if it is going to take someone away. Unfortunately, this taxi will be empty when it goes back to the city.”
Matt’s spirits fell with one dull thud. They had been caught and it seemed little they could do about it. If only he had kept that damned pistol instead of leaving it on that makeshift table he might have been able to pull some kind of trick rabbit out of his hat, but he hadn’t and that was the end of it. “Look,” Matt hesitated, “I don’t have a lot of money, but I’m sure we could reach some agreeable settlement if you would just allow us to leave and tell Bobby Kemper you never caught up with us.”
The man with the gun grinned. “If I bring you back, dead or alive, he might not kill me. If I come back empty handed, its pretty certain he will kill me. Now what would you do in my situation?”
Matt returned the smile weakly. “I see your point. Well, I guess it would be better if we were alive, for the time being anyway. A friend of mine told me once that you have to understand what a person is afraid of before you can understand their behavior.”
“And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” the man with the gun sneered.
“Well, obviously it’s Bobby Kemper that you fear the most. Anything else would be secondary to that,” Matt answered. “A guy has to do whatever is necessary to stay alive, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” the gunman said. “And we’re not going to waste any more time while you try to talk me to death either. Now you two just move slowly and quietly towards the street and I’ll make one little call on my cell phone and this will all…….”
It was a strange sound; there was a metallic ring to it, but mostly it was a hollow thump. The gunman fell to the ground in a heap. “Goddamn thugs!” the taxi driver cursed at the unconscious form on the ground. “If they think they can stick up my customers, they got another think coming. I work hard for my money and so do most of the people who hire me. The only thing I can afford for protection is this piece of old water pipe, but it comes in handy from time to time. You folks all right?”
“We are now, thanks to you,” Matt sighed. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming to help him or us, but on the off chance it was us you were bent on saving I tried to keep his attention. You saved our lives.”
The driver smiled broadly. “I could use a little tip if you can afford it,” he offered. “Besides, I left the meter running while all this was going on.”
Matt reached down and picked up the chrome revolver and handed it to the taxi man. “Here, “he said grinning. “Such a defender of the safety of his passengers should be better armed than an old water pipe. If you aren’t comfortable with it, sell it, or throw it into the bay.”
“I’ll get enough from this to put new tires on the cab,” he laughed. “You want me to call the cops on this cell phone” the driver asked.
Matt took the cell phone and threw it hard against the low wall. “My friend,” he said seriously to the driver, “this poor fellow has to disappear for a few hours. He knows where we are headed and if he gets word back to his friends, I’m afraid a lot of taxi drivers are going to be in for some tough going for a while. They won’t be very polite with their questions.”
The driver stuck the pistol into his belt and walked back toward the waiting cab. When he returned he had a large roll of duct tape with him. Within minutes the unconscious gunman was bound, hand and foot, his eyes were covered, his mouth was covered and the bloody wound on the back of his head had been treated with a grimy handkerchief and that too was duct taped to his head. “A friend of mine raises pigs,” the driver smiled. “I’m sure they won’t mind sharing their sty with him for a while. I’ll make arrangements to have him picked up this afternoon and delivered to a place where he will be found. Let’s get him into the trunk of my car and then get you good people down to catch your boat.”
Only the major islands of the Philippine nation are served by regularly scheduled airlines. The remainder have some charter service but the major mover of people and products across ocean expanses falls to the hundreds of ferries that ply the waters of the South China Sea. When the ferries touch land, the passengers transfer to thousands of busses and continue their journey. When disaster strikes one of these over-water carriers, and it does, often, hundreds of people are killed.
The ferry from Cebu to Iloilo leaves the dock at 5AM and arrives around noon. It is usually crammed to the gunnels with a mass of humanity, a lower deck filled bumper-to-bumper with trucks, cars and busses and occasionally a few pigs, caged birds and a goat or two.
The taxi stopped a block from the passenger terminal and Matt and Vicky got out. The waiting room wasn’t full, some passengers had already boarded but a few lounged around drinking coffee and snacking. There were no policemen that Vicky could see. They walked in as nonchalant as possible and Matt took a seat on a bench close to the door and bent over, as though he were sleeping. It was the best he could do to hide his western features and appear smaller than he was. Vicky bought two tickets from the clerk at the window and walked to the gate trying to spot any uniforms that might be checking boarding passengers. She motioned for Matt to follow.
They managed to get in the midst of a group making their way for the gangplank. Towards the bow of the ship, but still on the dock, a policeman stood talking to a girl. Occasionally he would look up and scan the people boarding but the girl was holding his attention. They got aboard, Vicky handing the two tickets to a crewmember stationed at the quarterdeck. Most people were scurrying towards the spacious passenger lounges, hoping to find a bench with enough space to catch the hour or two of sleep they were missing by taking this early boat. Vicky sat Matt on an air vent back in the shadows while she stood at the rail and watched the docks slightly below them.
Within a few minutes, there was a flurry of activity as ropes were taken off mooring posts and dragged back aboard as the ship backed slowly away from the pier. When the lines were all passed Vicky waved, as many of the passengers were, but Vicky seemed to be waving at one person intentionally. “Thanks Tessie,” she hollered. The girl who had been talking to the policeman waved back, smiling.
“How did you manage all this?” Matt asked with some amazement. “Was this a set-up?”
“Part of it,” she admitted. “We still had to have some luck.”
“Tell me how you did it,” Matt said.
“Well, I went to the only place in town that showed much life at such a late hour. It was a late-night club with mostly hookers and a few drunks around. I just told one of the girls that I was in a little trouble and needed to get out of town right away, before daylight if possible. She suggested the ferry. When I told her I might have to avoid the police because my German boyfriend was skipping bail and we were going to Manila to get married, she set up the rest of the scam. There was another girl in the waiting room that would have handled any cops that were there or who showed up before the boat left. It cost me twenty-five bucks and their cab fare, but I think it was worth it, don’t you?”
“Well worth it,” Matt smiled. “You’re as clever as you are beautiful.”
“You’re the clever one,” she insisted. “But what would have happened if that guard at Kemper’s hadn’t fallen for that arm wrestling bit?”
“Then I suppose we’d be having breakfast in an hour or so,” Matt laughed.
“You stay put here and I’ll go see if I can scrounge us up something to eat and drink,” Vicky ordered. “Then we had best find a place to stay out of sight when daylight comes. Am I still part of your plans?” She grinned.
“Definitely,” Matt laughed.
After they ate the potted meat sandwiches and drank the cans of coke that Vicky bought from a vending machine in one of the passenger lounges, they made their way to the vehicle deck. They found a flat bed truck that had a few crates loaded on it and tied down. It was close and uncomfortable between the crates but there wasn’t anyone prowling around so they made the best of it. Vicky leaned back against him and before long she was sleeping. Eventually, Matt dozed off too.
When he awoke, the daylight was pouring in through the portholes. Matt jostled Vicky and she woke with a start. “I’d better go check out the window and see what’s happening,” he whispered to her. He got up, jumped down from the truck bed and walked through a couple of vehicles to the outside bulkhead. He could just see above the bottom of the round glass. He motioned to Vicky. “It looks like we are coming into port; land is just a couple of miles away.” They made their way to the main deck again and watched as crewmen made preparations to dock.
The boat headed straight for a ramp that ran from the shore down into the water. The pier was not crowded, but there were plenty of people around. Matt scanned the length of the structure but did not see any uniforms around. Perhaps their luck would hold out a bit longer. Beyond a smaller passenger terminal than the one in Cebu, he could see a string of black and yellow taxi’s waiting at the curb. That would be their next goal, to make it into one of those taxis and away from a place that would eventually have police in attendance.
They made their way down the gangway without incident, mingling with the crowd all the way into the passenger terminal. Still, Matt was a head above any of the people around him and he wondered if it didn’t accentuate his difference. The street front of the terminal did not have windows, only openings covered with cyclone wire and screens to keep out some of the bugs. About fifteen feet to the right of the double door of the terminal a policeman stood watching the emerging people. Suddenly their luck had run out. Vicky saw him too. Matt pushed her in front of him and she offered to help an older woman who was carrying two cardboard boxes tied with twine. Matt held back, letting Vicky clear the building. At least she could get away and even if he were thrown in jail, she would be free and they would both be out of Bobby Kemper’s clutches, at least temporarily. He looked around for an alternate exit, but he couldn’t see any. There was a rest room, the door almost directly behind where the policeman was standing. The old woman was thanking Vicky profusely as they exited the building. Matt headed for the toilet. Inside the rest room, an old man sat at a table, a small dish with coins in front of him. At the end of the room was a window that opened to an alley outside. There was a screen in the window but it was flimsy and partially broken. When he pushed on it, it almost fell onto the street but Matt caught it and lowered it gently. The old man watched him with a curious look on his face. Matt reached into his pocket and found a fifty-peso bill, dropped it into the old man’s dish, made the silence sign with his finger to his lips and slipped out the window. The old man was smiling as he tucked the bill into the pocket of his tattered shirt.
To the best of his knowledge, Matt was about fifteen or twenty feet past the policeman. The street was directly in front of him and no one seemed to notice him coming out the window. Just as he was about to try and walk out of the alley and take an immediate turn to the right, hoping the cop would be looking the other way, a loud horn honked. A large truck was attempting to turn into the alley. Matt moved to the far edge against the next building and flattened his body to allow the truck to barely squeak by him. As the truck turned in, Matt walked out, blocking the view from the sidewalk and street. He made his way to a black and yellow taxi and climbed in the back seat. He told the driver to move forward to the front of the terminal. Vicky was standing on the sidewalk, a puzzled look on her face. Matt was nearly lying down in the back seat. “Hold it,” he hissed at the driver. He opened the back door and whistled softly. Vicky looked at and saw him, walked off the sidewalk, got in the cab and slammed the door.
“How the hell did you pull that one off?” she said amazed, holding his head down with the palm of her hand.
“Treachery,” Matt chuckled. After a block or so, he sat up. “My good man,” he said cheerfully, “if you have an airport around here, take us to it.”
“No problem,” the taxi driver said, looking into the rear view mirror.
The totality of Trey Maginis’ life could be summed up neatly in three main columns. The first and foremost was flying, and if you were writing it down it would have been underscored, boldface and in caps. The second was brown breasts. Maybe it was because he had been wet-nursed as an infant by a Malaysian woman until he was nearly five years old. He was born in Malaysia, the son of a plantation manager. When he began associating with women on the physical level, he found the white girls of his small world to be shallow and material. He preferred the browner variety. The third column was very strange, perhaps even bizarre. The number three had assumed a place of absolute preeminence in his life. His first financial backer when he set up his air charter business was a wealthy rice merchant from Singapore. When he presented his plan to this man, complete with charts of expected income, probable expenses, statistical data on population and projected growth, the old Chinese gentleman had been greatly impressed. The thumbs-up or down decision did not come from the soundness of his plan, but the outcome of a game of Yahtzee. If he beat the Chinaman, he would win the backing. Trey had rattled the five dice in the jade cup and poured out three Yahtzee’s in a row, all threes.
Vicky stood outside the door of Iloilo Air Charter, ran her hand through her hair, brushed off her skirt and took in a deep breath of air, letting it out slowly. She nodded to Matt who was waiting between two buildings on the far side of the runway and opened the door. Trey was sitting behind a desk, reading some sort of aviation magazine. “Excuse me, Mister…..,” she looked for a nameplate on the desk or on a license framed on the back wall, but she couldn’t find one close enough to read.
Trey pumped his arm up and down in a steady cadence, much like a vertical metronome, measuring off four distinct beats. “Trey-ma-gin-is,” he said slowly. When he started talking the words came at a blinding rate. “My name was probably McGinnis if you were to go back a few generations, but somewhere along the line it got cut down, lopped off and generally bastardized to where it is now. Not that it hasn’t served me well, it has, but maybe somebody, way back when, didn’t want to be traced quite so easily and decided to do some alterations. Trey now, that’s a different story. My given name is Gertrude, but I’ve been so lucky with three’s all my life that I thought it might be better if I changed it legally to where I don’t have to fight my way out of every gathering of men in southeast Asia. You can understand that, I’m sure, but if you can’t it really don’t make much difference; what’s done is done. How can I help you?”
The verbal onslaught was more than Vicky could take; she giggled to the point she had to put her hand over her mouth to regain her composure. “Mister Maginis,” she said in the same slow beat that it had been presented to her, “I have an urgent need to get to Manila as fast as I can. I have a favored aunt who is critically ill and my husband and I would very much like to be with her. Can you take us today?”
“Certainly, I can take you today. That’s what I’m in business for. I take people to where they want to go when nobody else can. I’d be a sorry sort of charter service if I said, no I can’t take you, then I’d be no different than all the rest of the inconveniently scheduled, poorly equipped and totally inept air carriers that make tons and tons of money and clutter up the sky with their junk. When do you want to leave?”
“As soon as possible,” Vicky said, again having trouble contained her mirth. “You can take a credit card for payment, I assume?”
“I can take a credit card, travelers’ checks, cash, cashier’s check, transferable stocks and bonds, and anything else that’s negotiable,” Trey grinned. The charge is one thousand, nine hundred and ninety eight dollars.”
Vicky winced. “That’s a bit on the high side, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Well, it’s three hundred and thirty three dollars for you, three hundred and thirty three dollars for your husband, and three hundred and thirty three dollars for me, each way,” Trey answered.
Vicky scowled, “But we’re only going one way,” she objected.
“Well, I’m not, and the plane’s not, and if you want to come back with the plane and me, your seat is open. It’s up to you,” Trey chuckled.
Vicky took Matt’s Visa card from her pocket and handed it to the man. “I’ll call my husband,” she said, going to the door. “He’s putting the car up.”
When Matt entered the office, Trey was running the card through a charge machine. He apparently hadn’t looked closely at the name, but as he brought the form to the counter, he eyed Matt suspiciously. “My God,” he said, shocked, “you two are the ones on the news, aren’t you?”
Matt raised the front of his shirt, exposing the butt of the pistol. “Look mister, we didn’t do what they are saying we did, but we need to get back to Manila to prove that. I wish we could explain it to you in further detail, but we can’t, and we really must get to Manila.”
“They won’t stop payment on your Visa card, will they?” Trey said, a smile on his face. “Personally, it doesn’t make a bucket of spit to me one way or the other. I’ve seen people get railroaded before and it isn’t a nice thing to happen. Seems as though people have a lot to deal with and I can tell by the looks of you two that you’ve dealt with more than your share for a while. Just the sight of you would arouse some suspicion, but I’d hardly say you look like a pair of hardened killers. You might be capable of a white lie now and then, but not much beyond that. But still, to be on the safe side, I want you to unload that cannon you have in your belt, we don’t want to blow up the gas tank on the plane, it’s almost brand new, you know, and I’ve grown quite fond of it. Handles like a baby, flies like a dream, lands like a feather, but I’m not going to take you to Manila.”
Matt looked at Vicky, she looked back, they were both about to explode into laughter, and if it hadn’t been for the last remark, they would have. “The charge card will be okay,” Matt protested, “So why can’t you take us to Manila?”
“Because there are a ton of police there at the airport, there always are. They check just about every incoming flight even when the heat isn’t on for anything in particular. They are kind of a nosey bunch, but mostly they are looking for contraband or something they can get you to pay them to get in. They would spot you in a New York minute, so we’ll just fly into Cavite. Not much going on in Cavite and it’s just the other side of the city. I’ve flown into Cavite when there wasn’t another aircraft around. This being the start of a weekend though, there might be a little traffic, but nothing we’d have to be concerned about. Get your bags,” Trey directed.
“It might come as a shock,” Vicky said between her snickers, “but we don’t have any bags. We’re ready.” She paused, “And your name isn’t really Gertrude is it?”
Trey was getting a blue baseball cap from a nail on the wall behind his desk. “No, I just told you that for fun. Actually, my name is Irene. Have you ever heard that song, ‘Goodnight Irene?’ That was written for me. I was dating this Hindu woman who played a zither in a rock band in Kuala Lumpur named Fred, her name, not the zither’s. She didn’t know much English so the words of the song don’t cover a very wide variety, but you get the meaning. I’ll always remember old Fred, she was a fine figure of a woman, had a really large pair of eyes, undoubtedly her best feature. Haven’t heard from her in years.”
Matt couldn’t contain his laughter either. The irony of their situation demanded a more serious frame of mind, but it just wasn’t possible. “How long a flight is it to Cavite?” Matt asked.
“A bit over three hours,” Trey said as he opened the door and flipped the ‘open’ sign around. Three hours and three minutes is the way I put it on the flight plan. We’ll try to stick to that schedule, but you never know at this time of year, we might run into a little weather that could blow us in twenty minutes ahead or we might run into a head wind that could cost us as much the other way. Three and three is a good guesstimate though, and I like to keep the numbers in harmony. Harmony is the hallmark of Asian life you know? You have to strive for harmony in all things, can’t let them get much out of kilter either way. Upset the harmony and everything goes haywire. You did unload the pistol didn’t you?”
“It’s been unloaded since I figured out how to do it, about twelve hours ago.” Matt confessed.
“The plane is right around in back,” Trey said, “the one with the three cubed logo on the fuselage. Get in the back seat, belt yourselves in and I’ll go file this plan and be right back. We should be airborne in fifteen minutes.”
They walked together around the corner of the building to where several private planes were tethered. It wasn’t hard to determine which one was theirs. The logo was exactly the way Trey had described it.
“This is apt to be a long three hours,” Matt said humorously.
“Three hours and three minutes,” Vicky laughed. “I think he’s adorable.”
“Well, we won’t have to worry about in-flight entertainment,” Matt laughed.


Chapter 10


“Whoever said you don’t meet any unique people anymore?” Matt said as they waved at the aircraft just taking off from the field at Cavite. “There isn’t another Trey Maginis in the world, that’s for sure.
“Thank God we found the one and only,” Vicky smiled. “That was an extraordinary piece of luck.
Trey had delivered them to Cavite just as it was getting dark. He also stuck around and got Vicky to a phone so she could call Lourdes, who in turn got hold of Eddie. He was expected to pick them up within a few minutes. The rainsquall they had encountered a half hour before reaching the southern edge of Manila Bay was just about to overtake them. The wind started to pick up and Matt felt a drop splatter on his cheek. They both looked terrible. It had been almost three days since Matt shaved, they had been wearing the same clothes since Wednesday morning, sleeping in trucks and hiding in construction sites. “We better look for some shelter before it starts to rain hard,” Matt suggested.
“I really don’t care if I get wet,” Vicky sighed. “I just want to get into a hot shower and soak for about an hour.”
“I thought it was a hot bath women thought about.” Matt said as he held her closer to him. The raindrops were falling almost steady now.
“Usually,” she said, “but I’m afraid I’d fall asleep in the bathtub and drown. Do you have any idea of what we will do now?”
Matt thought for a minute, mentally checking off the options open to them. He had tried doing it on the plane with Trey’s constant banter, but just couldn’t accomplish it. He was just about to say he hadn’t decided when a set of headlights turned off the road and headed directly for them.
“It’s Eddie,” Vicky said, almost in tears. The familiar blue Toyota drove up next to them, the driver’s window opening as the vehicle came to a stop.
“Somebody out here call for a taxi?” Eddie’s happy voice laughed. “Well, I got one, so jump in folks, the rain isn’t going to wait much longer.”
Vicky piled into the back seat and hugged the back of Eddie’s neck. Matt got into the front passenger’s side. “Doesn’t anyone in this country worry about aiding and abetting criminals?” Matt laughed.
“No problem, boss,” Eddie giggled. “We just try to mind our own business and let the cops worry about theirs. We can’t go to the apartment, I’m sure they are watching it, so you’re going to stay with Lourdes until we figure out what to do next.”
“Let’s just get somewhere that I can make a couple of phone calls. I need to talk to a man about a murder and if it doesn’t work out I might end up in jail, but I’d be grateful if you can take care of Vicky for a few days. I have a suspicion that the cavalry will be arriving from the states soon, but until they get here she’ll have to stay undercover.”
An hour later, both Matt and Vicky had showered, Matt was clean-shaven at Lourdes’ expert hand, and Eddie had provided Matt with a clean shirt. Lourdes’ apartment was a tiny thing with only a kitchen and a sitting room that became the bedroom at night. Vicky was asleep on a small cot in the corner. Matt had a slip of paper from his wallet on the table in front of him and he kept tapping at it with his finger and looking at the phone. Finally, he picked up the handset and sighed, “well, here goes nothing.” He poked in the number.
When someone picked up the phone on the other end Matt hesitated slightly. “I’d like to speak to Lieutenant Garza please.” There was some communication from the other end. “Just say that a friend of Roy Austin would like to talk to him.” More conversation followed. “Yes, it is a matter of some urgency.” Matt replied to a question. He gave them the number of Lourdes’ phone and hung up.
“Somebody from the Army?” Eddie quizzed.
“No,” Matt admitted after a pause. “Somebody from the police. I’ve got to start somewhere to get this thing unraveled and I think we can trust this guy. His name was given to me as a sort of last resort and I think we might be at that point right now.”
“Do you know who killed Hector?” Lourdes asked. “The poor man. I feel responsible.”
“You must not feel that way,” Matt insisted, squeezing Lourdes’ hand. “I’m the one who got him involved, although unintentionally, and I owe it to him to make sure that his killers are punished. To answer your question, no, I don’t know who actually killed him, but I know who ordered it.”
“The guy you went to meet in Cebu?” Eddie guessed.
“Yes,” Matt confirmed. “And he would have killed Vicky and me too. It was just a matter of time. How we got away, I’ll never know. Just thank God we did.”
The phone rang and Lourdes answered it. She made a couple of statements and handed the phone to Matt. “It’s Lieutenant Garza,” she said seriously.
“Lieutenant Garza,” Matt said solemnly into the phone. “I have some information on the Hector Avila killing you might be interested in hearing. Is there somewhere we can meet and talk about it?”
There was some talking at length before Matt replied again. “Yes, I understand. The Savoy Bar, twenty minutes, I’ll meet you there. I’m sure you will recognize me.”
“The Savoy Bar is just down the street a couple of blocks,” Lourdes said.
“I didn’t think about it,” Matt stammered, “I guess I’m too tired. He must have looked up this number and probably knows where we are. He knows the neighborhood at least.” He got up and went to the window. The rain had stopped, but the streets and sidewalk were still wet. “Eddie,” he ordered, “when I leave, get Vicky up and put her in the car and ride around for an hour or so. If I come back it will probably be okay, but if I don’t I’m going to give you a number to call in the states. Tell them what the situation is and do whatever they tell you. Okay?”
“No problem, boss,” Eddie said, but his concern was evident. The gaiety in his voice was gone.
Matt wrote down the number for Eddie, walked over, and sat down on the cot. Vicky stirred and looked at him. “I’ve got to go meet Lieutenant Garza,” Matt explained. “Eddie is going to take you for a ride and keep you out of harm’s way. We don’t want to get everyone arrested. Eddie has Floyd’s number in case I don’t come back.”
Vicky sat up and put her arms around his neck. “You’re taking a big chance,” she said, nearly crying. “The Admiral could probably arrange to have us smuggled out of here if we ask him to. Are you sure that isn’t the wiser thing to do?”
“It probably is,” Matt said softly. “But it doesn’t solve anything except our personal safety. I owe Hector Avila more than that.”
Ten minutes later, Matt walked into the Savoy bar. It took a few seconds for his eyes to become adjusted to the dimness even thought he had walked in from a dark street. The place was small. There weren’t more than four tables in the entire place, plus a bar that was only about five stools long. Two girls sat together at one table, the bartender stood next to the sink polishing a glass with a white towel, but they were the only people he could see. He chose a middle bar stool and sat down. The bartender moved in front of him. “Let me have a San Miguel,” he said dryly. One of the girls giggled softly.
“Glass?” the bartender asked him.
“No, the bottle is fine,” Matt replied. He drank about half of the small beer in the first tipping; it tasted sweet and cold in his throat. The bottle had just come to rest on the top of the bar when the door opened. A man, large for a Filipino, walked in a stood for a moment, doing the same adjustment Matt had done a few minutes before. He looked directly at Matt and for just a second, Matt thought he was going to draw a weapon; he had that kind of hard look on his face. He didn’t draw a weapon; he walked towards a table and motioned for Matt to join him. He made another motion towards the girls and they scattered, leaving through a door behind the bar.
Matt picked up his beer, walked to the table, and sat down. The big Filipino extended his hand. “Tommy Garza,” he said gruffly.
Matt shook his hand. “Matt Kellogg,” he admitted freely.
Tommy Garza smiled. “You come right to the crux of things, don’t you? No sense in skirting the truth in a situation like this I guess.” He pointed at Matt’s beer and signaled the bartender. “What do you want to tell me about the Avila killing, Matt?”
“Well, to start with,” Matt said quietly, “I didn’t do it. I have a pretty good idea who did though, if you’re willing to listen.”
“I am willing to listen,” Garza replied, “but I already knew you didn’t kill Mister Avila. You were on a plane at the time of death. It looks as though somebody didn’t quite expect that.”
“You’re sure of that?” Matt said, his relief obvious.
“Naturally, I’m sure,” the Lieutenant snorted. “We had you on the plane’s manifest, had you checking into a hotel in Cebu, had credit card receipts and eye witnesses. When you disappeared, we weren’t quite sure what had happened to you. We guessed that whoever killed Avila killed you as well when they tracked you down. How did you get back here?”
“It’s a long story and telling you might get some new friends in trouble,” Matt smiled. “Tell me something, if you can,” Matt asked sincerely, “do the police in Cebu know I wasn’t a suspect?”
“I never said you weren’t a suspect,” Garza laughed. “For all we knew, you might have had Hector killed. Why are you concerned?”
Matt hesitated, wondering how much this man had been told by Admiral Austin. “Do you know anything about a man named Bobby Kemper? He’s an American.”
Garza’s eyes narrowed. “I know quite a bit about him. I probably know more than you know. Can you pin this directly to him?”
Matt reached into his back waistband, brought out the pistol, and placed it on the table. “One of his goons let me borrow this. Maybe it’s the gun that killed Hector, but I doubt it. It might help you in some other way though.”
Garza laughed again. “Put that thing back in your pants. Hector Avila was stabbed and bled to death. I appreciate the cooperation just the same. I think we had better get all of our cards on the table while we’re at it. I want you to wait here for a minute while I go outside.”
Matt took another drink of his beer as Garza headed for the door. When he returned there was a tall, lanky silhouette behind him. Matt squinted against the darkness, thinking, hoping he recognized it “Donovan?” He called out, nearly overjoyed.
“Hiya buddy,” Pat smiled. “You’ve had us on pins and needles the past couple of days. Glad to see you no worse for the wear.” He clapped Matt about the shoulders. “It looks like we finally have something we can hang on Kemper, you’ve done a good job.”
“What is he talking about?” Matt asked, turning back to Garza.
“Well, it might be a little flimsy, but I’d say we can make a fair case for kidnapping and unlawful confinement.” Garza speculated.
“But he didn’t kidnap me, I went to his house,” Matt objected. “We better have a little more than that.”
Tommy Garza signaled for another beer. “It’s enough to have him worried and that gives us an edge. His people fouled up the killing by not making sure it was going to come down on you, then they let you slip away after you probably heard him admit to other crimes, I’d say you are probably number one on his most wanted list right about now.”
“I’ll tell you who is and always has been number one on his list. This whole misguided plot was engineered to bring Admiral Austin here so Kemper can kill him out of some weird sense of revenge. I’m sure glad he sent you instead, Pat.” Matt related.
Donovan and Garza looked at each other knowingly. Pat looked seriously towards Matt. “I’m just the advance party, the Admiral and Captain Fowler will be here tomorrow morning.”
“That means it is already too late to stop them,” Matt surmised.
“You couldn’t stop him anyway,” Pat smiled. “He smells blood in the water. It was all we could do to keep him from running out to Andrews and taking off the minute we heard you were in trouble. He put me on leave and told me to come immediately while he got clearance from CNO to travel.”
“What’s the plan, we’ll meet him tomorrow and then what?” Matt asked.
“No, we can’t even do that,” Tommy Garza offered. “His counterpart in the Philippine Navy is tasked to meet and greet, do the official welcoming, etc., etc., etc.”
“So this is an official visit kind of thing and its public?” Matt questioned.
Donovan scowled. “It isn’t like with us peons, Matt. You can’t have a three star Admiral, especially one who holds the position and title that the old man does, running around the world incognito. The risk is just too great.”
“Where does that leave us?” Matt kept questioning.
“In the best position to do the most good,” Lieutenant Garza explained. “We know who the target is and we know who wants him dead. That gives us a fair advantage.”
“But it puts the crosshairs directly on the Admiral. That isn’t the most comforting thought I’ve ever had.” Matt sighed. “Are you trying to pick up Kemper?” Matt asked Garza.
“We sure are,” Tommy smiled. “We could nip this whole thing in the bud if we get lucky. You know,” Tommy smiled, “the Admiral has always wanted Kemper to come home and face charges, but we have just as big an interest in him as the U.S. does, maybe even more. He has operated from our islands with a complete disregard of yours’, international law and ours. I’d love to see him in a Filipino prison. I doubt he would survive a ten year sentence for kidnapping.”
“I know one thing,” Matt said seriously, “he’s an evil son-of-a-bitch and probably a bit unbalanced. I just hope we get him with enough evidence to put him away for a long, long time.”
Pat Donovan laughed. “That’s why the varsity squad is here,” he said, clapping Matt and Garza on the shoulders. “Where have you got Lieutenant Burton stashed?”
“She’s safe,” Matt smiled, “with friends. Tell me what has happened back home.”
“Your intruder turned out to be a private investigator,” Pat explained. “He was hired sight unseen, he claims. We haven’t had a lot of time to dig into his background, but it seems certain that he doesn’t come with a Good Housekeeping seal of approval. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up losing his license. We don’t have anything on the Admiral’s car either, except that just about everyone is convinced that it wasn’t an accident. I guess the last thing on the agenda is our mole. Nothing has changed, you’re still unknown to everyone but the old man, Floyd and myself.”
“Then why is Captain Fowler coming along; he must know what prompted this trip,” Matt wondered aloud.
“Nope, he’s still in the dark,” Pat continued. “He thinks this meeting with Philippine Intelligence has something to do with the El Moro connection, down south.” Matt was transfixed, deep in thought. “What’s up, buddy?” Donovan asked, concerned.
“Oh nothing,” Matt said, unconvincingly. “Hey Lieutenant, is there a chance you could get me into the apartment? I’ve definitely got to get some clean underwear and some different clothes.”
“Yeah,” Tommy replied, “I think we can arrange that. Where are you planning on staying tonight?”
“Are you in a hotel?” Matt asked Donovan.
“The Mabini Mansion,” Donovan crowed. “We can get you a room there or you can crash on my davenport.”
“No, I’ll need my own room. I’ll need you to run me by a place and get Vicky settled in, then I’d like to sleep for about three days.”
The mid-morning sun was blasting into the broad windows of Matt’s room at the Mabini Mansion but a thick black cloud was gathering out at sea. It would be a damp afternoon. There was a gentle tapping on the door and Matt answered it. Eddie and Vicky stood in the hallway smiling; at least Eddie was smiling. Vicky entered and kissed Matt a peck. “Why didn’t you bring me along last night?” she pouted.
“I needed to think about a few things and then I needed to sleep, and so did you, so don’t give me any guff, Lieutenant,” he said kissing her back. “I’ve ordered coffee and juice for everyone, if you want more than that we’ll have to call room service. Pat Donovan should be here in a minute or so.”
“Pat Donovan is here now,” he said as he came through the partially open door. “No disrespect meant Lieutenant,” he said to Vicky as she held out her arms to him, “but you look sexy as hell without that uniform.”
“I’m happy I look like anything,” Vicky laughed. “It hasn’t been a good week for being very sexy.” She looked at Matt and smiled. “I guess it has had its moments though.”
“Everybody sit down at the table,” Matt ordered. “We have to get some things sorted out. Pat, do you have the Admiral’s schedule for today?”
“It isn’t chiseled in stone, but I have most of it,” Pat said. “They’ll be landing in about half an hour from now. He’ll go directly to the Embassy and meet with the Ambassador and the commander of the Military Assistance Unit, for about an hour. After that he will have a lunch with his Filipino counter-part for probably another hour, then he has a couple of hours off before a reception at the Sea Front Compound, one of the embassy’s watering holes. After that he’s free, we probably won’t be able to see him until then.”
“Maybe yes, maybe no,” Matt said mysteriously. “Do you know where they are putting him up and the room number?”
“Not at the Mabini Mansion,” Pat laughed. “He has the VIP suite at the Intercontinental.”
The meeting lasted a full hour and when it was finished, Pat was off to set up his and Lieutenant Garza’s portion of the plan. Matt, Vicky and Eddie made their own preparations. At 4PM, they left the hotel room and drove across town to the Intercontinental Hotel. They sky was dark, the rain coming down steadily. It was a perfect setting for intrigue. Eddie drove up to the lobby entrance where Matt and Vicky got out of the back seat. A bellhop with an umbrella escorted them to the canopy. Eddie drove away and found a place to park near the hotel’s underground parking garage.
The elevator stopped at the fourth floor where Matt and Vicky got off. They were the only ones to exit the car. The carpets were soft and plush, the mirrors and marble tables that lined the long hall were expertly polished and exquisitely ornate. It was many yards between doors to the suites that populated this one, exclusive level of the hotel. Matt knocked softly on the door marked ‘The America Suite’.
They could barely detect the sound of footsteps approaching the door. There was a definite hesitation as someone peered through the peephole before the door was yanked open. “What in the hell are you two doing here?” The Admiral, in his shorts and t-shirt, holding a paper looked genuinely aghast.
“Either making a complete ass of ourselves, or saving your life,” Matt said quietly. “Let’s hope it’s the former.”
“Come in and sit down while I put on some clothes,” the Admiral babbled. “This is a real shocker. I wasn’t sure how and when I could contact Donovan and Garza, but to see you two, this is a blessing indeed. You got away somehow, I take it? You have to tell me all about it, all the details.”
“You were already airborne when we made it back to Manila,” Vicky said simply.
“Admiral,” Matt hesitated the way he did so often when he wasn’t completely sure of himself, “You’re going to think I’ve gone off my rocker, but I have to ask you to do something that will go against your grain. It could go either way, and you might be in danger whatever happens. If I’m wrong, you can have my head on a platter or my butt on the burner, but I think we have to take the chance.”
“You just tell me what it is, boy,” the Admiral said, a hint of mirth in his voice. You’re on to something, huh?”
“Would you call Captain Fowler and ask him to come over here? Don’t say anything more than that, okay?” Matt barely muttered.
“Now you just wait a minute,” the Admiral protested. “You can’t be serious!”
“Well, just humor me,” Matt objected right back. “I think we’ve earned a favor or two for the bullshit we’ve put up with for the last three weeks. You wanted to get to the bottom of this, well here’s your chance. It’s the best one I know of.”
The Admiral was deep in thought but he capitulated. He motioned for the couple to sit down and picked up the phone, punched in some numbers and waited. “Dick, could you come over here right away.” His tone was almost reluctant.
They didn’t have to wait long. The Admiral went to the door; his shoulders bent, a look of disappointment on his face. Matt and Vicky heard the door open and Dick Fowler’s voice. “Yes sir, I came right down. Is something wrong?”
“Come on in, Dick,” the Admiral directed.
Captain Fowler was wearing a short rain jacket. It, like it’s wearer was dry. The tall man needed only three steps to navigate the short hall from the entrance to the interior of the sitting room. He stopped short when he saw Matt, collected himself and then moved forward, extending his hand. “Matt Kellogg,” he said, with some surprise. “I’m glad to see you’re okay.”
The Admiral let out a long sigh. “Sit down Dick, nobody is going to be shaking hands today. What reason would you have to believe that Matt wouldn’t be okay?”
“Well,” Dick Fowler stammered, “I guess seeing him here in Manila. Didn’t I hear something that he was in trouble?”
“I’m sure you did,” the Admiral said solemnly, “the problem is that you didn’t hear it from anyone in our organization, did you?”
The room was silent, no one saying anything for the moment. At last, the Admiral broke the stillness. “Captain,” he said with an ominous voice, “you will consider yourself under arrest. I will call the military attaché at the embassy who will take you into custody and arrange your transportation back to the states. Is that clear?”
For a few moments, Dick Fowler didn’t say anything; he just stood there with a blank look on his face. He put his hands into the pockets of his rain jacket and when he withdrew his right hand, it contained a small automatic pistol. “I’m sorry Admiral,” he said flatly, “I can’t allow that to happen. Please sit down on the davenport with the others.” The Admiral didn’t move. “Please sir,” Fowler repeated, “Don’t force me to shoot you.”
Roy Austin moved next to Vicky and sat. Fowler removed his left hand from the pocket of his jacket and produced a small mobile phone. The number he dialed was apparently loaded into the memory of the device; he hit only two buttons, using his thumb to do it. There was a pause. “This is Fowler,” he spoke without emotion, “we’ve had an unscheduled event here. I am holding Austin, Matt Kellogg and the woman. You better send a van or something over here so we can move these people.” He stopped talking and received some instructions. “I understand,” he repeated, pushed one more button with his thumb and put the phone back into his pocket. He moved to a chair directly opposite the davenport and sat down, all the time keeping the barrel of the weapon pointed directly at the Admiral. “Now we wait,” he said, still emotionless.
“You know how this has to end up,” Vicky said a few seconds later. “There will be an investigation, regardless. Your phone records, your financial records, everything you’ve ever touched will be gone over with a fine-toothed comb. There is no possible way you can get away with this.”
“I’m not concerned with that right now,” Fowler answered. “I would think the new chief of naval intelligence would have some input as to how such an investigation would be conducted, especially if there was no apparent reason to suspect any foul play had occurred.”
“Well, your first attempt to stage an accident was a showcase of amateurism,” the Admiral scoffed. “You had better have a better plan than that. You’re in serious trouble, Dick. These people you’re dealing with will throw you to the wolves if it suits them. If they are going to have to kill three people to cover their tracks, it would be just as easy to make it four and not have to worry about you.”
“It won’t work, Admiral,” the Captain said. “The quickest and surest way for me to sign my own death warrant would be to hand you this gun. I’m not going to do that. We have contingency plans a foot deep. We’ll be okay.”
Everyone was silent again. Matt watched the Captain intently. His gaze never faltered, the gun in his hand never moved. After about fifteen minutes, the phone in Dick Fowler’s pocket rang, and then rang again. He made no attempt to answer it. “This is how it works,” Fowler said slowly as though laying out an intricate plan, “we all move into the hallway. At the far end is a stairway that leads down to the parking garage; we aren’t going to take the elevator. As you have so thoughtfully pointed out, Admiral, I’m in a tight situation. Don’t think for a minute that I will hesitate to shoot any or all of you. Your life depends on that. When we reach the basement there will be a van waiting for us. Just get in and sit down, no fuss, no bother. If everyone understands that, let’s go.”
“Hell, you’re going to kill us anyway,” the Admiral objected. “We’ll just jump him, Matt. He can’t get both of us.”
Fowler tensed and pointed the gun directly at Roy Austin’s broad forehead. “I think we better do as he says,” Matt said as calmly as he could.
The foursome did not encounter anyone on the stairs and emerged in the basement just as Fowler had said. A large, blue Chevrolet van was waiting just in front of the door, a surly looking Filipino behind the wheel. The cement floors of the garage were wet with tire tracks and the van was dripping from an exposure to rain that was certainly waiting outside the building. Roy Austin was the first to enter the vehicle and took the rearmost of three seats. Matt and Vicky sat together in the second seat. Dick Fowler climbed into the front seat and turned around to face his captives. “Okay, let’s go,” he ordered the driver. The van made a circular trip around the parking garage and up a short ramp onto the street. The rain was steady and the early evening made everything look darker and more foreboding that it should have. The rain and the traffic of the Saturday evening slowed their progress somewhat, but they did not have a great distance to cover. Within minutes they were deep in the heart of the warehouse waterfront district, the same area that Eddie had shown them a few days before. The van pulled up in front of a desolate building on a street that had tracks running down the middle to accommodate the many cranes that moved cargo to and from the ships moored a couple of blocks away. A motorized door opened slowly answering the single honk of the van’s horn. The van pulled into a clear space between several heavy crates. Bobby Kemper and another man stood waiting. Behind the van, the motorized door reversed its direction and closed as slowly as it had opened. “Everybody out,” Fowler ordered.
Vicky, Matt and the Admiral stepped out of the van and stood silently, the Admiral glaring at Bobby Kemper. Kemper spoke first to Matt and Vicky. “You two don’t seem to be able to keep from getting into one bad situation after another,” he laughed. He motioned to his companion; “I think you’ll find that Mister Kellogg has a weapon that belongs to us somewhere on his person.” The man moved behind the group and found the gun as soon as he pulled up Matt’s barong. Kemper smiled again, turning towards the Admiral. “It’s been a long, long time,” he sneered. “Let’s not get weepy with a sentimental reunion, I’ve waited too long. Just let me say that you are most welcome and as you’ve noticed, we’ve gone through a great deal of trouble to get you here.”
“Including the deaths of three innocent people,” the Admiral spat out. “You’re a sub-standard piece of crap, Kemper, you always were. You couldn’t hold a candle to the real people who were forced to work with you. I guess I have to take the blame for part of that, I had hopes of turning you around one day.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be too disappointed,” Kemper laughed. “After all, I’ll rise to the lofty position as titular head of navy intelligence when you exit the stage. None of your other bright boys made it that far.”
“You really don’t get it, do you?” Admiral Austin said sadly. “Neither of you do,” he said nodding towards the captain who had made his way to Kemper’s side. “You don’t know the people. It has nothing to do with the buttons you push or the technology; it’s the people. If you don’t have them, you have nothing.”
“You’ve had your run,” Kemper said sarcastically, “Now we’ll have ours and I promise you, we will amass wealth you can scarcely imagine. Your precious people will accomplish all that for me without even knowing they’ve done it.”
“Tell me one thing,” Matt interjected. “Is that guard I had to hit at your gate okay?”
Kemper laughed again. “Your concern is refreshing, but a little stupid. Yes, he’s fine. He’s out of a job, but perhaps he’ll be a bit more attentive to his duties the next job he gets.”
“Well, at least he is alive,” Matt spoke sincerely. “Hector Avila didn’t get off so lightly.”
“Ah yes,” Kemper scowled. “He had to die; I’m sorry my man didn’t understand that the timing had to be a bit more precise than it was. Unfortunately, the police will have to accept your involvement when you resist arrest in Cebu and are killed. Miss Burton will just vanish into the vastness of the sea, I suppose.”
“I believe we have what we came for,” Vicky said smiling. Gentlemen, please put all of your weapons on the floor and kick them aside.”
“You insignificant bitch,” Kemper hissed through his teeth. “Do you take me for a complete idiot?”
“No, you’re not quite that smart,” Tommy Garza said, coming out from behind a crate, an Uzi leveled at the group. “Do as the lady says.”
Dick Fowler started to raise his weapon. “I wouldn’t do that Captain,” Pat Donovan said from the other side of the room, standing up from another crate. “I never did like you, and I won’t hesitate to take your kneecap off. It will make getting around in Leavenworth a little cumbersome.”
It was the Filipino who created the chaos that followed. He reached for a gun in his waistband while diving headlong towards a stack of boxes. Donovan’s shot missed the moving target; Tommy Garza’s short burst did not. Dick Fowler turned towards Donovan and fired before he was able to steady his position. Donovan’s second shot tore into his leg two inches above the knee. Kemper threw up his hands, a plaintive look of terror on his face.
Lieutenant Garza confirmed the Filipino was no longer capable of resistance as he spoke into a cell phone. “Better send an ambulance to my location,” he said firmly. “One DOA, one badly injured, gunshot wound.”
Pat Donovan was tying a handkerchief around the captain’s leg. “Sorry about that sir,” he said. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you.” The captain was incapable of any reply and nearly unconscious.
Lieutenant Garza walked up in front of Kemper. “Robert Kemper,” he began, “you are under arrest for conspiracy to murder, kidnapping and illegal confinement. My good friend here is going to have to wait for approximately a hundred years to get his hands on you. Meanwhile, the Government of the Philippines will try to make you as uncomfortable as possible.”
Matt stood next to the van, a sick feeling in his stomach. He wasn’t used to mayhem. Vicky approached Kemper, a look of contempt on her face. “You’ve come a long way to rot in a prison cell,” she sneered, “but there is something I want to say before they haul your ass away. I’ve been called a prostitute by the media, ‘the woman’ by your idiotic puppet, and an insignificant bitch by you. I just want you to know that I’m a little tired of it, and you’re the only one available right now.” With that, she doubled her fist and swung straight from the shoulder. Her right hand landed squarely on Kemper’s chin and he collapsed to the floor.
“Miss Burton, please,” Tommy Garza scowled, “do you want the police to get a bad reputation for the way we handle our criminals?”


Chapter 11


There was a hint of light in the sky when Matt and Vicky walked out of police headquarters on Sunday morning. It was going to be a beautiful day and it seemed as though the sleeping city streets and the still palm trees anxiously awaited its arrival with great anticipation. Along with Admiral Austin, Donovan, Eddie and a quickly assembled group of police officials, envoys from both the American and Philippine governments, they had spent the entire night making statements, going over transcripts and verifying translations. There were still more things to do, but sheer exhaustion was rapidly overtaking them. Finally, Tommy Garza called a halt to the proceedings, made a couple of phone calls and when he stuck his head through the door of the interview room where Matt and Vicky had been working, he only waved at them. “Leave all that stuff right there on the table and come with me,” he said, rather officially. “You two have had enough for one day,” he smiled, “or has it been two or three days?”
Matt only nodded, unsure of the timeline, but suddenly aware of just how weary he was. “I’d have to stop and go back over it,” Matt hesitated, “and I think I’m too tired to be positive. I don’t remember the last time I really slept.”
Tommy Garza put his arm around Vicky’s shoulder as she exited the interview room. His smile was friendly and understanding. “At the end of this hallway you’ll come to a set of stairs. At the bottom of those stairs, walk through the double doors and you’ll be on the front steps of our rather infamous police station. There will be an officer waiting in an unmarked car. He is going to take you to the Intercontinental hotel where we have two rooms reserved for you. I want both of you to rest. The city is picking up the tab, so indulge yourselves and have a nice dinner after you come to. I’ll call you later this evening or tonight and make arrangements to have you picked up and brought back here tomorrow morning and we will tie up all the loose ends.” He smiled again and took Vicky’s hand, looked at the slightly swollen knuckles and chuckled. “You might want to put some ice in a towel and wrap your hand for a couple of hours. I don’t think you broke anything, but don’t punch anybody for a few days.” Vicky smiled weakly. “Now get out of here,” Tommy ordered.
“I don’t have anything along with me,” Vicky began to object, her voice raspy and tired sounding.
Lieutenant Garza simply held up his hand to quiet her. “Everything you need to get you into a bath and a bed has been supplied with the room. We’ll take care of gathering your things from the apartment and whatever you left behind in Cebu a little later when things are settled down. Just get some sleep and leave the rest of it to me, okay?”
Vicky nodded; too tired to object to anything any longer. “Thank you,” she said very quietly. “We owe you a lot, but could I ask just one more favor of you?”
“Anything at all,” Tommy replied.
“Watch out for that grumpy old sailor, will you? He acts the tough guy, but underneath all those barnacles, he’s probably just as worn out as we are. Make sure he doesn’t overdo it.”
“Miss Burton,” Tommy replied seriously, “I’ve known that old devil probably as long as you have; maybe longer. We’ll have him bedded down within the hour. Now, please get out of here and let me get back to work.”
When the police car pulled up to the front of the hotel, the young officer behind the wheel turned around and handed Matt two keys. “Everything has been taken care of,” he said politely, “you don’t have to check in at the desk or anything. You can go directly to your rooms. Have a good rest.”
Matt smiled and thanked the policeman. Neither he nor Vicky had said a word since they left the station. “Come on dear,” he said as he grasped her good hand and pulled her from the car. “We’ll lead each other to the elevator and whichever one of us has enough energy left can push the button for the seventh floor. I think if we take it slow and easy, we might be able to make it to our rooms.”
It was still too early in the morning for even the cleaning crews to be up and about and the only person the couple encountered in the hallway on the way to their rooms was a bellboy dropping copies of the morning newspaper on to the carpet in front of each room and then gently nudging it with his toe until it slid into oblivion. Rooms 704 and 706 were nearly at the end of the hall, toward the quiet side of the hotel, away from the street. Matt opened the door to 706 and swung it wide while Vicky entered. It was spacious and dim and the aroma of two Sampaguita blossoms afloat in a shallow dish of water drifted softly in the cool air. “Do you want this room or the other one?” Matt smiled, looking towards the open connecting doors.
Vicky smiled sheepishly and slid into the secure comfort of Matt’s embrace. “You don’t want me to sleep in there; I don’t want me to sleep in there and I doubt anybody else in the whole world much gives a damn.” She paused for a moment. “And fun thought it might be, I think I’ll take my shower and all those other ladylike things in the spare bath. I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.” She kissed his lips softly and momentarily. “Don’t fall asleep before I get back, okay?”
Matt chuckled in spite of the total weariness he felt within his body. “A shower and a shave will have me right back on top of the world. Just don’t take so long that I get comfortable. It might take a world crisis to wake me up once I nod off.”
“I think we’ve had all the world shattering events we can handle for a good, long time,” Vicky snickered. “I won’t be but a minute.”
Matt was right; the hot water, a steaming shave, a shampoo and two rinses, then turning off all traces of warmth and standing for a full minute in the chilling spray of the shower had restored his vitality, at least temporarily. He dried with a towel that would have made his father proud, slipped into a thick, spongy white bathrobe the hotel had hung on the hook of the bathroom door and then brushed his teeth with a complimentary toothbrush and some generic tooth paste. Even so, his reflection in the mirror showed a face that was tired and a bit sunken. It didn’t shock him; in fact he expected the image to be worse than it turned out to be. He shrugged it off and retreated to the bedroom after he made a couple of passes through his damp hair with a comb that did little else but get everything headed in the same direction.
Inside a small refrigerator, Matt found a half-pint bottle of orange juice and poured the contents of the bottle into a tumbler from the nightstand. He took a long gulp of the fluid and felt his body urgently soaking up the vitamins and nutrients it provided. Perhaps he had eaten a sandwich in the police station, he couldn’t actually remember and he definitely couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten a full meal. Bobby Kemper had not been the ideal host and had just fed them enough to keep them alive. His mind was far too exhausted to trifle with such details right now. There would be time for all that later. He pulled back the spread from the king-sized bed and equally parceled out the pillows, making sure that there were double layers across the width of the sleeping area. He plopped his body down onto the crispness of the white sheet and the mattress seemed to cradle him in comfort. He could have slipped into a deep sleep within seconds, but he took another drink of the orange juice and felt just the tiniest of an energy surge through all the flesh and bone that had been parched for so long.
Within a minute, Vicky padded in bare feet through the connecting doors. She had the same type of white bathrobe that Matt had found in his own bath wrapped around her. On the smaller body it looked like an overcoat and he couldn’t help but chuckle a little. She had wrapped a full sized bath towel around her head and was vigorously rubbing it in an attempt to dry her hair. She stopped the rubbing and tightened the turban towel, letting the excess fall down the middle of her back. “Oh, that looks good,” she said, drinking the last of the orange juice from the glass on the nightstand. “I feel great,” she said, smiling and winking at him devilishly.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Matt laughed and patted the surface of the bed next to him.
Vicky scrambled over Matt’s semi-sitting form and snuggled in close to him. She was quiet for a moment, except for a long sigh that escaped her body. She pulled the top sheet up to a level about mid way of their stomachs and placed her toweled head on Matt’s chest. “He’ll send me home tomorrow, you know?” Her voice was a hint of sadness to it.
“Admiral Iron-bottom?” Matt laughed, knowing exactly of whom she was speaking. “I doubt that we can get this all cleared up in a day,” Matt said, avoiding the obvious. Then he hesitated for just a second. “Besides, I thought I was in charge of this affair. Maybe I don’t want you to go home just yet.”
Vicky sighed again. “Well my dear, I’m still part of the Navy and he’s the Navy at the moment, I don’t have much choice.”
Matt smiled to himself and brought his arm up around Vicky’s shoulder. “Yeah, that’s one of those things I wanted to talk to you about when we had a moment. “If you had a better offer would you consider it?”
Vicky laughed. “You’re not going to offer to make an honest woman of me, are you Kellogg?”
“No,” Matt began slowly. “I never questioned your honesty. It’s just that we’ve sort of grown together over the last few weeks and I’m not at all sure I would be content going on without you. We seem to compliment each other and look at things in much the same way. You’re the strong one when I’m unconvinced and I can get you restarted when you run out of gas. Just look at the number of times we have managed to find the way out the dead ends we’ve faced. When I tend to see things in the reality, you bring out the emotional and softer side of it. Solutions are obvious to you. You don’t have to weigh things out in piles of pro and con; you just see the best way to go and get on with it. I worry and fret while you see through the fog and get us pointed in the right direction. I’ll bet if I got you enough yellow legal pads you could solve all the world’s problems.” He chuckled softly and looked down at Vicky. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was deep and regular.
“I love you too,” she smiled, without opening her eyes. “Wake me up in four or five hours and you can ask me again whatever it was you just asked me. Try to put a little more emotion in it though; a girl can’t one day tell her daughter how her father had swept her off her feet with this romantic proposal in a dim hotel room in Manila if it sounded like a business merger. Give it a little thought; let the writer side of you come out a little. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
Matt kissed her forehead softly. “See what I mean?” he whispered. “How come you let me stumble around and be an idiot when you knew all along what I was trying to say?”
“Tonight,” she said sleepily, “I’ll put on my little black dress and you can wear one of those beautiful new barongs that Eddie picked out, we can have a candlelight dinner and over a glass of iced wine all the right words will come to you. You’re going to make Missus Cavenaugh and me the happiest women in the world.” She snickered. “Now just hold me and go to sleep.”
Matt was nearly right; they almost didn’t finish all the paperwork the following day. It was after eight PM when they returned to the hotel. All the translations had been certified, all the charges prepared and the ones pending against Matt had been dismissed. Lieutenant Garza’s last act of the day had been to return Matt’s passport. Admiral Austin was whisked off to some official function and Matt got the distinct impression that Pat Donovan and Tommy Garza were going to spend the evening exploring the sensual delights of Manila. About the only thing left was a brunch, scheduled by Roy Austin at his hotel the following morning. Matt insisted that Eddie and Lourdes be invited and he wished that he could have contacted the mouthy American pilot and a few ladies of the evening from Cebu who had been as big a part in the plot as any of them.
The Intercontinental had gone all out to please the Admiral. There were long tables of food; so many flowers arranged throughout the room that it looked more like a wedding celebration than just a few friends having breakfast together. Vicky was radiant; an electric twinkle sparkled from her eyes. Eddie looked as though he had grown a foot taller and he beamed a smile as wide as Manila Bay. Lourdes must have spent the entire night preparing for the event and she was as sexy as Matt remembered her to be. Tommy Garza and Pat Donovan didn’t look quite as wide eyed and bushy tailed as the rest and Matt noticed they didn’t have much on their plates when everyone sat down to eat.
“Now tell me, Matt,” the Admiral beamed from his side of the table where he was sawing through a stack of pancakes, “what was it that convinced you that Dick Fowler was our man?”
Matt chuckled. “It wasn’t just one thing, Admiral. My dad told Missus Cavenaugh that sometimes old friends turn into old enemies, so I was always looking at his old friends. The fact that he never knew Captain Fowler threw me off for a while. I guess what he was referring to was his relationship to Bobby Kemper. It became apparent that Kemper knew about me, but he didn’t know specifics. I gathered that someone had tipped him off that I had been in your office and they started watching me. I’m sure he didn’t learn about Vicky until sometime later, perhaps when we were in Utah. Donovan made it pretty clear to me that he didn’t much care for the Captain from the first day I met him. After your car was bombed I went through a little mental exercise and the only one I could see who might benefit from your removal was Fowler. What didn’t make sense was that he was going to be the new chief when you retired anyway, so why try to kill you? Then one time you mentioned that you were going to keep right on doing this job as long as you could; you never had any intention of retiring did you?”
“It’s a moot point, my boy,” the Admiral laughed. “Right now I don’t have a relief and it takes some time to train a senior officer. They are much too accustomed to having things their own way. Another thing I want to know, how did you figure Fowler was going to try to take us into custody and where we would go once he did? Just a lucky guess?”
“There was certainly some luck involved,” Matt admitted. “I thought if Fowler was our man, he’d try to get us back to Kemper one way or another. He couldn’t just kill us on the spot; he was going to have to take us somewhere. Every time Kemper came to Manila Tommy Garza tried to keep the heat on him and Kemper wasn’t comfortable here. I figured if he had a place he thought was even half-way safe it would be that warehouse on the waterfront that was part of their corporate assets. Pat and Tommy Garza were in there before we were even sure that is where we needed to be.” Matt patted Eddie’s shoulder. “Just to be sure, we had Eddie standing by at the hotel to see which direction we would be heading. Garza had people ready to pounce if we went to any other location. We needed to hear it from Kemper’s own lips that he was involved in Hector Avila’s death. Our kidnapping charge was a rather leaky case, at best.”
“Well, he’s singing like a canary from what I hear,” Tommy Garza laughed. “I think he was told that a very angry Filipina-American was set to take over his interrogation if he wasn’t cooperative.”
“Eddie,” the Admiral said officially, “I don’t know what this skinflint American was paying you for your services, but whatever it was, I’ll double it, and add the sincere thanks of the people who will never know how much they owe you.”
Eddie’s face was aglow until Matt threw in his objection. “I don’t know sir, that might be a little excessive. Eddie and I had already agreed on two hundred dollars a day.”
“I’ll handle the budgetary accounts my boy, and I don’t think it is excessive at all. Remember I once told you that I don’t lose assets? We’ll find work for him from time to time.”
Matt winked at Eddie from behind a shielding hand.
“Vicky my dear,” the Admiral bellowed. “You’ve been rather silent through all this chatter. What do you have to say about all this?”
“I’m just glad it’s over, sir,” she admitted. “I’m conserving my energy.”
“It seems to me all the hard work is finished,” the Admiral questioned. “What else is left?”
Vicky looked to Matt for his okay, and he nodded. Vicky’s face was glowing. “Well, let’s see,” she began. “First of all, we have to pick up the car in San Francisco and drive back to Utah. Then I have to fly back to DC and resign my commission, get rid of an apartment full of stuff, sell my truck, fly back to Utah and sell the house in Sandy to a good family.” The Admiral stopped chewing the pancakes, perhaps shocked. Vicky continued. “After that, I need to go to California to do the same thing with Matt’s stuff, although it won’t be that difficult, he’s going to give most of it away. We’ll be building a beautiful new home at Cedar Gate; we have to go to DC and have Matt meet his prospective in-laws, plus we’d dearly love to come back to Manila for a month or so and have Eddie and Lourdes really show us the country. Sometime in between all those activities we are going to get married. Did I leave anything out?”
“Good heavens, I hope not,” the Admiral roared. “I couldn’t be happier, for both of you. Now, while you’re doing all those things what is Matt supposed to accomplishing, if anything?”
Vicky smiled at Matt tenderly. “He’s going to be a busy boy. He will have to be there, at Cedar Gate, watching our new home take shape, dealing with the contractors and things like that. He’ll keep the fire going in the old cabin so that when I get a day or two in a row with nothing else to do, we can be together. When things are progressing smoothly, I want him to spend time with Floyd. They began something in the couple of days we were together that needs to be developed a little more. In his spare time, he’s going to write.” She laid her hand over Matt’s and looked seriously at Roy Austin. “Maybe all those stories his father told him were meant to be saved for another generation.”

* * *
A week had passed. A warm wind was blowing from the southwest across the field of gently swaying alfalfa. A small group of people stood in the corner of that field, their backs against the wind. Old Lester held his rumpled straw cowboy hat in his hands. He was wearing a new pair of Levi jeans and a freshly starched white western shirt embroidered with red roses. He also wore an intricately carved belt with a silver buckle, a trophy from some forgotten arena battle. Missus Cavenaugh wore a lacey black dress and a broad brimmed hat that occasionally threatened to blow away in the stiff breeze. Admiral Austin was there too, arrayed in his full dress white uniform, his broad chest nearly covered in ribbons. Vicky too had chosen to wear her uniform.
Matt looked lovingly at the decorative urn he held in his hands for a moment. “Well Dad,” he said quietly, “I guess we got it all done except for this. Things are going to be changing around here quite a bit.” He lifted his eyes and gazed off to the horizon. “All in all, I think you’d approve. The old cabin is going to be my home for a while. I guess I’ll have to be the one to write those stories down you used to tell me. I’m not sure I can do them justice, but I’ll give it my best shot. You won’t be alone here, and I’ll be comforted knowing you are around. Your old friends will be here and some new ones you didn’t have the chance to meet. Vicky and I will tell them about you in the days and years to come. I’ll soften you up around the edges; we wouldn’t want your grandchildren to know what a tough old bugger you really were. We want you to be at peace and we want you to know we will miss you. I suppose that’s it,” Matt said, a horribly large lump forming in his throat. “I love you Dad.”
Vicky sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue; Missus Cavenaugh did the same. Admiral Austin cleared his throat of some unseen obstruction and looked solemnly at the ground. Matt removed the cover from the urn and poured out a small quantity of ash into old Les’ hand. Les tossed the ash up into the air and it disappeared in a small puff of dust. “I’ll see you soon, my friend,” Les stammered. “Put a couple on ice for us.”
Missus Cavenaugh’s hands were shaking, but she steadied as Matt tipped the urn for her. “You’re not to be concerned with these children,” she sighed. “I’ll be here to look after them for as long as I can. You find that lovely wife of yours and leave the worrying to me.” Her offering drifted with the wind as soon as she threw it up.
Matt moved the urn to Admiral Austin’s stubby wide hands. “I generally talk too damned much in situations like this,” he offered. “This time I’ll cut it short. You were a fine officer and I can’t think of a much better summation than that. This country, our Navy and I owe you a lot more than we will ever be permitted to tell. I wish you fair seas and a following wind, my friend.”
Vicky’s prayer was silent. The dust flew from her hand and was gone. Two tears tracked slowly down her cheeks. Matt lifted the urn as far above his head as he could reach and shook it gently. The wind seemed to anticipate its need and a sustained gust took the remainder of the urn’s contents across the field in an opaque cloud. The two old horses watched from the corner of their corral at the gathering of people. Finally, one of them nickered and they turned in unison and started down the lane toward the river. They walked a few yards together and then broke into a joyous gallop, kicking up their heels and tossing their heads. The sun was high in the sky and the eternal mountains continued their watchful guard of the peaceful valley below. There was no reason to be sad.



The End