Code Name: Crescent: A Matt Preston Novel

by Paul Shadinger

  The colonel asked, “You’re telling us when we walk out of here, everything is over? Is that correct?”

  “Well, that’s really up to you, but to answer your question, yep.”

  “Where did you find all this? You told us Hollis never told you anything.”

  “It’s a long story, but the upshot is I remembered something that happened up in the tower and when I went back, I found them.”

  “Has McLaughlin seen this stuff?” the colonel asked.

  I wanted to keep Walter in the clear. “I told him I had them, but he never saw them. He wondered what might be in it, but he decided the same as me, we didn’t want to know the contents. Oh, by the way the same conditions are set up for Walter, Thien and their son. If anything, and I do mean anything, happens to any of them, the diary will be read by the lawyers and they will do what they see fit to do. For all I know, it’s nothing but a bunch of gay love letters to Price. Unless you know different?” McNaulty shook his head no. “Okay. This meeting is over. You have what you came for and you know what the repercussions could be. Now get out.”

  “What about the gold?” the colonel asked.

  “What about it?”

  “Do you expect any of it?”

  “Why would I expect that?”

  “Well, you found the key and all. Are you just giving up any claim?”

  I couldn’t help it, I laughed. It was beyond their comprehension that I wouldn’t want any of the money. They couldn’t fathom that I didn’t give a shit about the gold. When I got my wind I tried to answer. “Gentlemen, life has been very good to me. I have no interest in the gold. I don’t know where it came from and I doubt if it’s really yours. But that’s none of my business. You need to take the key and the diary and get out of my home. You have fucked with my life long enough.”

  They rose and walked to the elevator. As the door opened, flyboy stepped in and the colonel turned back to me and extended his hand. I looked down at it for a long time. Finally I said, “You have got to be kidding me. You show up at my doorstep and you turn my life upside down and then expect me to shake your hand?” I glared at him as I snarled, “You sir, have got cojones of steel. Goodbye.”

  The elevator door slid shut and Bean gave a short bark. I laughed and told her, “That’s it, kid. You tell them what we think of their shit.” She gave one more short bark and then pawed at my shoe. It was her signal for me to take her out. I felt as if a big weight had been removed from my shoulders and I decided we both needed to take a nice long walk.

  And we did.

  And when we got back I gave her a double treat on account of just because.

  CHAPTER 22

  Dreams

  I’ve never understood how dreams work. I knew I was asleep, yet the dream was so real. It had been a long time since I’d had dreams that vivid. I guess it was because of all the stuff Crescent had dredged up. Somehow I knew I was having a flashback and I somehow realized I had no choice but to ride it out.

  I was remembering my friend Jonathan A. Orchard. Johnnie and I went way back to what I like to think of as ‘the start of the good times.’ We met when I was being shipped back to the States and on the flight across the Pacific we were bunkmates of a sort. After I had recovered enough from my injuries to travel, John was in the bunk next to me on the MATS transport airplane.

  As I lay there sleeping and dreaming in my bed at home, I could smell the inside of the cargo plane, I could hear the roar of the engines. The dream was so real I could even feel the vibrations of the plane and the pain from my injuries. They had given us shots before we left and we had been told we wouldn’t feel any pain. During the flight I hadn’t, but now in my dreams, I did. My entire body seemed to ache from my injuries.

  Suddenly I sat up in my bed and realized I was screaming. Bean was barking and I picked her up and held her. I guess I had scared her since she was trembling in my arms. Still holding her, I got out of bed and walked out to the front room and settled down in my favorite chair. Once I was curled up, I let the memories of that flight unfold.

  John and I had been next to each other on the flight to Hawaii, and after we had been moved to our rehabilitation quarters, I was surprised to find we were next to each other again—normally officers and enlisted never end up in the same room. I found out later he’d asked we be assigned to the same room as he had enjoyed our talks during the flight so much. Also the fact that his father was a four star general seemed to have some weight in the matter as well.

  Even though he was an officer and had flown a helicopter, somehow we just seemed to hit it off. Johnathan had been cursed with a really bad middle name, Apple. And yes, that is correct, his full name is Johnathan Apple Orchard. He asked to be called with John or Johnnie and never ever to use his middle name. During the flight we had exchanged a lot of info from our lives and one of the things he had mentioned was how it sucked to have such an awful middle name going through grade school and junior high. I thought to myself if the worst thing in his school life was Apple as a middle name, his life wasn’t that difficult.

  During the flight we also discovered we both loved to fish. He had been out to Washington state from his home back east, and had done some trolling for salmon and after he hooked up a couple of big ones, he was hooked, pardon the pun. He told me how he had always dreamed of fishing in Alaska and we made a pact to someday go to Alaska together and go fishing. Sitting in my chair I also remembered the trip when we had fulfilled our promise to each other.

  The little floatplane we had to take up from Vancouver, BC hadn’t instilled me with a lot of faith. I’ve always hated to fly and when you can stretch out your arms and touch both sides of the plane at the same time it’s even worse. Johnnie said he would have rather been in a helicopter than this little puddle jumper, but that idea frightened me even more. He got a good laugh out of my discomfort during the flight.

  The trip was even more than either of us could have asked for. We were on a small island at a fishing camp that was famous for its cuisine. Each meal was better than the last and the box lunch provided when you were out fishing was right up there with the rest of the meals. And then there was the fishing. We released at least three quarters of what we brought in. We kept only the very best and when we got back to the camp they would clean the fish and pack it in ice for our trip back. On the other end of the island there was a cannery and if we wanted, we could have our fish smoked, canned, then packed and shipped back to our homes.

  Those two weeks were the best. One night as we were sitting on the dock at sunset, sipping Scotch and puffing on cigars, everything we had promised ourselves on the flight back from Nam came true. A couple of times Johnathan talked a little about his life and how he was still flying birds but when I asked him where, he looked over at me and laughed. “You know the old saying, if I told you, I’d have to kill you? Well in this case it’s kind of true.” We both laughed but I knew deep down inside he was serious. He did mention he flew for Bell Helicopter but I knew better than to ask him where, or what he did for them.

  Another evening as we were sitting, watching the sun slip behind a mountain in the distance, we were talking about helicopters and he told me, “You know, it’s been said they don’t really fly. They just vibrate so badly the Earth rejects them.” I know from my couple of trips on those birds, I wasn’t too wild about sitting inside a tin can that seemed to be trying to shake itself apart. I laughed at his comment and told him I believed him.

  This was a good night and we started to reminisce. I hadn’t told him much about what I had done for our beloved uncle and I felt I could open up to him a little. I told him about a couple of my missions and he started to tell me a couple of his stories. As we were talking, he told, “By the way Matt, a helicopter pilot will never call them a chopper. They’re either a bird, or a helicopter or something else, but never, ever did we call them a chopper. If you ever hear anybody clai
m they flew and they call it a chopper, they’re full of shit!” I thought it was a really strange thing to say but he was adamant about it.

  As I sat in my chair with Bean curled up in my lap, I could feel my blood run cold. Burt James was supposed to have been a legend. From what Walter had told me, when this dude would sit in a helicopter, his butt became part of the seat, his whole being was part of the bird. Every profession has its secret codes, and Johnnie had let me in on the code. According to him, my flyboy was as fake as a three-dollar bill.

  I remembered now why hearing that little fat dumpy dude in his ill-fitting suit talk about the choppers he had flown in Nam had set my radar off. I wondered who the man was that was impersonating Burt James. I had no idea, but I thought if I wanted my misery with flyboy and his sidekick to be over beyond any shadow of a doubt, I needed to have as many questions answered as I could.

  I continued to pet Bean, staring out across the water towards the canal. I may be slow, but I finally figured it out. I knew what was bothering me about the pair. I was positive now that the pilot was a fake and that made me wonder if McNaulty was a fake as well. I could hear a voice in my head. If there was any doubt about what I should do about the colonel and the fake pilot, listening to the voice inside my brain, I knew what to do.

  It was time to stir the pot!

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  I called the number I had for McNaulty. After the second ring the phone was answered. “Hello.”

  “McNaulty?” I asked.

  “Yeah, who’s this?” The voice on the phone was fuzzy from sleep and I could tell I had woken him up.

  “It’s Preston. Listen, I thought it over and I changed my mind.”

  Long pause. “What do you mean, you changed your mind?” the voice snarled back at me.

  “I want some of the gold. I earned it,” I snarled in return.

  “What? What is this shit, Preston?” McNaulty’s voice was now almost a scream.

  I was really enjoying his fury. “Well first off, there were all the problems with Hollis and me getting shot. Now that’s worth a nice chunk of that gold all by itself. The other thing is I still have access to the diary and I really need something to help me forget about it.” I figured McNaulty was just crooked enough to understand that logic.

  After a lengthy wait, he continued, “So,” another long pause, “how we gonna do this? How do you want to divide it up?”

  “Well, I have a suggestion on how to get started.”

  “What?” McNaulty snapped back.

  “Remember the playing field you met me at? The one next to my old junior high?”

  “Yeah, of course. What about it?”

  “Be there. Nine tonight. Be there or else…” I hung up before he had a chance to reply. My next call was to Sakol. He picked up on the third ring.

  “You talk, I listen.” His normal greeting.

  “It’s Matt.”

  “How things?”

  “Well, now that I ain’t in jail, things are pretty good.” I got to the point of my phone call. “Sakol, I need a really big favor.”

  “What?” His voice had a note of caution in it.

  “I need for you to be in the bushes tonight when I meet a couple of people.”

  “Bushes? Bushes? What are you talking about, Matt? And who are you meeting that you need backup?” There was no funny accent now.

  “A couple of guys from Crescent.” I heard Sakol suck in his breath.

  When Sakol answered he sounded a bit frightened. “I asked you not to mention that subject again. What are you doing, Matt?”

  “That subject has come up again and I need help. I’ll explain after everything is over. I need you and I need for you to be armed.”

  “I’m always armed.”

  “Okay. Here’s the address I need you at.” I proceeded to tell him where the school was and where I wanted him to hide. I finished with, “Please be in position before nine. See you tonight.” I could hear him imploring me not to hang up as I pushed the button to end the call and then I pushed the button again to turn off my phone. There was nobody I wanted to talk to.

  Now it was show time!

  CHAPTER 23

  EXPOSED

  I used the motorcycle again for my meeting with what I now considered the bane of my existence. It was a cold night, but clear, and the stars were shining brightly. This time when I reached the field I continued on across the weed-choked grass and rode until I reached the bottom of the dilapidated stands. Once there, I put the kickstand down and turned off the motor. The field was completely silent except for the sound of the cooling Harley. I looked around to see if I could see anybody, but the hills surrounding the field were all wrapped in the various stages of dusk.

  I proceeded to climb up as high as I could get on the bleachers and once there, I looked around again but I couldn’t see any sign of Sakol. I didn’t know if this was a good sign or not. I really hoped he was out there hiding someplace in the gathering shadows.

  While sitting in the stands waiting for the two of them to show up, for a moment I wished I still smoked. Back in the day when I was over in Nam, we paid a buck seventy for a carton of smokes! Yeah, you got that right, seventeen cents a pack. Almost everybody smoked. I thought a cigarette would have tasted really good about now, or at least helped calm my nerves. But then I remembered how difficult it had been to put down the nasty habit and I decided it was best I not even consider trying one. I had heard too many times how a person had quit and then years later tried one and within a couple of days they were hooked again. I had worked way too hard to throw all that away.

  I watched as a big dark Suburban finally came rolling across the field. When it stopped, the colonel and flyboy got out of the back seat. I found it interesting to see that the colonel was back in full uniform this evening. He started to climb up on the stands when I said, “Stay down there please. I want both of you down there where I can keep an eye on you.”

  The colonel snapped back at me, “What is this shit, Preston?” We had a deal.”

  “Oh yeah. About that deal. I got to thinking it over and after all I’ve been through... No, let me rephrase that, after all you assholes put me through I feel I’m entitled to some of the money. Remember, I was the one who found the key.”

  “How much?” flyboy inquired. I was happy to hear him speak since he was the one I really wanted to talk to.

  “How much? Well, let’s see.” I paused and then looking straight at flyboy, I said, “As I recall, the last time we spoke you told me you didn’t fly anymore. Is that correct?” Flyboy nodded. I asked him again, “Sorry, I missed what you said, did you say you don’t fly anymore?”

  This time he spoke to me, “Nope, like I told you at your place, since I got out of the Army I’ve never been inside a chopper. I had a chance to fly a chopper once, but I passed. I figured I’d flown enough to last the rest of my life.” McNaulty was looking at him wondering why he was having this conversation with me. “But what has that got to do with any of this shit?”

  I remembered when Walter had told me where the Crescent mission had departed from. As an offhanded question, I asked suit, “I always heard Cam Pha was a motherfucker to fly in and out of, what with all the big hills surrounding it. How’d you ever get that big son of a bitch Cobra out of there and then back in with all that stuff on board?”

  Suit was still for a few seconds and then shook his head. “It was a tight spot, but I got choppers out of smaller places than that. The chopper went in and out without too much trouble.” His voice started to turn a little surly. “Preston, what the hell does this have to do with why we’re here? How much do we have to give you to get you to go away?”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up. First off he kept calling them choppers, which according to my old buddy Johnnie, no military helicopter pilot would ever do. Next, a Cobra was a dink
y little helicopter. If the mission had actually been flown by this cat, he would have known he flew a Chinook helicopter or a Huey; the Cobra was a light attack bird.

  And last, I had picked a town that was in the far north of what was at that time North Viet Nam, a town we never, ever had any military people even close to, let alone stationed in. I wondered who this clown was. This man had never been in Nam and I knew he had never flown any kind of a bird. What was the colonel trying to pull? I looked at the colonel and in a calm voice, asked, “Excuse me, who the fuck are you really? And who is this fake pilot?”

  The colonel gave me a startled look and then barked, “What are you talking about? You know who we are. My name is Jacob McNaulty and this is Burt James.”

  I pointed at McNaulty, “Well, you might be who you say you are,” I pointed at his partner, “but that’s not Burt James, helicopter pilot.” I looked at the dumpy little dude. “Who are you really?”

  “I’m Burt James. I served with the colonel in Viet Nam. Why are you asking all these questions now?”

  “Because, I have a good friend who actually flew helicopters. Our military was never anywhere close to Cam Pha. Also, a Cobra is a light attack bird, it only carried two people and would never have been used on the Crescent mission. And, my friend, I know for a fact that no helicopter pilot alive would ever call them choppers. They are birds or planes, but never does a real helicopter pilot call them a chopper. That’s three strikes! You’re out. So, now the question is, bucko, who the fuck are you?”

  The fat little man quickly backed up a couple of steps and pulled a gun from the inside of his coat. First he aimed it at me and when the colonel moved, he turned the gun on him. “Stand still or I’ll shoot you.”