by G S Oldman
~ ~ ~
The first week of April came to an end. The neon clock continued its buzzing refrain. Stitches removed, a fuzz of scar-concealing hair had sprouted, bandages came off and the only impairment of movement was the limping. It was easy to get into jeans and boots and she could walk around outdoors. The weather was decent enough for snake-free mud puddles and cozy foot soaks. On an excursion to town, JHH dug up positive information that Bryan had sustained a minor injury from the flood but none of the others had been hurt. The search for June's body was called off and she was officially a death statistic. Assuming the band had reached Seattle, she ached to let them know she was alive but her warden hadn't yet devised a suitable method of getting that communication out.
In mid-month she took up surly residence in the Flying Fortress; there was a working bathroom in the hangar and she ran a long extension cord for electricity. B-17-the mnemonic code: February 17 = her birthdate. Life in a WWII bomber with a drop light was her belated birthday present. And, as much as she liked JHH, she wanted to keep distance between them. One day he rapped on the fuselage to let her know that a message was sent out; he was certain it would not be detected. The next day she emerged from the plane and found him in the garage working on his Holy Grail. "I have to talk to you," she said.
"One more bolt here." The wrench gave an authoritative click. Wiping hands and sliding protective goggles up, he stood.
"This is killing me." She twisted into the cockpit, dropped onto the seat and covered her face with her hands. "This is really killing me."
"What? Tell me."
"You say you've sent De a message and there's no way to know if she even gets it?"
He sat in the driver bucket and sighed. "I wish there was something I could do to comfort you. I know you miss your friend but this, right now, is the best I can do."
She groaned.
"I have faith in my methods. I just wish I could convey that to you."
"I don't know what your methods are!"
"OK, I'll try to explain." He didn't flinch. "I'm occupying this place with impunity. It's an ironclad agreement. But as soon as I approach the perimeter of the property from within I'm automatically being tracked, and anything that approaches from the outside gets tracked as well. Stopped, if necessary. The fact is, it's my job to both be detected and to avoid detection. An elaborate cat-and-mouse game that may step us up to the next level of weapons security."
"Us?"
"The government. The Pentagon. The Army. The Marines. Whatever. I've shown you my work so you know it's true."
"I wasn't doubting that."
"I know, but you're challenging me."
"And why shouldn't I?"
"Why shouldn't you, indeed." His voice turned cold, calculating. "The first directive of a prisoner of war is to escape."
"Then maybe I'm doing the right thing."
"No. You're processing incomplete information. The queen's knight has moved and a bishop is not going to save you."
"Oh, give me a break!"
"Can't be done. I'm trying to keep you alive and you're plotting a move that will get you killed."
"What makes you think that?"
"It's the psychology of war. You don't know the playing field or see the enemy behind your face." He rose and reached into a cooler. "Soda?"
"No."
"Despite what I said a minute ago, this isn't a game," he said, popping open a ginger ale and returning to the seat. "And considering the situation, we're both stuck fighting the same battle, like it or not. They don't know you're here, which means that one of my newest devices is working. And very well. It got you past the perimeter. I took a big chance doing that. If you had been detected then, it'd be a whole different story. Granted, you would have been easy to explain but you would have been hauled away in an ambulance and held for questioning later. And even then, you could have conveniently died." He took a drink. "No one else would have fared so well, however. I'm sure they've readjusted their scanning protocols and the same result won't happen if I try to take you out of here before it's time."
She sat, fingernails digging into her thighs.
"Beyond the fence I have an identity as an eccentric landowner and I have resources. They have to allow me that. But out there they watch me carefully. A very innocently coded message went out through a secure transmission but it has to go through a lot of levels and bounce off a few walls to reach your friend; it's highly encrypted and there's a couple of interceptions I have to do on this end. If all goes well, in about a week I'll get a coded message that the core message went through."
"That's very fucking complex."
"Yep. And it's the only way to do it." He took another swig. "I've done this on much higher levels with great success. It's my job. I learned from one of the best coding experts there ever was."
"I think I do hate you now."
"You have that right."
"Aren't you risking a lot by telling and showing me all this stuff?"
"Absolutely. I should never have shown you a damn thing."
"So why did you?"
"You really wanna know?"
"Yes."
"OK. I spend most of my time out here alone and I occasionally need to see if my gut feelings are working properly. My parents are gone; the rest of my family doesn't count, or care, and I no longer have any close friends. And with all I've gone through with things I haven't told you about, it bothers me to think I can't share something with someone. Call it mutiny and you've hit a nail on the head. Just don't tell anyone." Another swig. "And, frankly, I have rather enjoyed your company."
June shook her head and said, "You're a fool." She twisted up from the seat and, one sneaker squeaking loudly on the floor, marched out.
"Yes, I am the arch king of fools," he spoke to no one.
XXVI
"Life itself is the proper binge."
-Julia Child
A week later he rapped on the fuselage. With no guarantees, indications were that the code worked and the message went through. She lowered herself through the crew hatch and admitted she almost struck out one night to take her chances with the snakes and the darkness. "That would have been counterproductive," he told her. "At least in the river you had a chance."
"But look where it got me."
"Listen, June, we need to talk. How 'bout I put some coffee on and you come to the house in ten, fifteen minutes?"
"Sure."
The day was overcast and cool. She sat in the porch lounger with a sweatshirt draped over her. He came forth with two steaming cups o joe and sat beside her. "I think I can get you out of here at the very end of May. I've done some modifications to the stealth box and there's a full test run pending that I can take advantage of to confuse them, aaannd what better way to conceal something than put it right out in the open?"
"That's over a month away."
"It's the best window of opportunity. I need to cover both our asses on this, remember? But I'm gonna need your help on this."
"What kind of help?"
"Tomorrow. In the gizmo room. I've been working on something that?well?I need to conduct an experiment. I think I can make you disappear without relying solely on the device that made you disappear the first time. Are you game?"
"OK. What time?"
"When you get up. Will you be sticking around for dinner tonight? I'd like that."
"Maybe."
"June, you've been very hostile lately. I hope you realize I went way out on a limb to get that message out for you. For that matter, I took a huge risk bringing you clothes and Oreos."
Silence.
"I may be a fool to care, but I like to think my efforts are somewhat appreciated."
She rubbed her forehead. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to be ungrateful but you gotta understand. I've felt so helpless about everything. I'm wrestling with my sanity every day."
"I understand that more than you can imagine."
She nodded. As he rose, she reached out and grabbed his wrist. "If you need any help in the kitchen?"
That night she slept in the house.