The Homecoming

by Alan Russell

  “I’m thinking you must be Greek,” said Cheever.

  Congressman Duncan Pierce was standing on his doorstep bearing gifts. His arms were laden with food and drink.

  “You’re probably right,” he said. “But if Eleanor had her way, I’d be even more Greek. She wanted me to bring you everything but the kitchen sink, but I told her I wasn’t going to deliver any more than I could carry.”

  “Shall we lighten your load,” said Cheever, “and open one of those bottles of wine?”

  “By all means,” said Duncan.

  It looked as if Eleanor had been cooking for days. Duncan filled Cheever’s table with casseroles, appetizers, homemade bread, and desserts.

  “Rachel is coming over later,” said Cheever. “I better call and tell her not to bring any food.”

  “I’ll open the wine,” said Duncan. “Any preference?”

  “Only that it be either red or white,” he said.

  Cheever made his call, talked briefly with Rachel, and then found that Duncan had poured some merlot in his absence. The two men raised their glasses, and Duncan said, “To what Edgar Mitchell wanted to say to all politicians when he walked on the moon in 1974.”

  “And what did he want to say?”

  “He said he wanted to grab us by the scruff of our necks, force us to look at the earth from the vantage point of a quarter of a million miles away, and tell us, ‘Look at that, you son of a bitch.’”

  “So the toast is ‘Look at that, you son of a bitch’?”

  “It is.”

  “I can drink to that,” said Cheever, and the two men clinked glasses.

  “Anyone who has seen that view,” said Duncan, “has said it’s life changing. That perspective, I am told, puts everything in perspective.”

  The men sipped their wine thoughtfully.

  “In 1962, President Kennedy challenged our country in his ‘We choose to go to the moon’ speech,” said Duncan. “Like Kennedy said, we made that choice not because it was easy, but because it was hard.

  “Back then our country had a purpose; we had a goal that united us. Nowadays, more than at any other time in history, I’m convinced the world also needs a goal that unites every race, creed, and color. We need another great dream. The human race needs a reason to look up instead of down. I decided that’s my mission, and what I’ll work to try and bring about.”

  “The stars are ours?”

  “They’re something to aim for.”

  “Big target,” said Cheever.

  “None bigger,” said Duncan. “I came here to tell you that, and a few more things besides. Can we talk freely, with everything off the record?”

  “Let’s adjourn to the living room,” said Cheever. “It can serve as the confessional.”

  Duncan followed Cheever; both took seats in easy chairs that were comfortable, if mismatched.

  “Here’s the catch-22 of what I’m about to tell you,” said Duncan. “It’s top secret, and yet it’s unofficial. I’m told it’s true, and yet I can’t corroborate it. And even though I am telling you this, I have to qualify every word so that you can’t say you heard it from me.”

  “Is this the part where one of us turns into a cockroach?” said Cheever.

  “I’m a lawyer,” said Duncan. “There are those who would say that already happened to me. And yet I’d like to hide behind the shield of my profession and make this conversation between us privileged.”

  “You mean this nonconversation that didn’t take place?” asked Cheever.

  “That very one.”

  “That’s fine by me.”

  Duncan swirled his wine around in the glass, looking at it and thinking how to begin. Finally, he said, “When Stella was caught on camera telling the world about the Travelers, I found myself in a very difficult position. My inclination was to defend my daughter, but that was before certain individuals convinced me it would be in her best interests, as well as the country’s, to imply that she was unbalanced. That was also the best way, I was told, to keep her off the Chinese intelligence radar.

  “My reaction to hearing that, I am sure, was the same as yours. Why in the hell would Chinese intelligence be interested in my daughter? That’s when I was told the story of a Chinese youth named Li Jie Zhang. Seven years ago Zhang disappeared in circumstances similar to Stella’s. Zhang, however, only went missing for one year. He returned to his home in China, where he found his mother on her deathbed.”

  Cheever tried to keep his expression neutral, but he couldn’t help but remember how Stella had come to the conclusion that all the children who went with the Travelers would have otherwise been doomed to die an early death. There had even been a suspect in LeRon Rivers’s death—a con with a record who had been seen talking with him the day before he died.

  The congressman continued his story. “After his mother died, Zhang was sent to an orphanage. There was no family to take Zhang in. His father had died when he was a baby, and there were no close relatives to adopt him.

  “Zhang didn’t much like being in the orphanage, and those running it were apparently not enamored with him. The staff was of the opinion that Zhang was mentally ill because of all the strange stories he told. Among those stories was that during his year away, he had been traveling with extraterrestrials.

  “The background I have is sketchy here, but apparently American intelligence was on the lookout for anyone with a profile like Zhang’s. Why that is, I don’t know, but I can say that surreptitious arrangements were made for Zhang to be adopted in the United States.

  “During his almost five years here, Zhang has thrived, although he goes by a different name now. Chronologically, he is a youth; in the field of theoretical physics, he is a giant.”

  “Have you talked with him?” asked Cheever.

  Duncan shook his head. “His adoptive parents are trying to help him lead a normal life.”

  “Am I to infer from your story that American intelligence believes that seven years ago, a number of children were taken from this planet by extraterrestrials known as the Travelers?”

  “I wish it was as easy as that,” said Duncan. “Intelligence confirms what they call a Pied Piper effect. They say over a short period of time, at least a dozen children from around the planet vanished, and to date, two of those children have returned.

  “You would think a congressman would be able to learn more than that, but that’s as much as I can vouch for. There is plenty in the way of speculation as to why and where they went, but there seems to be more disinformation than there are facts. Under any microscope, truth and fiction blur.”

  “That sounds convenient,” said Cheever.

  “I suppose it does.”

  “And I’m just supposed to accept it?”

  “I’m sure that’s what the very few people in our intelligence community who know about Zhang would prefer. As for me, I’m glad you won’t accept it.”

  “What does Stella say about all this?” asked Cheever. “Does she want to talk to Zhang?”

  “She hasn’t expressed any interest in doing that,” said Duncan, “but I have this sneaking feeling that they’ve already been in communication.”

  “I want to question her,” said Cheever, “before she decides to swim off.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. She told me that even had Wilkerson not attacked Luke, she would have turned back. The farther from shore she swam, the more convinced she was that she was making a mistake.”

  “Why?” asked Cheever.

  “Don’t you want to hear that answer from her?”

  Cheever thought about it. “I suppose so,” he said.

  But he knew what had brought Stella back. Love had prevented her from leaving. Even the lure of the universe hadn’t changed her mind.

  “Is she at Luke’s side now?” he asked.

  “That was the only thing that kept her from joining me here,” said Duncan. “She’s stayed with him all this time. The doctors are talking about dischargi
ng Luke as soon as the day after tomorrow. They say his recovery is miraculous.”

  “In my line of work, we’re not quick to credit miracles,” said Cheever, “but I’m beginning to think Einstein had it right when he said, ‘The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious.’”

  Cheever saw his unexpected guest to his car. He waved to Duncan as he drove off.

  Rachel would be along any minute now. She was the one who had clued him into what Einstein had said. He was glad she’d offered him the dispensation that not everything needed an answer. Sometimes, he was coming to believe, it was enough to take part in the ride and marvel.

  Cheever looked up to the moon. The full moon was past, but the satellite still loomed large in the night. He knew the moon was almost a quarter of a million miles away, but tonight it felt as close as it had ever been.

  Tonight it almost felt within reach.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  It has been about fifteen years since I first came up with the idea for The Homecoming. Long ago I wrote up an outline and a few chapters, and then I let the idea gestate. Now and again I went on some event or trip in hopes of jump-starting the book. I visited the Salton Sea, and participated in a naval homecoming that took place in Coronado. I thought about my characters and fleshed out the book.

  The more I thought about the appropriate devil’s advocate for this novel, the more I began to consider bringing back Detective Orson Cheever. I first introduced Cheever in my novel Multiple Wounds. To date, I believe Multiple Wounds is the most ambitious of all my novels. It’s a psychological thriller that incorporates mythology, murder, and mayhem, and in the center of that storm is Cheever. Because I was allowed to work with San Diego Police Department’s Homicide Team IV, my Cheever character became a special creation, and The Homecoming allowed me the opportunity to reintroduce him. In the first book, Cheever had to deal with goddesses (or at least the manifestation of them); in this book, he is confronting the notion of extraterrestrials. I never make it easy on the poor guy, but he is a cop who loves the challenge.

  I suppose I am the same way. The Homecoming was not an easy book to write. I have written classic whodunits, with carefully placed red herrings and the mystery neatly tied up in the end. This wasn’t one of those books. I know some readers might not like certain ambiguities in this novel, but I would say that there are some cases, just like life itself, that defy easy explanation.

  The mystery genre is broad and encompasses many subgenres. Still, even within the genre, typically you are dealing with murder or multiple murders. I am fortunate that my publisher, Thomas & Mercer, and my editors there, have never required me to have a murder in my mysteries. To my thinking, you can have an intriguing mystery without a body. After all, a mystery is an investigation into something. In my novels St. Nick and The Homecoming, I eschewed murder as the focal point of the books, and am appreciative my publisher allowed me that latitude.

  I was a boy when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon on July 20, 1969. It was well past my bedtime when I watched Armstrong take his “giant leap for mankind” along with the rest of my family. I have had many wonderful experiences in my lifetime, but nothing has ever grabbed me like Armstrong’s moon walk. In the years since, I can’t think of how many times I have looked up at the moon and thought with incredulity: We have walked there.

  Despite all the technological advances over the last fifty years, there is nothing that tells the universe that “we have arrived” more than humanity’s footprints on the moon. Is it any wonder that I wanted to write a mystery and sprinkle it with a pinch or two of stardust?

  Thank you for taking the journey with me.

  —Alan Russell

  June 14, 2017

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  When you write about cops, it’s always nice to have friends in law enforcement looking over your shoulder, making sure you get it right. Dave Putnam was a deputy sheriff in Southern California for thirty years and was kind enough to answer all my questions. These days, Dave has hung up his badge and has become an accomplished writer. Luckily, he still carves out time to answer lots of questions from writers like me.

  Once again, the “usual suspects” were there for me, seeing to the many stages of publication that come with the writing of a book: Gracie, Cynthia, and Caitlin. As I wrote this novel, my triumvirate of strong women became a quartet with the addition of Jessica. I look forward to the day when more women get involved in politics and take over the running of this country. If those future leaders are anything like my quartet, the country will be in great hands.

  I’d also like to thank my readers. I’m glad you’ve allowed me to explore so many themes. You’ve continued to read my novels while I’ve seemingly run the gamut of crime fiction, PI novels, police procedurals, capers, comedic mysteries, psychological thrillers, and suspense. Your indulgence has enabled me to be a professional writer for the past three decades.

  Readers who would like to contact me can go to my website at www.alanrussell.net, “like” me on Facebook at AlanRussellMysteryAuthor, or write to me at alanrussellauthor@gmail.com.

  Thank you!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo ©2012 Stathis Orphanos

  Critical acclaim has greeted bestselling author Alan Russell’s novels from coast to coast. Publishers Weekly calls him “one of the best writers in the mystery field today.” The New York Times says, “He has a gift for dialogue,” while the Los Angeles Times calls him a “crime fiction rara avis.” Russell’s novels have ranged from whodunits to comedic capers to suspense and have been nominated for most of the major awards in crime fiction. He has been awarded a Lefty, a Critics’ Choice Award, and the Odin Award for Lifetime Achievement from the San Diego Writers and Editors Guild. A California native, Russell is a former collegiate basketball player who nowadays plays under the rim. The proud father of three children, Russell resides with his wife in Southern California.