Brown, Dale - Dreamland 04
Page 34
“I’m not quitting because of that.” His voice wasn’t entirely convincing.
“I know it was—is—difficult,” said Dog. “For all of us, but you especially.”
Danny nodded. “It is. But I have an opportunity. It has nothing to do with Powder.”
“What kind of opportunity?”
“An election. Some people in New York want me to run for Congress. They think I can get the nomination. My wife’s pretty involved.”
“Congress? Really? Jesus—great,” said Dog sincerely. “Great. That is great.”
“You think so?”
“You’d be a hell of a Congressman—if you can deal with the bullshit.”
Danny smiled. Still, it was a nervous smile.
“What’s your timetable?” asked Dog.
“I’m not sure yet. I-I just decided this. Couple of months, I guess. The election isn’t until next year, but I’d need time to get around and meet people, raise money.”
The colonel nodded. “There is something I need you to do, or at least get a start on.”
“What’s that?”
Dog hesitated. “The disc you picked up from Captain Dolk—it’s a record of all the radar contacts.”
“Uh-huh?”
“There was a Flighthawk profile on the disk that we can’t explain.”
“I’m not following, Colonel.”
“Well, the scientists are still analyzing it.”
Dog heard footsteps coming down the hall. He took Danny down another corridor, turning and finding an even more secluded corridor.
“It looks like, or it may be, that someone was flying another Flighthawk. Not one of ours,” Dog told Danny.
“A Flighthawk?”
“Either a clone or something very, very similar. Some of the scientists think it’s just a reflection or a problem in the equipment; it’s at long range and the disc itself isn’t in the best shape, but Dr. Rubeo is convinced. That’s pretty convincing in and of itself. Given Dreamland’s history,” added Dog, “this will require thorough investigation.”
“If someone else has a Flighthawk,” said Danny, “they stole the technology from us.”
“Not necessarily,” said Dog. “Several countries have unmanned vehicle programs in the works. But we have to rile that out. Absolutely.”
“Agreed.”
“Don’t let this stand in your way,” Dog told him. “If there was a security breach, it would’ve been earlier than your assignment here. It’s no reflection on you. It wouldn’t have been on your watch. You should run for Congress. Do it.”
Danny nodded, then turned away. Dog watched him until he disappeared around the corner.
He’d make a damn fine Congressman. He’d have Dog’s vote, no hesitation.
Maybe he shouldn’t have told him at all. Let him start the paperwork, at least.
Dog was preoccupied second-guessing himself and missed Breanna’s door. As he turned back, he heard her laugh, then heard another woman’s voice as he entered.
A vaguely familiar, vaguely enticing voice.
“How are you, Tecumseh?” said his ex-wife, standing at their daughter’s bedside.
“I’m fine, Karen,” he said, letting the door close behind him.
“So what do you think of the news?” she added. She fingered her stethoscope—she was a doctor on staff, and had arranged for Breanna to be admitted here.
“What news?”
“I just got an offer as chief of the medical staff at St. Simon’s out in Las Vegas. We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.” She curled her hand around his. “Maybe we can get Bree and her husband working on a new addition. What do you say?”
Dog shot a glance at Breanna. He thought he might actually have spotted fear in her eyes for the first time.
“Isn’t that a great idea?” said Karen.
“Peachy,” said Dog, glancing toward his daughter and trying to smile.
Medical Facility, Barbers Point NAS, Hawaii
August 31, 1997, 1836 local
“Major Stockard?”
Zen spun his wheelchair around so quickly that he nearly knocker over the doctor.
“I’m Stockard.”
“Hi, I’m Dr. Johnson. You wanted to see Mr. Stoner?”
“I’ve been waiting nearly two hours now.”
“Relax, Major,” said the Navy doctor. “He’s just regaining consciousness. We have him on painkillers, but he really just needs rest. He has some deep bruises, the concussion, and he’s very dehydrated, but he should be walking around tomorrow.”
As the Doctor said the word walking, he glanced at Zen’s wheelchair and turned red, embarrassed. Zen was so used to that sort of reaction—and so intent on seeing Stoner—that he hardly noticed, instead pushing down the hall toward the room. He pivoted precisely as he reached the doorway and pushed in, leaning over to lift the kick-stop on the door and shut it behind him.
“Hello,” said Stoner from the bed.
“She’s mine, Stoner,” he told him. “Don’t fuck with me. You got that?”
“What?”
“I saw you kiss Breanna in the raft. I was watching through the UMB feed. I’m the one who got the Osprey there.”
“Zen?” Stoner blinked his eyes.
“I’ll fight for her. I will.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” said Stoner.
Zen wheeled backward a half stroke. His anger balanced on the edge of a knife blade. He knew what he had seen.
“Is Bree all right?” Stoner asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where is she?”
“They moved her over to Bright Memorial. Her mother’s a doctor there. She’ll be fine. She was sleeping when I left.”
Stoner nodded. “My head feels like shit.”
Zen stared at him. If Stoner was looking for sympathy, he wasn’t going to get it from him.
“Seriously, man, there’s nothing between me and Breanna. I mean, she saved my life. And maybe I saved her. We tied ourselves together so we’d stay in the raft. Ferris—we lost him.”
Zen took a deep breath, letting his body lean forward slightly in the wheelchair. Why was it Stoner who had lived? Why couldn’t it have been Ferris? Or Fentress? The poor kid, he was just getting the hang of the Flighthawks, just learning his damn job.
Why had anyone had to die? So the Indians and Chinese wouldn’t blow themselves and half the world to kingdom come?
Yes, thought Zen. That’s what it came down to. Their deaths meant millions of innocent people would live. it was their job, and their duty. The men would have said so themselves.
And yet, it didn’t seem fair at all. If Bree had been on of the ones to die, he’d have been inconsolable.
“You got the helicopter there?” Stoner asked. “The one that picked us up?”
“It was an Osprey,” said Zen.
“Thanks. We owe you a big one. You saved us.”
Zen stared at him. He had seen what’d he’d seen. But what was it—their bodies tied together, their cheeks close?
Maybe they hadn’t kissed. He trusted Bree more than that, didn’t he?
“You’re welcomed,” Zen said.
By the time Zen made his way back to Breanna’s hospital room, the others had left and she was sleeping again. He pulled his wheelchair up alongside her bed and leaned back, thinking at first that he would watch her TV, but then deciding that might wake her. He watched her sleep for a while, thinking she’d of a similar vigil he’d kept some months back, after she’d managed to crash-land an EB-52 that had lost its tail.
Nothing harder than waiting in a hospital room, he’d thought then, but now he knew there were many harder things indeed. He thought of what she must have felt those long months after his accident, the one that had cost him his legs—the one that had cost her much of her hope for their lives. She’d stuck with him through that, even when he didn’t want her to, even when he didn’t know if he could stick with it himself.
It was his own security he should fear, his doubts about himself, not her. He shouldn’t doubt her at all. She was the one person in the world who’d had faith, who didn’t treat him like a gimp, whose face didn’t turn red when she caught sight of his wheelchair.
Ashamed, Zen reached his hand over and stroked her fingers.
“Hello,” she mumbled, opening her left eye and then her right.
“Hey. About time you woke up. You been sleeping the whole day.”
“I woke up and you weren’t here.”
“You did?”
“Yes, I did. Where were you?”
“I went over to see Stoner. He’s at the Navy air base. I had a hell of time bumming a ride.”
“How is he?”
“Looks like you.”
“Oh, thanks.” She pushed up on her elbows; Zen reached over and slid her pillow, then realized he could adjust her bed by the control. He fiddled with it, getting her to about a thirty-degree angle.
“My dad was here, and Danny,” said Breanna. “My mom. Did you meet her?”
Zen shook his head. “I talked to her on the phone twice. She didn’t remember anything I told her. Pretty dizzy for a doctor.”
Breanna smiled weakly. “That’s my mom. Opposite of my dad.”
“Yeah.”
“I saw Chris die. I couldn’t save him.”
“You couldn’t.”
“Collins and Dolk. They’re gone too.”
Zen took her hand.
“And Curly’s missing. Fentress.” Her eyes welled up, but as she started to cry she laughed too. “Remember all your nickname for him?”
“I was a bastard to the poor kid.”
“You made him a good pilot. I couldn’t save them, Jeff. I tried. I did.”
“Sometimes you can’t.” Zen leaned over and kissed her. Breanna’s lips were warm, but the exposure to the salt water made them feel like sandpaper, and he could see her wince even though he barely brushed against them.
“Sorry,” he told her.
“It’s okay, babe.” She patted his hand.
“Listen, I saw you and Stoner in the raft,” he said. “I saw you and two tangled together. I thought—look, I’m an asshole, but I thought you were in love with him or something. Last fling on earth. I went a little crazy.”
Pain creased her face.
“I know you’re not in love with him or anything,” he said. “And that you didn’t. I’m sorry. It was just the idea of losing you, you know? I’m sorry.”
“That’s good, baby,” she said, drifting back toward sleep. “You know I love you.”
“I do,” he said.
Her eyes closed. Zen sat back in his wheelchair, his hand still gripping hers. Exhausted by the last few days, he slipped off to sleep as well.