by Mari Collier
The General dialed the operator. “Connect me to the Pentagon, please.”
Creighton's mouth dropped. “Didn't you hear me?” He had his revolver on Wesley.
Wesley stood staring at him, the telephone held firmly to his ear. “Mister, I defy you to shoot me or anyone else in this room. I will still be dying for the freedoms of my country.”
“You're in cahoots with a gunrunner.” Creighton was desperate to control the situation. Others in the room were edging away, but his men had all the exits blocked.
Wesley turned his back on him. “This is General MacDonald. Connect me with my office.” There was a slight pause.
“Delores, get in touch with the State Department and tell them that the FBI are at the MacDonald Lodge trying to arrest us all. I need someone to tell them to back off.” He slammed the telephone back into the cradle, turned, and faced them.
“Well, it's your move.”
“General, someone in this room knows where Red O'Neal and Margareatha Andresen are. They were here. We have not observed them leaving.”
Silence hung over the room. “You see, even you won't admit to knowing them.”
“I have never met either of them.”
Creighton took a deep breath. “Are you claiming you have never met a tall, well-built red-haired woman on this property?”
“I am. I am not claiming that for anyone else other than my wife and family. Frankly, I don't believe you are able to produce one bit of evidence that anyone in this room is engaged in illegal activities.”
Creighton turned to face Brianna. “How often was your mother with O'Neal?”
“She was never “with” him. He came to visit us on the ranch because he's her half-brother. We never knew where he was or when he would arrive. Sometimes years would go by.”
Walter wondered what his daughter thought about New York after living on a ranch. It did not occur to him that he had just thought of her as his daughter.
“And, of course, he brought you all sorts of things.” Creighton's voice was a sneer. “Or else he'd ask for a place to hide. Isn't that correct? Your mother would store illegal guns and South American artifacts there. Do you deny that?”
Brianna looked at him with distaste. “Uncle Red never kept anything there but his suitcase. Once he brought me a pony, and he certainly never hid anywhere. He would go into town even if we didn't.”
“That's enough.” Wesley was disgusted. “I'm not even sure how Miss Andresen or her mother are related to our side of the family, but if they are, this young lady will have a lawyer before she answers another question.”
Creighton ignored him, but for some reason his throat tightened. He turned back to the group. Why wouldn't words come out of his mouth? The General was glaring at him. Was he lying? He didn't have any reason to arrest the General. The others were looking at them with the distaste of someone looking at lower, ugly creations. Finally, the words came.
“The FBI doesn't need to provide a lawyer during an investigation. You, General, must be aware of that.”
It did not matter to Wesley that Creighton was correct. Wesley was the grandchild that idolized his “Pawpaw” and wanted to emulate him. To his parents dismay, he had found any excuse he could to visit his grandfather and grandmother in Texas. The tales of early Texas and his great-grandfather's rescue of his great-grandmother and other exploits as a scout in the Second Cavalry and later with the Eighth U.S. Infantry during the Civil War had inspired his own application to West Point. He considered the military as a way to uphold the visions of those long-ago-Western ideals. Wesley had become the patriarch of the family. They were his responsibility.
“Miss Andresen will have a lawyer or she shall not go with you. She will also have the opportunity to dress in proper attire.”
Creighton ignored the dictum. “We have reason to believe that your grandfather interfered with our investigation. That's obstructing justice. Where is he?”
“You have taken leave of your senses. Grandfather would be almost 100 years old if he were still alive.”
“If he is dead, where is he buried? Frankly, somehow both he and his father have avoided death and the grave.”
All eyes were staring at him like an insane person. Several shrugged their shoulders and amused contempt settled on Wesley's face.
“There's one thing wrong with your premise. They are not biologically related. Pawpaw was adopted. MacDonald is our name because a big man with a big heart took in a half-starved vagabond.”
Creighton felt like a blow had hit his stomach. All these years wasted looking for records without one of the crucial surnames. Before he could speak the telephone rang. Creighton nodded at Bailey to take it and motioned the rest to be silent.
“MacDonald Lodge, Bailey speaking.” There was a pause. “Uh, yes sir, right here, sir.” He held the telephone towards Creighton. “It's for you, sir.” The awe in his voice was unmistakable.
Creighton frowned and stepped to the desk. “Creighton here.” The voice of cold fury in his ear shook him to his core.
“Yes, sir, we'll leave immediately.” He replaced the telephone, his face an ashen color.
“I don't know how you accomplished that, General, but you have your wish. We'll be leaving. If any of you try to leave the country, believe me, I will and can stop that.” He motioned to his men to follow him.
Creighton was angrier than he had ever been in his life. Never had he been so thwarted in an investigation. Who had that kind of power over the old man? No one but the President his mind told him. This United Nations thing couldn't be that important could it?
Epilogue
“Any regrets, laddie?”
Lorenz was standing by the silver-colored panel that functioned as a screen looking out into the blackness of space. “A few, Papa, but right now Earth can't be anymore alien than Thalia. The prairies are fenced little squares, the longhorns are gone, and Antoinette is gone. There's nothing left of the life I once knew. I am an old man by Earth's reckoning, but my body is young.”
MacDonald looked at his son lounging against the rail. Physically Lorenz was in great shape, but somehow the grieving for Antoinette had not stopped. Had Lorenz even bothered to spend time with another female? He doubted it. The man was a complete contradiction. He wondered if Thalia was ready for Lorenz.
Lorenz turned his back to the surrounding blackness. “Now that Toma's aboard, how long do y'all reckon this will take?”
“Oh a good three to five years, but more like a little over three or so before we land at the Justine Refuge. Mither tis quite good at mapping the way through the stars. She kens when tis the time to use a warp aisle and how far it takes us. I find I seem to have a facility for it also. Mayhap ye twill discover the same for yereself.”
Lorenz shrugged and then that smile broke out: the smile that was Anna's. “At least this time y'all don't have to threaten to hogtie me and drag me all the way home.”
The End
About the Author
Mari Collier was born on a farm in Iowa, and has lived in Arizona, Washington, and Southern California. She and her husband, Lanny, met in high school and were married for forty-five years. She is Co-Coordinator of the Desert Writers Guild of Twentynine Palms and serves on the Board of Directors for the Twentynine Palms Historical Society. She has worked as a collector, bookkeeper, receptionist, and Advanced Super Agent for Nintendo of America. Several of her short stories have appeared in print and electronically, plus three anthologies. Twisted Tales From The Desert, Twisted Tales From The Northwest, and Twisted Tales From The Universe. Earthbound is the first of the Chronicles of the Maca series.
Author Contact Information
Website: http://www.maricollier.com
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