Night Flight

by McKenna, Lindsay

  The dinner bell rang and Megan found herself seated to the left of Dalton, a place of honor. Hamilton was on his right. Grace sat at the other end of the Queen Anne cherry table with the Stangs. Through the first course of broccoli-and-cheese soup, Megan kept a low profile. Hamilton appeared to be in good graces with Dalton, the two men exchanging old Air Force stories. The salad arrived, and Megan watched as Melody adroitly entered the decidedly male conversation, turning it instead to banking and her father’s massive holdings in California. Megan admired Melody’s assertiveness and confidence. There weren’t many Air Force wives who would interrupt and deftly manipulate the situation as she had. Dalton appeared suitably impressed with Melody’s wit, charm and intelligence. So was Megan.

  When the beef Wellington arrived, Dalton turned his attention to Megan.

  “So, what have you been up to, young lady? I know Steve was terribly proud of your grades at Ohio State.”

  “What kind of grades did you get?” Melody inquired sweetly with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “I graduated with a 4.0, Mrs. Stang.”

  “Oh…I see.”

  Chuckling, Dalton cut into his thick, juicy portion of beef Wellington with relish. “Melody, this little red-haired gal is the spitting image of her father. She’s feisty, goal-oriented and knows what she wants out of life. Don’t let those freckles she wears fool you.”

  Jack smiled sickly, losing his appetite. Melody meekly pushed the meat around on the china plate trimmed in gold.

  “Speaking of goals, General,” Megan said, waiting for just the right opening, “I do have one in mind that I’d like to share with you and Mr. Hamilton. I’d like your feedback on it.”

  Dalton’s thick gray brows rose. “Oh? I know how devoted you are to teaching, so this must be something special, Megan.”

  “It is, sir.” Megan glanced across at Hamilton’s round face. At sixty, he was plump and flaccid, but that didn’t take away from his alert dark eyes. “I want you to know that teaching is more than just a job to me. It’s a mission.”

  Dalton grinned. “I hear Steve Roberts talking.”

  “And like him, I crusade for what I believe in.” Megan took a deep breath, her hands still over her plate of barely eaten food. For the next five minutes, she outlined her plan to the two men. Internally, she held her breath, and watched their faces carefully for reaction after the explanation.

  “I like the idea, don’t you, Jake?”

  Hamilton nodded. “It sounds refreshing. How long ago was this proposal submitted, Megan?”

  “Over a month ago, Mr. Hamilton.” Megan wondered if he were aware that Jamison was trying to get her fired. He certainly didn’t act as if he knew. Some principals let the running of school be handled by their assistant, while they handled more political matters. She wasn’t going to bring it up.

  “You know how antsy those children get at that age, Jake,” Grace said, enthused. “Why, I think Megan’s plan has merit, don’t you?”

  Jake nodded. “Yes, yes, I do. I’ll see that Brad has a copy of it on my desk tomorrow morning.”

  Megan smiled. “Wonderful, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “Now, I can’t promise you anything.”

  “I understand that.”

  Dalton snorted. “With Megan’s credentials and her father’s name behind her, I’m sure the people in the Pentagon won’t disapprove of her idea. At least, for a trial run.”

  Inwardly, Megan wanted to jump up and down for joy. She knew Dalton was going to back her, and that Hamilton wasn’t going to dispute his decision. “Well,” she said breathlessly, “we could use my class for a model this year. I’m sure we’d get enough data to see if it warranted further exploration.”

  “Not only is Megan bright,” George told Hamilton conspiratorially, “but she’s reasonable. A good combination. You’re just like your father, Megan. Damn, but he’d be proud of you…. And I am, too. I think your influence here at Edwards will reap nothing but positive benefits for our men.”

  “I’m doing it for the children,” Megan said quietly.

  On the way out the door later that night, Melody caught up with Megan and gripped her arm. She managed a slight smile.

  “Are we still on for next Saturday’s luncheon, Megan?”

  Megan saw the worry in the woman’s eyes. “Yes, of course.”

  Melody released her. “Good…”

  Hamilton came up along side of Megan. “I was impressed with your presentation on the outdoor education idea, Megan. You have my promise that it will take priority.”

  “Thanks,” she said, suddenly wanting to get away from all of them. Power games were something she didn’t enjoy participating in. Her father had drilled it into her early on, that it was a way of life in the Air Force. She was now seeing it firsthand. As she got in her Toyota, her hand shook as she placed the key in the ignition. Her stomach was knotted like a huge fist, but more than anything else, she wanted to talk to Sam.

  No, it was more than just talking with him. She’d ran the gauntlet this evening by herself. If Sam had been here, his silent support, his belief in her, would have helped her feel more secure about her actions. Pulling away from the house, Megan glanced up at the starry night.

  “Eject, Eject, Eject!” The words were torn from Holt as he jerked upright in his bed. With a groan, he realized the same nightmare had stalked him again. Rubbing his sweaty face, he glanced over at the luminous dials of the clock on the bed, stand: 3:00 a.m. Same time, same dream. The crash had occurred at that time.

  Trembling, he sat on the edge of the bed, fingers dug into the mattress, and stared at the darkened wall. Bits and pieces of the killing crash that took Russ’s life fled before his eyes. On purpose, Holt centered on Megan, and his breathing began to steady. It was Monday morning, and he’d be flying the Eagle at 8:00 a.m. Less than five hours away. At least it wasn’t raining.

  “Dammit,” Holt muttered, getting to his feet. He needed the cooling effect of a shower to bring him back into the present. The fear sitting in his belly was real, and he rubbed his hand across that area, trying to erase it. The fear remained. Ever since he’d blown the test with Lauren during the rain, Sam had felt that knot of fear growing larger each time he flew. Nothing got rid of it except to focus entirely on Megan, her face, her soft, willing lips and his need for her in all ways.

  Turning on the bathroom light, Holt winced, cursing because it hurt his eyes. Turning on the shower, he remembered the fear he’d seen in Megan’s eyes when he told her he’d be flying today and Friday. Maybe she’d picked up on his fear. Unsure, Sam stripped out of the drawstring pajamas and stepped into the icy cold water. As he savagely rubbed his face, Holt hoped that Stang wasn’t going to needle him this morning. He wasn’t up for it.

  Jack lay in wait for Holt, idly drumming his fingers on his desk. Melody did the same thing when she was getting ready to launch an offensive at someone, he mused. Originally, it had been her habit, but over the years he’d picked it up from her by osmosis. Funny how in a good marriage, both partners traded little idiosyncrasies with one another, each becoming more like the other.

  Design was quiet and intense this morning. At 6:00 a.m., everyone was here, civilian and military alike, except for Sam. He was late—again. A good sign. The flight today had the new brake system installed on the F-15. Dammit, he should have gotten this test today, not Holt. Anything new ought to be flown by the chief test pilot first, not by a rookie backup. Stang contained his frustration and anger and waited for Holt to enter the room. Today, he’d brought doughnuts for everyone. Jack wasn’t about to be upstaged by him again.

  Merrill looked grouchy, speaking in monosyllables to those who dared go over to his desk to consult him on the upcoming test. Unusual for him, Jack thought, making a note to jot that observation down, before the end of the day. Something was definitely going wrong at home for him. He was glad Becky had called Melody weeks before, letting the cat out of the bag about how she feared Curt fl
ying. From then on, those weekly phone calls from Melody to Merrill’s wife were keeping things on edge between husband and wife. Good. He didn’t need Curt at a hundred percent, or he’d be just as good as Holt. And Holt posed enough of a problem in the ratings for him.

  Major Porter was more tense than usual, too. Stang smiled broadly to himself. Melody had gotten one of the cocktail waitresses at the O Club to spread word that her fiancé was having a hot and heavy affair with a groupie. Lauren had obviously gotten wind of it. Restless because Holt still hadn’t shown up, Jack got to his feet, sauntering over to her desk, where she was working at the computer terminal.

  “Hey, I heard on the grapevine last night that your fiancé was making eyes at Liza Cooper,” he remarked, coming to a halt and leaning negligently against the desk. Stang grinned to himself when Lauren’s head jerked up, her eyes blazing.

  “Captain, I don’t indulge in gossip. And, I’m busy. Now if you don’t mind—”

  “Easy, Major. It’s just that this Liza is a blond bombshell. I heard she’s got every jock in the place drooling over her hot, luscious body.”

  Lauren glared up at the pilot. “Stow it, Captain. You can’t bait me.”

  “Aren’t you worried about your boyfriend? Major Malone’s a damn good-looking man. Way I heard it, Liza made a pass at him over at the NASA cafeteria yesterday afternoon.”

  Brows dipping, Lauren punched more figures into the computer. “I heard no such thing.”

  “Hmmm,” Jack said, crossing his arms, “maybe you ought to check it out. Melody was over there yesterday for lunch and saw it happen.”

  “Sometimes,” Lauren growled, refusing to look up at Stang, and knowing exactly what he was trying to do to her, “your wife gets names, dates, faces and locations mixed up, too.”

  Digging into the breast pocket of his light blue shirt, Jack produced a photo, dropping it nonchalantly on her desk. “Want to bet?”

  Lauren looked at the photo. In it was, a model like woman in a tight and very revealing leather miniskirt leaning over Ryan at the NASA cafeteria. He was smiling up at the blond, younger woman. She Clenched her teeth. “Where did you get this?”

  “My wife saw someone shooting the picture of Liza Cooper and your fiancé. She rushed over to retrieve it, to save you embarrassment. She thought you might want this. If someone else got hold of it, it might cause you some uncomfortable moments.”

  With a cocky salute, Jack gave Lauren his best sympathetic smile laced with understanding, and pushed off from the desk. Chuckling to himself, he strolled back to his desk. Porter was going to wonder how in the hell the photo was taken. She’d realize Major Malone wouldn’t pose for this kind of thing. So, she would treat the photo, the situation, as real. And then, all hell would break loose between her and Malone, making her less focused on her job here at Design.

  Maybe, if she screwed up a few times in a row, General Dalton, who had a keen eye on the project, wouldn’t worship the ground she walked on. Porter was capable of making mistakes. He was just going to help her commit a few. If he could get her removed as head flight engineer on this project, then Fred could be put in her place. And Fred was far more apt to give him higher flight rating scores than Porter.

  Sitting back down, pretending to be busy with paperwork, Jack laughed heartily to himself and watched Porter across the way. Her jaw was tight and her face was pale. Good, she was in just the right mood and emotion he wanted her in for this flight. Unlocking a drawer in his desk, he pulled out his notebook, gleefully jotting down his observation.

  Wait until Porter got a hold of Major Malone tonight after work. He wished like hell he could be a fly on the wall for that fight! Actually, Judy, the little waitress at the cafeteria, took the photo—for a twenty-dollar bill slipped to her by Melody. And Judy promised never to divulge her part of the plan to anyone. A phone call the night before to the Cooper woman had cinched the deal. Melody considered the hundred dollars well-spent money that would give them tenfold dividends toward his career. An excellent business investment.

  Of course, both had thought Liza would do it for nothing, but she was shrewder than they’d anticipated. No matter. It was worth it. Liza had come strutting into the cafeteria the next day, leaned over Malone and asked for his autograph. He was the copilot who flew the space shuttle to Florida. She wanted the autograph for her small son. Would he give her one? Of course he would. What pilot could resist such a sweet, irresistible request from such a stunning, sexy-looking woman? None could. So, Judy got two great photos of him smiling up into Liza’s comely face.

  Melody had shown him the photos last night, beside herself with pride. Liza had purposefully leaned down, her breasts lightly brushing Malone’s shoulder. What a hell of a photo! And it was going to screw up the testing today, he was sure. If Porter wasn’t up for the test, it still made Holt look bad. And that’s all Jack wanted. Melody filed the other photo for later use. The wrong photo at the right time in someone’s career could sandbag them. Never could tell when it might come in handy at some future date. At that instant, Holt swung through the door.

  Stang pretended to be busy, covertly watching the pilot. Holt looked strained, the shadows worse beneath his eyes. Good, both of them were going to be bears in the cockpit this morning. Mentally rubbing his hands together and congratulating himself and Melody, Jack could hardly wait for the test flight to be flown. It was going to be a humdinger. His job was easy—he’d be one of the observers. The video crew was going to videotape the test, as usual. He couldn’t think of two nicer people to screw up and get on videotape today.

  “Hey, you look like hell,” Stang sang out so that everyone in Design could hear it.

  Sam ignored Stang. He was late because he’d overslept. Dammit! Jerking open a drawer in his desk, he pulled out the flight test program he was to fly with Lauren. Grabbing a cup of coffee, he went directly to her desk.

  “Sorry I’m late, Port,” Sam said as he perched his hip on the corner of her desk. “You look terrible.”

  “Not today, Sam,” she groaned. “I’m not up for a lot of teasing.”

  Sipping the scalding coffee, he saw the tension around her mouth and eyes. Ordinarily, Lauren was gregarious and filled with laughter in the morning. “Fair enough,” he muttered. “Looks like we’re both in the hurt locker today.” Hurt locker was a navy term he’d picked up while going through navy test pilot school. It meant the person was in deep trouble.

  Glancing up at the pilot, she snapped, “Look, all I want is to get this flight over with as soon as possible. You do your job, I’ll do mine.”

  What the hell was wrong with Lauren? Sam eased off the desk and took her warning as real. She was uptight. Was she angry because he was late? She was a perfectionist about being on time, about flying things right the first time around. Was Lauren worried that he was in the cockpit with her, never having forgotten the rain incident last week?

  Edgy, Holt glanced over at Stang. His head was bent and he was working diligently on a report. Merrill looked unhappy and tense. This was working up to be a ball buster of a Monday. And then, Sam focused back on Megan. Was she worried about his flight this morning?

  As he went back to his desk after picking up Lauren’s flight requirements on the test landings, Sam kept thinking about Megan. Should he call now and reassure her? Maybe she was in as foul a mood as everyone here at Design and would refuse to talk to him. And then he’d be in deeper hock with her. Maybe he should call her after the test. Sam sat down, pulling a pen from the sleeve pocket of his flight suit. More than anything, he didn’t want to leave Megan anxious and worrying. Yes, he’d call her afterward. That way, he’d have the time to talk without having to hurry to complete the test.

  Megan stood at the window of her classroom. It was 8:00 a.m., and she could see a few planes flying the pattern around the airstrip in the distance. She knew what an Eagle looked like, and she didn’t see one in the pattern. Not yet. Gnawing on her lower lip, she forced herself to turn away fr
om the window and devote her energies to her children.

  Earlier, Jamison had called her into his office, his face flushed with anger. But he kept it out of his voice. In a clipped tone he’d told her Hamilton now had her proposal. Megan inquired about the Stangs and whether they were going to get Scotty tested. Jamison said he hadn’t heard what they were going to do, but until they made a decision, she would teach. Why were the Stangs hesitating? It made the luncheon date with Melody Stang this coming Saturday that much more important. Something was up, but Megan couldn’t get a sense of what.

  She returned her attention to her class. They were busy coloring their paper dinosaurs. Moving to each desk, she would praise the child, touch their head or shoulder to reinforce her words and watch their faces light up with pride as they showed her their effort. Most of the dinosaurs were poorly cut out, the crayon colors scribbled in all directions. Megan wryly reminded herself that the children were being creative, moving with the flow of how they felt with each color.

  She stopped at Patty Merrill’s desk. The dinosaur was cut out in huge lops, part of the tail and two legs missing, as if she didn’t care if it were cut out properly or not. Black crayon in her fist, she bore down hard on the paper. Every other child was using bright, vibrant colors. Worried, Megan crouched down, her hand on Patty’s small shoulder.

  “Why just black, Patty?”

  “It’s how he feels today.”

  “Oh?”

  “Bad day,” she said, putting even more pressure on the crayon. It snapped in half.

  Megan saw tears form in Patty’s eyes. Quickly, she pulled a tissue from her pocket, gently dabbing her cheeks. “Was the dinosaur having a bad day, or are you having one, honey?”