Flight of the Scarlet Tanager

by Bevill, C. L.

  Her mother grasped one side of her and murmured into her ears, things that Teddy couldn’t have identified. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the growing light from the flames that were beginning to engulf the jet. Her father held the other side of her and remained motionless, doing the only thing he could do, relying on the competence of the pilots he’d hired.

  The plane began to tilt downward as if they were going to land, but the incline was dangerously slanted, so that even a young Teddy knew that the worst scenario was happening. Her father yelled at them to bend over, to tuck their heads down into their laps, and he threw cushions over Teddy and her mother’s heads, trying to protect them as much as he could. He even wrapped a flame retardant blanket around his only child, praying soundlessly as he moved.

  The world stopped. Sound had billowed around Teddy, charging up and enveloping her in a domain where metal shrieked with agony as it bent itself into shapes that curled back on itself, and the icy awareness of what had happened penetrated her even through a paralyzing fog of fear.

  After the crash there was light, light from the flames, light from people’s vehicles as they came to help. Teddy could remember it, although some of the doctors had insisted on more than one occasion that she simply imagined that part. She had been, after all, concussed, a dozen bones broken, and under a pile of wreckage. The papers called it a miracle that she survived. But Teddy could remember. Her mother had died touching her. She didn’t know what happened to her father. Later she would discover that his body was found almost two hundred yards away. He’d been ripped from the plane as it broke apart.

  But after the all-consuming unconsciousness that had encapsulated her for six weeks, leaving her in a haze of blackness, she awoke, and the funerals had long since been over. Her world had indelibly changed. What she hadn’t known then was that she had moved into a place far more dangerous than any plane crash.

  Teddy never liked the darkness after that. It reminded her of the last time she’d seen her father and mother alive and then lost them to an agony of black panic. More than luck had sustained her. She often thought it was the presence of her dead parents. Perhaps not their ghosts, but their energy or even the memory of them that propelled her not to give up.

  The memory slid away as Teddy hit the sand, and she groaned as pressure bit across her already bruised and battered body. Fitch’s arms managed to break the fall, just as he had before when she’d let go of the beach house’s railing.

  Fitch’s arms wrapped around Teddy and he asked softly, “You all right?”

  Remembering that she was supposed to be in charge of this safari, she took an erratic breath of air, seeking some kind of psychological support, the same type that had nourished her through three years of running. “Why are you doing this?” she asked quietly.

  “A government conspiracy,” he murmured. “Feds out to take you from the hospital. Maybe kill you. Even my father would get a kick out of this. I got this deal with him, see. And I’m supposed to be on the straight and narrow for six months. But two months of this and I’m about to go berserk. I think my dad would agree that I wasn’t supposed to just leave you there, that I should have let you get into the jeep, and once that guy pointed that gun at my head, with every intention of blowing a large, permanent hole in it, I think he might whole-heartedly support my actions in the aftermath. Not that it means that I won’t hear about it in great, excruciating detail concerning what I should have done versus what I did do versus what he would have done.”

  “They’re going to make my body disappear like Jimmy Hoffa,” she stated plainly and forced his arms away from her shivering form. “And your father won’t be yelling at you because yours is going to disappear, too. Now where’s this house we’re going to? Does it have a boat?”

  Fitch stared at her, not at all certain that she was exaggerating. The guy, The Fed?, hadn’t wanted to kill her. He’d counted on it, as a matter of fact. That was mainly why he’d been zeroing in on me. Had he intended on scaring Teddy into surrendering? But he’d looked at Fitch when he was just about to pull the trigger and he’d smiled, a chilling twisted smile that said volumes about his personality. These people wanted something from Teddy Smith AKA whom? The secretary at his office had said she looked so familiar. The Teddy without makeup. Even Fitch couldn’t escape that feeling. Like he knew who she was, but in the onslaught of television and news and problems at the university, well, he’d put it aside as unimportant.

  They made their way up the beach, the tide was flowing back in as they walked, and there wasn’t another soul around. They couldn’t even hear the police sirens, but they both knew that it was just a matter of minutes before the police started fanning out.

  Fitch found the Halford’s key in a fake rock. It opened the gate that locked the wooden stairway up to their house. He knew they weren’t in residence because the same security people who watched the Lee home also watched the Halford’s, and they only came to the beach in high summer, preferring their home near Bend for the remainder of the year.

  When they got to the top it was apparent that Teddy was slowing down. Fitch looked at her again and made another decision. He broke into the Halford’s garage and stole the Ford Explorer they left there for summer use. Then he tucked Teddy into the passenger seat, and chuckled at her expression of disbelief at how easily he’d secured the use of the SUV, saying, “They leave the keys to the Ford in the washing machine.”

  After he’d backed out, he returned and closed the large door. “We’re going four-wheeling, Teddy. These people have a huge gate, too. You ever see what a big old sports utility like this can do?”

  Teddy didn’t say a word. She didn’t know what to say.

  Chapter Twelve

  August 15th - August 16th

  From Big Daddy’s Book on Birding, written by Dan ‘Big Daddy’ Sully, Roget Press, 2005, pg. 124: The Ivory-Billed Woodpecker is one of Big Daddy’s very favorites in the willy-whacking, whirly-bird world. Considered the Holy Grail of birders this fella is considered extinct, but the birding universe listens with perky ears to the urban stories on its continued existence in Cuba and possibly Texas or Louisiana, not to mention the alleged sighting in Arkansas. The Cannola Indians in the Carolinas prized Campephilus principalis. They used to make a crown out of them by attaching them to a wreath and having the bills pointing outward, all of which shore didn’t promote their continuing vitality. The ivorybill romped and pecked large areas of virgin forest as well as all them perty mangrove trees in the swamplands. It’s thought that when the forests started to be cut for lumber in larger and larger amounts in the late 1800s that the ivory bill started to decline because of dwindling food source, the varmint insects that lived in the trees of the forests. Either that, or they suffered from a loss of Viagra. I, myself, spent a week in a Louisiana swamp searching for a glimpse of this pesky and reclusive feller, Minolta in hand, positive that a few are left, to taunt the bird watching community into spreading rumors that could fit on the birding equivalent of The National Enquirer. As a matter of fact, I challenge Big Daddy’s readers to look for this guy a la Monty Python and don’t forget to take a picture to send to the Big D., cause the ivory bill shore is strange looking, and has some peculiar habits, as well as being supposedly extinct...

  “Put your seat belt on,” said Fitch.

  Teddy didn’t even argue. She simply did it, snapping it home with a movement that betrayed every bit of sore muscles and aching flesh on her body. Strength was leaching slowly out of her once again, and she was quite positive she hadn’t another reserve.

  The road from the Halford’s beach house was similar to the Lee’s home. It twisted around meandering dunes of sand overrun with beach scrub. The sand drifted onto the asphalt drive occasionally, making little fingers of gold holding the dark matter of the road in its grip. The wind was whipping around the sports utility vehicle and moving it gently side to side, howling as only an ocean wind can, coming off the cliffs at an incredible speed.
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  He didn’t turn on the headlights. Simply guiding the vehicle carefully toward the main road, he drove, focusing on the road ahead of him that was barely visible in dim light. The darkness didn’t bother her so much now, as it wasn’t all encompassing. Light refracted off the golden sands, making the nighttime world glow with a gilded luminescence. It didn’t even compare to the immense mouth of blackness that she had been perched on the edge of, as they had scrambled down the cliff.

  “So where are we going?” Teddy asked politely. “Vegas? Canada?” The Glock 18 was biting into her flesh, so she took it out and put it on her lap, with the muzzle facing away from Fitch. He barely paid attention.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Sure it matters. To the local jail would be bad,” she said serenely. “To somewhere where there’s a boat would be good.”

  “Why do you want a boat so much? Most people don’t keep a boat on the ocean around here. In case you haven’t noticed there isn’t a lot of natural shelter on the Oregon coast, like the bay that you jumped into yesterday, for example. That’s where people keep their boats. The rest of us, just hang out because of the sand, or because it’s cool to own beach front property.” Fitch hesitated for a moment and added, “Besides I don’t drive badly. Hey, should I be offended?”

  “What’s wrong with you?” she exclaimed, astounded that he wasn’t in fear for his life, that he could make inane jokes, inviting her to laugh with him.

  “What’s wrong with me?” repeated Fitch. His amber colored eyes were black in the darkness of the SUV. “I didn’t kidnap anyone. Didn’t shoot anyone, but I won’t hold that against you. Especially since it worked out in my benefit.”

  “They’re gonna wipe my existence from the face of the planet, like I never was, and anyone who’s with me is going to the same place,” she said earnestly.

  “You keep saying that,” he said. “Like I’m supposed to be scared.”

  “You are, dammit,” she said. “Can’t you get it through your thick skull that...”

  “Uh-oh,” said Fitch. He pointed ahead of them. There were police cars with lights flashing on the main highway directly in front of them. “They got here pretty quick.”

  •

  Gower surveyed the scene with a coolness that the local sheriff’s deputies found almost distasteful. They watched him as he looked under the sheet covering his partner. Then they watched with amazement as he stood up and calmly apprised the rest of the area. His expression didn’t change as he ascertained the results of the evening’s events. It was the end to a means. Redmond had died in the manner that most of their ilk would eventually perish. It was true that his past performance had been immaculate, but it only took one mistake. Perhaps the mistake had been Gower’s. That he’d allowed the reporter to distract him, that he’d counted on the Scarlet Tanager’s past history of gentle temperament. She was, after all, only barely more than a child.

  The problem was not that Redmond had died. But that now there would be forced explanations to be made. To the local authorities. To General Bishop Lee. To the newspapers. Stories had to be fabricated. Explaining why a security guard was dead. Explaining why a newspaper reporter had his neck broken. Explaining why they didn’t have a suspect in custody immediately. Why they’d let the girl drive off without charging off in pursuit. Why a Fed was in the area without checking in with the local Bureau representatives. Those were the problems.

  He glanced disdainfully at the corpse of a man who had held his back on numerous occasions. Stupid bastard should have remembered that she’s got my Glock. Or if he had remembered he should have supposed that she would be willing to use it, especially since she just saw me murder two men to get to her. After all, the matter is of extreme urgency now.

  The sheriff of Lincoln County was approaching the scene with a flourish, climbing up the circling stairs with a nonstop litany of berating comments directed toward his own men. “God awful mess as I ever did see. You ever talk to the General, Jacy? He’s an A-1, living, breathing, walking, talking butt-snatching, asswiping motherfucker. He’ll give you a pucker factor of ten, just talking to him on the fucking phone, and you won’t be able to take your britches off until your asshole relaxes a week later. I’ll tell you what. Toby, don’t sit on the man’s fucking chair. It prolly costs more than you make in five years, dipshit. And here we gotta a dead Fed in his house. In his house. And his son. His oldest boy ain’t around. As a matter of fact, we don’t know shit about shit. Is the kid involved? Did he kill a federal agent? Did that little wharf rat from Sullivan’s Bay do it? And what in the name of the jolly green giant do you suppose happened to that fucking reporter, Nemo, Nemo whatsit? God rest his nosy, smelly journalist’s butt. He wrote a story about me using up county funds to build a pool in my backyard and goddammit, any fool knows I don’t got a pool. Did he fall down the stairs and break his goddamned neck all by himself? Cause I done seen the videotape on that gal and she can’t weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds soaking, fucking wet. So what’d she do, kung-fu his ass?”

  He came up onto the second floor and stopped talking when he saw the tall, blonde-haired man in the slightly rumpled and dirty suit. Sheriff Hereward J. Bird was as big as the federal agent, but twice as old and weighed twice as much. He had a craggy face that would have fit in with a litter of Chinese pugs, with hanging jowls, and yellowed teeth from decades of smoking too many cigars. His shoulders were broad and his gut reflected a life of too many donuts and not enough exercise, but he was still a strong looking man. In his life he’d met a great many people, including governmental officials of some import, and he surely wasn’t impressed with this one. “And who in the name of John J. Jesus Christ are you?”

  Jacy said, “That’s the other one,” and instantly regretted it, as Bird briefly cast his blistering glare upon him.

  “And this here is the fucking dead one,” added Bird, pointing at the corpse. His expression lifted to the living federal agent, examining that man with thorough perception. He looked him up and down and his not inconsequential gut told him that this man was trouble from the word go. “My guy tells me your name is Gower. Tells me all kinds of crap. What do you want to tell me?”

  “The pair are in the immediate vicinity,” said Gower. “Your deputy saw the gun flashes as this man was shot. Which means they can’t be far, and the boy’s Jeep is still out front. We need to fan out and begin searching houses in the area. Especially anything with boats. And there needs to be roadblocks on the major arteries.”

  Bird guffawed. “Well, lah-de-dah. You hear that boys? This here is what the Fed needs. I guess I should be glad that you don’t need a fucking helicopter to fly you around, too.”

  Gower stared at the sheriff. “If you don’t care to cooperate then I’ll simply contact the governor’s office and apprise him of the situation. I’m sure that Lieutenant General Lee would be interested in your lack of...motivation.”

  There was immediate silence from the officers in the house. Bird assimilated this threat with mute interest as Jacy looked diligently at the ceiling of the beach house, finding the texture there to be endlessly fascinating.

  •

  “Automatic hubs,” said Fitch. He punched the button. “Yee-haw. The Jeep’s got manual ones. They’re so rusty I have to turn them with pliers. You think they’ll impound my Jeep?”

  Teddy looked at him in the dim light. Good-looking profile. He had all the right features for a guy. Straight nose, handsome lips. Well-formed head. Hair that was carelessly wind rumpled. If she had ascertained that he had such a wild nature under the button-down white cotton shirt and Docker’s khaki slacks she might have waited for the next vehicle to pass, although she knew that wasn’t true. The choice had been them or Fitch, and she had chosen Fitch. “Didn’t you say you had a deal with your dad?” she asked, desperately.

  “Sure,” said Fitch. He turned his head to look at her for a moment and then went back to watching the red and blue lights that were flashing in front of
the gates. He was hesitant to make a move lest the police officers notice the car’s motion behind the tall fence and gate, so he waited. “The nitty-gritty of it is that I’m supposed to behave.”

  “You can still get out of this,” she pleaded once more. “I’m so sorry I got you into this.”

  Fitch carefully parked the Ford behind a dune, so he could just see through the gates. He used the handbrake so that the red glow from the brake lights wouldn’t show and they waited for an opportunity. “They’re waiting on the security company to come and open it up. Too lazy to walk up to the place.” He stopped. “Tell me why, for a change.”

  Teddy didn’t say anything. He glanced over and saw that her mouth was slightly open and her lips moved as if she wanted to say something but found it impossible to speak.

  “You’re not crazy,” Fitch told her. “I thought you were, for a while, anyway.”

  “Until the guy tried to kill you,” she finished.

  “Yeah. Laser sight right on my head. I could see it in the mirror. Damn. I about had to change my pants. But why kill me?” Fitch considered. “There’s something that they want from you. They’re willing to kill to get it. But they’re also afraid of you. Not because you’re dangerous, but because of something you know.” He cogitated further. “Something you know that they need to know.”

  “That’s only part of it.” She paused. “It’s really because of who I am.”

  “So who are you?”

  There was a movement off to their left, a swatch of dark brown and cream that passed across their peripheral vision that caused both of them to jump. Then Fitch sighed. “Just a bird,” he announced. They had inadvertently disturbed a nocturnal hunter as he sought sustenance. “Think it was an owl. Looking for his midnight munchies.”