by Cap Daniels
“Well,” Clark said hesitantly, “they come to you. You don’t go to them.”
“So, maybe that’s how it worked for you two, but how do you know that’s how it is for everybody?”
“It’s not just that, Skipper. You have to have something they want. Clark was a Green Beret and—”
“And what were you? Did they need baseball players with broken hands? Is that what you brought to the table?”
She was right. I’d never stopped to question why I’d been recruited. I had nothing to offer except my bloodline. My parents had apparently been successful agents, and after their murders, I became an orphan with covert ops in my blood.
“I was a psychologist, and an athlete, and. . . .”
Clark gave me a look that said shut up—the one he always sent my way when I was about to say something I shouldn’t. Maybe I’d one day learn to heed his glare, but Skipper needed to know the truth.
“My parents. They weren’t just missionaries.” I paused, cleared my throat, and locked eyes with her. “They were operators like me. They were murdered in Panama not long before I met you and your family. That’s how I became an orphan and how I ended up at UGA.”
Skipper sat dumbfounded and silent.
I continued. “It’s in my blood. They recruited me because they knew I’d want to fight back against the people who killed my parents, and they used that to recruit me.”
I could see her eyes begin to moisten as she considered what I’d said. “I didn’t know,” she whispered.
“I know,” I said. “There was no way you could have known, but that’s not the point. The point is that you have to have something they want. You have to bring something to the table, and it’s not easy. It’s not something you want to go through. And it’s not something I want you to go through.”
She licked her lips. “Think about that, Chase. Think about what I’ve been through and what I’ve survived. Think about what I’ve seen, and heard, and experienced with you. I’m a survivor and a fighter, and you know it.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No,” she demanded. “But nothing. Let me finish. I can run boats, I can dive, I can shoot, and I’m in great shape. You or Clark can teach me to fly. I’m smart and resourceful, and I’m not afraid. What am I supposed to do? Just go to school and become a teacher or a nurse or whatever and pretend I don’t know what goes on behind the scenes in the real world? Huh? Is that what I’m supposed to do? Is that what you want?”
“No,” I admitted. “You’re right. You are a survivor, and you’re tougher than anyone I know, but—”
“No buts, Chase. It’s what I want.”
Clark stood up from the table and walked away.
“Where’s he going?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He does that when he needs to think . . . or poop.”
She giggled. Part of her was still a little girl, but she was right. She was smart and tough, and because of the people who’d hurt her, she had enough anger and hatred brewing that she could become a dangerous weapon with the right training.
Clark reappeared. “Okay. Listen. You don’t know what you’re asking.” His tone was a fusion of overprotective big brother and drill sergeant. “The Ranch is no joke. If you go there, they’re going to beat you into the ground and make you hate everything about life. You’re not ready for that.”
“Yes, I am” she demanded.
“No, you’re not,” he said. “You don’t have any idea what happens in that place. I know you’ve been through some shit, but not like what they’re going to put you through up there. You’ll wish you were dead before you make it out of there.”
She locked eyes with him and set her jaw. “I’ve already been in a place just like that. I wanted to die every day, and I would have if you and Chase and Anya hadn’t found me. So don’t tell me about wanting to die. Don’t try to describe Hell to me. I lived there, and there’s nothing they can do to me at The Ranch that can compare to what I’ve already been through.”
“Don’t interrupt me again,” he insisted, unfazed by her rant. “I’m going to teach you to fight. Chase is going to teach you to think, and we’re both going to teach you to turn out the lights for people who’ve overstayed their welcome on the planet. You’re not going to The Ranch. You’re going to our training grounds, and you’re going to work for and with us. If, after that, you still want to go, I’ll do everything I can to get you in . . . as long as Chase agrees.”
I hadn’t expected that, and I wasn’t sure what to say, but both Skipper and Clark were waiting impatiently for something to come out of my mouth.
“Are you sure they’re going to let us do that?” I asked.
“Who’s going to stop us?” said Clark. “We can do whatever we want. We’re way overdue for a new mission. It’s coming. When we get an assignment, if both of us believe Skipper can be of some value, she can go with us. But not before we train her. We won’t ask. We’ll just do it.”
Skipper stared at me, waiting for me to say yes.
“Where’s Tony?” I asked.
Tony was Clark’s brother and Skipper’s boyfriend. He was an active duty Coast Guard rescue swimmer. I couldn’t imagine him letting her get kidnapped by Michael Anderson. He would die before he let anyone hurt her.
“He’s TDY to San Juan for a few weeks,” she said.
“What kind of temporary duty assignment is that?” I asked.
“There was a helicopter crash,” she said, “and they lost two rescue swimmers while we were home visiting my folks. He got called away to fill in for them until they can find permanent replacements.”
That explained why Tony hadn’t fed Michael Anderson to a wood chipper or shark when he abducted Skipper.
“Does he know you’re all right?”
“Yeah. I called and told him everything. He was pretty mad, but not at me.”
“Your decision to work with us affects him, too,” I said.
She frowned. “Yeah, I know. We’ve talked about it before. Tony’s like you guys—he doesn’t think I’m ready.”
“It isn’t that you’re not ready,” I said. “You just don’t know what you’re asking.”
“So, what about Clark’s idea, then?”
I gave in. “Okay, we can train you, but I’m not taking you with me on my next mission if I don’t think it’s safe.”
She raised her eyebrows. “When have you ever been on a safe mission?”
I threw my crumpled napkin at her, and she batted it out of the air before it hit her face.
“Now I see why you were just a catcher and not a pitcher,” she said. “That was weak.”
3
Penny for Your Thoughts
Sufficiently recuperated and recharged, I was ready to fetch my beloved boat, Aegis, a fifty-foot custom sailing catamaran I’d left in Norfolk, Virginia. She was in the capable hands of Penny Thomas, a woman I’d met in Charleston, South Carolina, who’d been sailing with two friends aboard Crude Awakening—a boat that could’ve been Aegis’s twin. Their boat looked so much like mine, in fact, Colonel Tornovich’s men had sabotaged it, thinking they planted their explosives on my hull. The explosion occurred offshore, sinking Crude Awakening and leaving her owner, Teri Huddleston, in the hospital with some pretty nasty burns. The boat ended up on the bottom of the North Atlantic, but Penny, Teri, and Teri’s husband, Kip, all made it out alive. Teri’s burns were healing nicely, and she was already out of the hospital and shopping for a new boat.
Penny and I had become . . . well, what we had become wasn’t well-defined yet. Clark, and Fred, the psychiatrist, had encouraged Penny and me to spend quality time together so I could clear my head after losing Anya. It was working, and I was thoroughly enjoying my time with Penny, but I had no idea where the relationship was headed or how long it might last.
I dialed Penny’s number and waited for her to answer.
It went to voicemail. “This is Penny. I’m doing something more important than answering the
phone, so leave a message, and I’ll call you back . . . maybe.”
That’s pure Penny.
“Hey, it’s Chase. I just wanted to check in and let you know everything is okay, and we’ll be headed back to Norfolk later today. Give me a call when you can. Oh, and I’m sorry for running off the way I did, but it was an emergency, and . . . well, I’ll tell you about it when you call.”
I’d told Penny bits and pieces of what had happened with Anya. What I told her was the truth, but not the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God. The life I led didn’t mix particularly well with full disclosure. I’d told her I was a freelance writer, and she pretended to believe me. If she and I were going to continue our—whatever it was—sooner or later, I’d have to tell her something closer to the truth.
My phone chirped, and I stuck it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, Chase. It’s Penny. I’m sorry I missed your call. I was a little busy. This boat is a handful by myself, but she sure is fun to sail.”
I pictured Penny at the helm with a jib sheet in one hand and the wind blowing her long hair wildly around her head.
“I have faith you can handle anything Aegis can throw at you.”
She let out a scoffing sound. “Yeah, I know I can, but it’s still easier with some help.”
“Well, we’ll be heading back to Norfolk in the next twenty-four hours, so you’ll have some help soon.”
“There’s no need to go back up there,” she said. “Aegis and I are headed south.”
“What?” I was surprised she was doing more than just taking Aegis out for a day sail on the Chesapeake.
“Yeah, we’re headed south. I told you I was going to bring her to Charleston if you didn’t come back soon. I got tired of waiting, so we’re offshore and making fourteen knots. I’m planning to make Hatteras or Ocracoke tonight.”
“It sounds like you have everything under control.” I tried to sound unconcerned.
“Oh, yeah. Everything’s cool. The weather is good, and Aegis and I have really started to bond. I just don’t want to sail through the night single-handed. I’ll get some sleep around Hatteras and get started again when the sun comes up.”
“I have an idea,” I said. “How about I meet you in Wilmington tomorrow night?”
“Okay, that sounds great. I’ll be the hot chick with the sexy catamaran.”
I laughed. “Yes, that’s exactly what you’ll be.”
“Oh, how’d your emergency writing assignment go?”
“Oh, uh . . . Pulitzer material. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow night.”
“No, you won’t,” she said. “But it’s okay. I’m sure you’ll tell me the truth someday.”
I grimaced. “You’re a lot smarter than you want people to know.”
“I know,” she said. “See you tomorrow night.”
I didn’t realize she was serious about bringing Aegis back to Charleston by herself, but I wasn’t surprised.
I shared my plan with Skipper and Clark.
Skipper landed her hands on her hips. “So, who’s Penny?”
Clark wasted no time. “Penny’s his girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I protested half-heartedly.
Clark glared at me. “You’re sleeping with her. You’re letting her take your boat out alone. And you blushed when I called her your girlfriend, so I’d say she’s your girlfriend.”
“We’re just—”
Skipper jumped in. “Don’t, Chase. I get it. I’m sure she’s great. I can’t wait to meet her, but please tell me she isn’t tall, blonde, and Russian.”
Clark laughed. “Two out of three ain’t bad.”
I gave up my protest.
We rented a car and drove back to St. Augustine to pack up some clothes for Skipper. I rented her a room in a bed-and-breakfast until we could find her a more permanent living arrangement.
I’d come to love St. Augustine. Something about the city was so alluring to me. I felt at home in the Municipal Marina, and I enjoyed everything about America’s oldest city.
* * *
“I’ve got an idea,” Clark said as he crammed a piece of French toast into his mouth.
Skipper and I waited for him to swallow and announce his idea.
“Why do you do that?” she asked. “Why do you start a sentence and then shove something in your mouth?”
Clark made a show of slowly chewing and finally swallowing the syrupy toast.
“It’s called a dramatic pause,” he said in his best British accent. “I’m a thespian at heart, don’t you know?”
I held up my hands in mock surrender. “Hey, your sexual preferences are none of our business. I just want to hear your idea.”
“You’re funny,” he mumbled through a mouthful of coffee. He wiped his mouth. “How about we rent an airplane, and I’ll drop you off in Wilmington. And then Skipper and I can start her flying lessons while you’re bringing the boat back down with Penny.”
Skipper’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! Let’s do that.”
We’d let her do a little flying in the King Air over the past few weeks, and she was already showing great potential to be a good pilot. Clark was a certified flight instructor, so he could have her soloing in a matter of days.
Skipper’s eyes were wide, and a girlish grin of anticipation locked on her face.
“Sure,” I said. “That sounds like a good plan. She’s got a lot to learn, and we might as well start with the simple stuff, like flying.”
She ran around the table and hugged me as if she were eight years old and I’d just bought her a pony. She had no idea how much work learning to fly would be, but her enthusiasm was beautiful.
We finished our breakfast, and I made a few calls, trying to locate an airplane that would be suitable for Skipper’s training. There were plenty of Cessna 172s and Piper Cherokees that could be rented by the hour, but their schedules kept them booked up, limiting the time they’d be available. I finally called Jack Shipley, a pilot I’d met at the St. Augustine airport. He owned a Bonanza and shared my love of sailing.
“Hey, Chase! How are you?”
“I’m doing great, Jack. Listen, I hate to bother you, but I’m looking to teach Skipper to fly. Do you know of any available planes?”
“Who?” he asked, clearly confused.
“Elizabeth,” I said. “The young lady I told you about who needed a ride to see her parents in Athens.”
“Oh, sure. I remember. So, you’re going to teach her to fly?”
“Yes, sir. It looks like it. I’m looking for something we can rent for maybe a hundred hours or so.”
“A hundred hours? What the hell are you going to need a hundred hours for?”
“We don’t just want to teach her to fly. We want to take her all the way through commercial multi-engine, so we want something simple to start with, and then we’ll build a little time and move up to a complex.”
“Ah, gotcha,” he said. “How about a Cessna one-eighty-two Skylane? I’ve got a friend who lost his medical certificate—heart attack—so he can’t fly anymore. He’s going to have to sell his one-eighty-two. It’s just sitting in the hangar. I imagine he’d be willing to rent you a block of time in it, but he’d rather sell it to you, I’m sure.”
“That sounds perfect,” I said. “Can you set up a time for us to take a look at it?”
“There’s no need to set up a time. He lives right by the airport. Come on out here. We can take a look at it now if you want.”
“We’ll be there in less than an hour,” I told him.
I filled Skipper and Clark in on the plan to see the Skylane. Skipper twitched with evident excitement, but Clark wasn’t convinced.
“Are you sure a Skylane is the best option to start?”
I shrugged. “It’s not optimum, but I can’t find a simple airplane that’s not booked up.”
“Sure,” he said. “Let’s go take a look. Maybe we can make it work.”
Jack led us to t
he hangar where we met Cliff Fowler, a retired airline pilot who had to be approaching ninety.
“So, you’re looking for something to learn to fly in, huh?” he said.
“Yes, sir. This young lady is just dying to learn, and we can’t find another airplane that’s available for as much time as we need. We want to fly every day if the weather permits.” I tried not to let him see I was sneaking a look inside his hangar.
“Well, come on in and look at the old girl. She’s just sitting in here waiting to die . . . like me. She needs to be flown.”
“They all do,” I said, following him into the hangar.
“She’s a little dirty, but other than that, she’s in pretty good shape. She’s a nineteen-eighty-four R model. I bought her new, and she’s lived in this hangar since she left the factory in Wichita. I put a little over three thousand hours on her, and I put a new factory Lycoming O-Five-Forty in her about six or seven years ago. There’s less than five hundred hours on the new engine, and the prop was rebuilt last fall, so it’s got less than twenty hours on it. Everything works the way it should—or at least it did the last time it was flown. That must have been about, oh, maybe a month ago.”
The airplane was pristine. It was obvious the old man took a lot of pride in her. I could only imagine how devastating it would be to have the flight surgeon tell me I could never fly again.
Clark went to work flipping through the maintenance logs while I inspected the airplane. She was flawless.
“Take it around the patch a time or two if you want. I’m sure she’d love the exercise,” Cliff said.
“Why don’t you take us for a ride?” I suggested. “After all, she is your airplane.”
Cliff bowed his head and pointed to his chest. “Oh, I can’t. The flight doc says my ticker’s no good for flying. Bastards yanked my medical.”
Clark connected the tow bar to the nose gear and looked up. “Come on, Cliff. My medical is good. I’ll sit in the right seat, and you can show us how your old girl flies. I think that might do your ticker some good.”
Cliff stared at Clark for a long moment. “Thank you.”
We pulled the Skylane from the hangar, did a thorough preflight inspection, and climbed aboard—Skipper and me in the back, and Cliff and Clark up front.