Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1) (9 page)

“Oh, raised near the beach in
southern California; surfer, diver, water polo at UCLA, chemistry major. EOD
just sounded interesting.”

“You ever get to play with the real
thing?”

“Yeah, I was in Kuwait in ’91.”

“The oil fires? You were disarming
unexploded ordinance in the middle of all those fires?”

“Yeah. Great fun.”

“You’ve got my respect, sir. Tell
me, what does an EOD captain do on drill weekends?”

“I’m the Reserve CO of EOD
Operational Support Unit Seven in Coronado, the Reserve component of
EODGRUONE.”

“Nice title. And what do you do in
that capacity?”

“Sit around and drink coffee.”

Abby laughed. “Sounds exciting. You
gonna make flag?”

“Not bloody likely. Surprised the
hell out of me when I was selected for captain. I’ll probably call it quits in
another year or so. I’ve got plenty of points and better things to do. You in
the Reserves?”

“Yeah. VFA-154.”

“154? Uh… Black Knights?”

Abby smiled and nodded in approval.
“Very good.”

“Aren’t they up in Lemoore? Nice
little drive once a month.”

“I like flying jets, and it’s the
only game in town.”

“That’s good. You’re what?
Lieutenant commander?”

“Yeah.”

“You mentioned Citations. Are you
rated in anything else?”

She laughed. “Uh, yeah. Lears, Gulfsteams…
747s. If it flies, I can fly it.”

“Damn!” He nodded and smiled.
“Okay. Abby, look, I’m rich, very rich. I own an aerospace corporation and I’m
financing a private manned-mission to Mars, and I need somebody who can teach
the crew to fly. Not the mechanics, I can get that at any local flight school,
but I mean… fly! I need someone who could pilot a paper airplane into the
furnace of Hell, kick the devil in the ass, and come back – preferably alive.”

Abby dropped her glass on the table
and coughed violently, “Holy shit! Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am.”

She poured the rest of the Scotch
down her throat and waved frantically at the waitress while pointing at her
empty glass. “Uh, wow. Okay, I’m a decent pilot and I’ve been accused from time
to time of kicking a bit more butt than was maybe in my best interests but,
jeez! Shouldn’t you be talking to NASA?”

“If NASA was really interested they
would have already done it. But they aren’t and they won’t. This is a private
operation. We’ll eventually negotiate launch facilities and deep space tracking
and communications with NASA, but for all practical purposes the government is
out. We’re on our own.”

Abby’s refill arrived and she took
a sip. She set the glass down, furrowed her brow and looked Jeff unblinkingly
in the eye, “Can you do this? Can you really do this?”

“I wouldn’t be sitting here ready
to pour every last dime I have into this project, $400 million dollars, if I
didn’t believe it could be done.”

She exhaled loudly, unbuttoned her
jacket, took it off, tossed it on a nearby table, and took another healthy swig
of Scotch, “It’s getting warm in here.”

“You keep tossing down that rocket
fuel like that and it’s liable to get a lot warmer,” Jeff grinned.

Abby smiled wryly, “Who’s on your
crew?”

“Myself and three others yet to be
named.”

Her eyes widened, “You’re going?”

“Hell yes. There’s no way I’d go
through all this just to watch it on TV. But beyond that, look, Steve Fossett
repeatedly ventured into the unknown and pushed the envelope. He could have
easily afforded to pay somebody to take the risks for him, but he didn’t.
Eventually it cost him his life. Was it worth it? I dunno. But if we could ask
him I’ll bet he’d say ‘Yes.’ Let’s be honest, there is a certain degree of risk
involved. Frankly, the house odds aren’t favorable. So, if I’m not willing to
go, what gives me the right to ask anyone else?”

Abby stared at her glass, flicking
the rim with her finger, “So, you’re still shopping for a crew?”

Jeff nodded slowly, “Yeah. Why? You
want to go?”

She turned her head away from him
and stared blankly across the room, her distant gaze unflinching though,
clearly, the wheels behind were turning furiously. Jeff sipped his drink and
said nothing.

“When do you plan on launching?”

“Four years. March, 2016.”

“How long’s the trip?”

“Two and a half years. Seven months
out, eighteen months on the planet, seven months back.”

Abby closed her eyes and tilted her
head back, slowly stretching her neck left and right, then turned back to Jeff,
“My calendar seems to be clear. Yeah, I want to go.”

“Okay. Obviously I can’t make any
promises just now, but I’m having a little get together of, um, interested
parties at my place in Rhode Island in a couple weeks. Why don’t you come?
We’ll talk more. It’s on me.”

She calmly nodded her head, “Yeah,
alright.”

Jeff smiled. “Great! Say, they have a restaurant
here? I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, upstairs.”

“Excellent. Let’s get something to
eat.”

Over lunch, Jeff and Abby spoke of
space travel and Navy life, bombing missions in Iraq, high school sweethearts,
the weather in Rhode Island, and a hundred other things. Afterwards he walked
her to her car where they exchanged contact information and expressed their
mutual enthusiasm about the next meeting. As Jeff waved farewell he thought
aloud, “Two down, one to go.”

Thursday, May 31,
2012 (T minus 1391 days)

Jeff’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Jeffrey Grey, please.”

“Speaking.”

“Hi, this is Carolyn Garth from the
Aerospace Medical Association. I’m terribly sorry for taking so long to get
back to you but your request was a bit unusual, to say the least. I really
shouldn’t be doing this, but your gift to the AsMA Foundation was most generous
and I think I understand your difficulty.”

“I greatly appreciate your
assistance Ms. Garth and assure you this will be kept just between you and me.

“I’m afraid I have only one name
for you: Dr. Susan Lú. She is presently a third year Internal Medicine resident
at Providence St. Vincent Medical Center in Portland, Oregon. 29 years old,
graduate of Berkeley and Stanford, and an active resident member of the AsMA.
I’m sorry but that’s all I have.”

“That’s a start. One is better than
none. Ms. Garth, you’ve been most helpful. Thank you very much. I won’t forget
it.”

“You’re welcome Mr. Grey and, good
luck.”

“Thank you. Goodbye.”

Jeff was suddenly thankful he had
decided to stay in Long Beach a few days before returning to Newport. He looked
up Providence St. Vincent Medical Center on the Internet and located a phone
number.

“Good afternoon, Providence St. Vincent Medical Center,
how may I direct your call?”

“Internal Medicine please.”

“Internal Medicine, Mrs. Jacobs.”

“Good afternoon Mrs. Jacobs. My
name is Jeffrey Grey, I am the Chairman of Grey Aerospace, I’m calling from
California, and I’m trying to reach a resident at Providence St. Vincent, Dr.
Susan Lú. I wonder if you could assist me?”

“Just a moment, let me check
doctor’s schedule. I’m sorry, Dr. Lú is with a patient. May I take a message?”

Jeff left his number and went back
to work polishing his lengthy flight proposal, trying to fill in as many of the
glaring gaps as he could. These young ladies were a lot smarter and better
educated than he and the upcoming get-together called for an award-winning
performance.

Around 6:00 that evening the phone
rang again.

“Mr. Grey?” asked a most charming
voice on the other end.

“Yes.”

“Susan Lú, returning your call.”

“Ah, Dr. Lú, I’m most pleased to
hear from you. I don’t know what the message you got said, but briefly, I’m the
Chairman of Grey Aerospace and I’m searching for a physician with certain, uh,
unique qualifications. Frankly, someone like you.”

“Unique qualifications? Mr. Grey,
I’m an Internal Medicine resident, what unique qualifications do you think I
could possibly have?”

“You might be surprised. I
understand you may have some interest in aerospace medicine.”

“Yes, I do. I’m seriously
considering an aerospace medicine fellowship following my residency. But, how
would you know that?”

“Dr. Lú, like all wealthy men I
have my sources, and every once in a while some of them are even right. Dr. Lú,
I hate to ask this, it’s an impertinent question but, are you married, or
engaged?”

“Uh, no. Why, does it matter?”

“Well, if you were to work for me
you would be doing a great deal of traveling. And yes, it does matter. I’ve
done this a number of times and I’ve found that this really doesn’t work too
well over the phone. You deserve a full explanation and I’m sure you’ll have
many questions. Would it be possible for us to meet? Perhaps tomorrow? I could
fly up first thing in the morning.”

“I don’t know Mr. Grey, this is all
quite strange.”

“I understand and I apologize for
that, but this is quite important.”

There was a pause while she weighed the invitation.
“Well, alright. I’m on a 24-hour shift and get off at eight in the morning. If
you could give me a chance to get cleaned up and change.”

“Of course. How about lunch? My
treat. Some place nice you could think of?”

“Oh my, I’m afraid I don’t get out
much, uh, oh, I know, uh, Salty’s. It’s a seafood place right on the river, on
Marine Drive. It’s very close to the airport.”

“Excellent. Say, noon?”

“Alright.”

“Thank you again for returning my
call Dr. Lú, and I look forward to meeting you.”

“Well, likewise. Goodbye.”

As Jeff hung up the phone he
suddenly panicked, “What was I thinking?” Getting a flight to Portland out of
Los Angeles first thing in the morning might require an act of God. He
immediately went to Southwest Airline’s web site and started searching for
available flights. Nothing left from Los Angeles, Burbank or Orange County.
Jeff thought aloud, “I’m gonna need my own plane.” But he was in luck. He
booked a 6:20 a.m. flight from Ontario that arrived at 9:55, along with a
return flight in the evening and a rental car. He figured he would have to
leave the house around four in the morning. “Ugh. It’s gonna be a long day.” He
then looked up Salty’s in Portland, jotted down directions from the airport,
and called to make a lunch reservation for two.

“A window table overlooking the
river. Something quiet?”

“Of course, sir. We’ll have it
waiting.”

“Thank you.”

Jeff wandered into the bedroom,
opened the closet and picked out a gray pinstripe Hickey Freeman suit. Getting
a resident to put her medical career on hold for six or seven years and follow
a lunatic on a wild adventure – which could get her killed – would be no easy
task. Jeff figured he should at least look like he knew what he was doing.

Friday, June 1, 2012
(T minus 1390 days)

Jeff had never been to Portland.
Flying in over the city, he was a little disappointed that he didn’t have more
time to look the place over. But he needed to get back to Newport; there was
much to be done. He found the rental car desk, took a shuttle to the lot,
picked up the car and drove over to Salty’s. He had an hour and a half to kill,
so he parked in the marina lot next door and made notes, a few calls, and
checked his to-do list – which was growing exponentially – while looking over
the many yachts in the marina. He added another item to the list, “Do some more
sailing. May not have another chance.”

As noon approached, he drove back
to Salty’s, went in and announced himself to the hostess.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Grey, your
table’s ready. Will you be dining alone?”

“No, there will be one more. A Dr.
Lú. Perhaps you could show her to the table when she arrives?”

“Of course, right this way.”

The hostess seated him at a corner
table beside the windows overlooking the Columbia River. “May I get you
something from the bar?”

“Thank you. How about a Bloody
Mary?”

His drink arrived quickly and he
sat sipping and looking over the river view. It was a very pleasant spot. He’d
have to remember to compliment Dr. Lú on her fine choice. After a few minutes,
Jeff noticed the hostess headed his way with a diminutive but alarmingly
beautiful young Chinese woman in tow. He heaved a quiet sigh of relief – blind
dates and all that, one just never knows – and stood to greet her.

“Dr. Lú?”

“Yes.”

“Jeffrey Grey. It’s a pleasure to
meet you.”

“Likewise.”

She couldn’t have been much over
five-foot-two and, though Jeff didn’t think himself particularly tall at
six-foot-two, he towered over her. She was wearing perfectly tailored black
slacks and a black and red silk cherry blossom blouse that looked as though it
had been molded to her figure. Her voice was as tiny as her frame and her
demeanor as reserved and elegant as they come. Jeff thought, “Now this is a
class act,” and found himself momentarily smitten.

As they took their seats, the
hostess asked if she would like something from the bar.

“Just iced tea, thank you.”

Her delicate facial features were
punctuated by a flawless creamy complexion, topped off with jet-black hair tied
up in a rather sizeable knot.

“First, I really want to thank you
for taking the time to meet me. And may I compliment you on the choice of
restaurants. This is perfect.”

“Thank you. I’ve only been here
once before, but it is quite nice.”

She seemed a bit nervous, perhaps
even weary, and Jeff thought breaking the ice with some small talk would be
better than jumping right into business.

“Are you native to Portland or just
here for your residency?” He already knew the answer, but it beat talking about
the weather.