The Four Corners Of The Sky (26 page)

Annie was back in the main terminal by the time Trevor called her. N678ST, he said, was the
FAA
identification number of a 1983 Cessna TU206 Amphibian, with a 1990 affidavit of ownership issued to a Florida Limited Liability Company named La Reina; La Reina had purchased the small seaplane at an auction of aircraft seized by the U.S. government. The two signatories were Clark Goode and Rafael Rook, both of 302 Ficus Avenue, Miami. The plane appeared to rent hangar space in Key West. “How’s that for helping you out in a hurry? I had to call in some favors.”

“Thank you very much.” Annie repeated, “Clark Goode and Rafael Rook.”

“Yeah. Rafael Rook’s that weird Cuban that called you?”

“Yes, Jack’s best friend.”

“And Clark’s your uncle, sort of.”

Annie air-spit indignantly. “Clark? Clark has no idea he’s been off buying amphibian planes and getting beaten up in motels. My dad just uses Clark’s name. So is this why the FBI’s involved? Is this why the government seized the aircraft? Did my dad and Rook really steal a gold statue called
La Reina Coronada del Mar
from Cuba? Trevor, I need you to find out about this Queen of the Sea.”

“You’ve got nothing left to trade.”

“I know. You have to do it for friendship.”

With a sigh, Trevor asked Annie to repeat details of the phone call she’d received from the Miami detective, Daniel Hart, about the Queen of the Sea. “I’ll find out what I can,” he promised. He’d also try not to get her father in worse trouble. He’d tell his contacts in Justice that Annie was just a friend trying to locate a long-missing father, that she knew nothing about anything illegal her father might be up to, and that Trevor was just doing her a personal favor.

She pointed out, “Well, it is a personal favor.”

“You know the government. Everything’s personal. I’m going to bed.” Trevor added that Annie’s cat was already in bed with his Westie.

“Don’t make too much of a one-night stand.”

“I thought Brad’s one-night stand was why you left him.”

Annie gave a sharp laugh. “Didn’t I tell you I found out he’d already been sleeping with Melody even before we left for Desert Fox?”

“If you’d known, you could have taken him out in Kuwait. Talk about unfriendly fire.” Trevor yawned. “I’ll call you in the morning, late in the morning. I’m turning off my phone now.”

Back at the Admirals Club counter Annie spoke again with the receptionists. “Any chance you can help find me a seat on a plane to Miami tonight? Any plane.”

The older woman turned to her companion. “Come on, she’s in the military. Let’s see.”

But unfortunately, because of delays and cancellations caused by the storm, there proved to be no seats on any commercial flights to Miami, not even for the military, until 10 a.m. tomorrow. “You could try to hitch with one of the private companies,” the other receptionist proposed. “You’re Navy?”

Annie tapped the insignia on her cap and white collar. “Yes, a lieutenant; I’m a pilot. Combat jets.” She pointed at ribbons on her shirt. “Desert Fox.”

The women were surprised. “You were in the Gulf War?”

When Annie nodded yes, the older receptionist solemnly crossed her hands on her chest. “I think that’s great. My cousin was in Desert Storm.”

Annie said, “My aunt says it’s all about the oil and the armaments industries.” The woman’s frown darkened, but then Annie smiled and she smiled back. “My aunt’s an old hippie.” The younger receptionist smiled too. There was something about Annie’s smile, when she did smile, that was irresistible.

E
ven near midnight on the Fourth of July 2001, Lambert–St. Louis International Airport was crowded with still largely cheerful people waiting for flights not yet delayed, with families pushing strollers, men and women lugging golf bags and tennis rackets, college students bent under backpacks, headed for far-off places.

In the terminal connector near the Admirals Club, across from where the handsome man in jeans and boots had gone back to reading his magazine, Annie called home again.

This time Clark answered the phone from his bed. Hearing that Jack had fled the airport after sending Annie to recover a courier case from the fuselage of the
King of the Sky
, Clark admitted, “Nothing about that man surprises me anymore. Come on back home, Annie.”

“Let me talk to Sam.”

Clark knocked at Sam’s door. “It’s Annie again.” Sam was sitting up in bed with her cell phone in her hand. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing.”

After listening to Annie’s story of what had happened in the airport, Sam told her, “Watch out for Sergeant Hart.”

“Sergeant Hart? In Miami?”

“He may be using you to get to Jack. Don’t say anything incriminating to him if he calls you. I’m getting Jack a lawyer. He shouldn’t have to die in jail. I mean, if he’s dying, which he isn’t. But if he does, bring his body back to Emerald.”

Clark took the phone from her. “Sam’s up to something furtive here, Annie.”

Sam shouted, “No, I’m not. Call us later.”

In the corridor, someone grabbed Annie from behind. She spun around, defensive, assuming it was the good-looking man from the newsstand. Instead, her well-dressed, soon-to-be ex-husband Brad Hopper stood in front of her, grinning. He scooped Annie off her feet. “Hey, get you, blast from the past!”

“God, Brad,” she finally was able to say. “What are you doing here?”

“Why, looking all over creation for you.” He grinned his best dimpled grin, the one he had used from infancy to cajole women into spoiling him. Even his formidable mother Mama Spring had been unable to resist it, and neither (for a few years) had Annie.

“So much for flying to Emerald, Brad, like you said you were going to.” Leaning her head around his, Annie looked up and down the corridor for the man in the blue T-shirt but didn’t see him.

Brad set her back on her feet. “I did go to Emerald. You’d taken off for here. Then D. K. blackmailed me into giving some—get this—‘business’ friend of his a freeload ride; said if I wouldn’t do it, he wouldn’t give me taxi clearance. D. K. said this guy was trying to hook up with his girlfriend in St. Lou. Whatever.”

Not paying much attention, she nodded. Brad kept talking. “They needed another Hopper jet here anyhow, so I figured, hell, I’ll fly it myself. Because Annie might need my help.” He gave her his sweet look.

“That’s a lot of trouble to go to, Brad.” She was touched, she admitted. “You’ve got a mustache. It looks good.”

“Thanks. Happy Birthday, A.” He clasped her in a hug. “Sam filled me in. Guy from air traffic was gassing on to me about this old Piper Warrior coming in on a
w
and a
p
. So I go, that’s Annie! Good job, babe. Rough?”

“Could have been worse. Sam talks too much.”

The little white Maltese’s head stuck out of the cloth carrier, barking shrilly. Brad jerked his hand back. “Malpy? What’s he doing here?”

Annie pulled away, studying Brad’s face. “My dad just told me on the phone to ‘thank’ you. What does that mean? Thank you for what? Has Sam put you up to something with Dad and told you not to tell me?”

Blushing pink, Brad stretched his arms behind his head as if he were starting an exercise. He shrugged in an unconvincing way. “Sam’s my bud. She just wants us to get back together.”

“Wants you and her to get back together?”

“Come on, don’t be sarcastic, A. You and me.” Malpy kept barking. Annie shoved the dog back inside his carrier bag as Brad turned truculent. “Sam said your dad was, you know, real sick. So what’s wrong with her staying in touch? You hate Jack so much, maybe she never wanted to talk about him.”

Annie was taken aback. “Everybody in my life seems to be in touch with each other except me. Why is that?”

He cuffed her chin, a gesture that had always annoyed her. “Here, looks like your shoulder’s bothering you.” Despite her resistance, he took Malpy’s carrier and tucked it under his arm. “Damn, this dog’s a porker.”

Annie decided not to defend Malpy’s weight by going into the details about the courier case hidden beneath him. “So you don’t know what my dad meant by thanking you?”

“No idea.”

They walked down the corridor toward the food court.

“How’s Clark? Haven’t seen him in ages,” Brad lied.

Annie was distracted by the disappearance of the man in the blue T-shirt. “Same. Good.”

“Not my biggest supporter but a great guy.” He looked her up and down. “You look awesome. How long’s it been since I’ve seen you?”

“Eight months.”

“That long? Amazing.” He gave his handsome head a shake.

“Not really, considering we’re getting a divorce.” Annie knew Brad was lying to her about Sam and her dad, but wasn’t sure of what the lie consisted. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. As for her father, presumably he’d done just what he’d said he was going to do—flee the airport for Miami as quickly as possible—so there was no sense in continuing to wait for him here.

She walked with Brad back past the Admirals Club. “I need to fly to Miami,” she said. “But there’re no seats available.”

He replied, “Did you eat dinner?”

“No.”

“You need to eat. Then we’ll figure out Miami. I know people.”

During their marriage the only place Brad hadn’t tried to make decisions for her was up in a jet plane. He had always been proud of her skills as a pilot, just as she’d always admired his. His talent for flying was the first thing, after his looks, that she’d liked about him. But when not in the air, they were as awkward together as footless birds.

On the upper level of the main terminal, they found a table at a “bistro” overlooking the rotunda, near where the Lindbergh plane hung from the ceiling. They ordered chef’s salads that arrived too quickly to be anything but prepackaged. Annie watched Brad eat his food the way he always had, flinging the chopped lettuce about on his plate with his fork, as if he were desperately searching for something missing. Whatever he found, he loudly tried to stab to death. This tossing and stabbing went on until his bowl was empty. The avidity of his eating had once horrified her but watching him now, what she felt was sadness. For what undefined satisfaction was he so violently looking? Why had he never been able to find peace? Why hadn’t she?

Moved to sympathy, she reached for his hand. “Brad, did you ever feel like there was nothing else to want?” Her question confused him; he just stared perplexed at her. She smiled. “I want to apologize. Because I never made you feel peaceful and you never made me feel peaceful and I should have told you sooner it wasn’t working and you wouldn’t have had to prove it with Melody.”

He spoke solicitously. “A, you’re just all upset. Because of your dad dying of cancer and all.” He shook his head in sympathetic mystification at the odd fact of mortality.

She gave up, turned her neck side to side. “You’re right. I’m just all upset.”

“It’s tough. And it’ll be tough on Sam. I’d like her to catch a break.”

Annie looked at him carefully. He had the twitching eyes he always had when fearful of being caught out. She said, “You got my dad out of this airport for her, didn’t you?”

“Hey, don’t be crazy.”

Leaning over the table, Annie grabbed the sides of his head and turned him back to her. “He was in the airport; the police had spotted him and were watching the gates and he said he couldn’t risk contact with me, even though I just flew here in a fucking tornado. He told me to meet him in Miami.” Both Brad’s eyelashes were flickering, twice, a pause, twice more. When she was only five, her father had taught her how, playing poker, people can’t help giving signals about their hands. Brad had dozens of these “tells,” including the eyelash flicker. “So my question for you, Brad?” She paused for a long stare, knowing it would break him. “How are you getting my dad to Miami?”

It took only minutes to trip Brad into admitting that he had helped Sam out (“That’s all I did, try to help!”) by talking to a friend who had a cargo express company that flew out of Lambert to Miami.

Under the table, his leg bounced up and down. “The way Sam talked, all your dad wants is not to die in a prison cell. Why is that too much to ask?”

Her eyebrow went up. “Sam’ll say or do anything for her brother.”

Brad didn’t see why Sam shouldn’t.

His logic stopped her. “Okay. I suppose it’s not too much to ask.” Annie studied the Ryan Monocoupe that had belonged to Lindbergh. “I don’t know if he’s really dying.”

Brad shrugged sadly. “Daddy Alton was on oxygen one minute and the next minute he was on his way to heaven.” Brad horribly sounded exactly like his mother Mama Spring. She wondered if she herself would start saying things Clark or Sam said. Would she start making awful puns and comparing everything in life to an old movie?

Brad was going on about how all he’d ever wanted was to be helpful. How his St. Louis office could bring in a machinist to look at the
King of the Sky
’s engine and see what could be done to get it flying again. How in the morning he could get her on a flight to Miami. Meanwhile, why didn’t Annie stay the night in St. Louis? Hopper Jets had a suite right here at the Sheraton. They could both stay. He’d sleep on the couch.

Annie slowly shook her fork at him like a metronome. “Don’t try.”

He looked earnest. “We’re still married.”

“We’re legally separated. Let’s keep it legal.”

“Tell me what you want, A, you’ve got it.”

What she wanted was to find her father as soon as she could.

Brad smiled. “You need a private jet.”

“You’ve got plenty of them.”

He tapped the embossed logo on his glossy briefcase: Hopper Jets, Inc. “That’s right. Doing great. Private jets—it’s the way everybody’s going. You hear on the news how the attorney general, what’s his name—? He’s flying private from now on, I heard that on the news tonight. The threat level.”

“From what?”

“Everybody’s going private. It’s the way to go. You should get out of the Navy.”

“I love the Navy.”

Brad shrugged. “Hey, you ask me, serving your country’s just bullshit.” He slipped the white Navy cap from her head and looked at the braided brim sadly. “I tell you, Annie. I was so over that ‘yes sir, no sir’ rulebook, do unto others. I’m about me now. Like you always said, don’t count on anybody, don’t hope, be first, keep it going, see the goal, get there. You taught me all that.”