Flying High (13 page)

“Yes, sir. When will we get it?”

“It may take a couple of weeks, so try to be patient. In the meantime—”

“I know. Miss Lena said in the meantime I have to practice the piano.”

He caressed the boy’s shoulder, and Ricky looked up at him, smiled and went back to the harp.
Why,
he thought,
don’t adults feel free to express love?
Ricky’s smile told him more than words ever could. The child adored him. He looked at his watch.

“What do you say we drive over to the Waterfowl Sanctuary and look at the birds?”

Ricky’s face bloomed into a smile, and he knew what was coming. “Can Audie go, too, Unca Nelson?”

He was beginning to wonder if there was such a thing as Powers disease; if so, both he and Ricky had a severe case of it.

“Call her and ask her.”

“Nobody answers,” Ricky said a few minutes later. “Can we go to her house and get her?”

The child had to learn that he couldn’t always have what he wanted the way he wanted it. Nelson sat down. “Come here. A man does not go to a woman’s house unless she tells him he may visit her. Understand? We’ll ask her to go with us next time. Clear?”

The boy’s balled fists went to his sides, and he slanted his head, as he’d learned to do watching Lena. “Okay. But I don’t like that, Unca Nelson.”

His actions were a parroting of Lena, but the child’s facial expression reminded Nelson of his brother, and he had to push aside the moroseness that attacked him without warning.

“Do we have to go today?” Ricky asked him.

He understood that the child wanted to share the experience with Audrey, and sympathized with him. “No, we don’t. We’ll go one day when Audrey can come with us.”

Ricky looked up at him for a minute, then hugged him. “I’m going to practice my piano lesson,” he said, and ran down the stairs.

Nelson shook his head in wonder.
As thanks for my considerateness, he won’t nag me about the harp, and he will practice the piano. Great! He’s only five. What will he be like when he’s fifteen?

He answered his beeper, wary, his senses heightened. “Yes.”

“Checkmate. Your man is in the neighborhood, seemingly out for a stroll, but he’s got company.”

He waited a few minutes, stood beside his bedroom window so as not to be seen and checked the surroundings. Very soon, Mustache walked by with a big black Doberman Pinscher on a leash. Out walking his dog, eh? What a blessing that he and Ricky hadn’t walked out of the house about that time. Suddenly, he laughed as a woman on in-line skates floated past. What a farce! This time, he knew the identity of his caller as soon as he heard the beep.

“Checkmate. Anything of consequence?”

“Not that I could tell. Talk to the old lady on the in-line skates.”

“She’s on the job. That canine is trained to attack.”

He figured as much. “When are you going to let me know who I’m dealing with and why?”

“We should have something for you in a couple of days. A week at most. Tell your girlfriend not to drive home through Rock Creek Park, day or night. If you told her what’s happening, she should know better. We’re putting a man in her reception area. Oh, yes, and tell your housekeeper to vary her marketing hours. So long.”

He waited fifteen minutes and dialed Audrey’s number. “This is Dr. Powers,” she said. He gave her the gist of his conversation with Marilyn and of his now-defunct plan to invite her to visit the Waterfowl Sanctuary with Ricky and himself. “That could have been a close one.”

“Right. Sorry I wasn’t home. I would have loved seeing the Waterfowl Sanctuary, but it might have been well that I left the office early to attend a meeting. This other thing seems serious. How will I know the identity of the person she’s sending to my clinic?”

“He’ll show you his ID before he says a word. Of course, it could be a female. I work for an equal-opportunity employer,” he added with a laugh.

“If this doesn’t get cleared up soon, I’ll have the willies.”

That was only one of his worries. “You and me both.”

“Where’s Ricky?” Told that he was practicing the piano, she said, “He’s lucky to have you in his life.”

Good enough for him, but not for you,
he thought and nearly voiced the words. “He’s done as much for me as I have for him. Bye for now.” She said goodbye and he hung up to contemplate his last words to her.

* * *

At noon the next day, he locked his briefcase in his desk drawer and went to meet Rufus Meade for lunch. He didn’t often allow himself the time or the expense of the Willard Room, that turn-of-the-twentieth-century elegance in the famed Willard Hotel where the country’s movers and shakers sealed deals over expensive lunches preceded by whatever cocktail was in vogue. To his way of thinking, that kind of elegance in the middle of the day was conducive to an afternoon of intellectual stupor. A hamburger and coffee was more to his liking.

He followed the maître d’ to the table, where Rufus Meade rose and stepped forward to greet him. A tall man, about an inch shorter than his own six-foot-five frame, Meade looked as fit as he would if he still raced down the field catching passes for the Washington Redskins. As an investigative journalist, the man had achieved legendary status for his meticulous, perceptive, sometimes jarring but always empathetic news accounts, which often precipitated social change. Change for the better.

Meade extended his hand. “Thanks for coming. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“So have I,” Nelson said. “I’m very familiar with your work.” He looked up at the sommelier who hovered over them and shook his head. “No cocktail for me. Thanks.”

“And none for me,” Meade said. “Liquor fogs up the brain.”

They gave the waiter their order, each preferring a light lunch, and while they waited for the food, he observed Mead’s relaxed, casual air, wondering how much of it was feigned and how much was a natural element of the man’s personality. He didn’t seem eager to rush the interview, but spoke of himself and what he had observed while in Afghanistan.

This man is not only a sharp professional,
Nelson thought,
but he understands people and he’s letting me know that he’s on top of his subject, that he knows a lot about Afghanistan, the people and the American anti-terrorist activities there. He’s telling me that when it comes to knowledge of the place, we’re equals.

Meade didn’t begin the interview until they had finished the meal and were sipping coffee. He had only half a dozen questions, each of them incisive and relevant.

“Here’s my last question,” he said after about forty minutes. “Will you go back there, and will you ever pilot another Super Cobra helicopter?”

“I’m prepared to go wherever my orders demand, though not quite so readily as when I didn’t have a dependent. My late brother’s five-year-old son is in my care, and I would prefer not to leave him, but I’m trying to teach him that I may someday have to do precisely that. As for that copter, I can hardly wait to get back in the cockpit. If not that, I’ll take the F-16 any day.” He steeled himself against the pain that shot through his right shoulder, grateful that Meade didn’t notice.

“I wasn’t aware that you pilot the F-16.”

“Oh, yes. Well before I flew the copter. It’s an exhilarating experience.”

“I can imagine, and I’m glad we have men like you who enjoy it.”

They walked out of the dining room together and stood in the lobby talking. “If you have any questions, give me a call,” Nelson said, “though I can’t imagine there’s anything left to ask.’

“Thanks, I’ll... Say, can you think of a reason why a guy in a black suit with a narrow lapel, white shirt and dark tie would be so interested in us? I thought he was lip reading when we were waiting for lunch, so I made sure he didn’t get anything important. Actually, I didn’t start the interview until he left. Now, here he is peering over the top of that newspaper.”

He could only feign ignorance as he looked in the direction to which Meade nodded. “Beats me. I didn’t see him in the dining room.”

* * *

“He was behind you.” Outside, on the corner of Fourteenth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, they shook hands and went their separate ways. Nelson turned the corner, took out his cellular phone and dialed Marilyn’s number. “Checkmate. Mustache followed me to lunch at the Willard Room.”

“I know. We have a tail on him as well as on you. Not to worry. Talk later.”

He was becoming annoyed with her superior attitude. If she knew something, he wished to hell she’d let him in on it. If the fellow was haunting his neighborhood with an attack dog for company, he deserved to know why. He dialed her number and told her so.

“I’m getting damned sick and tired of that guy, and if he doesn’t blow off, I’m going to confront him. It isn’t just me, it’s my family and my—”

“I know you’re frustrated and you need to vent,” she said, “but please limit your venting to me. We have this well under control. Later.” Maybe so, but he didn’t know her definition of control.

* * *

He was standing at her door when Audrey arrived at work that morning. She stopped three feet away to await his move, but he didn’t keep her guessing and, as Nelson had explained, smiled and held his official ID well out in front of him so that she could see it with ease.

“’Morning, ma’am, I’ll just sit here and read,” he said, looking around. “Right over there in that corner by the lamp. You won’t know I’m here.”

She would have labeled him as anything but a security officer. Handsome in an off-the-wall sort of way with fine features and a self-deprecating manner, he didn’t wait for her assent, but headed for the corner, took a copy of a horse-racing journal out of his pocket and opened it as if to read.

“Who’s that man in there?” her receptionist asked later that morning. “He’s been sitting in there for three hours, and he hasn’t said a word to me about fitting him in.”

“I spoke to him as I came in this morning,” she said. Nobody had told her how to explain the man’s presence. She went into her office, closed the door and phoned Nelson on her cell phone.

“He knows what to tell her,” Nelson said. “If she brings it up again, tell her to speak to him. Uh...Lena’s going to the South to a family reunion this weekend. Want to make Ricky and me happy?”

She leaned back in her chair and prepared herself for his next sally. “I’d love to make the two of you happy, but not if it involves housekeeping in any of its forms. Besides, you know I don’t cook.”

“Really!” His voice had a rough, jagged sound. “If I ask you to cook up something, you bet it won’t be food.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Wait a minute. You don’t have to get your dander up. I’m not apologizing, either.”

It didn’t surprise her that he ignored her last remark. She had learned that if he didn’t want to engage in a topic, he didn’t mention it.

“As I was about to ask, would you like to spend the weekend somewhere nearby, a place that offers swimming, fishing, a place that has good weather, trees, water, hiking—”

She interrupted him. “You make it sound like heaven, Nelson, but heaven isn’t what you want right now, and I’m not sure I’d enjoy being there all by myself.”

“Talk that way sometimes when I’m with you. I guarantee it’ll bring results.”

“Promises, promises. I want to see some action.”

“When it comes to you, Audrey, I don’t have a sense of humor. None at all. So don’t expect laughter when we’re talking about
us
. What’ll it be? Yes or no?”

“I don’t think so. I’m trying to get the cobwebs out of my life, and being with you confuses me. I’m trying to go about this logically.”

“And getting nowhere. I’ll answer for you. I’ve tried it, and I know it’s useless. This is a matter of the heart, and hearts don’t give a hoot about what is or isn’t logical. You know that.”

“If I could just be at peace. If I could have contentment, a warm satisfied feeling about my life and my world, I’d settle.”

He was silent for a while, but she didn’t mind because he always measured his words with care when he spoke seriously. “I’ve come to the conclusion that, together, each of us would find far, far more. So, I’m not settling for less. From now on, expect to deal with me in a serious manner. You understand?”

Stunned, she detected a quiver in her voice and knew that he did, too, when she said, “I...uh...please excuse me this weekend and give Ricky my love. You’ve made it through, but I’m still floundering.”

“Audrey, whenever I have accepted my own culpableness in the things that have gone wrong in my life, I have always been able to put them behind me, and that’s what I’m trying to do now. My father used to say that so long as we hold someone else responsible for what happens to us, we won’t try to change it. I’m telling myself to apply that rigorously, and I hope you succeed in doing the same.”

This man is philosophical,
she thought, and then he suddenly changed his manner. “Besides, I’m a decent fellow. I’m neat and clean with my person. I hate garlic, so you don’t have to shy away from kissing me. I make a good living. I say my prayers when I get scared. And I don’t do drugs. I’m a real pussycat. On top of all that, I’m a lover from head to foot, and I’d like to know what the hell else could a woman want?”

By the time he finished that litany, she was nearly convulsed with laughter.
I could love him,
she thought.
Oh, Lord. How I could love this man!
To him, she said, “So now you’re a comedian. Send me a notarized affidavit that you’re all those things, and I’ll hang my coat in your closet.”

“Whoa, there. Tomorrow I’ll have my lawyer send you a notarized affidavit spelling that out in detail. So if you mean what you said—”

She didn’t believe him. “You do that. I’ve got a patient in there. This kind of joshing can get out of hand. Enjoy your weekend.”

Flustered. She did not like being flustered, and that was what he did to her. She peeped in on the government’s man, saw that he continued to read the racing sheet and resisted asking him if the paper was transparent. She told herself not to get fanciful.

“What do you do for lunch?” she asked the man.