When the Wind Blows (20 page)

M
Y THOUGHTS at this point in the physical exam were flying fast and furious. I felt as if my head had actually taken off and
gone into permanent orbit. I had been aching for the chance to find out who or what this magical creature was. Now that I
had examined her, I could hardly absorb what I had learned. She was supergirl, wasn’t she?

A perfect design.

But who was the designer? Or designers?

I needed an X-ray machine. I needed blood analysis equipment. I needed medical and zoological experts to help me interpret
the data. I had more questions now than ever before.

“So tell me, where do you come from, Max?” I said, as I put my stethoscope back in my medical bag.

She gave me one of her mischievous smiles. “A cabbage patch,” she said. “I was left there by a stork.”

Then her green eyes narrowed. “How come I have wings and you don’t?” she asked.

“I don’t know. That
is
the big question, though.”

Max looked hurt. Did she think I was lying to her? Withholding? From the sudden pained look on her face, I could see that
she’d really wanted me to give her a good answer. “They” had kept her in the dark about herself, hadn’t they.

“I’m going to try to find out,” I said. “Give me some time. This is all new and overwhelming to me. Please, trust me a little,
Max.”

“I trust no one,” she snapped. I saw a spark of anger, bitterness, and a lot of hurt in her eyes.

Had she been living with medical researchers? Young people? Lab techies? I’d noticed that her language could be very colloquial,
and
young.
I kept testing her with figures of speech.

“You think grown-ups are full of it, don’t you?” I said.

Max shrugged. “Whatever. I’m going to play with Pip, okay? May I? Is that allowed? Or do I have to stay inside—now that you
have what you want from me.”

“No, Max. Go play.”

She bolted from the room. She was angry. Was it with me, or something I’d said? Whatever it was, she was starting to cry.
Max was able to cry, and that was stunning to me. I imagined an eagle soaring over the land that man was so obviously wasting,
and being able to
cry
about it. Or a mother robin
crying
over an injured chick she couldn’t help.

I found Kit out on the deck where I’d left him earlier. When he saw me, he hung up his cell phone.

“What happened in there? She looked like she was crying.”

“Well, she didn’t tell me where she lives,” I said softly. “But what I learned from examining her completely knocks me out.
Kit, she’s medical history.
However
it happened.”

“Tell me,” he said. His eyes became intense, probing.
I am the police.

“I don’t know where to start exactly. I think she’s a human being who was born to fly. Max is definitely human. She’s got
a human brain, emotions, but the rest of her is an amalgam of human and avian pieces and parts. The human parts seem to dominate.
And this
“school”
she’s talked about, whatever it is, has scientists attached to it.”

Kit looked grim. “How do you know for sure?”

“She’s accustomed to being examined. Max knows a lot of medical terms. I don’t know how or why. She told me that she’s oviparous.
She’s an egg layer.”

There was a silence between us, broken only by the sounds of Max and Pip playing across the yard.

“Are you saying she’s actually some kind of cross between a human and a bird? Is that possible?” Kit muttered.

“No. I don’t think it is. Except for one small and very convincing detail…”

Kit finished my sentence. “We’re looking at it,” he said. “My God.”

We watched as Max scooped Pip up into her arms.

There was the sound of beating wings, and then she was airborne. She was flying above the treetops with Pip, who didn’t seem
to mind in the least.

D
ISCRETION was absolutely critical. Nothing could go wrong from this moment on. The serious mistakes of the past day were already
being rectified. Damage control was being done.

The important “visitors” had began to arrive in the greater Denver area as inconspicuously as possible. Painstaking thought
and planning had gone into every facet of their individual journeys, but especially into keeping their presence here a secret,
not only from the world at large, but from their business associates, even from their families.

Each of them knew what was at stake. Each understood that this was a profound moment, and that they were privileged to be
a part of it, even by their high standards of privilege. And each knew the tremendous personal risks if they were caught.
There would be convincing denials, but ultimately, they would be left out to hang.

Two of the principals came as a married couple, which was the simplest, and the best possible disguise. The largest group
comprised four German males who claimed to be enthusiastic freshwater fishermen bound for fly-fishing along the Continental
Divide.

Two travelers came from a major corporation in Tokyo. If anybody asked, they were here to see the Colorado Shakespeare Festival.
They were staying at the Boulder Victoria Historic Inn, and taking roll after roll of photos like stereotypical tourists.
Another man represented one of the largest and most important corporations in France. According to his story, he was there
to visit the Chautauqua Music Fest and also the Niwot Ragtime Festival. The visitors had agreed to stay in small, surrounding
towns, with names like Lafayette, Nederland, Louisville, Longmont, Blackhawk.

The married couple, who were from London, camped out, “roughed it” American-style, in a tent at Rocky Mountain National Park,
about fifty miles to the northwest of Boulder. An important CEO from Bernardsville, New Jersey, stayed at the splendid and
quite beautiful Gold Lake Mountain Resort.

Each visitor had been
assigned
to a specific Colorado town. They had been requested to dress and act like vacationers; to stay in smallish lodges and inns
like the Black Dog Bed & Breakfast, the Hotel Boulderado, the Briar Rose. As important as all of the visitors were in
their own sphere of influence, they did exactly as they were told.

They could see the larger picture: the history of humans was about to change.

T
HERE COULD BE NO EVIDENCE.

There could be no witnesses.

Harding Thomas led a dozen hunters walking “the grid” from Rough Rider Road out toward the Peak-to-Peak highway. They had
dogs now, hounds stoked on the scent of the winged girl. The paired men and dogs were spaced ten feet apart. They marked off
parallel lines as they cut back and forth through the woods. They were mostly former army officers. They chose to believe
this exercise was in the spirit of national defense, and maybe even America’s survival.

When they had walked the full length of the grid they stepped out of it. Then they would mark the next section. They methodically
searched grid after grid for any traces of the missing girl.

They didn’t speak or joke around or even light up smokes today. The only sounds were their heavy boots trampling the underbrush,
and the constant snuffling of the frantic, overtrained hounds.

On the other side of the Peak-to-Peak were the impressive foothills of the Rockies. Two choppers were presently scouting up
there. They were equipped with infrared equipment that could scan wide swaths of the landscape below. It reported back on
a view screen every warm-blooded creature that it passed over. Deer, moose, bears, rabbits, birds, all creatures great and
small.

The girl wouldn’t get away now. There was zero chance; zero possibility. She couldn’t hide from the infrared for much longer.
Or from the hunters, the methodical trackers, the trained dogs.

But somehow, that’s exactly what she was doing so far. The girl seemed to have disappeared into thin air.

They’d been out here for several hours. The sun was going down in a hurry. It didn’t matter. The intense search would continue
through the night if necessary. More help had already been called in—very worried and concerned doctors and researchers from
the Denver and Boulder area. Men and women who worked at the School, and could be trusted with the truth.

They already had a cover story, and it was the best kind because it happened to be true—they were searching for a young girl
who was lost in the woods.

Max was now a threat to everything.

I
FELT as if I desperately needed to come up for air. I simply couldn’t breathe. Kit had suggested that I go about my normal
business for a couple of hours, take a break, and I figured that was a good idea.

Gillian and I had agreed to get together again soon, anyway. We’d made plans the night Frank McDonough drowned in his pool.
Gillian had even made me promise to come. The circumstances of Frank’s death still upset me terribly. I just couldn’t imagine
Frank drowning.

One of the reasons I don’t go to her house more often is that it’s about an hour ride. On the trip there, I started to have
some really bad thoughts. First, David had died; then it had been Frank; now, I started to worry about Gillian. There wasn’t
any logical reason for my fears, but I had this feeling she might be in danger.

As I drove, I had the unwelcome fantasy that I might arrive at her house and find police cars and EMS. The only saving grace
was that I knew it wasn’t likely. But then, neither was David’s death. Or Frank’s.

I put my mind in a more positive place. Mind over paranoia. Visiting with Gillian was always one of the high points in my
week. After David’s death, no one had been more supportive, more of a friend, not even my sister Carole. I could talk to Gillian
for hours, even over the phone, but in person was always the best. Gillian had lost her husband about two years earlier. That
was part of our bond—but it was so much more now.

By the time I got to her house in the hills, I was more hyper and anxious than I thought I’d be. One tricky thing: Kit had
sworn me to secrecy about the girl. Although I felt he was right to keep Max a secret for now, it was going to be a challenge
to see Gillian, and not talk, not tell her about the extraordinary girl. Not telling almost seemed like lying.

Actually, I wanted to see if I could get some information from her. Gillian is “good people,” very down-to-earth, but she
has a medical degree from UCLA
and
a Ph.D. in biology from Stanford.

She’s an encyclopedia, not just on science topics, but also economics, astronomy, the Denver Nuggets, Colorado Rockies, you
name it, Gillian knows it.

She’s also a terrific mom, and that’s probably what I like best about her.

I could see her now. She was safe and sound. I could also see her little boy, Michael, splashing in the pool as I climbed
out of my car. I felt better already.

Breathe. In with the good, out with the bad,
I told myself, but it was easier said than done.

“Did you bring a bathing suit?” Gillian asked. She was wearing a blue-and-black-striped Speedo, and she was in terrific shape
for fifty-one. She runs five miles a day, and has for the past thirty years. When she was in her forties, she ran in the New
York City Marathon.

“As a matter of fact, I did bring a suit,” I said, and stripped off my blouse and shorts to prove it. I had on a red-and-white-striped
one-piece that I liked well enough.

Gillian whistled and clapped her hands. She’s a terrific cheerleader. “Look at you! Frannie, you look great.”

I rolled my head around loosely on my shoulders, and did my best Jimmy Stewart—heck, b’gum, b’gosh. “Been hiking and stuff,
ya know. Busy at the critter hospital. Guess I lost a few pounds somewhere.” B’golly.

“Listen to you. Something else is different,” Gillian said and laughed. She has a big, toothy smile that I find quite wonderful.
“Did you color your hair, Dr. O’Neill? If you did it looks great. There’s definitely something going on.”

There certainly is, Gil. I’m just sorryIcan’t tell you what it is.

A blond boy of four emerged from the pool, looking all slick and silly. He ran to his mom, interrupting our talk, but doing
it so innocently it was charming and sweet. Michael was only two when his father had died of a coronary in his office at Boulder
Community. He was growing up beautifully, anyway.

“What, Doodlebug?” she said. “Say hello to Aunt Frannie.”

“Hi, Aunt Frannie!” Michael beamed. I bent down and he kissed me. He is a beautiful little doodlebug.

“I’m playing
seal,
” Michael announced. “My seal name is Black Nose. This,” he said, pointing to an inflatable raft, “is Iceland.
Cool,
huh?”

“Iceland is very cool,” I said and grinned.

We watched as Michael dived from the low board and slipped perfectly into the water without a splash. “He’s so cute,” I told
her.

Gillian looked at me again. She stared into my eyes and something
clicked.
I could see her mind working. “You’re in love,” she said, accusingly. “Yes you are. I’m sure of it.”

“Nope. No way. Get out of here,” I said and made a face.

“You are too. Now you tell me this instan—what, Michael? Okay, I’ll time you. Don’t
you
go anywhere,” she said to me. “I’m on to your game.”

Gillian marched to the deep end of the pool. She really was in excellent shape. She held a watch out in front of her. “On
your mark, get set, go for it.”

Black Nose the Seal did another dive. He swam nearly half the length of the pool underwater, right under Iceland. He finally
surfaced.

I was feeling a little giddy. God, did I have news. I wanted to shout out to my friend—
Want to hear about another great kid? An amazing little girl! I’ll tell you aboutagirl who’s sweet and funny—and who can skim
the treetops without breathing hard.

“So, Frannie, tell all. You’d better tell me what’s going on with you,” Gillian said, as she returned to the deck chair beside
me. “ ’Cause I’m going to find out. You know I will. Talk to me. Confess.”