Fly by Wire: A Novel (28 page)

^{"And then what?" she asked.}

^{'I'll move on to something else."}

^{"Another temporary job?"}

^{"Like I said, I try not to plan too far ahead. Today, I'm in the field making things a little better. I'm a happy guy. But in my experience, if you stick around any place too long, somebody will try to put you behind a desk. That's the day I move on."}

^{"You'll never get promoted that way."}

^{"That's my advantage. I don't want to get promoted. I've got plenty of friends who are still in the Air Force -- lieutenant colonels, full birds, even some one-stars. Most of them are parked on their butts in the Pentagon, writing mission statements and sitting in conferences."}

^{"It can't be all that bad."}

^{"Are you kidding? It's a military officer's gulag. On your performance report they call it 'career broadening.' For me it'd be more like career waterboarding. Nope. I'm right where I want to be -- out here in the cold getting things done. But Jen is my wild card. She comes before any of it. With Diane gone, I'm all she's got."}

^{Sorensen nodded. "Your daughter is a lucky girl."}

^{"I don't know. Our home life isn't exactly something Norman Rockwell would have painted."}

^{"Not many are these days."}

^{"Look at me right now. I should be home reading her the riot act about -- something." Davis looked skyward. "Or maybe shooting a few hoops in the driveway."}

^{"A good parent has to do both."}

^{He pulled up the collar on his jacket. "Yeah."}

^{They walked in silence for a time. An ancient building of indeterminate use butted up against the road. It looked abandoned, dark, and empty, and its chipped walls rose high, topped at the crest by carvings of leering gargoyles. Farther on, the lane doglegged right and came to be bordered by an amalgam offences and gates and a stone wall that had to be four feet thick, great slabs of Alpine granite. In any big city in the States it would all have been plastered with graffiti and topped by razor wire. Here, unadorned by blight, the borders engaged an Old World feel, a reminder that virtually everything predated those walking past.}

^{Davis finally said, "That file you have on me, Honeywell -- it probably didn't explain how I met Diane, did it?"}

^"No."

^{"It was during my first assignment after pilot training. One day I was out flying with a new guy in the squadron, Rick Foster. I was a brand new flight lead, Ricky was a lieutenant. Just two kids out having the time of their lives in a couple of F-16s. We were doing a few practice bomb passes--just dry, not releasing anything. I said something on the radio and got no reply. When I looked over my shoulder I saw a smoking hole. No warning. One second he was there. The next he was gone. Just like that."}

^{"What happened?"}

^{"I hadn't gotten into the investigation business yet. The team that looked into it determined that Ricky had his head down, probably distracted by something in the cockpit. Maybe he dropped a pencil or was fiddling with a screwy gauge. He just flew into the ground. Chances are, he never knew until the last moment."}

^{"That's awful."}

^{"Yeah, it was. Unfortunately, it happens all too often." Davis stopped. A few steps on, so did Sorensen. "But the story doesn't quite end there. You see, Diane was Rick's wife."}

^{Sorensen stared at him, clearly searching for something to say. "You married your buddy's widow?"}

^"Yes."

^{"That sounds incredibly ... chivalrous or something."}

^{"There were people who saw it that way. Others were sure the two of us already had something going on. But none of that was right. I guess I felt some degree of responsibility. Diane and I drank a lot of coffee, had some long talks. It took over a year, but we eventually fell pretty hard for each other. What she and I had was the real thing."}

^{"Was this the reason you got interested in accident investigation?"}

^{"I don't know. Maybe."}

^{He started walking again. Sorensen fell in step. Both were quiet until Davis asked, "What about you, Honeywell? Career CIA?"}

^{She hesitated. "I guess I don't have any other plans. Maybe a cabin in Colorado someday, deep in the woods. I've always had a vision of that."}

^{Davis almost asked if she was alone in her vision. Instead he asked, "How long have you been posted here in France?"}

^{"Almost a year. The assignment kind of surprised me at first, because my French isn't all that good."}

^{"I think it sounds okay."}

^{"I took it for three years in college -- and four years at Mardi Gras."}

^{"Laisse le bon temps rouler!"}

^{She laughed. "Exactly."}

^{"I wouldn't have figured you for a party girl."}

^{"I wouldn't have figured you for a guy who quotes Shakespeare."}

^"Touche."

^{They were halfway back to the hotel when the neighborhood gave way to a sector dominated by small businesses -- garages, machine shops, a computer repair place. All were locked down tight for the night.}

^{He noticed that Sorensen was walking awkwardly, the heels of her shoes digging into cracks in the rutted sidewalk. They weren't exactly stilettos, but the sleek two-inch lifts were clearly giving her trouble. Davis pointed at them accusingly. "You know, those aren't as sensible as the ones you had on in the field this morning."}

^{"I'm a woman," she countered. "All shoes are sensible."}

^{Davis grinned. Then he looked up and saw trouble.}

^{Chapter
TWENTY-SIX}

^{They appeared out of nowhere, three men fifty feet ahead. Shoulder-to-shoulder, they stood facing Davis and Sorensen. No motion, no purpose. Just stood there. Any of them would have looked right at home in a police lineup. Together, they practically made one. There was no one else in sight.}

^{"Jammer!" she whispered harshly.}

^{"I know," he said, "keep going."}

^{They moved closer. Thirty feet, twenty. The three men fanned out to block the sidewalk. Davis and Sorensen had to stop.}

^{Davis checked all around. They were in front of a bakery, a commercial patisserie. No going left. To the right, across the street, was an auto parts store. It was shut down, the windows above dark. No help there. Then he sensed movement behind. He half-turned and saw a really big guy closing off the rear. Davis stood so as to keep everyone in sight.}

^{"You guys want something?" he asked. Davis said it in English, playing the stupid tourist. Hoping they'd feel free to talk among themselves in French. Unfortunately, the group of three began babbling rapidly in a language that made no sense to him. Or maybe it wasn't rapid. Some languages just sounded that way. They looked North African -- dark olive skin, curly black hair. There were a lot of North Africans in France -- Algerians, Libyans, Moroccans. Right now Davis didn't care much about their heritage.}

^{He saw a calm confidence in their posture, in their eyes. This wasn't just a random roust. These guys were here with a purpose. The oaf in back had to go six-six. He was heavy, but bigger in the waist than the shoulders. He'd have lots of momentum, a good thing if you knew how to use it. The one in the middle of the trio was skinny, a kid. He pulled out a knife, flicked it open like he'd seen
West Side Story
one too many times. The one on the right was hard-faced -- flattened nose, cauliflower ears, a few missing teeth. A man imbued with the richness of life's experiences. He had a hand in the pocket of his jacket, gripping something big and bulky. Brass knuckles, a sock full of coins. Or maybe a gun.}

^{It was the one on the left who took a step forward.}

^{Not big, not small, he seemed to have a little more European blood than the others. His prominent eyes were unusually round and his ears pointed, one anchoring a big gold earring. His nose and cheeks were sharp, framing a wide-open stare. Davis figured, a few generations back, one of his relatives might have modeled for the gargoyles up the street.}

^{He looked at Davis and said, "We take your money." Then a nasty grin for Sorensen. "From her, we take something else."}

^{Davis glanced at Sorensen. She seemed steady enough.}

^{He said, "That's not nice." Then he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "And Lurch here smells bad. One more strike and you're out."}

^{The Americanism seemed to escape them. Which was fine with Davis. He looked at Sorensen, saw her gnashing through a decision. He hoped she would reach the same conclusion he had.}

^{Davis watched their feet. You could tell a lot by the way a guy stood before a fight. Martial arts training, police or military experience. It was there if you looked. He saw little -- some puffed out chests, stiff stances, itchy hands. They were comfortable with their numbers, expecting a tussle. Not ready for war. Of the group of three, Davis decided that the ugly guy fondling his pocket was the most pressing problem.}

^{Jammer Davis had been a Marine. He'd boxed at the Air Force Academy and spent years training in the arts of hand-to-hand combat. But his move was pure rugby. With quickness that defied his size, he lowered a shoulder and ran straight at the rough-looking guy. The hand came from his pocket, but it wasn't fast enough. Davis crashed into him with a lowered shoulder, wrapped up and kept driving. Five feet later he planted the guy hard into a stone wall. There was a crunch, an expulsion of air, and he collapsed to the sidewalk.}

^{Davis turned fast and looked for the knife. He saw it coming in an arc, a glint of steel that might have sliced his chest had he not blocked with a forearm. But he didn't just block -- he held on, grabbed the weapon with one hand, then pulled the kid close and clamped down with his other arm. The kid was half Davis' weight, and short of chewing off his arm at the shoulder, there wasn't much he could do. So he flailed, screamed for help.}

^{Davis took the moment to assess his tactical situation. The big guy had Sorensen by the arm. She didn't seem to be struggling much -- he wished she'd raise a ruckus, at least go for a shin kick. But the gargoyle was lunging for something on the ground -- Davis recognized it. It
had
been a gun in the ugly guy's pocket. He swept the kid's feet out and twisted his arm viciously. Between the opposing motions, something gave. The knife went flying and the kid fell down screaming, holding an arm that didn't look quite right. Davis launched himself toward the gun.}

^{He hit the pavement just a little too late, didn't get the gun. So he did the next best thing. He rolled onto the guy, put him on his back. Davis let his weight do the work. He grabbed the gun hand and didn't let go, forcing it outward. The gun went off, a wild round flying across the street. Davis twisted, moved until he was lying full on top of the guy, face-to-face. With his free hand, he grabbed the earring to hold his head still. Then Davis raised up and smashed his forehead into the gargoyle's nose.}

^{The scream came first. Then he gave up the gun. Blood poured from the guy s shattered nasal cavity and he began rolling on the ground, his hands covering his face.}

^{Davis stood up. A gun in one hand, a bloody earring in the other.}

^{He dropped the earring.}

^{Lurch was standing behind Sorensen now, pressed against her back. A big arm was draped firmly over her shoulder and across her chest.}

^{His other hand held a knife that was pointed at Sorensen s throat. Even so, the big lug looked more scared than she did.}

^{Davis sized things up. He had a gun. He had a huge target -- there was no way the oaf could hide behind the petit Sorensen. Davis had taken the gun face-to-face, so it was in his left hand. Not his preferred shooting hand, but at this range it didn't much matter. One shot was all he needed. The problem was the knife. It was up against Sorensen s throat, and he wasn't sure he could pull and shoot fast enough. Davis decided to ratchet down. He kept the gun where it was, hanging loosely at his side and pointed at the sidewalk.}

^{"Keel!" the big guy grunted. He twisted the knife near Sorensen's neck for emphasis. "Keel!"}