So, a couple of nights ago I was watching a new film on Netflix. On the laptop, in the CICU. Big mistake. The film in question? A new one by George Clooney, called The Midnight Sky. And I did just fine, really I did. Almost, anyway. Around the time the Kyle Chandler character decides to return home I began to kind of crack around the edges and the ICU nurse said something that sounded very much to me like “Oh Hell No!” That was also about the time she also put out a Code Blue CICU Stat! call, too.

Those of you who’ve used fisheye camera lenses may relate to this, but that dance started again. Let’s call it the ICU MI Ballet. Only this time in pure fisheye senso-rama – whereby yours truly is stuck in the center of this very weird universe as some “really very serious shit” starts to go pear-shaped. All I remember hearing is someone calling out “we’re loosing him” – and I’m sitting there inside this fuzzy warm vortex at the center of the universe wondering who the hell they’re talking about…?

So, two days (daze?) later and I be feeling’ alright. Actually better than, because I have decided that I love, and I mean really, really love – morphine. You hurt, they shoot some of that goop into your IV and then you don’t hurt. Rather unlike Preparation H suppositories, which don’t work, never have and never will.

So, I talked someone into letting me write a little today and as a result this may take the record of world’s shortest chapter – and it gets a little dark, too. Recommended music: Steven Wilson’s Grace for Drowning, including the eponymous track, Deform to Form a Star, and most importantly Belle du jour.

The next few chapters of Come Alive will come next, all quite short, leading us only then to spend more time with Harry while he figures out what the 88th Key is really all about. I wonder, have you?

So, on to the brief white flash…

Chapter 21

Dina came topsides and she looked exhausted, yet when she came and sat between Henry and Clyde, he folded his arms around her shoulders and held her close. Clyde farted, his enjoyment of the moment now refreshingly complete, his sense of accomplishment furiously unbridled after Rolf ran to the rail and dry-heaved.

So of course Henry scratched the old boy’s ears. “That was a good one, Clyde. High five!”

Dina shook her head while the two scoundrels nurtured each others wounded souls. “You two were made for one another,” she sighed. “Can you hear a little better now?”

He nodded, shot her a thumb’s up.

There came a deep rumbling roar a moment later, and they turned as one to look in the direction of Rotterdam and grimaced when a towering fireball rose up where one of the huge tank farms had been, and Henry moved behind the wheel.

“Is that new?” she asked.

“No,” Rolf replied. “A third wave of bombers broke through a half hour ago and hit the Belgian tanks we saw, then Nato aircraft starting hitting the fuel storage facilities.”

“How’s Mike?” Taggart asked, rubbing his eyes.

She shook her head. “He needs a burn ward, but at least we have antibiotics and morphine on board.”

“His scalp looks really bad,” Rolf added. “Like burned on a charcoal grill.”

“Third-degree,” Dina nodded. “And do you remember why?”

“Yes, the germinal layer is compromised.”

“And?”

“Normal cell replacement is inhibited.”

“Good.”

“Jesus F-ing Christ,” Taggart said, grinning. “World War Three breaks out and you two are already working on histology lessons between air raids…”

“The world is going to need many new physicians, Henry,” she chided.

A WRTHRFX alert chimed on the plotter and Taggart hit the accept button, and NOAAs latest weather-fax downloaded, appearing on screen in batches as the computer processed the huge proprietary files. Henry leaned forward, wincing as the same sharp, incisor-like pain bit into his side once again – but he fought his way through it with a deep cough and another wince.

“Oh dearie-me,” he sighed as he zoomed in, then he went to the satellite weather system and pulled that information out of the air. “Well, well, aren’t you something?” he said as he zoomed in once again.

“What is it?” Dina asked.

“Another hurricane, but this one just about scraped the Azores off the map, and she’s just now turning to the northeast, yet…” He punched a button on the display and sea surface temps appeared, then another and wind vectors were overlaid – and Taggart whistled when he watched this newest data filling the screen – before he muttered “Holy guacamole…” as implications and outcomes washed over and across his thoughts.

Only now, even Rolf seemed intrigued. “Henry? What is it?”

“Sea surface temps 100 miles northeast of Horta are 91 degrees, winds northeast of the eye wall are at 220 knots sustained…”

“Where is it headed?” Rolf whispered, wide-eyed now.

“The projection cone is centered on Brest, so even money this thing is gonna blast right up the Channel,” he said, pausing to work the numbers, “say in about four, maybe five days.”

“We will be out of the Channel by then, yes?” Dina said, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Yes, but only just, and that’s assuming the Russians don’t pull something really sneaky by then. Yet…” He ducked almost instinctively as a squadron of fighters darted by just overhead, followed – seconds later – by a terrifyingly loud boom and spreading curtains of sea spray, yet he caught Dina as she screamed and fell to the cockpit sole…

“F-15s,” he said as he turned and watched five of them disappear into the maelstrom surrounding Rotterdam – then three more groups of five slip-boomed overhead –

“Look!” Rolf said, pointing at faraway specs in the sky; Henry turned and looked at four B-21 Raiders and an even dozen F-35s spaced out around the formation, all headed for Rotterdam.

“Looks we got out of there just in time,” Dina said –

And before their eyes two missiles dropped from each Raider and lit-off, then falling to slam into earth at hypersonic speeds…

Taggart pulled up the chart-plotter and looked at their current position – 35 miles from the channel entrance and about 500 yards off the coast – when Taggart’s hands came up involuntarily, shielding his eyes from a wall of blinding light.

“Jesus…” Dina screamed…now cowering at his feet.

He pulled Clyde and Rolf down to the sole and covered them all with his body, and when he looked up he saw roaring torrents of debris being pulled – into – the blast – until the first wave of the thermal blast came for them – as it surely would. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do now, and he knew it, yet even so he couldn’t resist the almost primeval urge to watch this happen…

He’d seen a painting once, a meticulous visualization of a scene from Revelations as events unfolded under an imploding sky – over the upturned faces of an unbelieving people, and the feeling of déjà vu was suddenly overwhelming. The sky had turned a pewter-bronze color, and towering lead-gray clouds were spitting out blueish-white gouts of cloud-to-cloud lightning. The northeast horizon was an ashen line of sparkling black mist backlit by spreading lines of – something – the color of molten lava…

…then concussive waves of sound bit into Time Bandits, sending her 28 tons skittering across the surface of the sea like a flat rock skipping merrily along from wave to wave, her keel finally biting into the lead gray water and with the mast still pointing – more or less – in the right direction. As the autopilot woke it sent an error message and then their course – more or less – resumed southwestward.

Taggart stood and walked to the aft rail, and there he turned and looked up the mast. It was still standing, but only just. Several intermediate stays had let go and he could see at least two ruptured tangs hanging near the masthead, then he leaned out over the hull and saw that the pure white gelcoat hull material was scorched and bubbled in places, while the underside of the retractable swim platform had taken the brunt of the radiative energy: the fiberglass here was crazed and hanging in tatters around the two hinge points, and he shook his head as this gnawing new importance registered.

Only the sound coming from the inferno was now utterly ethereal, almost otherworldly. Like all the glass in the world had just fallen to earth and shattered in one collective release of surface tension, and all that was left of the world were the tinkling screams that seemed to embody the cries of sundered angels crying as they fell open-armed into the waiting fires. Taggart closed his eyes and he could just see glimmering bodies writhing within the swirling currents and licking tongues of fires that seemed poised to reach up and pluck their scorched souls from the falling sky…but he had to ask…’just what am I seeing…?’

And two hundred miles overhead two orbs coalesced inside the moment, disbelief that the fabric of the universe could be so carelessly and completely undone.

Their cries for help were completely unnecessary. 

© 2020 adrian leverkühn | abw | this is a work of fiction, pure and simple; the next chapter will drop in a week or so.

Well, I woke up at four in the morning on Monday with an elephant standing right in the middle of my chest. A quick trip to the ER confirmed my own brilliantly off-the-cuff diagnosis: I was having a heart attack. I few hours later I was watching (in disbelief, believe me) a ballet of trauma nurses and heart surgeons getting me ready for…something really painful.

So, my writing output will pickup once again now that I’m reasonably conscious and sitting up again. And in case any of you think this was an awful experience…? Nope, not at all. All six of the nurses were seriously gorgeous and one of them had some sort of weed-whacker and she was trimming the hair on the insides of my thighs. Then my bush. Now, seriously, you know you’d have enjoyed it too. Go ahead, admit it. Hell, even she was grinning. Perhaps it was something I said…?

So…Merry Christmas, y’all! Hopefully I can organize my thoughts and get some words down on paper in a day or three. If not, y’all get out there and cook a turkey or a goose, do something Christmasy. Maybe one day we can all get together over cold glasses of something fun and tell dirty jokes while the sun goes down.

’til then…

A

Chapter 20

Ship traffic in the English Channel was now almost overwhelming; it seemed to both Taggart and Mike that every ship left in northwest Europe was now trying to flee the region by taking this more southerly route, and as there was no northbound traffic Taggart moved in as close to the surf as he safely could. Larger ships would keep well away from them – as they had to travel in deep water far off the beach – but that also meant he and Mike would have to keep a close eye on the sonar to spot any uncharted shoals in constantly shifting sand. If they missed just one their trip would be cut permanently short.

When they’d exited the locks at the opening of the Amsterdam Canal they were within a few yards of the Channel and so right in the thick of the so-called Channel Traffic Separation Scheme governing all commercial and military traffic in this normally very congested waterway. All transiting commercial traffic was usually under positive radar control so it was just about impossible for large ships to dodge small recreational craft – unless authorized to do so by the controllers – but now there was the very real possibility of submarine attacks on ship traffic to add to the confusion. Reports of periscopes were being taken seriously now, and several P-3 Orion ASW aircraft were orbiting the Channel to ensure rapid response times.

As Time Bandits approached Rotterdam and the Eurozone channel entrance, Mike kept binoculars trained on the breakwater jutting out from the Hook of Holland, staring in awe at the number of ships leaving the port.

“You do know,” Mike said, “that we’re going to have to cross that traffic lane…which means we’re going to have to shoot the gap between ships.”

“Okay? What am I missing?”

“Well, there are at least three traffic lanes working now, so after we cross one we’ll be seconds away from entering the next lane, and from what I can see none of the ships are maintaining anything like a constant speed.”

“Sounds like fun,” Taggart sighed as he looked at the plotter. “Okay…looks like about five miles to go to the breakwater…”

…then, somewhere behind them a huge fireball erupted, and seconds later the sound reached them, a deafening crumbling roar that caused Henry to flinch; Clyde turned from the sound and hurried down the companionway, and seconds later both Dina and Rolf came charging up the steps…

“What was…” Dina tried to say…just as the shockwave hit…

Time Bandits’ stern was shoved hard to the left and her bow dug into the water; Henry countered with full left rudder and she pulled out of the broach just as a wave of putrid LNG pushed through the air…

“Goddamn!” Mike shouted. “Someone just got a bulk liquified natural gas ship…”

Henry flipped the radar to full-screen and he could see remnants of the blast on radar; “Can you see anything out there?” he said to Mike.

Mike lifted the binoculars to his eyes: “Two, no…make that three smaller ships on fire, and it looks like one of the P-3s is dropping on a contact…”

A cruise missile burst through the water’s surface about a mile away and after it got airborne the missile turned for England and disappeared…a second later another missile launched, this one headed to a target in the channel to the southwest…

“Gimme the radio,” Mike said as he sat down next to the plotter. “Pan…pan…pan…two cruise missiles just launched, probable submarine location six miles north of the Hook of Holland…”

“Tiger 758 to unidentified vessel reporting launch. State your vessel type and exact location.”

“Sailing vessel Time Bandits reporting from 52 07 06 North 04 01 05 East. Two cruise missiles at low altitude, one leading east possibly London, one headed southwest down the channel.”

“Bandits, are you US flagged?”

“Affirmative. I’m retired fleet intel out of Norfolk.”

“Understood.”

“Okay Tiger 758, a third cruise missile is in the air now, heading due south.”

“Bandits, give me a relative bearing to target.”

“Three one zero relative, range still about a mile.”

“Bandits, are you the southbound sailboat off the beach?”

“Affirmative.”

“Recommend you take cover now.”

“Rolf, get Dina below, and don’t come up until I give you the all clear,” Mike said.

“Right, come on, Grandma-ma…”

“Here they come!” Mike yelled, pointing at two orange torpedos hanging from parachutes. “Get down, Henry! Now!”

A second later the first torpedo hit the surface and disappeared, the second torpedo moments later; about ten seconds passed before the surface of the sea erupted – then billowing gouts of black smoke and red flame seemed to ignite on the surface as a fountain of white water rushed skyward.

“Tiger 758, that’s a hard kill, repeat hard kill,” Mike said over the VHF radio.

“Okay Bandits…thanks!”

Taggart stood and called out to Rolf. “Clear up here…come on up if you want.”

Rolf came up and looked at the still bubbling sea. “Was that a submarine?”

“Yup,” Mike replied. “They got off three cruise missiles…”

“You mean…nuclear…?”

“No, probably not. Henry, do you have traffic on radar yet…behind the breakwater?”

“Yes…I can make out all three traffic lanes, I think.”

“Good. Look for big gaps.”

“Yeah, got it.”

Dina came up with cups of tea, but she looked shaken this time around.

“We should be okay once we get past all this traffic coming out of Rotterdam,” Taggart said, noting her shaking hands.

“That was frightening,” she sighed. “And unexpected.”

Mike shook his head. “With all this noise,” he said, pointing at the ships exiting the port, “it will be impossible to pick them up on sonar. My guess? This is how they picked off that LNG carrier.”

“So, you think more of this will happen?” Dina asked.

Mike nodded. “Look at what happened in Amsterdam, Dina. The Russians moved on the city to capture the fuel stored there, so it makes sense that they’ll go after fuel shipments leaving the continent, too.”

“And that’s why they’re moving on the Persian Gulf,” Henry added. “One more war over oil.”

“When will we get to France?” she asked, wanting to change the subject quickly, for Rolf’s sake as much as her own.

“It’s about 250 miles now, so we make it to LeHavre tomorrow evening,” Henry said.

“I am very concerned about my mother,” Rolf sighed, turning and looking at the large male orca swimming behind them.

Henry smiled. “She’s okay, Rolf. She’s with friends now, but I think she wants to talk to you.”

+++++

Britt was on her back in the water; two female orcas were beside her now, their body heat keeping her warm. When they had first approached her, and just as Henry’s voice came to her within roiled waves of insight, she hadn’t known what to think or do as the whales brushed against her. Yet she had followed his voice, grabbed hold of something in his words – when he’d told her to reach out with her mind –

And it wasn’t like she hallucinated what happened in the moments that followed. What she saw, what she felt and heard and smelled was as real as yesterday. The white, sandy road, the greenish sky dominated by the huge ringed planet overhead, the sea ahead – with a fresh breeze coming off the water scented with eucalyptus and strange, unseen flowers…then the terrifying jump to deep space before, literally just seconds later, she was back here in the water. 

She was beyond relaxed now, the warm water lapping against her eardrums, the sky overhead a cerulean curtain dappled with drifting balls of shredded cotton coming apart before her eyes. She turned her head just a little and she was eye to eye with one of the females and it felt like the orca was examining her, literally looking into her soul, but it was her own reaction that startled her most now.

She wanted, somehow, someway, to hold onto the huge creature and drift away, to let go of everything. To reach out…

+++++

“Close your eyes, Rolf. Just take a few deep breaths and concentrate on the darkness. Feel it all around you, feel it like warm water surrounding you…”

Henry kept talking to the boy, instructing him, moving him closer to the moment.

“Reach out with your hands, out into the darkness. Now…reach out with your mind…”

Dina and Mike were staring at Rolf – laying on the deck beside Henry – as something seemed to happen…

“…reach out now…can you see her yet?”

Taggart’s body lifted from the deck and seemed to hover, then Rolf’s began to lift…

“Mother? I can see you…”

“Rolf? Is that you?” Britt said. “I’ve been so worried…”

Taggart wanted to hold his breath…he’d never been this far in before, and he’d never successfully taken anyone else this far into the zone. He knew he was levitating now but he was trying to keep Rolf’s first journey to his mother as simple as he could. Let them both discover how to reach out when their need was greatest, but when he pulled back he saw that Eva was with Britt and the females now. And he could tell Eva was very strong now, that she’d already been reaching out to places he’d never been before, and that Eva was helping him make this connection. He could feel her probing him, reaching into his mind, making a second connection even as he struggled with this one to Rolf.

“It’s alright, Henry,” he felt her say, “I’m here with you now. I’ll always be with you.”

He felt water, icy cold at first then spreading warmth all around and he knew the big male was with them now, then he felt Rolf’s hand reaching out for his and he took it – and in an instant the connection whirled away, leaving them in the water with three orcas.

The large male rolled on his side presenting a pectoral, and when Henry took it they moved slowly through the water to Bandits’ swim platform, where Mike helped them up and handed them towels. Dina was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Dina?” Henry asked, and Mike shook his head.

“I think that was just a little too much for her, Henry. Matter of fact, it was just a little bit too much for me, too…”

Henry nodded. “How’re you feeling, Rolf?”

But the boy was smiling now, and staring at the large male just off the stern. “Thank you,” he said as he turned to Henry. “I’m alright now, Henry. I don’t understand, but I’m good.”

“You’re not the only one, kid,” Mike sighed as he walked back to the cockpit. “Henry, about a mile to go to the departure lanes.”

“C’mon, buddy,” he said to Rolf. “Go get into some dry clothes. We have some work to do.”

“Right.”

Taggart went to the helm and looked at the radar display, then at Mike…

…who was staring at him. “I’m just curious, Henry. Are you even human anymore?”

Henry tried not to laugh – but failed and looked away. “Klaatu-barada-nicto, eh Mike?”

“Yeah, whatever. You really are one strange mother-fucker, Taggart. I mean, like, you do know that, right?”

“Me? Strange? Hell, Mike, I just go where the road takes me.”

“Remind me not to get in any more cars with you – like ever again, okay?”

Henry smiled and looked at a gap in the traffic and measured their distance to the breakwater. “Call it twelve minutes at current speed. Looks like a gap forming…” He stopped and turned around, looking at a wave of turboprop troop transports southbound just over the beach. Moments later they moved inland in climbing left turns – and paratroopers started their jumps – again. “Russians?” he asked Mike, now looking at them through the binoculars.

“Yup. Going for the airport and the oil storage tanks…looks like Frogfoots are coming down from Schiphol, too.”

“So…Amsterdam has fallen. Sheesh…looks like they caught Nato asleep at the switch this time.”

“Well, Henry, time to think the unthinkable. If the fuel reserves here are at risk someone is going to put two and two together…”

“You mean tactical nukes, right?”

Mike nodded. “We need to get the fuck outta Dodge, Taggart. Time to start pushing that diesel – hard – and I mean rig…” – but his voice was cut off as a wave of fighters – apparently coming from England – passed just overhead on their way to cut off the Sukhoi-25s.

Henry pushed the throttle up a notch and watched the head temp and water temp gauges inch up a bit, then he nudged the throttle up a little more, shaking his head as he did. Rolf came up the companionway and looked at the clusters of green parachutes falling to the earth, then at several dogfights that seemed to erupt in flash fire and smoke that dissipated just as quickly.

“What are we doing now?” Rolf asked.

“Let’s get ready to roll up the sails,” Henry said. “We’ll be heading right into the wind for about a half hour or so.” As Rolf and Mike started to roll up the sails two large explosions rippled through the air, and Taggart could see tanks moving across a bridge, then aircraft diving on the tanks. Several large explosions – less than a mile away – rocked the boat, and he watched as a missile hit one of the Russian jets, just one more explosion in what was turning into an almost continuous concussive roar.

Then he saw two Frogfoots – that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere – in a mad dive to attack traffic in the shipping channel leading out of the port, firing missiles as they came down and setting ships on fire as they passed low overhead, but then a huge tanker erupted in flames as small explosions peppered it’s deck, and a second later the ship disappeared from view in a blinding white explosion that knocked Mike and Rolf off their feet and laid Time Bandits on her beam. Taggart, holding onto the wheel, screamed out in pain as his body whipsawed around the cockpit – and as a wall of flame and soot engulfed them…

Bandits’ keel pulled them upright, tossing Taggart across the cockpit again, this time into the port-side coaming as the boat righted, and he felt his ribs giving way then cracking under the force of the impact. He turned, saw Rolf holding Mike’s hand, but he couldn’t see Mike? Was he…overboard? Rolf was pulling now, calling for help and he saw Dina coming up the companionway, a small laceration on her forehead bleeding profusely.

By the time he realized he couldn’t hear he was standing behind the wheel again – the engine seemed to be pulling okay but when he looked at the plotter he found the radar was down. He looked towards the ship channel and saw several ships totally engulfed in flames, then people jumping from listing decks and swimming away as ships turned-turtle in the middle of the channel. Choking black smoke filled the air as Taggart tried to pick his best route through the remaining ships that were now making mad dashes for the open sea as fast as they could – then he saw dozens of Nato helicopters approaching from the south. And then he knew that, just like Amsterdam, they were soon going to be right in the middle of another strategic land battle.

He looked over to the right, saw Dina helping Mike and when he looked close he could see that the skin on Mike’s face was charred, with little black flakes of scorched flesh falling from his head and neck as he sat up and coughed. Dina looked at Taggart and shook her head; he wondered what that meant as the boat crossed over into the departure lane…

Only there was little traffic to be seen, the entry channel now full of flaming wreckage and floating debris. Looking at the carnage, the first thing Henry noticed was that there were no emergency services responding to the scene – and he said to himself that in one more bold stroke one of the largest ports in Europe had just been neutralized. Then, after Time Bandits exited the shipping channel and as they motored south along the coast, he felt another concussive blast and he turned, looking to the north this time, and he saw another wave of turboprops bearing down on Rotterdam, then another blossoming of dark green parachutes.

As Dina and Rolf helped get Mike down the companionway, Henry watched as another rushing wave of Belgian helicopters approached Rotterdam – and then the plotter beeped and restarted. A moment later Dina came up the steps and started talking, but Henry pointed at his ears and said “I can’t hear!” She nodded and went below, came back up with her little black bag and a note pad.

‘I had to give Mike some of your pain medication,’ she wrote on the pad, then she pulled out a penlight and looked in his ears. She pulled out a pre-filled syringe full of saline and washed his ear canals, then he pointed at his rib cage. “I think I busted a few ribs,” he said. She pulled up his shirt and lightly palpated the area he’d pointed out and he flinched when she hit the spot.

‘Does it feel difficult to breathe?’ she wrote.

“No, just a sharp pain if I take a deep breath.”

‘At least three broken, maybe more. I need to tape you up but we don’t have enough tape here.’

“We can try somewhere around Bruges, maybe Ostend.”

She nodded and gave him his evening meds and half a Vicodin, then went below. Rolf came up a minute later and took the wheel, so Henry leaned back and tried to collect his thoughts…

+++++

Two hundred miles overhead four spinning orbs came together. Two disappeared and one remained where she was, while the pale yellow orb returned – slowly – to the planet’s surface, this time heading for the remnants of a very strange hurricane.

© 2020 adrian leverkühn | abw | this is a work of fiction, pure and simple; the next chapter will drop in a week or so.

Part VII

Chapter 56

The right thing to do…

The right thing to do…

Callahan sat at the Bösendorfer working through the song, Carly Simon’s ode to the hopeful and the broken hearted, trying to shake the feeling that somehow Carly had been writing that music with him in mind. ‘But music has always been like that,’ he thought. ‘We relate. We let uncertain music define certain distinct periods of our lives. So why does this song speak to me so…?’

‘What is the right thing to do…?’

It wasn’t just that Becky had grown abusive, and not simply abusive to him. He’d heard Lloyd’s screams and come running, only to find Becky savagely pinching him, and he found deep reddish-blue bruises all over his arms and legs, too. He jumped into the fray when he saw those fresh welts, pulled her away from Lloyd’s crib and pushed her out of the room, and he never forgot the absent, wide-eyed stare he encountered once he had her out by the kitchen. 

“What are you doing!?” he remembered shouting. “For God’s sake – what are you doing!”

But he knew he had lost when he realized there was nothing behind those eyes, not even pity. Simply no remorse at all. There were demons behind and within her eyes, memories he knew nothing about, a family history she’d managed to keep tucked away in the dark. He’d watched her after that first night at Trader Vic’s, not really sure what he’d seen in the heat of that night. Where was the line between passionate intensity and barely contained depravity? Unfortunately for her, they both soon realized, her need to control was no match for his ability to resist almost all forms of external restraint, most especially from anyone masquerading as an authority figure. Callahan’s career at the department was a living testament to that…

But this latest episode was too much. Lloyd was screaming hysterically now, trapped in an endless loop of need and fear as he reached out for her again and again, only to fall into each new trap she set for him. He’d never had a chance, and for Harry everything snapped into focus…

He looked at her in the kitchen that morning and knew things had fallen apart; he called Doc Watson, asked him to come down immediately, and a few minutes later they had Becky well and truly sedated. DD carried Lloyd down to Cathy’s house and Elizabeth played with him, and as was fast becoming the norm, the patient old soul within Elizabeth helped Lloyd to calm down. Watson and Callahan loaded Becky in the old blue Range Rover and together they drove her down to Stanford and admitted her for psychiatric observation. Callahan, awash in feelings ‘that he’d been down this road once before,’ had been in a state of barely controlled rage…

Yet soon he was in a state of shock, and Callahan let the doc drive back up the coast while he struggled with demons he’d thought vanquished long ago; but when he got back to his little house on the cliffs he found Elizabeth and Lloyd asleep on the sofa – lying exactly where her father had passed – and he knew right then and there other forces were at work inside Becky. Maybe it was fate, he suggested to himself, still struggling with the singular fear that the Old Man might show up at any moment and rain on that parade one more time. No, he told himself again, my life is unfolding like I’ve been forced to ride a giant roller-coaster – and there’s a sharp bend just ahead – only the tracks are coming undone, shaking loose as I approach the next glittering curve…

So he’d sat down next to the kids, watched them sleep – at least until DD and Cathy came by a few hours later. Yet DD didn’t say a word, she just collected the doc and left. Cathy came and sat by him, put her head on his shoulder – and she sat with him while their children slept. When he woke up a few hours later Lloyd was curled up on his lap, still sound asleep; Cathy was asleep too, with her head still on his shoulder.

Elizabeth was, on the other hand, sitting in a chair directly across from Harry – staring at him – and he was struck that, to him, it looked like she was lost, but also like she was trying to come to an understanding of something far away and still very obscure.

A few minutes later she came and sat by his side, the side opposite her mother’s, and she took his hand and held it while she fell asleep again.

_________________________________

Becky spent a month in rehab then came back out to the house on the cliffs – but everything was very different in the aftermath of her awakening.

Lloyd no longer reached out for her. For that matter, neither did Harry.

A few months passed like that until one day Becky called from work; she told Harry that her brother was in town and that he’d be staying with her at her apartment in the city for a while – yet she soon grew consumed by the only two passions she’d ever really known: medicine, and running away. She worked thirty hour days, collapsed, then returned for more of the same – until her family’s history began catching up to the moment.

And so it was in this way that for Becky Callahan the idea of motherhood slipped from her grasp. It was as if, when she realized what she had done to their son, that she either could not or would not trust herself to be around him again. There was too much hidden history behind her actions, too many repressed memories. Motherhood had been a hopeful thing, but she soon realized that older forces were pushing her into an abyss that had owned her from the beginning, and this was a gravity she simply could not control.

Yet once again, Harry Callahan did nothing to disabuse her of the idea. She had, in his eyes, failed them both – and he did not want her around Lloyd. 

Because, in truth, he no longer trusted her.

Because twenty years on the street had imbued in his outlook a profound distrust of abuse, and even in the very idea that someone could physically abuse a child. To Harry Callahan, the abuser was consumed by a morally repugnant personality flaw, a profound weakness of character. And so it was, apparently, an unforgivably deadly sin.

And as quickly as he’d fallen in love with Becky Sawyer – those feelings left, they disappeared. He soon felt embarrassed that he’d allowed himself to feel love once again. Because love had become a game of charades, a game with no resolution, little more than tales told in shadowy pantomimes on a sidewalk he no longer wanted to walk along.

Even so, the curious might ask – if it wasn’t love he felt for his son, what was it?

Because those who spent time at the house on the cliffs saw a father who loved his son, who doted on him to the point that many thought Harry was “spoiling” the boy. Even so, Lloyd still seemed a happy enough little boy, to most people, anyway.

Perhaps because Becky quite literally stayed away from him for several years, seeing her son on his birthday and at Christmas, though even on those days she came out to the house and stayed but a few hours. Lloyd, as a result, grew up thinking of Cathy when he thought of a mother in his life, because Cathy took over that role on as soon as Becky ran away from the consequences she knew would come if she remained out there. Another less apparent consequence was that Elizabeth became a sort of big sister to the boy, a role that would assume increasing significance in coming years.

And as Lloyd grew he came naturally to music, and music came naturally to him. Like Imogen, he was a prodigy. He composed elegant works – by the time he was five. Yet no matter how much he loved music, no matter how much attention he garnered from his accomplishments, he always felt as if something was missing. Missing…from his life.

His mother, perhaps? 

Doubtful.

On the few days a year she came out to the house, when Becky came near him he grew visibly distrustful and distant. Lloyd simply did not trust her, and she knew he never would. Yet the feeling would return – of something missing from his life.

Harry was the first to detect this hole in his son’s life, but curiously enough Lloyd had no interest in talking about it with his father, or even with Cathy. He did, however, begin to talk about this emptiness with Elizabeth – for a while, anyway.

And during the latter years of this period, several years after his mother walked away, Lloyd came to know and understand the other half of his family. And actually, it was the first time Harry Callahan came to know them, too. Though not under the best of circumstances.

________________________________

The Sawyer clan was an outgrowth of central Texas, and Becky’s parents raised their kids on a sprawling ranch just outside of San Saba, Texas. Their father, Clem, was the ranch foreman and was, generally speaking, considered a well-respected man in the community. The ranch itself was owned by an amiable enough sort, the wealthy owner of a Cadillac dealership in Fort Worth, yet even so it would be on-the-mark to say that the Sawyer clan really had very little money. As in – never did and probably never would. And in America, where wealth is so often equated with righteousness, being poor was often considered the opposite of righteous.

Yet it wasn’t so much that her parents were strict – in a biblical sense, anyway; rather they were simply mean people, and often violently so. Ranch hands didn’t stay long, friends never came out for dinner, and her parents never socialized in town – though they managed to go to church a few times a year.

But Becky’s mother and father were hard drinking Texans, and her six brothers were as well, so the only thing that saved Becky from rapid-onset ruination was an aunt who lived in town. Dorothy Richardson was a teacher at the local high school; algebra and calculus were the subjects she taught, though occasionally she taught physics, too; Becky tended to stay at her Auntie Dots’ house after school, and she usually did her homework there, too. Life was safer that way.

With an unstable home life to deal with, both Dot and Becky adhered to an unwritten code: Becky could escape this purgatory only by doing well in school. As her brothers were seriously below average students – with one exception – Becky caught hell from them, and the better she did in school the worse things got at home. Her oldest brother – the smart one – made it into Baylor University on a football scholarship and then went to the veterinarian school at the University of California Davis; he had vowed when he left San Saba to never return – for any reason. And he kept to his word.

The remaining brothers were so off the mark genetically that even the Army wouldn’t take them; their lives were somewhat unremarkable – at least until two of them held up a gas station, shooting the owner and killing her after they raped her. Both made it into the Huntsville Country Club after that, which to this day is considered the roughest prison in Texas, if not the United States. Becky rarely talked about those two for obvious reasons, yet the most embarrassing aspect to her, and for the family, was the court’s ruling that both were considered too feeble-minded to execute.

Becky was a brilliant student, socially more than motivated to get out into that other world and grab her slice of the American Pie. She breezed through her undergraduate requirements in three years and went on to do impressively well in medical school, ending up in San Francisco for both her internship and residency. San Francisco was her first choice as Davis was only about an hour away by car, and she reasoned that having a semi-sane brother nearby was better than having no family at all – and that was that. She chose emergency medicine as her specialty and within a few years was considered one of the best trauma docs in California. Her star was rising, you might say, and she successfully kept everything about Texas firmly out of her mind.

And it was about that time that she met Harry Callahan.

Tom, her oldest brother and by then a veterinarian in Davis, was a fairly stable compound at room temperature, but like everyone else in the Sawyer family he had an addictive personality and was a full-blown alcoholic by the time Becky made it out to San Francisco. And after Becky left her apartment for Harry’s house on the cliff, Tom decided he would do better for himself opening a practice in the Bay Area; and so, with Becky’s blessing, he moved into her apartment.

So when Becky fled the house on the cliff she had an instant roommate, a genetic time-bomb then rapidly ticking away, mutating hourly into a genuinely unstable compound within San Francisco’s effervescent, if rather debauched, underground sex scene. By the time she arrived back at her apartment, Tom was having sex with anything that had a willing spirit – male, female, or anything in between. Unprepared for this turn of the screw, Becky began to stress out when her brother brought seriously immune compromised gay boys into his bedroom, and it didn’t take her too long to figure out that Tom had simply replaced one addiction with another. And it was around that time that her increased stress led to serious migraines.

And then one night Tom came into Becky’s emergency room – as a patient – his face having been seriously rearranged by some biker-types who’d not appreciated his advances. As a precaution she had him sign a few extra consent forms and she found out that her brother was well on his way to having full blown AIDS – because it turned out that Tom had been into all kinds of people for quite a while. And so, without much warning she found herself caring for someone well on his way to being dead. Her migraines grew worse. Pharmaceutical reps began stocking her ER with samples of fentanyl patches, and these treated her migraines rather well. Rather too well, some might say.

And soon enough Becky Callahan was taking a one-way ride on the Sawyer family roller coaster, though she – just – managed to maintain her cool at work by tightly managing her addiction. Her work for Callahan Air Transport – Medevac Division, simply made her a more visible presence in the local medical community, expanding her credentials – and credibility – just as her addiction began to peak.

Then Tom died – a slow, gruesomely gradual death – and one she was forced to watch while looking on helplessly. She grew careless at work after that, often wearing fentanyl patches when still working the floor. Then she was caught stealing fentanyl from an ER stockroom, and Al Bressler worked the case. Harry became involved, her family background came into the open and in his feelings of betrayal he filed for divorce. She was fired subsequent to her arrest, and her fall from grace was as swift as it was final. Her case went to trial and she was convicted, but due to the circumstances she was given probation; she was told than that she would lose her license to practice medicine. Beyond depressed that day, she went home and took her remaining supply of fentanyl patches and applied everyone of them inside her arms and thighs. When she felt them taking hold once again she went to her balcony and jumped from the 27th floor, perhaps hoping to fly away – one more time.

By that time Lloyd Callahan was not quite eight years old and in the aftermath of his mother’s suicide his life went seriously off the rails – and a genetic time bomb began slowly ticking away as the roller coaster beckoned – one last time.

________________________________

For Harry Callahan’s fifty-fifth birthday he took Lloyd, Elizabeth, and Cathy to Davos, to go skiing, and the occasion marked a major turning point in Harry’s life, perhaps the last of its kind, too. The kids knew how to ski by then; Elizabeth was going to college the next year and Lloyd had just turned ten, and Cathy had been taking them up to Tahoe to ski for years. But Davos was different, because Switzerland was not California, and as stupidly simpleminded as this seems, it is a distinction too often lost on many people. 

For, as Harry had learned decades ago, there were villages in Switzerland that were already thousands of years old – before the Americas were even ‘discovered.’ Switzerland was, unlike the United States, a land governed by Tradition, ancient ways of being that made little sense to the freeway loving, suburban living people living of North America, and this was a distinction not lost on Harry. Yet for years he had wanted Elizabeth and Lloyd to come to terms with those differences, to understand them and, hopefully, come to appreciate them, as well.

And Didi Rooney was soon instrumental in this other part of their education. She still managed Callahan’s financial affairs, those not linked directly to CAT, anyway, and so she was still in charge of Harry’s Swiss holdings, which included the house in Davos. Every summer she took the kids – her own as well as Lloyd and Elizabeth – to Davos, and as Cathy and Harry usually came for the music festival in Montreux, they also spent time with the kids there. So the kids, Lloyd and Elizabeth, grew up with another world of generally happy memories rooted in the mountains of Switzerland, yet for some reason the kids had never come over in the winter.

Skiing is Switzerland is different from what most skiers in the Americas are used to. Cog-railways haul skiers to the summits of famous peaks in Switzerland, and Swiss skiers had for a hundred years dined in fine restaurants sprinkled all over these mountains. Meanwhile, in the America that came of age the 1960s and 70s, bulk-made cheeseburgers were on hand, served in cafeteria style lodges designed to hold thousands of skiers. The distinction here is a simple one: neither is fundamentally better than the other, they are simply different, as different as the cultures that spawned them, and it was precisely this difference Harry Callahan wanted ‘his kids’ to understand and appreciate.

As he had when he first met Sara, he took Cathy and the kids up the funicular railway to the mountaintop station; they skied several runs together, then Harry begged off another run just before lunch. He took Cathy to the restaurant and they had a fondue and salad while they looked out over the alps, and an hour later the kids arrived, tired and finally ready to eat something. They all made a few more runs after lunch, then skied back through the village and all the way out to the house. It was a day full of magic.

They followed much the same routine for several days and Lloyd seemed quite happy with his surroundings; indeed, to his father, the boy seemed happier than he had in months. And not to stretch the point too far, Harry felt happier than he had in years. and he put it down to Cathy being with him. 

There was an easygoing intimacy between these two old friends now, an intimacy borne of time and shared memory. Harry knew it was love, a loose varietal of love, anyway, and certainly not the frenzied passionatas he’d played years before. Harry wore tweed jackets those days and occasionally smoked a pipe, too, and though he needed glasses to read he rarely used them, hating the very idea of the blasted things. And in a funny, almost an odd way, Cathy fit into this category as well. They had ended up together almost by default, like time had worn away all the extraneous things in their lives and ‘each other’ was all that remained.

Yet a seismic shift was underway, a kind of tectonic moving of plates happening right before all their eyes. One evening while walking back from a fondue palace, Cathy reached out and took Harry’s hand. An easy motion, unremarkable to most anyone who happened to see this simple gesture of affection, yet this was something new. Like the grinding of plates over eons of time creates something new.

Lloyd, walking beside Elizabeth noticed it first, and he poked Elizabeth with an elbow and sort of giggled as the event registered in her eyes, then they looked at one another with ‘is this really happening’ plain to see in each others eyes.

But, and this is kind of important so pay attention, when he felt her skin on his Harry Callahan smiled, then he simply relaxed inside for the first time in a long time, and in his mind’s eye it was as if all the cosmic tumblers had finally aligned and settled into their rightful place. Cathy had been sleeping in a bedroom by herself until that night, but after the plates realigned in their new orientation she woke up in his arms, and there she would remain – forever more.

(next chapter will drop in a few days)

© 2020 adrian leverkühn | abw | and as always, thanks for stopping by for a look around the memory warehouse…[but wait, there’s more…how about a last word or two on sources: I typically don’t post all a story’s acknowledgments until I’ve finished, if only because I’m not sure how many I’ll need until work is finalized. Yet with current circumstances (i.e., Covid-19) waiting to list said sources might not be the best way to proceed, and this listing will grow over time – until the story is complete. To begin, the ‘primary source’ material in this case – so far, at least – derives from two seminal Hollywood ‘cop’ films: Dirty Harry and Bullitt. The first Harry film was penned by Harry Julian Fink, R.M. Fink, Dean Riesner, John Milius, Terrence Malick, and Jo Heims. Bullitt came primarily from the author of the screenplay for The Thomas Crown Affair, Alan R Trustman, with help from Harry Kleiner, as well Robert L Fish, whose short story Mute Witness formed the basis of Trustman’s brilliant screenplay. Steve McQueen’s grin was never trade-marked, though perhaps it should have been. John Milius (Red Dawn) penned Magnum Force, and the ‘Briggs’/vigilante storyline derives from characters and plot elements originally found in that rich screenplay, as does the Captain McKay character. The Jennifer Spencer/Threlkis crime family storyline was first introduced in Sudden Impact, screenplay by Joseph Stinson, original story by Earl Smith and Charles Pierce. The Samantha Walker television reporter is found in The Dead Pool, screenplay by Steve Sharon, story by Steve Sharon, Durk Pearson, and Sandy Shaw.  I have to credit the Jim Parish, M.D., character first seen in the Vietnam segments to John A. Parrish, M.D., author of the most fascinating account of an American physician’s tour of duty in Vietnam – and as found in his autobiographical 12, 20, and 5: A Doctor’s Year in Vietnam, a book worth noting as one of the most stirring accounts of modern warfare I’ve ever read (think Richard Hooker’s M*A*S*H, only featuring a blazing sense of irony conjoined within a searing non-fiction narrative). Denton Cooley, M.D. founded the Texas Heart Institute, as mentioned. Of course, James Clavell’s Shōgun forms a principle backdrop in later chapters. The teahouse and hotel of spires in Ch. 42 is a product of the imagination; so-sorry. The UH-1Y image used from Pt VI on taken by Jodson Graves. The snippets of lyrics from Lucy in the Sky are publicly available as ‘open-sourced.’ Many of the other figures in this story derive from characters developed within the works cited above, but keep in mind that, as always, the rest of this story is in all other respects a work of fiction woven into a pre-existing cinematic-historical fabric. Using the established characters referenced above, as well as the few new characters I’ve managed to come up with here and there, I hoped to create something new – perhaps a running commentary on the times we’ve shared with these fictional characters? And the standard disclaimer also here applies: the central characters in this tale should not be mistaken for persons living or dead. This was, in other words, just a little walk down a road more or less imagined, and nothing more than that should be inferred. I’d be remiss not to mention Clint Eastwood’s Harry Callahan, and Steve McQueen’s Frank Bullitt. Talk about the roles of a lifetime…and what a gift.]

What a long, strange year this has been…even Jim thinks so. Yes, that’s him up there, and I know many of you think I write these stories, but actually Jim does. I just write what he tells me, so don’t blame me if they don’t make sense. I’m assuming they do…to him, anyway.

Like last weekend. He was browsing through the news and got all excited when he found an article about an Israeli general who admitted that aliens are very real indeed, only they have decided – since we appear to be so royally screwed-up emotionally – to not initiate contact with us. Sounds far-fetched, right? Well, read the MsNBC article for yourself.

 https://apple.news/AOuqOee7DSha66btrBwAP3g

Here in the States we’re still dealing with the aftermath of one of the most contentious elections in our history. I was reading a post over at the Daily Beast whereby journalists and politicians in Moscow are begging Prince Vlad (aka some guy named Putin) to grant Mr Trump political asylum. Oddly enough, these petitioners refer to the current resident of the White House as Comrade Donald. Can you imagine such a thing…? I mean…the nerve of some people’s children.

Populism seems to be all the rage these days. A hundred years ago Populism meant something quite different than it does today, but that’s a topic for another day. The brand preached by Trump, aka Trumpism, seems to be a frothy brew of economic nationalism married to white nationalism, which seems to be a combination of overt racism and a more insidious, covert style of authoritarianism. Those of you reading my posts four – five years ago will recall I was concerned about the direction the Republican Party was headed and even made the suggestion then that the current iteration of the Party was more like a criminal organization than a political party. I think I mentioned invoking the RICO statutes at the time, so was completely interested to hear that a number of ex-Justice Department lawyers now feel exactly the same way…that it’s time to invoke the RICO statutes to deal with what’s been going on.

On another front, perhaps a more deadly topic, I read a few months back that police forces here in the States have been infiltrated by white nationalist/neo-Nazi organizations (you can find the post here: https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2020/aug/27/white-supremacists-militias-infiltrate-us-police-report?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other ), and note this link came from an iOS app so you may need to search via Google to locate this one. Anyway, Trump seems to have engineered the response to violence in Portland, Maine for the purposes of tarring Democrats with a soft on crime paintbrush, and it worked.

Since the French Revolution (the one in the 1790s) liberal political parties have tended to shoot themselves in the foot (well, in the ass, really) in much the same way the current Democratic Party is. They splinter into distinct sub-groups, like the save the whales group over here, the tree huggers over there, etc. etc. ad nauseam, and each sub-group goes about demanding to be heard while the group as a whole falls down around their ears. Conservative Republicans are not afflicted with this malady; they unify and stick together until the opposition is pummeled into the ground, then they get to work.

I’m most fearful that the malady is about to bloom again and take down the Democrats one more time. And one more time is all it’s going to take. The Republicans are more unified than ever and stand ready to bury the United States of America in an avalanche of malice and greed (Greed, as in the predatory capitalism that became fashionable under Reagan, as opposed to stewardship capitalism of the FDR through Carter period) as soon as they take complete power again. The current Party seems to not understand the basic tenets of democracy, and have instead come to believe that only white votes count. Why do so many people fall for this one time and time again? It’s simply a foolproof ploy to get the less educated among us angry enough to back an authoritarian takeover, and it works like a charm every time. Just ask Hitler.

For a new take on the Republican v Democrat thing, take a look at this. It’s a succinct analysis of the current moment.

My solution? Or…my advice to those of you in your 30s or 40s? Buy a boat. Get out and see the world. It really is a fascinating place. Strange, yes, but that’s a good thing, because if you find yourself getting too comfortable…you really are doing something wrong.

Anyway…Jim’s calling so it’s time to get back to it. Have fun out there, and Happy Holidays.

Chapter 19

His head in a plastic cradle, an IV of contrast solution pumping incrementally into a vein deep within his neck, and with his body covered by a warm blanket, Taggart listened to the incessant whir-clik-bang-bang of the MRI as it ingested his body millimeter by millimeter into a tight, narrow tube. A red laser centered his approach and the table he was lying on twitched in millimeter jerks, taking him deeper and deeper into this gaping maw of medical insight.

‘Just close your eyes and pretend not to care,’ echoed in his mind, Dina’s words of wisdom every time he’d had an MRI, and yet those helpful words still didn’t help. ‘Claustrophobia is a completely rational response to this,’ he thought – again – as he lost sight of the room outside of the tube. ‘Well, now I know what it feels like to be a meatball…’

Then the thought hit him: if I fart in here I’ll die from the fumes.

So…Don’t fart.

Whatever you do, don’t fart. Taggart…? Don’t you do it!

“Oh, no,” he moaned.

“What is wrong?” the technician running the exam said over the intercom.

“I’m gonna float an air muffin.”

“You are what?”

“Fart. I’m gonna fart.”

He heard laughter coming from the little office off the main equipment room.

“Yup. Here it comes.”

“Do not hold it!”

“No choice now,” he cried. “Sorry!”

The rumbling sound started in the lower ranges, drowning out the whirring sound of the sliding table, then grew louder and louder as the gas gained real speed, sounding a little like ripping cardboard before slipping into high gear, suddenly sounding more like a wounded duck than escaping methane.

“Sorry about that!” Taggart said.

“At least we don’t have to breathe it,” the tech said – just before the stench crept under the door, gaining entry to their little office.

Taggart smiled when he heard them coughing and retching: ‘You know, it’s the simple pleasures in life…’ he thought as he heard one of them slapping a desktop, then aa door slapping open, followed by footsteps running for open air.

A few minutes later, when things had settled down again, the tech came on again. “Sorry, but we must restart the test…”

“Fine by me. Plenty more where that came from.”

“We will try to hurry.”

“A fine idea.”

+++++

Dina was waiting for him in the lounge; everyone was watching the latest news from Poland and the Czech Republic, where NATO forces were struggling to reach the front amidst waves of fleeing urban residents. There was only silence coming from Finland and Ukraine now, and Dina looked at Taggart then at her watch as the orderly wheeled him into the room.

“That took much longer than expected,” she said. “Was there a problem?”

“Yup. Major gas leak. Let’s get out of here and find Rolf. I could sure use some Indian food right about now.”

A lingering waft of fumes trailing his wheelchair hit about that time. “Oh, Henry! You didn’t!”

“I did. More than once, as a matter of fact.”

“You are eating too much salmon again. Your gas is beginning to smell just like Clyde’s…”

“Thank you very much,” he said in his best Elvis voice. “Now…Rolf, then Indian. I feel like I could eat a horse.”

“You smell like you have been eating horse,” the orderly said, causing Dina to cringe in horror.

Taggart shook his head. “You’re just jealous, both of you.”

“Of course I am,” the boy said, “as it has been my life’s ambition to fart just like this. By the way, do you think you could walk from here?”

+++++

As they walked up to Time Bandits, Taggart saw Rolf and Mike sitting in the cockpit and he smiled – because he could just make out Dinky hovering at the masthead.

“You know, I think I’d better put on a fresh pair of underwear before we go anywhere.”

Dina scowled. “On behalf of the people of Amsterdam, I thank you.”

“How you doing, Henry?” Mike asked as Taggart climbed on board.

“Splendid, as a matter of fact. A bag of platelets and some of Dina’s magic elixir and I feel like a new man again!”

“Sounds like the plot of a new Dracula movie, if you ask me…” Mike said as he watched Henry disappear down the companionway. 

Taggart rummaged through a drawer and found a new, tighter pair of undies and slipped into the head; a moment later Dinky appeared and hovered in front of his face, almost in contact with his forehead. A minute later he knew everything that Mike had done so far that day, and he shook his head – though he smiled at the predictability of Mike’s actions. After he changed clothes he walked back up to the cockpit…

“Anyone care for Indian food today?”

“Me!” shouted Rolf.

“Has Clyde been out recently?”

“Yes, but Henry,” Rolf said, “his gas smells very bad.”

Dina turned away, trying not to laugh. “Well,” Taggart said, “I know just how he feels. So, we’re off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Ah-hs.” He leaned over and whispered in Dina’s ear that he needed to talk with Mike while they walked, so she went to her grandson and walked along with Rolf.

“So, you really feel that much better?” Mike said as he slowed to wait for Taggart.

“I do, actually. So, how did your errands go?”

“I went out to the new embassy, had a talk with the CIA’s new head of station. She wants to take you out, now. I think I’ve convinced her that we need to let things rest for now, let things play out in the east.”

“I take it they’re not burning papers at the embassy yet?”

“No, but people are nervous.”

“They should be, Mike. The world they’ve known is coming to an end, and now everyone knows it. The deck is being reshuffled – with all the uncertainty that implies – but this time it’s not on television – it’s going down right in front of their faces.”

“I take it your not worried about…”

“Que Sera, Sera. Nothing I can do about those yahoos.”

“I guess.”

“I take it you still have a weapon with you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“If it comes down to it, Mike, protect Dina and the boy.”

Mike nodded and looked around, trying to spot a tail. “Have you seen the news?”

“Finland and Ukraine have fallen. Poland will go next. NATO appears stronger in the middle right now, the old Fulda Gap strategy I assume.”

“People on the train were talking about getting out. Not many flights left to South America, if their gossip is reality based. Very few incoming flights now.”

“So the airlines will run out of airplanes here, then they’ll be commandeered to fly troops to France.”

They found an open restaurant and the nervous owners seated them and took their order.

“Why is everyone so nervous, Henry?” Rolf asked.

“Because they smelled us coming,” Mike said…but Rolf wasn’t going to play that game today.

“Henry? What is going on?”

“The Russians, Rolf.”

“What about my mother, and Eva?”

“I’ll talk to her this evening, after we find out what the air travel situation looks like.”

“Henry, I am worried.”

“I know.”

“You are not worried?”

“No, I am not.”

“Should I be worried?”

“You should think about the things you need to do, Rolf, and not the things you can do little about. Such worry does nothing but hold you back.”

“Okay.”

Taggart’s phone chimed – in an unfamiliar alarm – and he took the phone from his pocket and held it up to his face to unlock it. Holding it so Mike could see, a live video feed from the boat appeared on screen, and two men were walking on deck – one of them carry a small black duffel.

“Hold this, would you?” he said to Mike as he handed over his phone. He then leaned back and closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths as he established contact with Winky. A few seconds later he opened his eyes and smiled. “I wonder what’s taking so long with our food?” he asked no one in particular, but when Mike returned the phone he saw the two men were gone, and Mike was scowling. Putting his phone in a pocket he smiled at their waiter as lunch arrived.

+++++

“Britt? It’s Henry? How are you?”

“It is a little scary here. Is my son…”

“He’s right here. Is there anything I need to know?”

“Eva. Henry? There’s something not right with Eva?”

“Describe to me what she’s been doing.”

“She does strange things, Henry. First, I hear she goes outside of town, and people have seen her standing by the sea as if she is waiting for someone. I have tried to tell her you won’t be returning but she remains there most of the day.”

“You should go with her when you can, Britt. It’s not me she’s waiting for.”

“Who then?”

“She’ll know. Anything else?”

“No, the war so far is still very far away.”

“There are no airlines operating to Norway now, Britt. I am looking at other options, but those are dwindling fast.”

“I see.”

“If the phones go down please remain in the city – unless or until trouble approaches. I should be able to get you out within a few days, perhaps a week.”

“Alright, Henry.”

“And I need you to tell Eva one thing. Tell her to Reach Out. Got that? Reach Out.”

“I don’t understand?”

“Just tell her, Britt. Now, here’s your boy…”

He went topsides and sat with Mike, looking at the nearly deserted streets and sidewalks. “Feels strange, doesn’t it? One day there are too many people and the next day almost everyone is gone.”

“What did you do to those two…”

“Who…me?” Taggart said, grinning madly.

“Jesus, Henry…”

“They’re fine…though they’re probably in the brig on the Cape St George.”

“Crap. I should’ve known. The spooks at the embassy are probably going apeshit right about now.”

“They have more important things to worry about right now, Mike.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, I don’t know. What the Russians will do next, maybe?”

“I’m more concerned about what we do next.”

“Well, the first bridge opens in an hour, so we probably better get ready to go.”

“Just something to think about, Henry, but we’ll be like ducks on a pond if we take the canal.”

“So, you think we should go outside and make for the Seine?”

“Safer that way.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Sounds safer for Dina and Rolf, Henry. I know the people you’re screwing around with, Henry – and I’d just as soon not have to deal with them any more than I have to.”

“Did she tell you she’d be sending people out to the boat?”

“No…wait a minute. I didn’t tell you I was dealing with a…”

“That’s right. You didn’t.”

Mike blinked several times as implications pulled him to several conclusions at once. “Winky?” he asked.

Taggart shrugged.

“Okay…so we’re taking the Staandemast route?”

“I think so. Besides, it goes within a few clicks of the embassy, so it ought to be more fun.” Taggart then called out to Rolf: “You off the phone yet?”

“Yessir. Do you need me now?”

“Yup, time to leave.” Taggart stood and stretched, then disconnected the shore power cord while he let the diesel warm up; Mike and Rolf handled the lines as they left the marina and started for the first bridge, right in the center of the city. Dina brought up hot tea for everyone and sat beside Rolf as they motored along.

“I’ve never seen this city so quiet,” she said. “It does not feel right.”

“The warning wind,” Mike said, shaking his head. “The calm before the storm.”

Rolf’s head swiveled like an owl’s, taking in their surreal surroundings with an apparent mixture of awe and fear – and reluctant curiosity.

“Probably instinct for these people now,” Mike sighed. “Seems like every European war leads right through Holland.”

“I don’t understand why there has to be war,” Rolf said.

“Someone always wants what you’ve got,” Mike said. “And sometimes those people are willing to take what you think is yours. That’s how we stumbled upon the idea of laws and religion, to try and control that impulse.”

“But what do they want?”

“Oil…and to not live in fear of the next German invasion.”

“But the Germans do not want to invade Russia…”

“Instincts, Rolf. Russians are basically a paranoid people, but it didn’t just happen. Mongols overran those people for hundreds of years and then, just about the time things started to settle down a little, the Germans came rolling along – and twice within just a few decades. Russians don’t trust outsiders, Rolf. At least that’s the way it was put to me.”

“Keeping in mind, Rolf, that Mike went to a military academy,” Taggart added.

“It’s true, Taggart, and you know it.”

“How many Russians do you know, Mike?”

“None, and I’m proud of it, too.”

“And that proves my point, Rolf. And, I guess you could say that’s the answer to your question, too. War comes down to human instinct.”

“How so?”

“If you build weapons of war sooner or later you’ll use them, and if you train people to fight, sooner or later they’ll fight. Think of it this way: once you give someone a purpose, they opt to pursue that purpose.”

“So, why not train people for peace?”

“Because,” Mike sighed, “there’s no money in it.” He looked down, shaking his head as he realized the truth of his existence, then he looked forward. “Is that the first bridge, Taggart?” he added, looking through the binoculars.

“It is, according to the chart.”

“There’s no bridge tender,” Mike said as he passed the binoculars to Henry.

Henry set the VHF to 12 and called the bridge; when there was no reply he switched to 16 and tried again – and there was still no reply.

“Okay,” Henry said as he swung the wheel, “I was afraid of this. Looks like we backtrack and head back to the main ship canal.”

“The way we came in?” Dina asked, and Taggart nodded. “What if the locks are closed?”

“Then we’re a day late and a dollar short, I’m afraid,” Henry sighed. “Time to beat feet – while we still can.”

“You know, with the city empty like this,” Mike added as he looked around, “it feels like maybe they know something we don’t.”

They heard the new sound immediately…low flying jets – followed by turboprops – and Henry swung the binoculars to the closest transport. “Red stars. Russian. Looks like paratroopers getting ready to make their jump…”

“They’re jumping over by the airport,” Mike said. “Doesn’t this canal go right by the airport?”

Taggart pushed the throttle to the stops. “Ballsy move on their part, if they can pull it off.”

And a wave of fighters coming in low from across the English Channel jumped the transports, shooting many of them down – but only after their troops had jumped. Taggart watched as hundreds of green parachutes opened and drifted down towards Schiphol International – just as a wave Dutch helicopters roared in low over the city…

“Tanks won’t be far behind,” Mike said. “Those paratroopers are meant to take the airport and hold it until major reinforcements can land, and those ought to be about a half hour out…”

“And so,” Henry said, shaking his head, “here starts World War Three. And naturally, we’re going to be right in the middle of it…” He saw four freighters up ahead, all heading for the locks that led out into the Channel, and he smiled a little at the sight – just as a wave of Dutch F-16s with wing pylons loaded with ordnance – dove on the airport, dropping their bombs on the runways before screaming off to reload and refuel. More helicopters approached, flying just above the water, and Dutch troops waved at them as they passed.

“I’ve never seen so many fuel tanks in my life,” Taggart said, looking off to the left. “No wonder they’re trying to take the city on their opening move.”

“Split Nato forces in Germany. Fortune favors the bold.”

“And no one will use nukes here,” Henry added. “What about Rotterdam?”

“More fuel farms there. You can bet they’re going for them, too. Can you pull up the BBC?”

Taggart winced as he leaned over to turn on the radio, and Dina caught his reaction.

“Are you in pain?”

He nodded.

“Where?”

He looked her in the eye. “Everywhere.”

“I see. Are you ready for some pain medicine?”

He shook his head. “Going to need a clear head for a while, you know? And…where’s Clyde?”

“Asleep, on your bed. What about your other meds? Have you taken them?”

“Fine until midnight,” he said as he punched the BBC pre-set.

“…repeating news from the top of the hour, Russian paratroops and air forces have launched major assaults on Copenhagen and Amsterdam, and a three pronged armored operation is underway, currently aimed at Germany’s Baltic coastline. Analysts believe Russian aims include securing Baltic sea-lanes…”

“Norway will be next,” Mike said. “And now we know why all those naval assets were headed north.”

“What about my mother!?” Rolf asked, now almost beside himself.

“Don’t worry, Rolf – they’re going to be just fine.”

+++++

Britt’s apartment was located on the Måseskjæret, a small street that jutted out into the bay just north of the city center in Bergen. Though small, her home had a decent view of the fjord and was conveniently close to work; it also had three bedrooms, leaving one room for Rolf and a spare to use as a kind of office. Eva was living in Rolf’s room now – when she managed to stay in the apartment, that is. Recently, when Britt came in from her clinic Eva was simply not there; more troubling still –there was scant evidence of Eva eating or drinking anything at all. More recently, Britt would sit up watching the news on television while waiting for Eva to return, and she usually did about an hour after sunset. Eva would then drink a few sips of water and take a few strips of raw salmon for her supper, then shuffle off to bed with little more than a “Hello” or “Good night” passing between them.

On her best days, those just after Taggart left with Dina and Rolf, Eva remained sullen and barely communicative, and she had remained in her room most of the time. After Britt talked with him in Amsterdam, and after Britt relayed his message to “Reach Out,” Eva had nodded once before taking a sip of water and retiring for the evening – completely oblivious to the outbreak of war, or pretty much anything else going on in the world.

After Taggart’s “Reach Out” dictum, Eva seemed to drift about this world for a while, then she would seem to dissolve and flow into another state of being: Here in this life, perhaps – but not really. Her longest walks started then, and she usually disappeared for the day – again, coming home only after dark. Britt grew quite concerned – for Eva, and for Eva’s twins – and resolved to follow Eva on her next day off.

But the night before she had resolved to follow Eva, soon after she went to bed, she felt memories flashing through her mind’s eye. And she soon felt that something, or someone, was sifting through her mind…looking for…what?

She tossed and turned after that, concern for her own twins growing by the minute. Was it the war, she wondered? Had concern for Rolf and Henry fouled her sleep…?

And as she was dressing the next morning Eva came into her room and stood there, simply looking at her as she put on her hiking boots. 

“I’m sorry you had such a bad night,” Eva said.

Britt felt a sudden shifting underfoot. “What do you mean?” – lurching as her frame of reference began shifting…with each beat of the hearts in her womb.

“If you’re ready, we can go now.”

“Go? Go where?”

“You’re wasting time, Britt. We need to go – now.”

“Alright,” Britt said, suddenly realizing there was no need for continued subterfuge.

The walked north along the shore road until they came to a little spit of rocks that reached out into the water – large rocks, beige granite with greenish stains marking the highest reach of the tides – and she followed Eva now, who hopped from boulder to boulder with practiced ease – until, at last, they both stood beside a small tidal pool contained with a single large boulder, the pool worn smooth by the ages.

Eva took off her clothing and stepped into the water, her arms spread wide, her head tilted back and her eyes closed, then she moved to step into the sea.

“Come here,” Eva said gently, “and stand beside me.”

Britt hesitated, but then she too took off her clothes and stepped into the icy water. “What are we doing?” Britt asked, nervously looking around for unwanted onlookers.

But Eva was gone now, absorbed in some kind of ritual. At least, that’s what Britt thought was going on: Eva’s arms were spread wide, her head tilted back and her eyes closed – and she was beginning to sway from side to side, like something in the water was pushing her to-and-fro. 

Movement caught her eye and she looked out over the water. There! A dorsal fin…no…more than one…

And then Eva reached over and took her by the hand, then she pulled them both into deeper water…

“Are you crazy!” Britt shouted, trying to pull away. “We need to get out of here!”

“You need to be still,” a voice said…a man’s voice…

…Henry’s voice!

“Henry?”

“I’m here,” she heard his voice say, a reassuring little sprinkle of laughter somewhere in the notes…

“Where? Where are you?”

“I’m with you, Britt. Go now, go out into the water…”

“Wonderful! Now I am hallucinating…”

“Just move easily, slowly. You’ll be alright.”

“Henry? Where are you?”

“Where I’ve always been, Britt.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Close your eyes, try to clear your mind…then reach out…”

“Reach out? What am I reaching for…?”

“Britt? You need to let go now. Close your eyes, swim with Eva and take her hand…and trust us…”

Her eyes closed and moving into very deep water now, she felt something impossibly warm move around her womb, and then the warmth spread throughout her body – and against all odds she felt herself relaxing. 

“That’s it, my love, reach out now…just as if you were reaching out with your hands, reach out with your mind, reach out for the warmth, then beyond…

Everything seemed to fall into place in the next few moments.

She spread her wings and let her head fall back and rest in the water, then she felt more warmth as other bodies came to her, listening to the new life in her belly…

Then she saw Henry…standing on a sandy white road with Clyde by his side…and she wanted to cry out for him but couldn’t form the words…

“That’s right,” he whispered as she tried to reach out to him, “I’m right here, but you need to go back to them now. In the water, they’re waiting for you…”

She felt an insistent pull now, like someone had her by the hand and she could somehow feel their confusion, almost as if they were trying to regain control of her, pull her back from…

She opened her eyes, saw a pale yellow orb spinning right in front of her face and a moment later she screamed – when she realized she was adrift in a sea of stars…

© 2020 adrian leverkühn | abw | this is a work of fiction, pure and simple; the next chapter will drop in a week or so.

A short chapter today, perhaps in need of a cup of Earl Grey by your favorite chair.

Part VII

Chapter 55

Pony rides and face painting, smiling clowns and magic acts. 

Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes and she’s gone…

Birthday cake and Frank looking at his little girl, so in love with life now – when it was slipping away so fast now. 

Newspaper taxis appear on the shore waiting to take you away…

Harry had his Nikon out that day, determined to capture as many moments as he could. And maybe because he understood the meaning of this day better than most, and that memories of these last fleeting moments would take on a magic all their own. Sam and Dell and Al, all the old crew, sat off to the side in the shade of a few pines, keeping an eye on their friend as the day unfolded around them. Becky and DD, now suddenly best friends, scooped massive balls of ice cream into freshly made waffle cones, while Cathy moved among the little chicks in the protective mother-hen role she liked least about her new life, all too aware of the road that waited on the far side of the night.

Follow her down to a bridge by a fountain where rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies…

And when the day was done, when all Elizabeth’s mates and chums had disappeared, she was tucked into bed by her father. Then Harry went to say good-night to Elizabeth, and after everyone walked to the patio above the cliffs while the girls sorted through the aftermath of the day, the night called out to them. So, as all the old crew gathered behind Harry’s place they watched the setting sun before the ancient rituals of fire led them deeper into the night – charcoal burning to glowing coals, steaks searing on grills and artichokes put to the boil as one last hollandaise was made, and too soon another dinner above the surf passed into memory. 

Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly, a girl with kaleidoscope eyes…

Frank went to the sofa in the living room by Harry’s Bösendorfer and his hospice nurse was summoned. Frank lay there with his head resting on Cathy’s legs as his friends gathered by his side, and a few hours later Frank’s pain was at an end. Harry and Cathy held him as he passed, all his friends sat with him when his last breath was finished, and as their final tears withered away.

Climb in the back with your head in the clouds and you’re gone…

And in Frank’s everlasting silence the nurse and Becky signed the Death Certificate – and that was it, all that was left was the sound of his silence. But the way ahead would only be found by picking up the pieces and reaching for the Will to move on. 

Yet Harry made his way through the rocks down to the surf, and he walked under cellophane skies of diamond-soaked tears, giving no heed to the ebb and flow of the day. He turned up at the house later that day and found Becky at the keyboard, Doc Watson and DD with her as she played show tunes she had committed to memory in another life. Cathy – and of course Frank – were gone now…though a memory or two lingered beside the sofa for a few hours more.

And a few days later he and Cathy stood at the edge of the cliff and scattered Frank’s ashes to the wind. Cathy held onto Callahan for an hour, both as rigid and quiet as cold stone, then she turned and walked to her house. Callahan drove into the city and picked up Becky after her shift ended and they drove over to The Shadows, because, he said, he needed to talk to her.

“Are you alright?” she asked as they sat by a window overlooking the city by the bay…

…and he nodded absent-mindedly, as was his way, before he looked away. “No, not really. I wasn’t ready for his music to end so soon.”

“He was in so much pain, Harry. At least, that is, at an end.”

“Oh, I think I understand all that, but it doesn’t change the emptiness.”

She nodded. “How else do you feel?”

“Like something…like a vital part of me has been ripped away. And Becky, sometimes it feels like I’ve forgotten how to breathe…”

“DD was trying to tell me about you two, but I don’t think I really understood, not really. There’s something about two cops like you and Frank, and I was struck by the thought that it’s a kind of pure, almost holy thing. Maybe a more intense kind of brotherhood, not of the flesh but something borne out of trust and need.”

He was looking down as she spoke, and though he heard her words his mind was fighting the impulsive desire to get up and run far, far away.

She looked at his silence, trying to read him. “So, where are you headed?” she asked as she watched his evasive posturing.

“Hmm? What?”

“Where are you running to now?”

He looked away. “I don’t know.”

“I know you don’t want company, but I’ll ask anyway. Mind if I tag along?”

He looked at her for just a moment, but then looked away. “You wouldn’t like – where I’m going.”

She shrugged. “How do you know what I’d like?”

He sighed, then a tremor passed through the moment as he tried to focus. “I told DD about your proposal for the medevac helicopters. She’ll want to get together with you and a couple of the hospital’s administrators and go over the details, and she has a contract ready for you to sign. You’ll be CATs medical director, not to interfere with your hospital duties, and your rent is now part of your salary so you’ll have a little extra spending money.”

“Thanks. Thoughtful of you.”

He looked down at his hands, stretched his fingers for a moment. “I should be back in a while. Assuming I…”

“Assuming you what, Harry?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know…”

“Well Harry, here’s the deal. Maybe you thought you could run away when it was just you, but it’s not – not now. You’ve got Elizabeth to think about now, and God knows but Cathy might not make it without you, too. Got that? You hearin’ me, Slick?”

“Listen, I don’t need you to lecture…”

“Yeah? Well listen up, Callahan, ‘cause I grew up in a house full of brothers. And you know what that makes me?”

“No, not really…”

“Well, it means I know where to kick, and I got a lot of practice so I don’t miss. You hearin’ me, Callahan? You maybe feelin’ a little twinge down there…?”

“Yeah, I…”

“Good. ‘Cause…you ain’t going nowhere. You’re gonna haul your fat ass back to that house and you be there for those two gals, ‘cause they need you right now more than you know. Fact of the matter is, Callahan, I’m beginning to need you just a little bit, too, but not half as much as you need me, so get your act together! Grow the fuck up! Life hurts – I get that – but you can’t turn and run away every time something doesn’t go your way!”

“Jesus, just who do you…”

“I’m the little red-head that kinda like, ya know, loves you, okay? So – get over it. And stop letting DD take care of you, willya? She’s not your wife, and she sure as hell ain’t your momma, so let her do her thing at work and then let her take care of her own family. She’s makin’ it too goddamn easy for you to just walk away whenever you want, but Harry, that ain’t the way the world works. Understand? That just ain’t right. Real men don’t turn and run. Real men buckle down and get to work, and they quit when the job’s done.”

“Just how many brothers do you have?”

“Enough, Callahan. Enough to know the difference between a man and a pretender. And as far as I can tell you ain’t no pretender, so I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you act like one.”

Their waiter was standing by the table in slack-jawed awe, watching wordlessly as she took Callahan down, and when Harry looked up at him he just shrugged. “Don’t look at me. We’re having whatever the hell she says we’re gonna have.”

And for a while, that was the way of it all.

________________________________

So…Callahan started flying again, at least he did a couple of times a week, usually on weekends so more pilots could have time off with their families. He still worked a weekend a month downtown – working homicide cases. He spent four afternoons a week with Elizabeth, in his quiet alcove over the rocks and the breaking surf – playing the piano. She was an apt pupil and learned quickly, and she had Cathy’s hands, long-fingered and strong. She also had her mother’s artistic temperament and sensibilities, and before many months passed she came to think of Callahan as more than a friend, even more than an uncle-figure. He took on the stature of a father to her, and that came naturally enough because Callahan soon regarded her as something like a daughter of his own. He grew fiercely possessive of their time together, of their time at the piano together. And for some strange reason, DD came to play less of an overt role in his life.

And anyway, she and the doc had twins and that pretty much changed her life. For the better, Becky might have said.

But then, yes, there was Becky Sawyer.

She put up with Callahan’s fear of getting married again for as long as she could, then one day she knocked him up side the head and threw his ass on an airplane. She took him to Vegas and she rented a car, then drove him down to one of those shotgun-wedding chapels and then and there she made him do the deed. She’d never been to Switzerland so off they went. An exhausted and saddle sore Callahan turned up at the Cathouse a few weeks later, finally ready to get down to some real work.

And about nine months later Becky gave Harry Callahan a son.

________________________________

And life on the cliff gave way to a brief interlude of enchanted time in Harry Callahan’s life.

Harry was, by then, in a better place to stay at home with Lloyd, so he did – at least on weekdays. And that first year was consumed with the intricacies of breast pumps and bottle warmers, for as soon as she was able Becky returned to the ER. She was, in fact, soon the head of the largest Level 1 Trauma Center in Northern California, which made her a kind of Very Big Deal in the eyes of the local medical community. Her association with CAT Medevac Services grew, too, and soon she was the de-facto CEO of this branch of Harry’s growing empire. 

Harry, on the other hand, moved off in new, uncharted directions. 

After Nils, the flamboyant merchant of all things electronica at the Rosenthal Music Company, moved to Tokyo, the company’s presence in the music world began a period of exponential growth. First in Tokyo, then in Osaka, Nils opened new branches in Beijing and Seoul and Hanoi. Up next, Sydney and Melbourne, then Rio and Capetown. 

And at the same time, Cathy’s expansion of Harry’s original house onto the adjacent property was completed, and now Harry had a complete recording studio at his disposal. Timely, for it turned out that among all his life’s unanswered ambitions, Harry Callahan now wanted to write and produce music most of all. And soon, perhaps because Nils by that time knew the community as well as anyone, many well established artists came up to Sea Ranch to compose and perform with Harry.

And some might think it impossible to overstate the significance of this turn of events, because both Elizabeth and his son Lloyd grew up within a very supportive – indeed, a very nurturing cocoon of tolerant artistic exploration – all taking place within the sheltering ambivalence and heady acceptance of the already very famous.

And though Cathy pushed Elizabeth to master the piano, Harry recognized something in his son that led him to believe Lloyd was a budding polymath. Lloyd started on the piano but soon drifted to strings; the viola when he was still in kindergarten, then, as he grew he naturally gravitated to the larger stringed instruments – the cello, then the upright bass come easily to mind, but then he took up world instruments like the koto and sitar. Finally, he followed the path of least resistance and fell into the world of the acoustic guitar, then the more easily misunderstood electric versions.

Lloyd was playing as a session guitarist while in middle school, though he was soon asked to tour with one very well known band. Elizabeth watched this transformation with more concern than either her mother or Harry, because she was seemingly more able to resist the uncertain gravities these influences imposed. Most notably…heroin and the other psychedelics.

Maybe Lloyd took this path out of an unspoken need to rebel. Or perhaps his nascent addiction was the simple by-product of being in such close contact to older, more well-established musicians, many being rebellious free-spirited suburban-anarchists who saw nothing at all wrong about helping a fourteen year old boy explore the more esoteric realms of psychedelia. As quietly as she could, Elizabeth let her mother know what was happening.

Harry’s reaction was somewhat less than quiet, and Lloyd’s first enforced stay in a drug rehab program led to a series of escapes and flights that, in the end, led to an inevitable period of decline punctuated by mental illness and several unsuccessful suicide attempts. It might not be too unhelpful to consider that the moral arc of Lloyd Callahan’s life in many ways mirrored the culture he grew up in: sheer genius giving way to the relativistic impulses of artists marching in lockstep down a road too easily traveled.

Elizabeth, who many might consider the other side of this equation, easily balanced and canceled-out Lloyd’s eccentricities; in word and deed, as Lloyd’s life spun out of control her’s seemed to maintain a perfect, arrow straight trajectory. Her grasp of the emotional lexicon of music soon exceeded Harry’s, and her technical abilities were never diluted by peripheral interests in other instruments. When a group asked her to contribute to a new recording she helped when and where should could – without ever turning her back on the course she’d settled on years before. After she graduated from high school she went to NYU where she majored in comparative literature, then on to the Juilliard School. By her twenty-third birthday she was a celebrated pianist in demand by symphony orchestras around the world.

But this isn’t Lloyd’s story, nor even Elizabeth’s. And yes, while this is indeed an account of Harry Callahan’s life and times, the first few years of that life after Frank’s passing were consumed not by Elizabeth or Cathy, and not even directly by his son, Lloyd. No, the next, and the most destructive period of Harry Callahan’s life came to him as a result of his marriage to Becky Sawyer, because she wasn’t always what she appeared to be, and because there are times when running away is the right thing to do.

© 2020 adrian leverkühn | abw | and as always, thanks for stopping by for a look around the memory warehouse…[but wait, there’s more…how about a last word or two on sources: I typically don’t post all a story’s acknowledgments until I’ve finished, if only because I’m not sure how many I’ll need until work is finalized. Yet with current circumstances (i.e., Covid-19) waiting to list said sources might not be the best way to proceed, and this listing will grow over time – until the story is complete. To begin, the ‘primary source’ material in this case – so far, at least – derives from two seminal Hollywood ‘cop’ films: Dirty Harry and Bullitt. The first Harry film was penned by Harry Julian Fink, R.M. Fink, Dean Riesner, John Milius, Terrence Malick, and Jo Heims. Bullitt came primarily from the author of the screenplay for The Thomas Crown Affair, Alan R Trustman, with help from Harry Kleiner, as well Robert L Fish, whose short story Mute Witness formed the basis of Trustman’s brilliant screenplay. Steve McQueen’s grin was never trade-marked, though perhaps it should have been. John Milius (Red Dawn) penned Magnum Force, and the ‘Briggs’/vigilante storyline derives from characters and plot elements originally found in that rich screenplay, as does the Captain McKay character. The Jennifer Spencer/Threlkis crime family storyline was first introduced in Sudden Impact, screenplay by Joseph Stinson, original story by Earl Smith and Charles Pierce. The Samantha Walker television reporter is found in The Dead Pool, screenplay by Steve Sharon, story by Steve Sharon, Durk Pearson, and Sandy Shaw.  I have to credit the Jim Parish, M.D., character first seen in the Vietnam segments to John A. Parrish, M.D., author of the most fascinating account of an American physician’s tour of duty in Vietnam – and as found in his autobiographical 12, 20, and 5: A Doctor’s Year in Vietnam, a book worth noting as one of the most stirring accounts of modern warfare I’ve ever read (think Richard Hooker’s M*A*S*H, only featuring a blazing sense of irony conjoined within a searing non-fiction narrative). Denton Cooley, M.D. founded the Texas Heart Institute, as mentioned. Of course, James Clavell’s Shōgun forms a principle backdrop in later chapters. The teahouse and hotel of spires in Ch. 42 is a product of the imagination; so-sorry. The UH-1Y image used from Pt VI on taken by Jodson Graves. The snippets of lyrics from Lucy in the Sky are publicly available as ‘open-sourced.’ Many of the other figures in this story derive from characters developed within the works cited above, but keep in mind that, as always, the rest of this story is in all other respects a work of fiction woven into a pre-existing cinematic-historical fabric. Using the established characters referenced above, as well as the few new characters I’ve managed to come up with here and there, I hoped to create something new – perhaps a running commentary on the times we’ve shared with these fictional characters? And the standard disclaimer also here applies: the central characters in this tale should not be mistaken for persons living or dead. This was, in other words, just a little walk down a road more or less imagined, and nothing more than that should be inferred. I’d be remiss not to mention Clint Eastwood’s Harry Callahan, and Steve McQueen’s Frank Bullitt. Talk about the roles of a lifetime…and what a gift.]

Chapter 18

The storm behind them now, Taggart watched shadows on the deck as the rising sun wiped away the last gauzy remnants of night. He stood and walked the deck again, the pain in his back much worse if he sat still for any length of time, his mind still full of unanswered questions. He walked aft, dropped the swim platform and stepped down just inches from their streaming wake, then, as if on cue the big male’s dorsal fin broke the surface about ten yards away, his immense body surfing along on Bandits’ foaming wake.

Eva? Had he done the right thing? Could she have made this leg of the trip?

Looking at their progress so far he knew the answer to that question already. Time Bandits was brutally efficient in a heavy seaway, and even ten foot breaking seas hadn’t bothered her in the least. Instead of slamming into waves she seemed to knife through them, cut them away and slip through unscathed, and he’d carried more sail through the night than he would have ever thought safe on the old Nauticat.

Dina and Rolf had had no problem sleeping, either. So, yes, Eva would have done just fine. Now the question came down to logistics, and to the female orcas.

With twenty hours elapsed since leaving Bergen’s inner harbor they’d made 160 miles, hideously fast given the rowdy state of the sea, and sitting at the wheel overnight he’d positioned Bandits on a broad reach and surfed her off a wave, grinning as she hit 12 knots before rounding up a little. She was a fine boat indeed, one his father would have enjoyed.

The two smaller males swam close and just then one of them came very close, swimming on his side with one eye planted on Taggart, and for a moment he’d wanted to lean over and rub the guy. Then the big male swam in close, in effect running the smaller males away, and Taggart did lean over and hold his hand out…but then the large male swam away too, leaving Taggart to wonder why.

He went back to the helm and pulled up the latest weather overlay, then zoomed out, pulling in information from all over the North Atlantic basin. Two more hurricanes had formed, one with probability cones leading to Florida, the other looking to turn northwest towards Bermuda again, and he’d have to keep an eye out for that one. Beyond that? A big, fat blob of high pressure was filling-in behind the storm, centered over the Irish Sea this morning, so he expected falling winds during the day – today, and possibly zero wind early tomorrow – just as they approached the Dutch coast.

The next waypoint was set a few miles miles off the entrance channel to Den Helder, and they’d avoid the treacherous low tides in the Waddenzee by entering the Dutch canal system there, taking a deep commercial barge canal directly to the center of Amsterdam. From there, the plan was to take the StaandeMast Route, so called because there would be no need to remove the mast for the trip through the heart of the city – and, indeed, all the way to Rotterdam. Looking at the drafts needed to transit these routes, he was glad this particular vessel had the shoal-draft option – because without this shallower depth the canal systems of Holland, Belgium, and France would have become out of reach, the water not deep enough to handle a boat so deep. As it was, Time Bandits was right at the limit…

He reached to move the radar’s range out to 72 miles, wincing as his body shifted and immediately regretting it. He took a deep breath and felt odd shooting pains in his chest and sighed, wondering where the crud was spreading next, and how fast. He’d learned enough to know that if it spread up to the cervical vertebrae it would be ‘game over,’ just as soon as the vagus nerve was compromised. He shook his head as he took another deep breath, not taking anything for granted now.

Only one target popped on the radar, and that was strange. They were about to transit the main shipping lane from the Kiel/Elbe waterway to the English Channel, and if this route was empty that meant most all the ships in the Baltic had successfully left that possible conflict zone. It was either that or the Kiel Canal had been closed to traffic…

He turned on the new Fusion radio and selected the transceiver, then hit the BBC’s World News broadcast and set the cockpit speakers to active.

“…repeating, at least four Russian mechanized groups have entered Iran, Iraq, and Syria. Israel, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia have asked that American forces attempt to form a new coalition to halt this latest advance. This comes two hours after Russian paratroopers landed around strategic routes connecting Helsinki to Sweden. A government spokesperson still trapped in Finland stated that the central government had relocated to Stockholm, and that almost all elements of the Finnish Navy and Air Force had relocated to pre-determined redoubts throughout the region…”

“Well, Hell,” he sighed, “so war it is. And Middle East oil is the objective. Again.”

He changed the frequency to Radio Deutsche Welle and listened as the reporter described a tense standoff in central Ukraine as Russian forces had violated the cease-fire and started a new push for Kiev. Warsaw had canceled all military leave and activated reserves, while Hungary had reportedly approached Moscow, declaring neutrality in any conflict. So Moscow now had a safe corridor to approach Austria and Bavaria…

France Radio reported that the French president had put all nuclear forces at the equivalent of DefCon 2, and that the Secretary General of the UN was imploring all sides to step back from the brink…

“Sounds bad,” Mike said, coming up the companionway with two cups of coffee. “Any news from Washington?”

Taggart leaned forward to change presets and winced again, then hit the button.

“You okay?”

Taggart shook his head. “Something under the right ribcage. Sharp pain, probably in the liver now.”

“Damn…” Mike said as the radio came to life again.

“Reports from the White House would seem to confirm that the president has left for Joint Base Andrews, but we are getting some reports of heavy traffic on the roads leading to Mount Weather…”

“So,” Mike said, “the president is going airborne and key government officials are headed to the underground C&C center.”

“Sounds like someone is trying to push NATO into thinking an attack is imminent.”

“Yup.”

“Which sounds like,” Taggart sighed, “the Russians are trying to get a response from whoever hacked their systems three weeks ago.”

“Okay…I’ll bite. Can you?”

“Me? Not without another back door, like another Mainstay flight – that also just happened to go active over the North Sea.”

“Talk about a stroke of luck…”

“Depends on your point of view, Mike. A Russian might disagree with you.”

“Well, yeah, but the action you took, that unilateral take-down, was a stroke of genius. With everybody offline, nobody appeared guilty. I take it the fuel thing wasn’t your doing?”

“No way.”

“So, what is their interest in all this?”

“I get the impression they’re kind of like a bunch of high school students, and we’re their science project.”

Mike grinned at that. “Now that’s a confidence inspiring idea. What about the one mind thing? What has that got to do with all this?”

“Ya know, a bunch of people a lot smarter than I am haven’t been able to figure this one out, but let’s go back to Schrödinger for a second.”

“Okay…”

“So, Schrödinger was thinking that the universe looks less like a big machine than it does One Big Thought, and that this One Big Thought exists, in effect, in a unique quantum state. Schrödinger’s next postulate was the idea that consciousness, in the form of a quantum singularity, is out there, and I mean literally everywhere, phasing in and out within all sentient beings. So, what we were trying to wrap our heads around back in Seattle – especially after the whole 9/11 random number thing hit home – was that the speed of thought within a single quantum singularity is literally instantaneous…”

“You mean, like everywhere in the universe?”

“Yup. And I know, the idea seems preposterous, until Winky and his pals showed up just before 9/11…”

“Coming from Andromeda, you said. So, what you’re saying is that they’ve somehow been able to physically move around the universe at the speed of thought?”

Taggart nodded. “If we’d only had another couple hundred thousand years to evolve, we might have made it there, too.”

“You’re speaking of us in the past tense.”

“That’s right. They’ve pretty much written us off as a species, yet for some reason a few of them are still hanging around, like they’re waiting for the final results to come in. As I said, it feels like a high school science project, that was supposed to be turned in yesterday.”

“Only we’re the ones being put to the test.”

“Exactly, so as far as Russia goes, if this next little war proves be our extinction level event, you’d think they would just pack up their bags and go on to their next project, but no, that’s not quite the case, and personally, I think it has something to do with our friends over there,” Taggart said, pointing at the orcas. 

“The Cape St George…”

“Right. I grew concerned that the ship might try to take us out, but they’d have had to use explosives and that would have injured, or perhaps even killed, one or more of the whales. So, I let Winky know.”

“And a guided missile cruiser became a lighter than air cruiser.”

“Elegant solution, I thought,” Taggart said, smiling at the memory. “Still, there’s one new wrinkle in all this. Those female orcas and Eva, and whatever they were doing out there, matters, because Winky was taking an intense interest in the process.”

“You think he was watching, or maybe even directing the process.”

“Watching. If he’d been involved there would have been physical contact.”

“You assume so, that is?”

“True. That’s my assumption. But I’ve never seen him act like that before.”

“How do you know it’s the same…what? – person? – being?”

“You get where you can recognize colors and patterns within the spheres…”

“Just how many do you know?”

“Me, directly? Four of them. Winky, Dinky, Pinky, and Finky. And no, I didn’t name them.”

“Finky?”

“Is a major league asshole. Dark green sphere with purple polar areas. When he’s around clear your mind, fast. Zero sense of humor.”

“Sense of humor?”

“Yeah, that’s Dinky. He’s a stitch, and probably the smartest of the lot, too. I think this is his project, as in We are his project, and he isn’t prepared to write us off just yet.”

“And let me guess…Finky is ready to pull the plug?”

“See? This is easy, right?”

“You say so. What about Dinky?”

“Yellow-orange, red equatorial bulge. Usually very small, very dim and really hard to spot.”

“So Pinky is pink?”

“Yup, and definitely female. She’s their resident empath, and she doesn’t respect your personal space, at all. When she wants to know what you’re feeling she’ll find out any way she can.”

“So, that leaves Winky. What’s his role in all this?”

“I think of him as being like a mechanic, or maybe an engineer. He studies things, and when needed he manipulates what needs to be manipulated.”

“Hence the Cape St George. Can you call them individually?”

“I can’t, at least not all of them. I’ve had some luck with Winky and Dinky, none at all with the other two.”

“Where are they?”

“No idea.”

“The spheres? What are they?”

“I think they’re more like a monitoring device, but in a way also like a drone – in that those things can take action when directed to.”

“So, the hologram is a projection of what ‘they’ look like?”

“Well, yes, but you actually met Winky, and I mean in the flesh, before you back-flipped over the rail.”

“I don’t remember that. But…you’ve seen him before…like in that form?”

Taggart nodded. “When the Seattle group was trying to reconstruct their first ARV. Yes.”

“And those ships work?”

“In a limited capacity. Most of them crash, as we just don’t have the means to reproduce the flight control systems.”

“What does that mean?”

“The controls seem to react to direct neural commands, and our brains aren’t structurally all that similar.”

“What are their power sources like?”

“Advanced.”

“Hah-hah.”

“Think of a fusion reactor with a power output sufficient to power California in a package about the size of a briefcase.”

“No kidding? And the Seattle group reproduced that?”

“Yes. So did the Black Widow team.”

“So, theoretically we could…”

“Yes, we could. But end poverty, hunger, or inequality? Doubtful. Groups are already in open conflict about who gets the technology and at what price. And that’s why the U.S. probably won’t go to war to protect the Middle East this time around.”

“Jesus…”

“Oh, from what I’ve heard, Jesus approved of the technology.”

“What?”

“Mike, you need to wrap your head around the idea that their project has been going on for a long, long time. They’ve made a bunch of friends, too, but apparently our team in Seattle was the first to actually initiate contact. That marked a big moment of success for them, and that was the only reason why Finky didn’t terminate the project after the 9/11 thing.”

“That’s the random number thing, right?”

“Yeah, a group working out of Princeton and Yale. Computational Psychobiology, if you can get into that. Working on AI and their system accidentally picked up the 9/11 data, which led to contact after we got our ARV online.”

“But you’re not using any equipment to make contact…”

“Because none is needed, Mike. Remember, one mind, one conscious mind, so think of it as one part of the mind talking to another part.”

“Damn, Taggart, even my hemorrhoids are starting to hurt just thinking about all this…”

“Yeah? Well, wrap your head around this. Orcas have been in contact with them a lot longer than we have.”

“So, Eva and those females? They were…”

“Yup. And I don’t have a clue how or why Eva was able to do that.”

“You know, man, I think I’m gonna go clean my ears – with some Preparation H.”

Taggart nodded, then looked aft. “I just hope I haven’t fucked up the works by not bringing Eva along this time. If the Russians make a big move into central Europe then any ability to get to her will very likely be cut-off, and I’m thinking that her part in this equation may hold the key to their success.”

“So…we turn around and go back.”

“No,” Taggart said, shaking his head slowly, “I can’t take a chance on not getting where I want to be, and anyway, my guess is if they need her they’ll know where to find her.”

“Okay, so you’re willing to take that chance. Decision made. Let’s move on.”

Henry smiled. “Is that the naval mindset?”

“Damn straight it is. You can’t properly execute any plan if you’re always second guessing yourself. Get all that baggage out of the way before you decide.”

“Well, we’re into September now and according to Dina I’m officially running out of time.”

“And Russia is fucking up the works.”

“Aren’t they always?”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” Mike said, gnashing his teeth. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve been programmed to fight Russians.”

“So isn’t it just as likely that a bunch of Russians feel the same way, like they have been programmed to fight us?” Henry added, smiling.

“Sure it is.”

“So, consider this. It’s this tendency we have, to look for differences and then demonize those differences, which – in their eyes,” Taggart said, pointing up at the sky, “makes us a doomed species. That, and I think the whole religion thing really messes with their frame of reference.”

“How so?”

“Well, the one mind thing infers we’d be on the same wavelength as God. Dinky laughed his ass off when we mulled over some possibilities.”

“So, where are we headed now?”

“Den Helder. We cut in and try to find the right canal to take us to Amsterdam.”

“Why not just go to IJmuiden. Plenty of draft and no bridges to worry about. Only about twenty, maybe thirty miles further.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Yeah, on a port visit once, but I guess it begs the issue…why not just sail straight for the Seine?”

“I know,” Henry sighed. “I wanted to stop and smell the roses, I guess.”

“Tulips, Henry. Lots of tulips.”

“Oh…yeah. Well, the Russians may have made all that a moot point.”

“No, no, I say stick to the plan. If they’re keeping an eye on you, maybe they’re trying to gauge how you respond to all these changes.”

Taggart scowled. “Maybe.”

“So, maybe heading inland at IJmuiden is the safer option right now.”

“Okay, I’ll add it as a second route and we can decide when we get to the next waypoint.”

“If we stayed outside, out of the canals, how far is it from IJmuiden to the Seine?”

“Just under 300 miles,” Taggart said, looking at the chart plotter, “but remember, I’ve got a big medical work-up in Amsterdam.”

“Options and outcomes, Henry…just thinking about the available options.”

“Well, I’m going to go take a nap. Call me before we get close to Den Helder.”

“Right.” Lacy watched and waited until Taggart was below, then pulled a new sat-phone from his jacket and checked-in. It was a brief call.

________________________________

Eva slept terribly the night after Taggart left.

She’d watched the storm’s approach, her mood as dark as the underbelly of the scudding clouds, a helpless onlooker now supposedly out of harm’s way – warehoused, put on a shelf to be watched-over like the incubator she’d been repurposed to be. It wasn’t that she was merely angry now; no, she felt disused. No longer loved or needed.

When Time Bandits disappeared inside the shredding white line of the squall, she had turned away and walked to the same bench Taggart and Clyde always went to when he had fresh salmon for the old boy. She sat in the same spot Henry sat and closed her eyes – soaking up memories like a thirsty sponge. In her mind’s eye she saw not Taggart’s eyes, but Clyde’s; deep, dark, full of purpose, the unknowable mysteries that spoke of love and devotion – and she felt at home for a moment, in those eyes.

Until her clouds began clearing the way forward, until other eyes became manifest.

Just as deep, just as purposeful. The big male and his scything dorsal full of latent purpose…

He was reaching out to her…she could feel him probing her thoughts, reassuring her. Telling her she would not be alone, that she would never be alone ever again and to trust him. Her mind reeled under the assault, under the weight of the utter unfamiliarity of something so invasively foreign, yet as her mind reacted she also began reaching out, probing the unfamiliar, feeling her way out of this inner storm under the sheer strength of her empathic abilities…

She went into the male orcas mind, felt the weight if his responsibilities, of his hopes and dreams, then she saw the world through his eyes…watching her that first time as she fell overboard and as Henry came for her…then she felt the love and wonder in his eyes…not just for his family but for her as well.

“Why?” she asked. “Why do you feel this way?”

And she experienced a rush of impressions that left her breathless. Impossible things, unreal places, and she basked under the full glory of his hopes and dreams – even as other minds began probing, seeking out the source of this new strength…

“After all this time, could she be the one?” the green sphere wondered.

_____________________________

Lacy hopped off Bandits’ bow and secured the forward spring-line to the pier while Rolf pulled in on the stern-line, making the boat fast to her new spot in central Amsterdam. Dina had bundled Taggart in a heavy coat – because he said he was freezing – even though it was almost 70 degrees F outside, and they set out for the hospital as soon as the power was hooked-up. Rolf took over the care and feeding of Clyde when Mike advised he had a few errands to run, and so Rolf took Clyde to a nearby park for a long-needed sniff of grass.

Lacy hailed a taxi and proceeded southwest out of the city to the sprawling US Embassy complex in Wassenaar, and from there he made his way to the second floor office of the local CIA resident director of field operations. She was waiting for him, and she was furious.

“So, you’re telling me the woman is still in Bergen?”

Lacy nodded. “He wouldn’t let her come. I tried, but if I’d pushed more than I already had I think I’d have blown my cover.”

The woman shook her head, looked out the window. “You know, we don’t have anyone near Bergen right now. Everyone is up north, at the border. Do you have any idea how many troops they have massed up there right now? Today? This morning…?”

“No. I’d assume…”

“Yeah? Well, double whatever you were going to guess and you’d still be off by a factor of two. And now I’ve got to find a warm body to hustle their ass to fuckin’ Bergen and get eyes on this woman. Goddamn! I just wish you’d have stayed on her…”

Lacy just stared at the spook, knowing things must have gotten out of hand for her to be this rattled. “Well, the good news is he says he can’t pull off a repeat of the Helgoland broadcast, so at least we don’t have to worry about that right now.”

“You mean he says he can’t. So far Taggart has been as slippery as eel snot.”

“I haven’t seen him working on anything and besides, he’s sicker than shit.”

“And you’re sure that isn’t an act?”

Lacy pulled out his phone and showed her a picture of Taggart he’d taken the day before and her eyes went wide.

“Okay,” she said softly, “how long does he have?”

“The oncologist traveling with us says she doubts he’ll make it to Paris. So…call it, well, maybe a month.”

“I don’t know why we can’t just kill him now, put him out of our misery…”

“I think that would be premature, and probably not in the best interests of the project.”

“Getting that goddamn woman back under surveillance is in our best interest right now,” the Chief of Station snarled. “Taggart was a dead end and now we know it!”

“I disagree, and don’t know that’s the case – not at all, as a matter of fact. We need to stay with the original plan, just detail someone from the CERN group to Bergen and let me see where Taggart takes us. I still think he’s the key player.”

“Assuming we can move people freely across Europe, you mean? No, we should kill him before he pulls off another Helgoland!”

“That’s not their objective now – and you know it. We need to stick to the plan, let it work. You know and I know the stakes are just too high.”

“You keep assuming we know what their ultimate objective is. Need I remind you…we don’t!”

“We’ll know…assuming we can keep him alive all the way to Paris…”

“Yes, yes…I know. Now get out of here, and let me have that sat-phone. We have new bugs planted, so we’ll know what’s going on before you do.”

Lacy nodded and left her office; he took a taxi to the nearby rail line that led back into the city and waited for the next train with a handful of commuters. He never noticed the small, yellow-orange sphere hovering almost inside a nearby hedgerow, nor did he spot the tiny orbs that raced out of the embassy to rejoin the larger orb. 

As the train rolled to a stop beside the platform, Lacy stepped on board just before the doors closed. He sat beside a window and watched the countryside drift by, never aware of the tiny spheres that landed on his jacket and in his hair.

Dinky’s sphere resumed its station a few hundred miles overhead, joined for a moment by an angry red sphere – which left a few minutes later, streaking back down to the heart of the city far, far below.

© 2020 adrian leverkühn | abw | this is a work of fiction, pure and simple; the next chapter will drop in a week or so.

Part VII

Chapter 54

Callahan pushed the button on the bed-rail and raised his head, then he looked at the EKG beeping merrily along; it looked normal – at least to his untrained eye it did – and no one had been in to see him in the past half hour…so what the devil was going. He looked at the two IV bags running fluids into his arm and shook his head, then leaned back and closed his eyes.

The curtain flew open and a woman that looked – in her scrubs and lab coat – somewhat like a white fire hydrant as she walked in while reading his chart. Then without skipping a beat she stopped reading and looked up at him.

“Well, a few more tests we need to run, Mr. Callahan, but it looks like you’ve had a classic SIPA?”

“Seepa? What the hell is that?”

“Stress-Induced Panic Attack.”

Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes: “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me!?”

“Well, you’re dehydrated and, apparently, had just sat down in a car, and let’s not even talk about the showdown with the ex-girlfriend in the parking lot. So, I want to rule out reflex syncopes…and let’s see, no diabetes – but I see an elevated white count. Been out of the country recently?”

“Iraq. Five months.”

She looked over the rim of her glasses when she heard that and started writing furiously on her chart. “Lean forward, please.” She listened to his lungs for a long time, tapping away like a woodpecker a couple dozen times before writing more notes. “Okay, I think we have enough blood drawn already, so I want to run another test or two. Anyway, just sit back and get some rest. You up for a visitor?”

“Depends. No ex-girlfriends, please.”

She snort-laughed at that then disappeared to parts unknown.

DD popped her head through the curtain a moment later. “Well, I hear you’re going to survive,” she said as she walked up to the bed-rail. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like an idiot.”

“Well, you’re not, but no more Fujiko for you!” she said sternly.

“That woman is infuriating.”

“You know, as soon as you said that your face started turning red. Harry, I think this is a much more dire situation than you realize. I think…you really need to get laid.”

Callahan brought a hand up to his face and rubbed his eyes while he slowly shook his head. “I’m sure glad to hear that, doc. By the way, where’d you go to medical school?”

“The University of Lonely Hearts, Harry, and I know all there is to know about the condition.”

“Well, the doc must be keeping you in fine shape. I’ve never seen you happier.”

“You know what? I am happy, Harry. And you aren’t. And that bothers me, a lot.”

A nurse walked in. “Callahan, Harry L.?”

“That’s me.”

“We’re going down to x-ray. Think you can walk?” she said as she removed the lines from his IV, then lowered the rail on his gurney after she put some grippy socks on his feet.

“Yup.”

“Okay, let’s go…”

As he walked from the room DD whistled: “Nice ass, Callahan!” – so of course every nurse on the floor lined up to take a look.

An hour later the fire hydrant came back to his room – still writing furiously as she came up to the bed – then, looking over her glasses she looked Callahan in the eye. “You’ve picked up an interesting fungal infection somewhere in your recent travels, Mr. Callahan. There’s already some anecdotal information circulating about patients presenting with a similar bug who have recently been in Iraq, and, well, I’d like to get a handle on this and see if this is what’s really going on. I’m going to admit you, send you up to the infectious diseases ward…”

“Wait a minute,” DD interjected, “isn’t that where all the Aids patients are? I don’t want Harry…”

“No, it’s not. And we’re capable of maintaining sterile conditions on our floors,” the physician snarled.

“Will he be in isolation?”

“Yes, full quarantine measures. Masks, gloves, gowns, the whole nine yards…”

Callahan watched this give and take like he was at a tennis match, his head bouncing from side to side as each new volley raced over the net, then he decided he’d had enough. “Okay, doc. But the real issue here is that my friend has advised that what I really need is to get laid. I have to assume I can’t get laid here, right?”

The eyes looking over the rim of the glasses is what got Callahan.

“Uh, no, I, well, no…”

“Well said, Doc. Well said.” 

DD – now turning beet red – disappeared down a corridor, beating a hasty retreat.

“Is she your…”

“No, she works for me.”

“What do you do?”

“Heard of Callahan Air Transport?”

“The helicopter thing?”

“Yes, that thing.”

“I’m sorry. But yes, I’ve even used it a couple of times. So, you’re the Callahan in Callahan?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Were you flying in Iraq?”

He nodded.

“See any action?”

“A little.”

“Any other combat?”

“Vietnam.”

“Really. What about other stressful environments?”

“SFPD Homicide Division. Does that count?”

“Any drinking or recreational drug use?”

“No.”

“What about sex? Heterosexual?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“But none lately?”

“Correct.”

“Want to have dinner sometime?”

He paused and thought about that for a moment. “Assuming you can get me out of this place, sure.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“It might help if I knew your name.”

She looked at her lab coat – “Perfect! No name tag again. I always forget. Becky Sawyer,” she said, holding out her hand. “But I’m still going to keep you overnight. I hope you understand.”

He took her hand and shook his head. “Fungus, did you say? Like…mushrooms?”

She snort-laughed at that: “Just need to rule out a few things. If I’m right and we catch it early it ought to be easy to treat. I’m also going to put you on something for your blood pressure; it’s a little high. For now though, I kind of want to take the edge off, so I have a little diazepam ordered.”

“Diazepam?”

“Valium.”

“No thanks.”

“Look, Callahan, you’re wound up tighter than a drum, and one way or another I need you to relax…so, sorry, but doctors orders this time.”

“So, I take it getting laid is out of the question?”

She laughed. “Not on the first date, Callahan,” she said as she walked out of the little room.

“Now that was interesting,” Callahan sighed as he watched her leave, talking to himself. “Not like any doc I’ve ever seen before, ya know?”

_________________________________

He was sitting in the bar at Trader Vic’s that next Friday, nursing a Suffering Bastard – with rum, no less – while he waited for Becky Sawyer, and he looked at his watch again – for the tenth time in as many minutes. Already a half hour late, but she’d said she would have trouble getting away before seven, so here he sat, feeling more than a little insecure.

Then – she was there. Walking right up to his little corner booth looking incandescent, almost a little too cute, and as he stood, a little “Wow…” slipped out.

And that caused her to smile. “Wow? Did you just say wow?”

“I did. Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize…please. In my book ‘wow’ is as good as it gets!”

She had kind of a Holly Hunter vibe going on, too. Short, yes, but a real firecracker. “I hate to say it,” he said, “but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen cute like you do cute.”

“Well Hot-Damn, Harry! Comin’ out of chute number one, and ain’t you sweet?!” 

“Wow…!”

“I guess scrubs and a lab coat don’t make the best first impression, huh?”

“Hell, I guess not.”

“Well Harry, you better buy me a strong drink ‘cause I’m horny as hell and Tag! – you’re it!”

He gulped – hard. “What?”

“Hard of hearing, too? Ain’t that the shits.” she said as she sat next to him – sliding in close. “So, whatcha drinkin’?”

“Suffering Bastard.”

“Ooh…sounds like a meanie. Order me two.”

He signaled their waiter and ordered two more – for the table.

“So? You horny?” she purred.

“Yeah, after one look at you I think that’s a fair assumption.”

“When’s the last time you popped your cork?”

“It’s been a while?” he said, a little confused by this direct line of attack…

“What? You mean…like a week or so?”

“I mean like probably more than five years.”

Her eyes went wide. “Man, no wonder your BP is off the fuckin’ charts…” she said as her hand slipped under the table and her fingers to the zipper on his trousers. She had him free in seconds and started in on him, working him over with practiced ease.

He started to grin, then his lower lip started to tremble a bit…

“Oh-h-h dear. I do believe you are close, Harry Callahan, and do you know what? I just dropped my napkin on the floor. Would you excuse me while I go down get it?”

She took him in her mouth and he grabbed the edge of the table as he erupted, their waiter grinning like mad as he walked up, delivering the two drinks.

“Would you care for an, uh, an appetizer?” the waiter asked –

– just as Sawyer emerged, her face a gooey wreck. “No thanks,” she smiled. “I’m good.”

Callahan cleared his throat. “Uh, you know, maybe we’ll just order dinner in the main dining room?”

“Hell no,  Callahan, I like this booth just fine. Order something for us while I go fix my face.”

They watched her walk off, Callahan almost in a state of shock, the waiter grinning toothily.

“Oh Hell, Rick, just bring us some food. I don’t care what…”

“Very good, sir…!”

She came back a few minutes later, fresh lipstick flawlessly applied, and she sat and downed half her Bastard in one long pull.

“You from Texas or somethin’,” he asked as she toyed suggestively with the cucumber slice in her glass.

“What was your first clue, Callahan?”

“You know, that’s the first time anything like that has ever happened to me.”

“Oh yeah? Well, odds are lookin’ pretty good it won’t be the last.”

By the time they left Vic’s, Callahan was toasted and Sawyer’s motor was running hard, so he opted for a cab ride to the condo down by the wharf.

He tried to come up for air about four hours later, but she wasn’t having any of it.

_________________________________

But then the phone started ringing – a little after seven.

He ignored it one time, but picked up on the second try.

“Harry? It’s Cathy,” and she sounded frantic. “Frank’s not doing well. I think he needs to go down to Palo Alto.”

“Alright, I’ll head down to the Cathouse. Has the doc been by yet?”

“He’s on his way now.”

“Okay. I’m gonna hop in the shower. Have the doc call me as soon as he knows what we need to bring.”

Sawyer was sitting up – and she was all business now. “What’s going on?”

“Friend of mine, up by the house. He’s end-stage pancreatic cancer. That was Cathy, his, well, his significant other, and she thinks something is wrong.”

“This isn’t where you live?”

“No. Listen, I’ve got to jump in the shower…”

“Yeah, let’s do it to it…”

They showered together – “It saves water, ya know?” she said – and he dressed in running pants and an SFPD sweatshirt, and he took the next call on the first ring.

“What’s up, Doc?”

“Can you fly up?”

“Assuming the weather is good, yeah.”

“Okay. We’ll get him ready.”

“Right,” he said as he rang off, then he turned to Sawyer. “Look, I’m sorry, but could I call you…”

“Sure, I’d love to come along,” she said, grinning. “Two docs are better than one, right?”

He called the Cathouse, had them get the 412 medevac ship ready. “I’ll be there in about ten minutes,” he told the dispatcher. When he turned to Sawyer she was dressed like a firecracker again, and he shook his head. “Wow,” he sighed.

“Sorry, I didn’t exactly bring a change of clothes…”

“Oh, it’s not that. Fact is, there’s nothing I’d rather do right now than get you out of those clothes and back in the sack. I’ve never had so much fun in my life…”

“Yeah? You seemed a little rusty to me, but I think with a little work I can whip you back into shape.”

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

“What’s the Cathouse?”

“It’s the call-sign for our main base.”

“Right, I like it. Kinda fits, ya know?”

His Rover was still at Vic’s so he called a taxi and they made the short drive to the valet lot to pick it up, then he drove down to the Presidio. Pattison was waiting for him when he pulled into the lot.

“What’s up?” Pattison asked.

“It’s Frank,” Harry said. “You free this morning?”

“I can be. Just came in to catch up on some paperwork.”

“Okay. You take the left seat.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m done with flying, Pat. I’d like you to take on the Chief Pilot thing starting today.”

“What? Is it a medical thing?”

“No, it’s a totally burned out thing, Pat. I’m done, at least for a while,” he said as he helped Sawyer get situated in the jump seat. They did a quick walk around and took off for the Golden Gate. With Sawyer on the intercom, Callahan narrated what was going on as they flew north just off the beach.

“Harry, there’s enough stuff back here to do minor surgery!” she said.

“Yeah, we had the doc kind of help us design and stock this thing.”

“It’s about ten times better than what the Fire Department has. Man, you guys ought to advertise this some.”

“We mainly use it for fire fighting situations.”

“Well, you guys could staff this thing with a doc and a nurse and basically offer an in-flight minor trauma bird. Y’all have some seriously cool shit back here!”

Pattison put the 412 down on the street just outside Cathy’s house, and as everyone was already out front waiting Harry just helped get people loaded. He groaned when he saw Bullitt – who looked half-past dead in the golden morning light.

And it turned out that Sawyer and Doc Watson knew one another, barely, and after they laid Frank down she started an IV and worked up his vitals.

“Did you say we’re going to Stanford?” she asked Callahan – quietly – over the intercom.

“Yeah. Why?”

“If you can radio ahead it would be a good idea to have an oncologist and a hematologist standing by.”

“Okay. Can do. How far out are we, Pat?”

“Call it twenty minutes.”

“Right.” Callahan looked up the frequency for Stanford, forgetting it was listed as SUMC, then he found the numbers quickly after that; with that done he patched Sawyer’s intercom into the COMMs net. “Becky? Push the white button here,” he said indicating the side of her headset, “to talk on the radio. I’ll call Stanford now, and you tell ‘em what you need, okay?”

“Right.”

“Pat? Need help with ATC?”

“If you can, sure.”

Harry called the flight in as a medevac and got a direct clearance to Palo Alto, and they were on the ground five minutes later. Physicians and orderlies took Frank into the ER; Harry told Cathy he’d go back to the Presidio, pick up his Rover and head back as soon as he could.

She hugged him, tears in her eyes, then he noticed DD wasn’t with them.

“Is DD with Elizabeth?” he asked, and Cathy nodded before she turned and ran into the hospital. He looked at her as she ran, a million conflicting emotions pulling at him…

“Okay, let’s go,” he said to Pattison.

“Man, he looks grim.”

Callahan turned and looked out at the Stanford campus as they climbed and turned west. ATC routed them back to the beach and north to the Gate, and they landed at the Presidio ten minutes later.

Pattison told them to leave, that he’d take care of the aircraft, so Harry and Sawyer walked to his Rover. “Where can I take you?” he asked. 

“Could we stop by my apartment, let me change real fast?”

“Uh, sure, but I don’t want to drag you away…”

“Nope, Callahan, you’re stuck with me this weekend. Ain’t no better way to learn about someone than watching them do their thing. And besides, I’m starting to have warm fuzzies about you.”

He looked at her and smiled. “Where to, Doc?”

She gave him the address and he smiled, shook his head. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing. But you should know I’m your landlord, just in case you fall behind on your rent.”

“What?”

Harry grinned as he talked – almost all the way to his first high-rise apartment tower, and he waited for her while she ran upstairs and changed; they drove down the 280 to Page Mill Road after that – breaking a few speed limits on the way. Cathy and Doc Watson were still in the ER waiting room, Cathy doing her best to hold it together but not coming close, and she ran into Harry’s arms as soon as he walked into the room.

He held her while she cried it out, leaving the two docs to sit and talk shop for a while, then a nurse came and told Cathy it would be okay for her to go back for a brief visit. Harry went and sat with Becky and Watson, and in this sudden, desperate calm now all too aware of the day’s spiraling cascade of events.

“I need to call Sam,” he sighed. “And Dell…”

“Harry? It’s going to be okay. My guess is he’ll be good to go home later this afternoon. We’ll probably just need to get a few things for the house.”

“A few things, Doc?”

“Hospice things, Harry. They’ll know what he needs, what we’ll need.”

The word slammed into Callahan like a blow to the head and he found it hard to breathe again; Becky scooted close then and started to talk him down…

“Lean back, Harry. Take a deep breath. Just close your eyes and try to let go for a while…”

“Ya know, my arms feel funny.”

“Oh?” Doc Watson said. “How so?”

“A burning sensation, especially around the joints.”

Watson looked at Sawyer and nodded. “Anything else? You been sleeping okay?”

“No. Not really.”

“Okay, just close your eyes, try to rest…” 

They got up and walked over to a vending machine. “You know,” Watson said, “I’m reading about this same shit more and more, kids coming back from the Gulf…”

“Yeah, I know. Me too. Harry’s not the first one we’ve run across, either…”

“You still at USF?”

“Yeah.”

“You and Harry? How’d it go last night?”

“I like him. A lot.”

“He’s good people. Been through a lot the last ten years, stuff you wouldn’t believe. What he’s doing with these helicopters…well, it’s something special.”

“He said he’s my landlord? What do you know about that?”

“Hell, he owns about ten huge apartment and condo complexes now, mainly in the city but he’s starting one down here now.”

“Are you serious?”

“My wife is his CFO. Not a lot about his affairs I don’t know, but the guy has the touch. Everything he does makes money. A lot of money.”

“What’s a lot?”

Watson shook his head. “I’m not sure what it is now, but last year his net worth was over three hundred.”

“Thousand?”

“No…million.”

Her eyes went wide. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Watson just shook his head. “Once he told DD, that’s my wife, he was going out with you she ran your name, found out everything there is to know about you…”

“Did he…”

“No. He doesn’t know she does that crap, but she protects him like a lioness protects her cubs. And look, I’m just telling you so you go into this with open eyes, okay?” 

“He said he’s a cop, too. I don’t get it…”

“Retired after putting in his twenty but kept at it in the reserves. He’s still a homicide detective, still carries the gun and the badge. Man, if I had that kind of money I wouldn’t…”

But she wasn’t really listening anymore. She was, in fact, now almost completely mortified. She’d come off as some kind of horny nymphomaniacal slutzilla because she thought he might be a fun diversion for a few days…but then the warm fuzzies – as she liked to call them – had hit, and hit hard. Now she felt like she was in way too deep, and that was not someplace familiar to her. Not at all.

“Who’s Frank?” she asked.

“Frank Bullitt. His partner and best friend. Let’s just say that close is an understatement and leave it at that.”

“Got it. And Cathy?” 

“Not married but been together for more than twenty years. One kid, a little girl. Cathy’s an architect and does all Harry’s design work.”

“So, they’re all real close? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Closer than close, Becky. Again, there’s a lot more going on here than meets the eye.”

“You mean, like some kind of triangle deal?”

“No, not at all, and Harry is just not wired that way. Conservative when it comes to things like that, sometimes he’s almost shy. Maybe old-fashioned is the best way to describe him.”

“Oh…”

“You haven’t fallen for him, have you?”

She turned and looked at Callahan, then at Watson – and she nodded. “Maybe, just a little.”

“Well, let me cue you in right now. If you’re looking for some quick fun, Harry is not the one for you. He’s complicated, yet I think you’ll find he’s worth the effort. But…if you hurt him, you’ll have to answer to my wife. And Becky…you do not want to do that.”

“I think I need a drink. A real strong drink.”

“Had a Suffering Bastard yet?”

“Oh. My. God. Never again…”

“Jesus…how many did you have?”

“I stopped counting at five…”

“Five? Shit…I’ve had three and thought my head was going to come off the next morning…”

“Doc…you obviously didn’t belong to the same sorority I did…”

“Oh…on that, I feel most certain you’re correct…”

________________________________

“I’m getting tired of that drive,” Callahan said as he backed the Rover into the garage at his Sea Ranch house.

“I think he slept the whole way. I was impressed, really, by how smoothly you drove.”

“Hah! Frank says I drive like an old lady.”

“You drive deliberately, Harry. I found it reassuring.”

He nodded. “Well, welcome to my home…be it ever so humble.”

“I wish the sun was out. I couldn’t really see it all that well.”

“Well, come on. I’ll give you the nickel tour.”

He took her around to the front door and took her in that way. “Cathy says the house has more ‘wow’ factor if you come in through here,” he added as he turned on some lights.

“Fuck!” Sawyer sighed before she covered her mouth with both hands.

“See. I told ya.”

“Shit, Harry…this is like something out of a magazine!”

“Oh, it’s been in Architectural Digest twice.”

“Crap! What’s out those windows…?”

They walked over and he turned on the outside floodlights, illuminating the layers of patios that led down to the cliffs, and then to the sea beyond…

“Fucking Hell!”

Callahan cleared his throat. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”

“Jesus, Harry, I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen anything like this in my life,” she said as she turned around and faced…

…the piano.

“What is that?” she moaned as she started for the glass alcove suspended over the rocks.

Harry watched, interested now because she seemed to regard the piano with something approaching awe…

“Is that a Steinway?” she asked.

“No.”

She walked closer, saw all the slate and stone accents woven into the design of the instrument…

“No way,” she sighed. “A Bösendorfer? I’ve never even seen one of these before…”

“Do you play?”

“Hell yes, I play!”

“Go ahead. Knock your socks off.”

“No way. I ain’t touching that thing, Callahan.”

“Why not?”

“That’s not a piano, Harry. That’s an act of faith, a living testament to man’s quest for perfection. But that thing? Harry, that fucker belongs in a goddamn museum.”

“It’s not worth a penny if it’s not played, Becky.”

“Shit, Callahan, don’t call me Becky around this thing. Rebecca. Shit,” she said as she walked around it, “this is unreal. I had no idea something like this could make me horny. I take it you play?”

“A little,” he smiled. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving and there are no restaurants around here. Either I cook or you cook, but one of us better get to it.”

“Where’s the kitchen?”

“Follow me…” he said as he led her across the living room to the kitchen, flipping on lights as he went…

Then the doorbell chimed.

He walked down and opened the door. DD and the Doc were standing there, scowling.

“What’s wrong?”

“Cathy threw us out. Said she didn’t need our help, and I’m pissed,” DD snarled.

“And I can just about guarantee she has no idea what she’s saying right now,” Becky said as she came down to the door. “You must be DD,” she said, extending her hand.

“Ah, the famous Dr. Sawyer,” DD said, sizing up this latest prize.

“Come on in,” Harry said. “We were just headed to the kitchen.”

“I went by the store with Liz and picked up some steaks and artichokes,” DD said.

“Perfect,” Becky said. “Got a cast iron skillet?”

“For what?” DD asked.

“The steaks! Best way to cook ‘em…”

DD just shook her head. “The boys do those down on the patio. I have a salad ready to go, but if you’d like to help with the artichokes…?”

Becky put her hands up. “No, no, I don’t want to get in anybody’s way.” She turned to Harry and the doc: “Boys? Need help with the grill?”

Callahan tried not to watch what was happening, but that only made his reaction more intense. Becky and DD were squaring off, evidently competing…but for what? Did Becky feel – in some way – that DD was his protector? 

With that question lingering in his mind he watched the performance unfold while he and the doc lit the fire and seared the steaks. DD, for her part of the performance, made a point of stamping the evening with her very own seal of approval – in effect, controlling everything that happened, right down to who ate what. ‘Funny,’ Callahan thought, ‘that I’ve never seen her in that light…’

Sawyer, however, did not find the evening funny, or even fun, and Callahan watched her anger build and build, and almost to a breaking point when DD insisted that margarine was a healthier product than butter. How could, he wondered, two otherwise sane women almost come to blows over the efficacy of melted margarine as a condiment for artichokes?

But what does it say that I’ve let DD take almost total control of my life?

She does a good job, doesn’t she? I mean, the results are evident everywhere I look?

So, does that mean she wants to exert control over my personal and social life, as well?

DD even directed traffic after dinner, sending “her boys” up to the kitchen to tackle the dishes whilst she and Becky – the girls – sat and talked a bit. Callahan had wanted to be the fly on the wall for that one, but it only took a few minutes to get things into the dishwasher and clean up the countertops. Still, when – the girls – came into the house they seemed to retire to their own respective corners, waiting for the bell so the next round could commence.

And of course the doc had wanted Callahan to play for them, so DD gave her blessing.

But Callahan turned the tables. “Doc? You’ve been taking lessons for months now. Let’s see what you’ve learned…”

“No, no…please, I’d only embarrass myself…”

“Come on, Doc. The Clair de lune, please.”

So Doc Watson made his way through the piece, and much better than the last time – when he had butchered the music almost beyond recognition. Still, Becky nodded her approval and even clapped a little when he wrapped it up, and DD even smiled at that acknowledgment.

“Alright, Harry,” Doc Watson snarled. “Your turn!”

“Me? You know, I think Becky plays. You up for it tonight?”

“No, not tonight,” Sawyer said, looking at DD. “Maybe some other time.”

“Okay, Harry,” the doc sighed, “it looks like it’s up to you. How about a Gershwin tune?”

Callahan looked at DD, then at Becky Sawyer. And he smiled.

Then he went to the piano, pulled out the bench and sat. Retracting the keyboard cover, he worked through some scales, checking that everything was in tune as he stretched his fingers, loosening them up. “Well,” he said, “let’s see if I even remember how to play this thing…”

He started by one-fingering his way through Chopsticks – which garnered smiles from DD and the Doc, then he blasted into Schumann’s Toccata in C, a short, breathless interlude before his planned finale. He asked everyone to step close, to put their hand on his shoulder, and though Doc Watson slowly put his hand there, he did so with trepidation. 

Callahan then drifted into Prokofiev’s Death of Juliet, improvising as he went, but after a moment he paused: “Everyone? Please take a deep breath, try to clear your mind of everything, imagine drifting on water at night with nothing but stars overhead. Slowly drifting, you’re drifting…”

As he’d intended, DD felt it first. She began reliving the last two hours – only now she was seeing the world, experiencing the emotional intensities of the evening – through Becky Sawyer’s eyes. She felt the sense of isolation, the gnawing frustration, the almost utter despair of watching Callahan being torn and pulled by competing loyalties, then the anger she felt when this complete stranger began to take control of everything going on around them all…

Doc Watson saw it too, and what he watched was a savage performance, though one he’d seen repeated time and time again but never from the vantage of an intended victim, and he began to feel anxious, almost physically ill as he felt what Becky Sawyer had just experienced…

Then Callahan drifted into Berlioz’s Damnation of Faust, playing the Autrefois, un roi de Thulé almost as an adagio, carrying Becky Sawyer into DDs mind, letting her experience the insecurities of a lonely woman who had always thought of herself as a failure, of a little girl always humiliated for her academic prowess and homely appearance. Even the doc watched these insights play out as an overwhelming feeling of pity washed over them all…

Before Callahan finished he wandered back into a very gentle Clair de lune, and this time he took them to Vietnam, to 1968, and to a night filled with automatic weapons fire and overrun positions, of men screaming for help on the command net, of mortar rounds landing inside the perimeter, of his shattered Huey spinning out of control and falling into a kerosene-soaked swamp – and then to the final, remorseless advance of the huge white snake, it’s red eyes and searching tongue reaching out for him…then…

He stood from the piano and walked out to the patio, leaving three human statues to claw their way back to the warmth of life, to see the world as it could be with only a little care and feeding of the human soul. He made his way to the little slot in the cliffs that led down to the sandy beach and, taking a deep breath, he began walking north…

He heard Becky calling his name, then, as she drew near, he heard her pleading with him to stop, to wait for her, so he stopped and turned to face the damage he’d done.

She ran into his arms, clung to his back, laughing and crying hysterically, caught on and within a Möbius loop of understanding and misunderstanding, trying to come to terms with everything she’d just learned and fought to forget…then she was screaming at him, screaming mercilessly, pitilessly – 

“Goddamn you, Harry, I love you I can’t live without you I can’t even breathe now just hold me please hold me and don’t you ever let me go please don’t let go…”

He felt water at his feet, the sand under his shoes sliding away on the ebb and he felt her sliding away, too. 

‘Can I hang on…? Can I hold on to love. Will she let me this time, or will she come again and again and tear this one from my grasp again and again…’

Then he felt DD and the Doc with them, all then standing in the surf, all feeling conjoined, all in sudden interwoven understanding, a new fabric created of and from the images of the night.

_________________________________

When he woke the next morning she was still clinging to him, fiercely clinging with his arm pulled tight to her breast, as if she had sought fusion with some fleeting essence.

Then he heard a knock on the door. His bedroom door…

Were they still here, he thought? The doc and DD?

As he disentangled himself from Becky she moaned, then he went to the door and opened it.

“Sorry for bothering you,” Frank said, standing there with Cathy and both still in their pajamas and robes, “but this couldn’t wait.”

“Yes?”

“The doc and DD came to the house last night, apparently after one of your, uh, excursions, and both were having some kind of meltdown.”

“Okay.”

“This wasn’t like the things we’ve done before, right?”

“No, not really.”

“What did you do to them?”

“I’m not sure I understand, not yet anyway. It was an improvisation, I think.”

“Well,” Cathy said, “DD has been up all night, and I’d say she’s almost in a state of shock, Harry. She can hardly talk right now, and I mean this morning, right now…”

“Frank?” Callahan said, “why don’t you go sit in the living room while I get some coffee on, but if I don’t tap a kidney first, things are gonna get ugly.”

He came out a few minutes later and Cathy met him in the kitchen, hugging him before he was even aware she was in the room. “What was that for,” he sighed.

She shrugged; “Do you have any eggs? I’ll whip up breakfast if you do, but I think you need to sit with Frank…

He nodded and went to the sofa and sat beside his friend.

“I never get tired of this view,” Bullitt said as he looked over the cliffs to the surf beyond.

“She created something timeless here,” Callahan replied. 

“I can’t help but think of all the nights we shared here, but at the same time I feel almost jealous, Harry. Of all the nights yet to be born here, of all the memories you’ll get to make – without me…”

“You’ll be with us, Frank. Always. When Cathy and Elizabeth and I are together here, you won’t be far away.”

“You believe in all that stuff, or are you just trying to make me feel good…”

“What difference does it make, Frank. I think what you believe is what counts right now.”

“I’ve always had a hard time with all that ‘die and go to heaven’ nonsense, Harry. It’s hard to believe in something you can’t see.”

“Hard? For me it’s been impossible. Sometimes I think it’s a struggle even for people who believe.”

“So, you were just trying to make me feel good…”

“Always the detective, always interrogating, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well, if the gumshoe fits…”

“Right. The thing is, Frank, you’ll be with us, in our hearts and minds, wherever we are. Always. You can count on that.”

“It’s not the same, is it?”

“Meaning?”

“Not being here anymore…it’s not really the same, is it?”

“On one level, sure. But Frank, who knows what’s on the other side?”

“Well, take my word for it, Harry. When it starts to get close – the whole thing gets kinda personal – and a lot less abstract.”

“Isn’t it a trip we all get to make?”

“A trip… Harry, you’re a trip…! So…what the hell did you do to DD and the doc?”

“DD and Becky were locked in a dominance dance last night. I just let them experience things from another point of view.”

“Another…?”

“DD got to experience things from Becky’s perspective.”

“Jesus, Harry… When did you figure this one out?”

“It just happened, Frank. I didn’t plan it out or anything like that…”

“So…just what else can you do…?”

Callahan shrugged. “I don’t know. What’d you have in mind?”

“Just a thought.”

“Like…?”

“What if, while I’m dying, I was touching you – while you played? Do you think I could, maybe, go back…”

And in the next instant the Old Man in The Cape was sitting on the sofa, now directly between Harry and Frank; both jumped away from his sudden reappearance – but Frank flinched – as if he’d been shocked, or stunned.

“And this,” the Old Man said, “you will not do. You must not. You talk of crossing a threshold, a threshold beyond which no mortal being may cross. You would tempt more than just fate, Harald; such an action would negate all that you know, or have known. You, and everything you see here, would simply cease to be. Do you hear me, Harald?”

“I hear you,” Callahan said, leaning forward to look at Frank…

But Bullitt was frozen in time, mute and unmoving.

“I must have your word on this, Harald. While I can tell you little more than this, if you do such a thing Elizabeth will never come to be, and that must never be allowed to happen. So…your word, Harald, give it to me now!”

“Alright, you have my word, but is there anything I can do for Frank?”

The Old Man shook his head. “He seeks immortality, Harald, and you are but mortal, as is Frank.”

“And you? What are you, Old Man?”

“Me? I am but a humble traveler, a servant – if you will – seeking to atone for the sins of my father.”

“Your father? Who is your father?”

The Old Man looked at Callahan almost fondly for a moment, but then he looked away and shook his head. “That, my friend, is the question.”

And with that he was gone. In the next instant Frank blinked and resumed speaking…

“…in time? What do you think of that?”

Harry shrugged noncommittally: “That’s an interesting idea. I’ll think about it…”

Thunder erupted from a nearby storm cloud, and lightning slashed down to the sea.

Becky walked into the living room wearing one of Callahan’s t-shirts – and nothing else; when she saw Frank she turned and dashed back to the bedroom.

“Was that Becky?” Bullitt asked, and Callahan nodded. “Yowza, that’s a hot little number, Harry. Sure you’re – UP – to the challenge?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, several times, as a matter of fact.”

“Uh, and Harry,” Bullitt said, wiping his cheek, “looks like you got a few pubes stuck in the stubble, if you know what I mean.”

Callahan brushed them away with a grin.

And then Frank smiled. “Well, I reckon there are plenty more where those came from. Don’t eat too much, Harry. Stains the teeth, don’t you know…”

© 2020 adrian leverkühn | abw | and as always, thanks for stopping by for a look around the memory warehouse…[but wait, there’s more…how about a last word or two on sources: I typically don’t post all a story’s acknowledgments until I’ve finished, if only because I’m not sure how many I’ll need until work is finalized. Yet with current circumstances (i.e., Covid-19) waiting to list said sources might not be the best way to proceed, and this listing will grow over time – until the story is complete. To begin, the ‘primary source’ material in this case – so far, at least – derives from two seminal Hollywood ‘cop’ films: Dirty Harry and Bullitt. The first Harry film was penned by Harry Julian Fink, R.M. Fink, Dean Riesner, John Milius, Terrence Malick, and Jo Heims. Bullitt came primarily from the author of the screenplay for The Thomas Crown Affair, Alan R Trustman, with help from Harry Kleiner, as well Robert L Fish, whose short story Mute Witness formed the basis of Trustman’s brilliant screenplay. Steve McQueen’s grin was never trade-marked, though perhaps it should have been. John Milius (Red Dawn) penned Magnum Force, and the ‘Briggs’/vigilante storyline derives from characters and plot elements originally found in that rich screenplay, as does the Captain McKay character. The Jennifer Spencer/Threlkis crime family storyline was first introduced in Sudden Impact, screenplay by Joseph Stinson, original story by Earl Smith and Charles Pierce. The Samantha Walker television reporter is found in The Dead Pool, screenplay by Steve Sharon, story by Steve Sharon, Durk Pearson, and Sandy Shaw.  I have to credit the Jim Parish, M.D., character first seen in the Vietnam segments to John A. Parrish, M.D., author of the most fascinating account of an American physician’s tour of duty in Vietnam – and as found in his autobiographical 12, 20, and 5: A Doctor’s Year in Vietnam, a book worth noting as one of the most stirring accounts of modern warfare I’ve ever read (think Richard Hooker’s M*A*S*H, only featuring a blazing sense of irony conjoined within a searing non-fiction narrative). Denton Cooley, M.D. founded the Texas Heart Institute, as mentioned. Of course, James Clavell’s Shōgun forms a principle backdrop in later chapters. The teahouse and hotel of spires in Ch. 42 is a product of the imagination; so-sorry. The UH-1Y image used from Pt VI on taken by Jodson Graves. Many of the other figures in this story derive from characters developed within the works cited above, but keep in mind that, as always, the rest of this story is in all other respects a work of fiction woven into a pre-existing cinematic-historical fabric. Using the established characters referenced above, as well as the few new characters I’ve managed to come up with here and there, I hoped to create something new – perhaps a running commentary on the times we’ve shared with these fictional characters? And the standard disclaimer also here applies: the central characters in this tale should not be mistaken for persons living or dead. This was, in other words, just a little walk down a road more or less imagined, and nothing more than that should be inferred. I’d be remiss not to mention Clint Eastwood’s Harry Callahan, and Steve McQueen’s Frank Bullitt. Talk about the roles of a lifetime…and what a gift.]

Chapter 17

Flashes – like lightning – only anything but.

Grasping hands. A fireman? Pulling me from the darkness?

An ambulance, bright lights dance on a Formica ceiling, Britt – saying she can’t find my pulse – 

Then surreal warmth – a warmth without and within an absent sensation of warmth –

Light within light, a siren wailing, a siren’s song from beyond, calling my name. 

A light? Isn’t that a light? Shining in my eye?

Why can’t I talk? Why can’t I get up? I want to get up…

+++++

Then I’m is on the same sandy stretch of road again, Clyde still by my side. I look to my left and can see the same impenetrable forest, the same searing white light within, the same screaming shadows coming out of the shadows. Ahead? I see houses on that beach, a still sea beyond. Above? A greenish sky, a vast ringed Jovian orb blotting out an otherwise dark night. Behind me, the same snow-capped mountains I saw last time I was here.

Something with the three shadows. Clyde is reacting to them again, then he looks up at me, the hair on the back of his neck on end and yes, that bothers me. Like he knows something I don’t. They come for me, for us again, yet like last time at the last moment they veer off and take to the sky. But, how can shadows fly? That doesn’t make any sense?

I can feel sand between my toes. The road? The road is made of white sand? Maybe I should go and see if anyone is in those houses? They can’t be that far away, can they? A mile, maybe?

Ouch! Something bit my arm. I can feel the sting, but something is pulling on me now, pulling me back to the light. Warmth? Is that warmth? No…I’m freezing now…so cold…so cold…

+++++

Taggart opened his eyes, he could feel them open, but no…there was something over his eyes – a mask? Tape? Gauze? This place is full of unseen people; he hears them, he can almost feel them so he tries to sit up…

Voices, sudden alarms and hurried expressions and then the warmth returns.

+++++

The houses? How did I get here? So close now, but I don’t remember walking here.

The fields? The fields – are planted with grapes? This must be a vineyard. I can smell them from here. That sweet, ripe smell? Where have I smelled that? From somewhere far away, but I can’t remember – everything seems so far away now. It feels like I can’t even remember yesterday.

No people. I don’t see any people. Does no one live here? Who tends the vines?

I feel Clyde, feel his confusion. He’s whimpering now. Why? Has he not been here before?

Someone is grabbing me, pulling me – from this place –

Leave me alone…

“Leave me alone!”

“Mr. Taggart? Can you hear me?”

Can’t they just leave me here? I feel so comfortable here…

Fingers open an eye, another light shines and he tries to turn and look away.

“Mr. Taggart? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me? That’s right! There’s a tube down your throat to help you breathe; we’ll take that out in a minute so it will feel strange until then…”

He looked down towards his feet, saw Dina’s eyes above a surgical mask and he could see she’d been crying. 

“Eyes red, too red,” he tried to say, but the hard plastic in his mouth warped the sounds that formed on his distorted tongue. He closed his eyes, tried to swallow but couldn’t and that really didn’t feel right at all. Then another wave of warmth, some pressure in his throat, and an oxygen cannula begins feeding gentle life to his lungs.

After that he moved from room to room as his condition improved, and at one point he looked over and saw Eva asleep in a recliner. He woke one morning to find Eva trying to feed him something that felt like lukewarm oatmeal. When he needed to go to the restroom Eva was there to help him walk.

Then Mike came.

“I’ve been reading the systems manuals that came with the boat, as well as your log entries. I think everything is running fine…”

“How long have I been here?”

“Not quite a week. You had us kind of scared there for a while, Henry.”

“I’ve got to get out of here. Gonna run out of time if we’re not careful.”

“Well, fuel and water tanks are full and Rolf has helped me restock the galley.”

“Rolf? He’s helping?”

“Yeah. Dina and Rolf moved on board four days ago. As soon as you get your fat ass discharged I take it we’ll just slip the lines and head south.”

“Weather?”

“Not good. That hurricane? It brushed Bermuda before turning towards Ireland. It’s been downgraded to tropical storm force winds but we’d have fifty knot gusts if we left right now. Stuff will hang around for another two or so days after that.”

“Do you know what happened to me?”

Mike shook his head. “Better let Dina go over all that stuff.”

“So? What did you decide to do?”

“I turned in my papers, Henry. You know, I’ve been an explorer all my life…that’s why I went to Annapolis. Anyway, its begun to feel more and more like I’ve become some kind of cop on a beat, enforcing rules and laws that have begun to make less and less sense to me. Then I met you, and, well, I think it’s time to be an explorer again. Right now, I think being around you will be the most interesting place in the world to be, so…if you don’t mind…”

“I don’t mind, Mike. Grateful for the help, really.”

Mike sighed. “Glad you said that, Henry. It’s been weighing on my mind, like I didn’t want to invite myself to your party, you know?”

Henry held out his hand. “Welcome aboard, Shipmate.”

And when Mike took it, Taggart saw there was no need for words between them now. 

“See if you can find Dina, or someone that can cut me loose. I’d like to get going as soon as possible…”

“What about the storm?”

“We’ll work our way south hugging the coast, get in out of it if we need to, but I want to keep heading south for now.”

“Okay. What about Eva?”

“What about her?”

“Man, she’s been in here by your side since day one. As soon as you were out of surgery, anyway.”

“She can’t come with us, Mike. It’s just too dangerous for her…”

“I don’t think she’s gonna want to hear that, Henry. And I’m not sure it’s the right thing to do.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. There’s something weird going on with her…”

“And that’s why we have to protect her…”

Mike nodded. “I know, but I don’t think anything can hurt her right now, Henry. I can’t explain that, but it’s a feeling I can’t shake…”

“What’s going on with the Russians?”

“Complicated. That code you slipped into their systems? Well, furious is an understatement, yet half their ground forces were immobilized by some sort of general malfunction…”

“I know.”

“Well, yeah, let’s just say they’re pissed off and leave it at that. They’ve mobilized their reserves, been flying aggressive overflights around Estonia and Finland, their Black Sea fleet is busting out into the Med…they’re just up to a whole bunch of no good, if you ask me.”

“Too bad. Would’ve been nice if they’d just taken the hint.”

“Well, they’ve been acting predictably, from my point of view, anyway.”

Dina knocked on the door and stepped into the room. “Ah, he’s up!”

“He is indeed,” Mike replied. “I’ll leave you to it, Henry. Seeya later, Dina.”

She came and sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over and kissed Henry on the lips. “Sorry I was such a bitch,” she whispered as he sat up, taking his hand at the same time. “So, we have bad news, and then the really bad news. Which would you like first?”

“Just lay it out in terms of getting to Paris.”

“Tumors have grown near your spine. These were removed with some difficulty…”

“Is that what caused…”

“Yes. If you really want to make a push for France we should do so soon. That window may close unexpectedly, and without much warning.”

“Understood. So, as far as Christmas is concerned…?”

“We get to France and begin an aggressive intervention. We buy time.”

“When will it be safe for me to leave and get back to the boat…?”

“So, you wish to proceed?”

“I do.”

“You’ve healed enough to move back to the boat. We should consider another day getting back into the routine before departure, and there is the storm to consider as well.”

“And Rosa? How is she doing?”

“Fine. She will respond well to chemo, no surprises. The little girl is brave, is she not?”

“I think so.”

“Rolf has taken a liking to her, but I would assume you knew that would happen.”

“I had hopes, yes.”

“You seem to see the future more clearly than I.”

“Your daughter? How is she?”

“One more time…she saved your life.”

“I see.”

“I have failed miserably in that regard. She loves you terribly.”

“And I love her.”

“You love everything, Henry. You are overflowing with love, so how could you not love her.”

“Clyde?”

“Has been to the vet. I assume you know of his condition?”

“Yes, for a few weeks now. Could they remove any…”

“No, I’m afraid not. Too dangerous, they say. Still, I think he misses you most of all.”

Taggart nodded. “You’re still feeding him salmon?”

“Of course. And scrambled eggs in the morning, with wheat germ and yogurt on the side, just as you wrote down in the log.”

He smiled. “So, I’ve heard you’ve moved your gear back on board?”

“I have. And I promise to be a good girl.”

“You’re my wife, Dina. Believe it or not, it’s where you should be now.”

She nodded. “I will not leave you again, Henry.”

“I’m curious. Is Clyde staying with you?”

“Some of the time, yes. He goes forward and stays with Rolf for a while, then with Mike, then sometime in the night he comes back to me.”

“We’re his family now, I guess.”

“Oh, there is no guessing required. He watches over us all, Henry. But you most of all. I think he almost came undone when you collapsed and went into the water.”

Taggart nodded. “Must’ve hurt him to watch and not be able to help.”

“He was barking a good deal. But – about this Mike, this naval officer. Do you trust him?”

“There are times, Dina, when trust has to be earned. This is one of those times.”

“But you will let him remain aboard, even so?”

“Yes. Even so.”

“Okay. I will not ask why. Have you decided when you wish to leave?”

“The day after tomorrow, in the last stages of the storm.”

She sighed. “Alright. I will tell Rolf. Where will be the next big city we go to?”

“Amsterdam.”

“I will make arrangements for you there. I know a professor, so there will be no problem with treatments.”

“Treatments?”

“Platelets – or whatever may be needed.”

“I see. I’m curious…who pulled me out of the water.”

“Mike, of course.”

“Of course.”

+++++

Eva was beside herself, now beyond depressed. “You will leave me here – again? But – why?”

Henry nodded. “I’ve told you my greatest concern. The next several weeks will be very difficult, and no place for a woman carrying twins.”

“And once you arrive, when may I come?”

“As soon as possible.”

“And if I cannot?”

“Then know that I love you, and take care of our children?”

“I cannot believe this is happening – again. Henry – no?!”

He looked to Britt, exasperated now, but she had tried already and now turned away and walked over to Rolf. Henry took Eva in his arms and held her, but as her arms encircled him he felt her fists bunch up in despair.

“Don’t make this any harder than it already is,” he whispered. “We will be together soon.”

There would be no quiet acceptance this time, no grudging acquiescence would be forthcoming. Her arms collapsed and fell to her side, then she turned and walked away. He watched her as she walked  away – willowy, almost regal, the cares of an unjust world heavy on her shoulders – and he knew he would never see her again.

Britt came back to him and kissed him once, gently, on the lips, then she too drifted away. 

He nodded to Rolf and Mike – who released their dock lines and hopped aboard. Taggart kept Time Bandits centered in the fairway and motored out of the inner harbor, his eyes dancing from the swirling clouds to the radar display. He took the range guides out to sixteen miles and saw a deep red blotch on the display; there would be heavy rain in that one, he knew, and winds strong enough to knock them down, too. He cycled the display over to satellite view and saw what he’d hoped for: a big, wide gap between incoming rain-bands that he’d use to their advantage. Get into the gap and push out to sea, then turn south after the band passed. Hopefully they’d be under fair skies early tomorrow morning…

For now, he set their course for the Askøybrua, the huge suspension bridge just outside of the main harbor, then they’d turn south, make for the Sotrabrua, the last major bridge before they’d turn west and make for the open sea.

“Dark clouds, Henry,” Mike said, pointing towards the Askøy Bridge and the writhing slate gray wall beyond. “You got it on radar?”

Taggart nodded. “The center of the low just passed. That’s the root of a major band.”

“It’s gonna be nasty, whatever the hell it is.”

“We have about ten minutes. Clear the deck of anything and everything loose, tie down whatever’s left.”

Rolf nodded and turned to it; Mike went aft and opened the garage, then started stowing fenders and dock-lines as Rolf brought them to him. 

“You aren’t going to raise sail, are you?” Mike asked – and Henry shook his head.

“Dina, better run below and double check that all the hatches are dogged tight.”

She started down the companionway but stopped halfway down; “Have you had your medications this morning?”

He nodded. “Yes, I’m good ’til noon-thirty.”

He looked at the plotter with both the radar and weather overlaid, aiming for the center of the span ahead, noting there was no traffic out now…commercial or otherwise. “Smart,” he sighed.

“Less than five minutes to impact!” he called-out, causing Mike to look at the wall and shake his head in readily apparent dismay. “Safety harnesses on now, please!” Henry added unnecessarily.

He looked up at the masthead, then down at the display…

“White-line-squall,” Mike said, and Henry looked at the base of the wall just ahead; the wind was so intense there that spray was being blown off the wave tops – causing what appeared to be a white base marking the leading edge of the line-squall.

“What is this?” Rolf asked.

“Violent wind along that line,” Mike said. “Henry, you need help on the wheel?”

“You’d better take it, Mike. Not sure I’m strong enough right now.”

“Rolf? Help him forward, hang onto him if we get knocked-down.”

“Okay,” Rolf sighed, now clearly rattled.

“Rolf, let’s get the companionway boards in and dog the hatch.”

“Yes, okay…”

Taggart looked ahead through the glass cockpit dodger, and he could see a light drizzle had just started so he turned on the wipers, revealing the wall was now less than a quarter mile ahead and bearing down fast.

Mike throttled down a little and turned to meet the wall at a ninety degree angle just as the first gust hit…

The wind display moved to zero degrees apparent angle, average wind speed forty knots, then sixty three knots, then eighty knots – all in a matter of seconds…

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” Mike yelled, fighting to keep Bandits’ bow right into the wind; if he lost it and the bow drifted the wind would catch hold and push the boat onto her beam, meaning the boat could soon be halfway to capsized.

“Rolf?” Henry said calmly. “Give him a hand on the wheel.”

“Yes, yes…”

Henry looked at Dina, holding onto handrails with grim determination in her eyes, and he nodded at her when she turned and looked at him.

“We’re okay,” he shouted, trying to make his voice heard over the howling wind.

And she nodded, smiling a little. “She is a fierce boat, Henry. A real fighter.”

“Just like you.”

Mike went to full power as Bandits broke out into clear air, the seas behind the line blown flat, and almost as fast as it had come on the squall was past, now heading for the mainland. “Radar clear ahead,” Mike called out. 

“I’ll go below and check for damage,” Dina said.

“Rolf? Check the anchor pins, would you?” Henry asked. “Mike? You good?”

Mike nodded. “Helluva little ship, Henry. I’m impressed.”

“Good builder, and Frers is a great designer. Rolf, let’s raise sail just before we make the turn; call it a mile.”

“Right.”

“Okay,” Mike added. “You got the wheel?”

“I got it, and thanks. Again.”

“No problemo,” Mike grinned. 

Dina stood. “Anyone ready for some hot tea?”

Everyone was, it turned out.

+++++

Four hours later and with Klokkarvik now in their wake, Henry turned to the south-southwest and Rolf trimmed the sails again. Mike, sitting on the aft rail, seemed mesmerized by the pod of orcas that had magically resumed their station just off the port-quarter two hours earlier. Then Dina had joined him and listened to his recounting of all that had happened on Helgoland – and on their voyage north.

“What are you talking about?” she asked. “What red orb?”

“You mean you haven’t met Winky yet?”

“Winky? No? Who is this?”

Mike shrugged. “I reckon you’ll find out soon enough,” he said, yet at the same time he was thinking ‘oh boy, is this going to be more fun than a paper sack full of squirrels…’

The female orcas came alongside several times that afternoon; Taggart guessed they were hoping to find Eva, so he was not surprised when they fell away as the sun fell into the sea once again. 

“Where do you think they’re headed?” Mike asked Taggart as they disappeared to the northeast.

“Back to Bergen. That’s where Eva is, and I guess now they know for sure.” Taggart looked at the big male still off their stern, and it looked like he had two other smaller males with him now and he shook his head. “I sure would like to know what they’re up to.”

“You ain’t the only one,” Mike sighed. 

Dina listened to all these ruminations completely mystified. “You mean, they have been with us all along?”

Taggart shrugged her question away. “I don’t know,” was all he said as he turned back to the plotter, tracking the last bands of rain. “We may get some rain later tonight, but nothing major.” He looked at Mike then: “Why don’t you get some sleep now. You and Rolf can handle the night watch.”

“Midnight?” he asked, setting an alarm on his watch.

Taggart nodded – and Clyde came up the steps and barked twice.

“Astroturf, here we come!” Henry sighed. He cinched Clyde’s harness – then led him forward to the sacred spot and turned away as the pup dropped a bomb.

“Damn!” Mike screamed from the cockpit, fanning his face, “What the Hell do you feed that dog!?”

“Rats – fresh from the bilge, mee hearties!”

“Smells like road-kill, if you ask me.”

Clyde looked up at him and “Woofed!” once.

“Don’t pay attention to any of that bullshit. It ain’t like his shit don’t stink, ya know?”

“Woof!”

“I know. I’ve got a nice filet ready to go. Sashimi tonight?”

“Woof!”

“Okay, let’s do it…”

After dinner Dina came up and sat with them – Henry and Clyde – but she yawned a couple of time and he smiled. “You better go down and get some sleep, kiddo. You look about half past beat.”

“Maybe in a little while. I love this time of the evening, when the sun is just below the horizon.”

“The blue hour?”

“The what?”

“The blue hour. Photographers call it that because of the color of light. In medieval times it was the last part of the day you could safely travel before evil spirits came out to harvest new souls.”

“Now there’s a lovely thought. Thanks so much for that delightful imagery – and just before bed, too.”

He smiled. “Actually, I’d like to think we’ve progressed a little beyond such thinking.”

“I doubt we ever will, Henry. Such thinking is hard-wired into our brains. It is how we’ve survived, you know?”

“Clyde? What do you think? See any evil spirits out there?”

Clyde shook his head, flapping his ears in a ragged patter.

“See? Even dogs have gotten over all that.”

“You and that dog…you were cut from the same cloth…”

“The cloths of heaven, no doubt.”

“What?”

“Yeats, his ‘Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven.’”

“What is that? A poem?

“Yes,” he sighed, “and it goes something like this:

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, 

Enwrought with golden and silver light, 

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths 

Of night and light and the half light, 

I would spread the cloths under your feet: 

But I, being poor, have only my dreams; 

I have spread my dreams under your feet; 

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”

“Ah, so I must tread softly? Is that what you are telling me, dear Henry?”

“How else could you treat another’s dreams, dear wife?”

She shook her head. “I wish I understood you?”

He smiled. “And as I’ve told you before, be glad that you don’t.”

“Why? Why do you say such things to me?”

“Because I’m sure you’d not find what you’re looking for.”

“Looking for? What do you mean by that?”

“Dina, please, try to get some rest. We have three hard days ahead of us.”

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, tried to calm the magmatic anger coming to the surface, then she stood and hurried below before she said something she knew she would only regret tomorrow.

He pulled up the long term weather page, then the latest satellite overheads before he adjusted their next waypoint a little more to the south and east. “Looks like we’ll have great weather tomorrow, old boy.”

He looked down at the ancient wisdom in Clyde’s eyes and tried to smile, but it was getting harder to do now. The tumors along Clyde’s spine had mirrored his own, and in ways Dina would never understand.

He crossed his legs and patted his leg, and Clyde jumped up and sat on his lap. They looked at one another for the longest time, then the pup put his hands on either side of Henry’s neck and went to sleep.

He switched screens, set a radar alarm for twenty-five miles and then leaned back – watching the stars overhead as the miles slipped by under their keel. Dorsal fins broke water on their flanks, while hundreds of miles overhead a silent red orb trailed through yet another long, silent night.

© 2020 adrian leverkühn | abw | this is a work of fiction, pure and simple; the next chapter will drop in a week or so.