Brett Battles - No Return

Forman stared blankly at Wes. “Then who the hell are you talking about?”

“Let’s not play stupid, Commander. Anna Mendes and Tony Hall? Those names ring a bell?”

Forman shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

The car began to slow.

Wes looked up. There were no lights around, no city. Just the dark desert. He twisted around and glanced out the rear window. Ridgecrest glowed in the distance, but the road itself was empty.

“Is something wrong?” he asked Dori.

Then, with a jolt, the Lincoln came to a sudden stop.

Thecall had come in at 6:55 P.M., 9:55 P.M. where it originated, in Washington, D.C.

Lars knew something was up when the guard who brought him the phone was one of the federal cops and not one of Forman’s men.

“I was given a message that you have information about my son.” There was power in the voice on the other end. Power that almost, but not quite, masked an underlying level of concern.

“That’s correct, Senator.”

“If it hadn’t come to me the way it had, I would have probably ignored it,” Senator Jamieson told him.

Lars wasn’t sure how Janice had gone about getting the senator’s attention, but whatever she had done had worked.

“Thank you for calling me, sir.”

“I understand you are in detention.”

“Also correct.”

“Do you want to explain to me why?”

Lars knew he had to be careful here. “You’re familiar with SCORCH?”

Silence for a moment. “If this is some sort of trick to get me to vote for funding the program, then this phone call is over right-”

“No, sir,” Lars jumped in. “Not a trick. At least not by me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sir, as I’m sure you know, I’m stationed at China Lake in the Mojave Desert.” After the senator grunted in acknowledgment, Lars went on. “And I also assume you are familiar with what we do here. Testing aircraft, weapons, and flight systems?”

“I’m familiar.”

“Systems like SCORCH.”

“What is the point?”

“Sir, last Wednesday an F-18 installed with the SCORCH system took off on a test flight. The purpose of that particular flight was not so much a test of the system as it was a demonstration. The demonstration was for an audience of two. The pilot was one.”

When he didn’t immediately elaborate, the senator asked, “Who was the other?”

“You, sir.” With a deep breath, he said, “Senator, the pilot of that plane was your son.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Commander, but you’re obviously mistaken. My son is attached to the Seventh Fleet. Not China Lake.”

“Senator, I think if you check you’ll find that Lieutenant Jamieson was flown here the day before the test flight.” Lars paused. “Sir, did your son have a scar on his right arm?”

The senator hesitated, then said, “Yes. He got it waterskiing during high school. But I fail to see what that has to do with this.”

“Sir,” Lars said, “the test flight we’re talking about is the one that crashed here last week. The pilot’s body had a three-inch scar on its right arm. I saw it myself.”

There was silence for several seconds, then the senator said, “Hold the line.”

When he came back on, he was joined by Admiral Hines from the Pentagon. Lars repeated his story, laying out what he thought had happened.

By 7:25 Lars had been released. He made one request, to be the one who informed Commander Forman that he was to be taken into custody.

“Your cooperation in this is appreciated, Lieutenant Commander,” the admiral had said. “But that’s NCIS’s job. I don’t, however, have any objections to you … observing them in action.”

“Thank you, sir,” Lars said.

The flaw in his plan didn’t hit him until he stepped into the parking lot. That’s when he remembered his truck had been impounded and was on the other side of the base. He was about to go back inside to use the phone when he saw Janice standing in the parking lot beside her Mustang.

“Thought you might need a lift,” she said.

“How did you know I was getting out for sure?” he asked as they both climbed in.

“I figured you wouldn’t have asked me to get ahold of a U.S. senator if you didn’t have a very good reason. And if you did, he’d get you out.” She started the engine. “So, where are we going?”

A mixed team of NCIS investigators and federal cops were waiting when Lars and Janice arrived at Forman’s house. While Janice waited by the car, Lars joined the team as they walked up the steps to the commander’s front door.

Unfortunately, the only one home was Forman’s wife.

One of the team members took Mrs. Forman into a back room to question her, while the rest moved into the living room to wait. Lars paced near one of the windows for a moment, then walked over to the lead NCIS investigator.

“I can’t stay,” he said. As satisfying as it would have been to be present when Forman found out he was finished, there was a more important task that he needed to do.

“All right. But I’ve been told to inform you that although you’re out of custody, you are still under investigation. So no leaving town.”

“Of course,” Lars said. He’d been told as much by Admiral Hines, so it wasn’t a surprise.

He jogged back to the Mustang and got in.

“Well?” Janice asked.

“He wasn’t home. Just his wife.”

“So what are they going to do?”

“Wait until he gets back.”

“You don’t want to stay?”

He shook his head. “Can you drop me off at the Desert Rose Motel? You know, just the other side of the hospital?”

Ten minutes later he was standing in the motel parking lot, the taillights of Janice’s Mustang quickly fading into the distance.

He got Wes’s room number from the office, then proceeded there and knocked. When no one answered, he scanned the parking lot. Wes’s motorcycle wasn’t around.

Out , Lars realized. Damn .

He settled against the wall, his gaze drifting across the parking lot toward the northeast, toward the base. He could see the emptiness that had once contained base housing. He remembered riding through those streets with Wes on the dirt bicycles they’d put together themselves. His had been painted red, while Wes had gone for a combination of orange and black. The Halloween bike, some of the kids had called it.

Lars remembered one time when they had ridden all the way to the Shopping Basket grocery store next to the indoor pool. There they ran into a couple of other kids they knew from junior high. For some reason, Lars had allowed one of the kids to talk him into shoplifting a candy bar. Since it was the first-and last-time he’d ever done anything like that, it was no wonder he was nervous. That was undoubtedly why the store manager stopped him at the door and made him empty his pockets.

“What’s your name?” the manager had asked. “I’m going to call your parents.”

Lars was terrified. More of his father than of the store manager.

“If you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to call the police.”

Lars tried to speak, but nothing came out.

“It’s not his fault.” It was Wes. He was standing a few feet away.

“Oh, really?” The manager held up the candy bar. “So this just jumped into his pocket?”

“No, sir,” Wes said. “I put it there when he wasn’t looking.”

The manager stared at Wes.

“He didn’t know,” Wes went on. “It’s my fault.”

The manager turned back to Lars. “Is that true?”

Lars stole a glance at Wes. His friend gave him a tiny nod.

“Yes,” Lars whispered, hating himself for it.

Unbelievably, the manager let Lars go, telling him he was banned from the store for a month. Outside, the other boys, having seen what was going down, were long gone. Lars wanted to leave, too, but he waited by the bike rack for almost forty minutes until his friend joined him.