Daniel Wyatt - The Mary Jane Mission

GUAM

“Mom, dad, you look great!”

Les greeted his father with a handshake and his mother with a firm hug near the parking lot outside Guam’s International Air Terminal. His mother looked happy, keeping her arms around her son for a lengthy time. It was a warm day, all three in shorts and T-shirts.

“Have you put on some weight?” she asked, finally pulling back.

“Muscle. All muscle,” Les grinned. “You two have lost a few pounds, haven’t yuh. Anyway, how was the reunion?”

Tired-eyed, Robert replied, “We had a ball.”

“And he’s got the bloodshot eyes to prove it,” Edna laughed.

“And to think you didn’t want to go, dad.”

Robert shrugged. “I know, I know. Your mother told me the same thing.”

At the car, Les opened his passenger door for his parents, and then threw the two suitcases into the trunk. “Buckle up,” he said, closing the trunk. “The laws are strict here.”

Robert stared at the Nissan, not moving a muscle.

“What’s the matter, dad?”

“A Nissan! You bought a Jap car,” Robert replied. “What did you do that for?”

Les knew that his father — a confirmed Ford man — was touchy about Americans buying foreign cars, especially Japanese-built ones. “I didn’t buy it. I’m leasing it.”

“Don’t matter. It’s still a Jap car.”

Les tried to remain calm. “Come off it. The war’s been over for nearly fifty years.”

“Not for me he hasn’t.”

Les and his mother exchanged glances, then Les said, “Would you rather take a cab?”

Edna nudged her husband. “Oh, for the love of Mike, damn it, Robert, get in the car!”

The Saturday morning traffic was heavy on Marine Drive, the roadway that led into the capital city of Agana. Les drove past hotels, car rentals, shopping centers, and restaurants, until he reached the beach where the shoreline palm trees swayed to the light ocean breeze coming off Agana Bay. The sunroof was back for Les and his parents to enjoy the sunshine.

For the elder Shillings, the contrast between Tinian and Guam — only 100 miles apart — was startling. Sparsely populated Tinian was laid back. Guam, with its 120,000 residents, was a beehive of bustle and activity. Les had the facts on hand for his parents. Five airlines serviced the island. It had seven radio stations, three television stations, three newspapers, and twenty-nine banks. Agana contained more than a dozen hotels, most of which had been built in the last ten years, as well as air-conditioned malls and plenty of fast-food restaurants. Guam was a far cry from sleepy little Tinian

“How about golf? What yuh got there?” Robert asked from the back seat, still pouting after the Nissan incident.

“The best. Admiral Nimitz Golf Course. I’ll drive you out this afternoon. First, I thought we’d head home, pick up Gail and the kids and go for a ride around the island. Then a barbeque after. How does prime rib sound?”

“I like that,” Edna replied, looking over from the front passenger seat.

Robert said nothing.

“Oh, by the way, dad,” Les said, glancing in the rear-view mirror at his father, “my CO wants to meet you.”

“Really? What for?”

“I don’t know. He just said he wants to meet you. You game?”

“Sure.”

Later that afternoon, while the Shillings talked about old times on the patio deck over drinks, steaks, potatoes, and Caesar salad, they were interrupted by the portable phone ringing on the table.

Les picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

“Lieutenant Shilling?”

“Yes, it is.”

“This is Captain MacDonald.”

“Yes, sir, captain, what can I do for you?”

The conversation in the room died down, then stopped abruptly.

“Remember that meeting I talked about with you, regarding your father?”

“Yes, sir, I remember.”

“I hear he’s in town. I’d like to see him. Tonight. Eight o’clock sharp. I want you to be there too. My office.”

Les caught a sting of authority in his CO’s voice. What at first was supposed to be a so-called casual visit now sounded more like an order. He glanced at his digital watch. An hour to go. “Yes, sir. We’ll be there.”

“Keep this between the three of us, at least for now.”

“Yes, sir.”

The receiver went dead and Les hung it up. He turned to his family.

“What was that about?” Gail wanted to know.

“The boss,” Les replied. “Relax, it’s nothing. I have to leave in a while. I’ll be right back, though.”

The conversation started up again.

“Dad, let me top your drink.”

“I can use some more ice, too,” Robert added.

“Sure, come on in the house. I want to show you something.”

By the time Les and his father arrived at MacDonald’s office, two other people were already there. Tiger and General Phil Cameron. And what surprised Les the most was that Cameron and his father were on a first-name basis. Introductions were made. All five sat.

MacDonald yanked opened a desk drawer and pulled out a large manila file that contained photos and typed paperwork.

“Gentlemen,” MacDonald began, firmly, “this is not a social gathering. It’s business. Three weeks ago, Agana Naval Air Station picked up an unidentified target on radar at oh-one-hundred in the vicinity of Tinian. One of our own F-18s, flown by Lieutenant Shilling, was alerted. Before he could make any type of visual, the target simply vanished without a trace.” The CO turned to some papers in the file. “According to our radar, it was on a true course of three-five-zero degrees, at an altitude of 1,000 feet and a speed of only 200 knots. Another target appeared three days later at oh-one-ten over Saipan. It also disappeared without a trace. After a few more targets, I started to detect a pattern. They were appearing on radar every two or three days, and five or ten minutes later than the previous one, and at a speed of 200 knots. In addition to that, the position of these targets formed into a definite path north, as you can see, gentlemen, from the map to my left. I have plotted each radar sighting. Then a slight change occurred near the island of Agrihan. The target suddenly climbed to 3,000 feet and changed its course to three-four-one.”

Cameron broke in. “Captain MacDonald, what in hell’s bells does this have to do with Bob and me? The US Navy is none of our business.”

“You’ll see, general. Please let me finish. Shortly after oh-two-hundred hours, eight days ago, off the coast of Agrihan, Lieutenants Shilling and Runsted intercepted the source of these signals. And here’s what they photographed.”

The CO slowly spread out on his desktop six clear infrared black-and-white photos of a B-29 Superfortress. The others leaned forward to look. Les, Robert, and Cameron were all astonished. The pictures had been taken from the port side. On the tailplane was a large R inside a black circle, with the numbers 296546 below it. The nose contained the block letters MARY JANEand a life-like painting of a girl in a bathing suit below the pilot’s window.

“I suspect,” MacDonald continued, “that someone is playing a little game with the US Navy. This reunion of yours has attracted a lot of public attention. I’ve seen Fifi , myself, up close. This bomber, gentlemen, does not have the same markings, does it? In fact, the markings on this bomber are those of the 509th Composite. Your group, general. That’s why I asked you and Mr. Shilling here.” He turned his attention to Robert. “I did some checking, sir, with old Army Air Force records and found that you were the crew chief on the original Mary Jane . Do you two have any idea what’s going on here?”