“What will happen to the base?”
“That's what we're working on now. The Air Force is committed to a safe community reuse of its former facilities.” Charles sounded as if he were reading from a press release. “The base has a lot of potential. We're reaching out to the local Native association. The state Department of Transportation is interested. It could even be turned into an extension of the University of Alaska, bunkhouses for dormitories, plenty of classroom space in the admin buildings. You could put an aviation school here; you've got runways and hangars and fairly consistent weather. Maybe set up an AirSea Rescue training facility. Or perhaps a fish-processing operation. But like I said, it's not a done deal. I'm here to talk to the base commander and his staff, and to evaluate their operation, see how necessary it is to the Alaska Defense Command.”
“They pick you because of your time at Elmendorf?”
“My familiarity with the Alaskan Air Command didn't hurt.”
“How long will you be here?”
“I don't know. A week, ten days, maybe.” Charles changed the subject. “I met a friend of yours this morning.”
In spite of everything he did to prevent it, Liam's shoulders tensed, and Charles's twenty-twenty pilot's vision spotted it right off. “Who was that?” Liam said.
“A local pilot, name of Schwenard.”
“Chouinard,” Liam said automatically, and cursed himself. Hell. Might as well go the whole route. “Wy Chouinard.”
“Ah. What kind of name is Wy?”
“Lakota Sioux. Short for Wyanet. Means beautiful.”
“Um.” Charles was good at those noncommittal noises that said nothing and meant everything. It was part of Liam's patrimony, and a useful adjunct to his interrogation technique, but he wasn't in the mood to be grateful today. “She mistook me for you at first.”
Liam refused to be drawn. “Well, you know how men in uniform all look alike.”
Charles laughed, a sound of genuine amusement. “I don't think that was it.” He raised his brows, a clear invitation for Liam to confide in him.
Liam thought about what his father would say if he knew that Liam and Wy had had an affair before Jenny's death, and decided to keep his own counsel, although exactly why was beyond him. Why should it matter what Charles thought of him? It wasn't like the older man was around all that much, it wasn't like they had anything in common to begin with, it wasn't as if anything in Liam's life was predicated on the fact of their kinship.
And it wasn't like Liam knew exactly what his relationship with Wy was at present, anyway. He remained silent.
Charles's expectant smile faded, and he said in a flat voice, “I also met the other trooper for the area. An Officer Prince?”
Liam relaxed, just a little. “Yes. She's new. Just arrived today, in fact.”
“She's also a pilot, she tells me.”
Liam nodded. “The troopers are looking for pilots nowadays.”
Yet another conversational pit yawned in front of them. Charles Campbell had done his best to cure Liam, stuffing his ten-year-old son into the cockpit of a Piper Tri-Pacer and talking him through endless takeoffs and landings, but Liam's fear was real, visceral and debilitating to the point of making him physically ill. Charles had persisted with recreational flying trips to Talkeetna and Seldovia and Iliamna, up until Liam was sixteen and reached his full height, six feet three inches, and could look Charles straight in the eye and say, “No.”
Liam supposed he should be thankful for Charles's attempts, as they had taught him just how tightly he could hold his sphincter muscles, a habit which proved invaluable when he became a trooper and flying into remote communities became part of the job.
But he wasn't.
Unwisely, Charles said, “Ever thought of trying to learn again yourself?”
“No.”
Subject closed. “She's a looker,” Charles said. “Your new trooper,” he added when he saw Liam's moment of confusion.
With an effort, Liam recalled Prince to mind. “I guess so,” he said.
“You guess so?” Charles chuckled. “I know so.”
Liam's gaze sharpened. “You're here for a week, ten days tops. Don't.”
If anything Charles's smile widened. “She's a grown woman.”
What could Liam say? It was true. He got to his feet. “I'd better head back into town.”
“What's the rush?” Charles said, rising in turn. “I thought you caught the guy.”
“I caught one. I'm working two cases at the moment.”
“What's the other?”
“A mass murder in Kulukak.”
“A mass murder? How many?”
“Seven.”
Charles grimaced. “Ouch. Sounds like a battlefield.”
Liam shrugged, the movement an unconsciously perfect copy of his father's, a smooth integration of muscle and bone that made both men look like big, lazy tigers just before they attacked. “Dead is dead,” he said, not quite lying and not quite telling the truth, either. “Can I hitch a ride into town?”
Charles's brows went up. “How did you get here?”
“Prince flew the perp I caught back to Newenham. There wasn't room in the plane for all three of us, so I drove his four-wheeler here. It was a shorter drive to the base than it was to town.”
“What do you want to do with the four-wheeler?”
“Somebody else can pick it up. I'm not driving it another inch, let alone forty miles.”
Another officer passed them as they came out of the building. He saluted Charles and did a double-take at Liam. “Hey, you the guy who jumped out of the plane? Man, are you crazy?”
Charles's head whipped around. The other officer said to him, “You should have seen it, sir. We saw this Cub buzzing around about ten miles west of here, and we started monitoring things through the scope. And then this guy bails out, just bails out and splashes down into a lake.” He shook his head, half in admiration.
Liam said shortly, “I don't know what you're talking about,” and followed his father to a row of trucks lined up in front of a bull rail; Detroit-issue steeds with government plates and Air Force brands on the doors. Charles climbed into one, Liam took the shotgun seat and as they rolled through the base gates Charles said, “Just how did you apprehend your suspect, Liam?”
“Have you talked to Callahan lately?” Liam said. “Last time I saw him, must have been fifteen years ago. Has the old bastard taken retirement yet?”
And they spent the forty miles of gravel road between Chinook Air Force Base and Newenham talking of old acquaintances from Anchorage and Elmendorf. One thing about Campbell Senior, he could take a hint. If he wanted to.
He dropped Liam in front of the trooper post, came inside ostensibly to check out Liam's office, really to see if Prince was there, which she wasn't, and made a date with Liam for dinner the following evening at Bill's. Liam stood on the porch, watching the truck go around a corner and out of sight. “Wait a minute,” he said suddenly. “You're a pilot, not an engineer.”
He went back inside and called his father's office in Florida. It was six o'clock Alaska time, which made it ten o'clock Florida time, so there was no answer. Tomorrow, he thought, hanging up the phone.
He tried the number David Malone had had on file for Max Bayless, and got the not-in-service message that began with those three loud and infinitely irritating tones that jarred the phlegm loose in his sinuses. He called Directory Assistance. The phone on the other end rang thirteen times-he counted-and then was answered by a breathless voice that had to rise over the noises of squabbling children in the background to inform him that she had no listing for a Bayless, Max, a Bayless, Maxim, a Bayless, Maximilien, or a Bayless of any kind, for that matter. A dead loss to the state of Alaska of sixty cents.