Gunner allowed a small chuckle. "On that, I will depend."
The Al Qaeda tactical support team had worked its way slowly and cautiously up the river valley during Friday and Saturday nights, mostly slogging through sloughs and shallow mud lakes, avoiding the main channel with its boat traffic. They had slept during the day on Saturday, hidden by the dense river growth of late summer, totally invisible in the back waters — even from the river itself.
Now on Sunday morning, they were hunkered down a mere 500 meters from the Red Wing Airport. They wore their grass and weed camo suits — making them look like moving weed piles. The swamp grasses, scrub ash and even the muddy water made for perfect cover.
They had no direct view of the airport from here. But the activities there were clearly audible.
Air traffic was constant as planes passed above them, one after the other. Never knowing. Never seeing.
The team would try to rest here for as much of the day as possible. Very soon though, they would need to approach the airfield proper. So much depended on them. Perhaps everything depended on them.
A few of the show planes were warming up their engines by about 8:30 Sunday morning. Their takeoffs, aerial maneuvers and landings began promptly at 9:00. The morning schedule was pretty much the same as Saturday’s. I did my usual strolling and scoping out of the crowd for evildoers.
As I walked, I began to doubt myself. Maybe I was wrong about this terrorist thing. No one here looked like a threat to civilization. But I was doing a job. There was a small chance it might be extremely important. Regardless of how boring, I would keep my focus.
I kept scanning for anomalies. Probably a man over thirty without a beer gut would qualify as anomalous in this crowd. I walked for hours. Ever vigilant.
I did notice one difference in the show this morning. After concluding their routines, a number of the planes did not land. Instead, they buzzed the runway, wagging their wings goodbye, and roared off down the river valley. I began to wonder when the last of the show planes would be gone.
It was about 12:15 in the afternoon. Seeing no immediate threats in the overweight audience, I decided to grab a hot dog and chance a visit to the flight center. I got the dog and chowed it in two bites, followed by a plastic bottle of Diet Dew.
The rent-a-cop didn’t try to stop me this time. As I walked inside the terminal, the airport employee was standing behind the counter chatting admiringly with some of the show pilots.
I stood at the end of the counter with my finger in the air.
"Excuse me."
He hadn’t heard me.
"Excuse me. Sir!" Much louder.
The airport guy reluctantly left his war buddies and came my way. "What d’ya need?" he asked, not really sounding as if he cared.
"Will all the show planes file flight plans before leaving here?"
"Sure. They’re already in the computer — have been since we booked this show last summer."
"May I see them please?" I glanced down at my official ‘All Access’ badge. His eyes followed mine.
"Okay. I’ll set you up in the flight center." He waved at me to follow him.
We walked about three steps down the hall into the ‘Pilots Only’ area. He stepped through the doorway on the right and beckoned me inside. I walked past him into the flight center.
"You can use the computer terminal over there." He gestured generally toward the only computer in the room.
"Thanks," I said. But he had already left.
After I figured out how to access the flight records on the computer, it was pretty easy to locate the show plane departure times. The small planes would all be gone soon. Just the three bombers would remain to give thirty-minute rides to anyone willing to pony up $500.
The B17 was scheduled to depart Red Wing at 8:00 p.m. The B25 at 8:15. The B24, however, was going to spend the night. It would be leaving at 7:00 tomorrow morning.
That seemed odd to me. I went back to the terminal counter to bother the civil servant some more.
"Hey!" I called.
He reluctantly came my direction.
"I’ve got a question," I said.
"Yeah?"
"How come the B24 is spending the night? Everybody else is gone today."
The airport employee looked irritated at my question.
"The Liberator is scheduled to visit the Duluth Air Force Base tomorrow morning as a surprise for the airmen there. It was part of the original plan. The B24 crew made hotel arrangements in Red Wing. We’ve got security scheduled to babysit the plane while it waits here overnight."
"Thanks," I said.
"You’re welcome."
He said it in such a way that I knew I wasn’t.
I stepped outside the brick terminal building and looked around for Gunner. I didn’t see him, so I called him on his cell.
"This better be good, Beck. I’m working, you know."
"Need to see you," I said. "It’s important."
"Let’s meet at your car in fifteen. Maybe you’ll get in it and leave."
"Gunner," I said, "it’s a truck — but you may be right about me leaving."
"I’ll look forward to it."
I don’t know what I do to deserve this sort of treatment; but it happens to me all the time.
It was about 1:00 p.m. when Gunner approached the Pilot. I was waiting, leaning against the front fender like a gunslinger staying loose.
"What’s up?" Gunner asked.
"The rest of the afternoon is all plane rides, right?"
"Yes."
"And all the planes will be heading out of Dodge before 8:30, except the B24?"
"Apparently you already know that to be the case. We’re leaving a deputy to guard the plane. Is that what this is about?"
"Not really. I can’t expect you to leave a whole squad here all night for one plane. But I have a favor to ask."
Gunner’s eyes rolled. He was getting good at that. "I can’t wait to hear this!" he said, as if he could.
Beth was surprised to see me jogging up our front walk on Jefferson Avenue at 1:30 Sunday afternoon.
"Home early today?" she asked, from her seat on the front porch settee.
"Sorry. Just a short stop for supplies."
I hastened inside and began collecting things. Beth followed me into the house.
"Any signs of trouble?" Beth asked, wearing a bit of a worried expression on her face.
I stopped what I was doing and walked to where Beth stood, trying to project calmness and confidence. I put my arms around her waist and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips.
"Everything is going fine. Gunner has done a great job. But you know me. I prepare for every contingency. And I’m feeling lucky. You know I’m a big believer in luck. And the more I prepare, the more luck I seem to have."
I knew I had stolen and bastardized that quote. But it fit my approach to life.
"I think I just heard Thomas Jefferson roll over in his grave," Beth said.
At least I had loosened her up a bit.
"There is going to be one plane left at the airport overnight. I’m going to help with additional security until they leave in the morning. I should be home no later than 10:00 tomorrow."
"I’ll miss you," she said.
"Me, too. But right now, I need to focus — focus and prepare."
She understood and left me to my work.
I changed clothes into camo shorts and a black T-shirt. Then I resumed collecting gear, stuffing all of it into a medium-sized, khaki green duffle. I thought I had everything I needed. I sure hoped so.
Best to leave on a light note.
"June Dear, I’m off to the office," I called, as I stood in the open front doorway."