Chapter Eleven
Years passed, and when Tyke was three, Annabelle graduated from the University of South Florida with high honors. Then, just as her advisor had promised, she immediately moved into a faculty position in the math department.
“You know something? I think Jesse can do math in his head the way I can. Isn’t that cool?” she asked Mike one day while they were sitting outside on the patio.
“Very cool. But how do you know?” he asked.
“I was over there talking to Joan today and playing with him a little bit and she was telling me about it, so I gave him a problem he could understand and sure enough, he told me the answer, just like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.
“Well, hey, at least one kid out of the bunch inherited such a useful trait,” he said.
“Yeah. I wish Tyke had it too, but I don’t see any evidence of it yet,” she said sadly.
“He’s still young, babe. Give him a little time,” he said diplomatically, giving her a hug. Tyke himself seemed oblivious to the conversation, playing with one of the black beetles that lived in the bark of the palm trees. He was a quiet and solemn kid who rarely spoke or even laughed, but he seemed to love nature at least.
“Maybe he’ll be a biologist,” Annabelle said wryly, watching him play with the bug.
“You never know,” Mike agreed, shrugging.
Just then the phone rang, and Annabelle got up to go answer it. When she got back, she had a puzzled look on her face.
“Who was it?” Mike asked.
“Just Joan. She asked if we could come over for supper tonight about six,” Annabelle said.
“Sure, I guess,” Mike said.
“Yeah, that’s what I told her,” Annabelle said.
“Was something wrong? You don’t usually have that kind of look on your face over a dinner party,” Mike said.
“No. . . she just said she wanted to talk to me later, that’s all,” Annabelle said.
It was out of character for Joan to be so anxious to have a talk, and Mike couldn’t help wondering what the big issue might be. But he didn’t press Annabelle for more details; one never knew who might be eavesdropping, after all.
He didn’t forget about it, though, and when they finally arrived at Philip and Joan’s house that evening at five thirty, he was ready for answers.
The first thing he was confronted with when he walked in the front door of the Carpenters’ house was a young couple whom he’d certainly never met before.
“Mike, Annabelle, I’d like to introduce you to Luther and Jenine Anderson. Luther is an intelligence officer with the NADF office in Asheville, North Carolina. He can be trusted,” Philip added.
Once all the introductions and formalities were over it was time to eat, and while they ate they talked about various inconsequential things. Mike couldn’t help noticing that Luther Anderson wore an Avenger’s ring, and that seemed so out of place for a member of the Defense Forces that he had to look twice to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. He was so accustomed to thinking of them as ruthless and bloody-handed control freaks, it was hard to put aside prejudice and accept reality.
“Luther helps us a lot, finding out things that are going on in the world which wouldn’t necessarily matter to the NADF, but which matter an awful lot to us. If he sees something like that, he passes along the information and then we can assign one of the group to go take care of it. We’ve been able to do a lot of good that way,” Joan said, in between bites of steak.
“I can see how he might,” Mike agreed.
“We’ve been trying to get him and Jenine to transfer down here to Florida so there’s not as much risk of getting caught, but no luck yet,” Philip said, and Luther Anderson smiled at the good-natured jab.
“Maybe one of these days, Philip. You know what I’ve always said about how I don’t think it’s a good idea for all of us to be bunched up together in one place, just in case anything goes wrong. That’s my sober opinion as a strategist,” Luther said.
“Yes, I know what you’ve said, and I respect the wisdom behind it. But considering the nature of the conversations we often need to have, it strikes me as safer on your behalf if we could meet privately in person instead of using phones and email which might be potentially traceable. You’ve done a wonderful job of keeping things hidden so far, but sooner or later everyone slips,” Philip pointed out.
“True enough. We’ll keep it in mind,” Luther said, putting his hand on Jenine’s, who nodded and murmured agreement.
“How’s the baby doing?” Joan asked.
“Growing like a weed, of course. He’s not really such a baby anymore, though,” Jenine said.
“No, I guess not. He’s the same age as Jesse, right?” Joan asked.
“That’s right. Three months older, I think,” Jenine said.
They continued with light conversation for the rest of the meal, until the table was cleared and all of them were sitting around the coffee table in the living room. Then Philip cleared his throat.
“We didn’t want to discuss it at the table, but Luther came down here tonight partly because he’s found some information about you and Annabelle,” Philip said, looking at Mike with a very serious expression.
“What is it?” Annabelle asked.
“I think we’ll let Luther explain all that; it’s better to get your story firsthand when possible,” Joan said.
“Okay, first things first. You are the same Micah McGrath who’s the head researcher on the tachometer project, right?” Luther began.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Mike agreed.
“All right then. I’m not sure if you’re aware of it, Mike, but the NADF is becoming impatient with your lack of progress on the tachometer. I recently intercepted an email from Colonel Burns, who directs the special projects division for the Southern Command, which includes the tachometer project. He was highly dissatisfied, to say the least,” Luther said.
“I know the work hasn’t been going as well as I’d like for quite a while now, but there are technical problems that are almost impossible to solve. I’ve had to-“ Mike began defensively, but Luther waved him down.
“They don’t care about all that, Mike. They want results, or else Colonel Burns is ready to cut off funding and use it for something more productive. In fact, he specifically said in his email that if there hasn’t been a significant breakthrough by the end of this year, the project will be terminated as of December 31st,” Luther said.
“I see,” Mike said.
“But that’s not the worst part. If the project is terminated, then Colonel Burns has specifically ordered that you and your family be liquidated immediately as security risks,” Luther concluded.
“But. . .” Mike said, and honestly couldn’t think of a single thing more to say.
“I’m afraid that’s the brutal reality, Mike. But there’s more,” Luther said.
“More?” Mike asked, barely able to take in what the man was saying. Suddenly finding himself under a potential death sentence left him feeling ill and shaky.
“Yes. Colonel Burns has also ordered that if you do finish building a functional tachometer, or if it ever becomes clear that the program is useless or unworkable, then you’re to be liquidated anyway,” Luther said, and at that Mike found himself absolutely speechless.
“But why should that be, Luther?” Philip asked.
“Because he won’t be any more use to them at that point. He’ll suddenly switch from being an asset to being a potential security leak. You have to understand, this is nothing personal to Colonel Burns; he’s charged with safeguarding the security of the Southern Command, by whatever means necessary. In his mind, it’s better to sacrifice one man for the sake of protecting the interests of the nation. That logic isn’t going to change,” Luther said.
“So you’re basically saying we’re dead whether I give them the tachometer or not?” Mike asked, finding his voice.
; “I’m sorry, Mike,” Luther said.
“Then we’ll have to get them out of here while there’s still time,” Joan said briskly, and for the first time Mike felt a glimmer of hope.
“Where would we go?” he finally asked.
“Well, there are several possibilities we could consider. It’ll have to be somewhere outside the Union, of course. That goes without saying,” Philip said.
“Why don’t we send them to Damon’s place in Brazoria?” Joan suggested, and Philip and Luther both nodded thoughtfully.
Mike tried to think of what he knew about the Republic of Brazoria. Long ago, there’d been a handful of areas around the fringes of the old United States and Canada who managed to make good on independence during the wars that birthed the North American Union, and Brazoria was one of them. It included everything between the Red River and the Rio Grande. Most of Texas, along with parts of Louisiana and New Mexico and even a small slice of Arkansas. They had a reputation for notoriously rocky relations with the administration of the Union, which meant they wouldn’t be very likely to cooperate in the hunt for an escaped scientist. Better yet, it would feel almost like going home. Both Mike and Annabelle had grown up there, back in the old days.
It sounded promising.
“Who’s Damon?” Mike asked.
“He’s another Avenger. He lives in Natchitoches, in West Louisiana. He’s Matthieu Doucet’s great-grandson, if you remember him,” Philip said.
“Oh, okay. Yeah, I remember Matthieu,” Mike said.
“Damon’s an interesting character, I’ll say that much for him,” Joan said.
“That he is. But what do y’all think about going to Brazoria?” Philip asked.
“It sounds good to me, if we can find a way to get there,” Mike said, and Annabelle nodded in agreement.
“Leave that part up to me. I’ll give Damon a call and see when he can come get you. He’s a pilot, you know; he’ll probably be glad for an excuse to come over here,” Philip said.
“They’ll never let us just walk out of here from the airport, Philip,” Mike pointed out.
“Yeah, I know that. You’ll probably have to meet him out on the Gulf somewhere; they still let you go sailing, don’t they?” Philip asked.
“Yeah, so far, anyway,” Mike agreed.
“Good. Tell you what; here’s a set of coordinates. Go to that exact spot on the first cloudy Saturday after today, and I’ll tell Damon to meet you there a little bit after nightfall,” Philip said, writing down a set of numbers and handing them to Mike.
“Why cloudy?” Mike asked.
“Just in case, that’s all,” Philip said cryptically, but Mike didn’t have a chance to ask him what that was supposed to mean.
“I’d be very careful and keep a really low profile for a while after I got there if I were you. Natchitoches is right on the border, and I know Lieutenant James in the Vicksburg office wouldn’t be above doing a quick raid across the river if he thought he could get it done fast and get away with it. Don’t underestimate your opponent,” Luther warned.
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Mike agreed.
As it happened, the next two Saturdays were frustratingly clear, and Mike walked on pins and needles the whole time, expecting something to blow the plan at any moment. They never discussed it again, but he began packing stacks of cash into an old backpack until it was crammed so full it wouldn’t hold another single bill, and Annabelle did the same. The rest of the money they moved to Philip and Joan’s house, although they had to be careful about that; whenever they took a bag of it over there, they made sure to cover the top layer with baby clothes or food or some other innocuous item like that, and they didn’t dare do it too often, either.
The majority of their funds were still in the bank, and they didn’t dare touch those lest it make someone suspicious that a plot was afoot. If worse came to worst, it would simply have to be sacrificed.
But at long last there came a Saturday morning that dawned gray and cloudy, but no rain was expected. That was an important point, since people might have wondered why they were going sailing in a downpour.
They drove down to the marina and walked to the boat, trying to look nonchalant while carrying such enormous quantities of cash on their backs. No one at the marina paid them any attention, and that was all to the good.
Mike sailed leisurely northward along the coast for a while, as if they didn’t have any particular destination in mind, and then headed out for deeper water. There were only a few boats out that day; a given, with the weather conditions as they were. He sailed the boat smoothly to the coordinates Philip had given him, checking with the onboard GPS system to make certain they were exactly where they needed to be. It was still several hours till dark, but he’d brought poles and tackle so they could pretend to fish for marlin in the unlikely event that anybody showed up.
Then they waited.
“Do you think he’ll come?” Mike asked worriedly after a few hours had gone by.
“I’m sure he will. It’s a long way, Mike. Give him some time,” Annabelle said.
About eight o’clock that evening, a small seaplane appeared from the west and came in for a landing maybe a quarter mile away. Then it taxied up as close to the boat as possible.
“You’re Micah McGrath?” the man inside asked, opening his door. He was older than Mike had expected, with thin gray hair and a face that looked like it had seen a lot of rough years. He had to have been pushing seventy, at least. His voice was tense, and Mike wondered why.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he confirmed.
“Come on, then. Get aboard, and hurry,” the man said, opening the rear door. They quickly scrambled aboard, carrying nothing with them but the backpacks. Annabelle buckled herself in next to Tyke in the back seat, and Mike took shotgun next to the pilot. As soon as they were strapped in, he turned around and took off in a hurry.
“Why such a rush?” Mike asked.
“They know I’m here, that’s why. I don’t think they know what for, exactly; they probably think I’m trying to smuggle something. Which I am, of course; just not exactly what they think,” he said, with a hint of humor in his voice.
“What makes you think they know you’re here?” Annabelle asked.
“They’ve been following me all the way from Morgan City, way back in the distance where they wouldn’t think I’d notice. But watch and see if they don’t get real curious when they see me coming back this soon. They might even try to make us land and search the plane,” he said.
“I didn’t think they could do that in international waters,” Mike said, shocked.
“They do whatever they want to, sonny boy, if they think they can get away with it,” the man said darkly, and Mike had no answer for that.
“By the way, my name’s Damon. Damon Doucet,” he said, and offered his hand. Mike shook it, and then Annabelle, and Mike took note of the Avenger’s ring on his left middle finger. Damon was by far the oldest Avenger Mike had ever seen or heard of, but he supposed that was really none of his business to judge. The man could fly, and he was willing to risk his own neck pretty substantially for their sakes, and that was enough.
Damon flew the plane down close to the surface of the Gulf, to better avoid radar he said. But that only worked for a short while, because before long another small plane appeared from the north.
“Uh-oh. I was afraid of that. Here we go,” Damon muttered, and Mike tried to swallow the sudden lump of fear that came up in his throat. Sure enough, he saw the unmistakable insignia of the North American Defense Forces on the tail of the plane, and before long a voice came on the radio politely asking them to land. Damon ignored it, and soon the voice came back with a harder edge this time, telling him if he didn’t land immediately then he’d be shot down.
“Young pup over there flying tonight. Don’t know much. That’s good,” Damon muttered.
He suddenly banked hard to the left and went in
to a steep climb at the same time, shoving Mike and Annabelle up against the doors from the sudden shift in momentum and making Tycho squeal. Damon himself seemed to take it in stride, tapping a code on the computer screen and pressing a flashing red button with one hand while he steered the plane with the other. The sharp staccato rhythm of automatic gunfire reverberated in the cabin, and the other pilot must have been taken by surprise at the sharp turn of events. It took him at least two or three seconds to return fire, and even then his aim was wild.
But he didn’t give up, and the other plane definitely had a stronger engine than the one they were in. He was gaining on them, and his aim was getting better, too. One bullet smashed the window right in front of Mikes head, sending stinging flecks of glass against his face. Damon cursed in French and did some more fancy maneuvering, but didn’t seem scared at all.
They were way up amongst the clouds by then, and for a second Mike dared to hope they might be able to elude their pursuer that way, but Damon didn’t relax. It was still daylight when he popped out above the clouds, and they found themselves flying over what looked like a tranquil meadow of fluffy cotton balls. But the other plane was hot on their heels, and as soon as it appeared out of the clouds the gunfight resumed immediately.
For several minutes they played cat and mouse amongst the mountainous thunderheads, and then Damon pulled the stick back so hard that for a few seconds they were actually flying upside down and coffee cups and pens and various assorted trash rained down off the floor onto the ceiling all around them, while they were held in place only by their safety belts. For a moment they were right above and behind the other plane, and Damon laughed.
“Eat this!” he yelled, and pressed another flashing button on the console. Seconds later the entire tail end of the other plane exploded in a white ball of fire. It immediately entered a nosedive, and Damon was quick to follow closely behind it.
“What are you doing!” Mike yelled, when the trash had fallen back to the floor again and his stomach had stopped doing loop-de-loops.
“Got to follow him. They’re watching us on radar! Want to make them think we both crashed!” Damon yelled, and that made sense, in a crazy kind of way. He pulled out of the dive in the nick of time before they hit the ocean, and then scuttled away from the scene hugging the waves as close as he could. He seemed exhilarated.
“Man, what a fight!” he exclaimed, as if it were the most exciting thing he’d done in years.
“You get in dogfights like that very often?” Mike asked, brushing dirt off his chest and out of his hair. Tyke was screaming, and Annabelle was trying to comfort him while brushing the trash out of her own hair.
“No, only once in a while. But they all know I’m the best!” he said proudly.
“I hope that young man got out okay; he was just doing his job,” Annabelle said softly, and Damon nodded.
“Ouai, missie, I’m sure he did. I only aimed for the tailfin; he had plenty of time to eject. Now he’ll even have a tale to share with his grandchildren, how he tangled with Damon Doucet and lived to tell about it!” Damon said, and Annabelle laughed.
“You sure are an interesting character, Mr. Doucet,” Mike said.
“You don’t know the half of it, sonny boy. Now, they’ll be out looking for us soon. No doubt they already know that other pilot was in a gunfight and shot down, though hopefully they don’t yet know we survived. But that young whippersnapper will likely tell them so, as soon as they find him. We can’t be any more obvious than we have to be,” Damon said, and proceeded to switch off all the lights on the plane, both inside and out. There was a pale ghostly light from the moon beyond the clouds, and the greenish phosphorescence of the waves uncomfortably close below them, but that was the only light there was.
“Can you see well enough to fly?” Mike asked uneasily.
“Well enough, yes. The sea is calm tonight, and there’s nothing to hit. It’s a tiny risk, yes, but not so much as getting caught by the Defense Forces again,” Damon said.
“You’re the pilot,” Mike said noncommittally.
“That I am. Don’t worry, folks. I’ve done this longer than y’all have been alive. We’ll make it home safe and sound,” Damon promised.
Mike wondered privately if the old man had any idea who they were and what their real ages might be; he suspected not. But then again, age is measured in experience, not in years, so maybe he was right after all.
Fortunately the NADF didn’t seem to realize they’d survived, or if they did then they never found them. Around three o’clock in the morning they made landfall at Vermillion Bay, and Mike felt a wave of relief wash over him.
They were finally in Brazoria.