high. And the glory. So he went back.â
âThey got divorced?â
âHe never asked for one. And Mom wouldnât hear of it anyway. She loved him.â Willyâs voice dropped. âShe still loves him.â
âHe went back to Laos alone, huh?â
âSigned up for another two years. Guess he preferred the company of danger junkies. They were all like that, those A.A. pilotsâall volunteers, not drafteesâall of âem laughing death in the face. I think flying was the only thing that gave them a rush, made them feel alive. Mustâve been the ultimate high for Dad. Dying.â
âAnd here you are, over twenty years later.â
âThatâs right. Here I am.â
âLooking for a man you donât give a damn about. Why?â
âItâs not me asking the questions. Itâs my mother. Sheâs never wanted much. Not from me, not from anyone. But this was something she had to know.â
âA dying wish.â
Willy nodded. âThatâs the one nice thing about cancer. You get some time to tie up the loose ends. And my father is one hell of a big loose end.â
âKistner gave you the official verdictâyour fatherâs dead. Doesnât that tie things up?â
âNot after all the lies weâve been told.â
âWhoâs lied to you?â
She laughed. âWho hasnât? Believe me, weâve made the rounds. Weâve talked to the Joint Casualty Resolution Committee. Defense Intelligence. The CIA. They all had the same adviceâdrop it.â
âMaybe they have a point.â
âMaybe theyâre hiding the truth.â
âWhich is?â
âThat Dad survived the crash.â
âWhatâs your evidence?â
She studied Guy for a moment, wondering how much to tell him. Wondering why sheâd already told him as much as she had. She knew nothing about him except that he had fast reflexes and a sense of humor. That his eyes were brown, and his grin distinctly crooked. And that, in his own rumpled way, he was the most attractive man sheâd ever met.
That last thought was as jolting as a bolt of lightning on a clear summerâs day. But he was attractive. There was nothing she could specifically point to that made him that way. Maybe it was his self-assurance, the confident way he carried himself. Or maybe itâs the damn whiskey, shethought. Thatâs why she was feeling so warm inside, why her knees felt as if they were about to buckle.
She gripped the steel railing. âMy mother and I, weâve had, well, hints that secrets have been kept from us.â
âAnything concrete?â
âWould you call an eyewitness concrete?â
âDepends on the eyewitness.â
âA Lao villager.â
âHe saw your father?â
âNo, thatâs the whole pointâhe didnât.â
âIâm confused.â
âRight after the plane went down,â she explained, âDadâs buddies printed up leaflets advertising a reward of two kilos of gold to anyone who brought in proof of the crash. The leaflets were dropped along the border and all over Pathet Lao territory. A few weeks later a villager came out of the jungle to claim the reward. He said heâd found the wreckage of a plane, that it had crashed just inside the Vietnam border. He described it right down to the number on the tail. And he swore there were only two bodies on board, one in the cargo hold, another in the cockpit. The plane had a crew of three. â
âWhat did the investigators say about that?â
âWe didnât hear this from them. We learned about it only after the classified report got stuffed into our mailbox, with a note scribbled âFrom a friend.â I think one of Dadâs old Air America buddies got wind of a cover-up and decided to let the family know about it.â
Guy was standing absolutely still, like a cat in the shadows.
Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child