Fallen Pride (Jesse McDermitt Series) by Wayne Stinnett Read Free Book Online Page B

until the next day.”
    We walked back to the pier and found Williams already at the plane. He seemed anxious and fidgety. I assumed he just wanted to get back into the air. As we were saying goodbye to the Trent’s their two kids, Carl Junior and Patty came running up with Pescador. They were each carrying small buckets, each one half full of clams. I told Pescador to stay with the kids and we boarded the plane.
    We taxied away from the pier, headed west, turned into the wind, lowered the flaps and pushed the throttle forward. Seconds later, we bounced lightly on the water once and became airborne.
    “I could get used to that,” I said. “From a boat to a plane.”
    Williams nodded, but didn’t say anything. We crossed the southeast corner of the Gulf of Mexico, glistening below us, in less than thirty minutes. Below and to port was Marco Island, the playground of rich Florida transplants. To starboard lay the vast expanse of the Everglades. Further ahead and to starboard was the clear blue waters of Lake Okeechobee. Deuce and Rusty were talking in the back about bass fishing in the Lake Okeechobee, but Williams was intent on flying, seemingly lost in thought.
    Forty-five minutes later, we crossed Highway 70, north of Lake Okeechobee and Williams still hadn’t contacted Orlando air traffic control. I didn’t know a lot about flying, but if it was anything like driving in the Orlando area, we were headed into a lot of traffic.
    I tapped Williams on the shoulder. “You okay?”
    He seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in and said, “Yeah, um, I’m fine. Just things on my mind, sorry.”
    “It’s just that we’re well past Lake Okeechobee. Looks like Lake Wales coming up.”
    “Oh shit,” he muttered and reached up to change the channel on the radio. Grabbing the mic off the dash he spoke into it, “Orlando Control, this is Beaver one three eight five.”
    The response was immediate, “ Beaver one three eight five, Orlando Control. Descend to 7500 feet, turn left to 350 degrees.”
    Williams banked the plane sharply, added throttle and pulled back on the yoke. In modern private planes there are two separate wheels, each mounted to the dash. In this plane each wheel is mounted to a Y shaped yoke that is mounted to the floor. We leveled off at 7 500 feet at the correct heading.
    “Something bothering you, David?” I asked.
    “It’s my kid, my oldest. Remember I told you I had two Marine sons, Jared and Luke. The oldest lives in Key West now. He got out about a year ago and moved down here. He was in and out of trouble, both in the Corps and since then. Took a job at the Blue Heaven when he got here. I’ve been trying to get hold of him, but he hasn’t answered the phone in a couple of weeks. I stopped by his place a couple of times, once he told me to go away through the door and the second time he wouldn’t even come to the door. I don’t know if he’s drinking, on drugs, or what. He just hasn’t been the same since he came back from his third tour in Iraq and got out.”
    “He works at the Blue Heaven you said? About six feet tall and a solid 220?”
    “You know him?”
    “Met him once, briefly. It was a few months back, just before Cuba.”
    “He’s a good kid, Jesse. Something went real bad wrong when he was with 6th Marines in Iraq and it changed him.”
    A lot of things go ‘real bad wrong’ in combat. In my 20 years in the Corps, I only lost two men killed in action, both times something went real bad wrong. After the first Gulf War, I lost three to suicide and dozens of others left a promising career. “He never told you what it was?”
    “No,” he replied.
    The radio interrupted our conversation, “ Beaver one three eight five, Orlando Control.”
    Williams picked up the mic and said, “ Beaver one three eight five.”
    “Orlando Control, Beaver one three eight five, turn right to 10 degrees and descend to 5500 feet.”
    I looked out the window on my side and could see the