Hall of Secrets (A Benedict Hall Novel) by Cate Campbell Read Free Book Online

his hand, finding his grip as firm and friendly as he could have wished.
    “The Boeing Company appreciates this access,” Frank told the captain.
    Carruthers grinned, his face creasing in weathered lines. He looked every inch a flyer, Frank thought, with a twinge of envy. He looked to be a man as much at ease in the air as on the ground. Carruthers said, “Your company makes fine airplanes, Major Parrish, and has done wonders refitting some of the old ones. The army is happy to oblige Bill Boeing whenever possible.”
    “I’d like to talk to all your pilots,” Frank said.
    “You mean, the ones I have left?”
    “Right.” Since the end of the war, operations at March Field were being gradually phased out. The same slowdown of operations that had cut Boeing’s army contracts in half had sharply reduced the number of pilots being trained. The Jennys were disappearing, one by one, mostly snapped up by barnstormers.
    “I don’t know what’s going to happen in the flying business, Major,” Carruthers said. They reached the mess hall, and Frank, a little self-consciously, reached for the door with his left hand, his prosthetic one. He had found, in the year he’d had it, that he wanted to use it as much as possible, not just for the practice, but to prove he could. He felt the curious glances when people noticed it, but very few made any comment.
    He didn’t blame anyone for looking. It was called the officer’s arm because it was the finest of its type, the best modern technology had to offer. Still, it hardly looked real. It looked like what it was, metal and leather and rubber, but Frank didn’t care about its appearance. He loved the thing. He felt as if it—and Margot—had given him back his life.
    Thinking of Margot confused him just now. His feelings for her hadn’t changed, but it had been something of a relief when Boeing sent him here to study the JN-4. It gave him time to think about what had come between them. He was embarrassed, though, to realize how much he missed her. At the thought of her, his solar plexus ached with longing to see her tall figure striding toward him, shining dark hair ruffling in the breeze, clear dark eyes lighting as she saw him. Damn, Cowboy. You have to set this right. But he couldn’t think about it now. He had a job to do, and he was grateful for the distraction.
    He and Carruthers poured coffee for themselves and sat at one of the long tables in the mess, their legs stretched out from the bench seats, a sheaf of blueprints between them. Carruthers tapped the papers. “There’s a lot of good work here,” he said. “Side benefit of war, I guess.”
    “Yes.”
    “You had a very different war from mine, Major.”
    “Expect so.” There wasn’t much to say about it, Frank thought. Not that he ever had much to say. Carruthers had been part of the supreme American effort to match the Germans’ airpower. Frank figured that was probably more meaningful, and a hell of a lot more productive, than his own service with Allenby in the Judean hills. He tried, now that he had a functional hand and arm, not to think about the day he was wounded, but sometimes the memory caught him unawares, and he felt the horror and disgust of it all over again.
    Carruthers didn’t press him. He seemed an affable enough fellow, career army, well past his youth. Frank had studied his record before he came, and he knew Carruthers had put up March Field, with its machine shop, hospital, supply depot, and aero repair building, in just sixty days. It was an impressive accomplishment.
    Carruthers said, “So, Major. Your boss believes airpower is here to stay.”
    “He thinks it’s going to transform the world.” Carruthers lifted his eyebrows, and Frank smiled. He was on sure ground on this topic. When it came to airplanes, and the Boeing Airplane Company, Frank could be more forthcoming, even talkative. He shared Bill Boeing’s passion for the possibilities and the opportunities available to