Smoke swirled around her body as she went down on her hands and knees and crawled toward him like a child. She was coughing. Crying. "Father!" she kept shouting. "Father!"
And then she saw his face.
Chapter 4
Gabriel Corrigan and his older brother, Michael, had grown up on the road, and they considered themselves to be expert concerning truck stops, tourist cabins, and roadside museums displaying dinosaur bones. During their long hours traveling, their mother sat between them in the backseat, reading books or telling stories. One of their favorite tales was about Edward V and his brother, the Duke of York, the two young princes locked in the Tower of London by Richard III. According to their mother, the princes were about to be smothered by one of Richard's henchmen, but they found a secret passageway and swam across a moat to freedom. Disguised in rags and assisted by Merlin and Robin Hood, the brothers had adventures in fifteenth-century England.
When they were boys, the Corrigan brothers pretended to be the lost princes at public parks and highway rest stops. But now that they were adults, Michael had a different view of the game. "I looked it up in a history book," he said. "Richard III got away with it. Both princes were killed."
"What difference does that make?" Gabriel asked.
"She lied , Gabe. It was just another fabrication. Mom told us all these stories when we were growing up, but she never told us the truth."
***
GABRIEL ACCEPTED MICHAEL'S opinion: it was better to know all the facts. But sometimes he entertained himself with one of his mother's stories. On Sunday, he left Los Angeles before dawn and rode his motorcycle through the darkness to the town of Hemet. He felt like a lost prince, alone and unrecognized, as he bought fuel at a discount gas station and ate breakfast at a small coffee shop. As he turned off the freeway, the sun emerged from the ground like a bright orange bubble. It broke free of gravity and floated up into the sky.
***
THE HEMETAIRPORT consisted of one asphalt runway with weeds pushing out of the cracks, a tie-down area for the planes, and a shabby collection of trailers and temporary buildings. The HALO office was in a double-wide trailer near the south end of the runway. Gabriel parked his bike near the entrance and unfastened the shock cords that held his gear.
High-altitude jumps were expensive, and Gabriel had told Nick Clark, the HALO instructor, that he was rationing himself to one jump a month. Only twelve days had passed and now he was back again. When he entered the trailer, Nick grinned at him like a bookie greeting one of his steady customers.
"Couldn't stay away?"
"I made some more money," Gabriel said, "and I didn't know where to spend it." He handed Nick a wad of cash and went into the men's room to put on thermal underwear and a jumpsuit.
When Gabriel came out, a group of five Korean men had arrived. They wore matching green-and-white uniforms, and carried expensive gear along with laminated cards with useful English phrases. Nick announced that Gabriel was jumping with them, and the Koreans came over to shake the American's hand and take his picture.
"How many HALO jumps you make?" one of the men asked. "I don't keep a logbook," Gabriel said.
This answer was translated and everyone looked surprised. "Keep logbook," the oldest man told him. "Then you know the number."
Nick told the Koreans to get ready, and the group began to run through a detailed checklist. "These guys are going for a high-altitude jump in each of the seven continents," Nick whispered. "Bet it costs a lot of money. They're wearing special spacesuits when they do it over Antarctica."
Gabriel liked the Koreans—they took the jump seriously—but he preferred to be alone when he ran through his gear check. The preparation itself was a pleasure, almost a form of meditation. He pulled on a flight suit over his clothes; inspected his thermal gloves, helmet, and flex goggles; then inspected the