The General Is Missing

PROLOGUE . . . .

R etired FBI Special Agent Griffin Callaway sat impatiently in the San Diego airport waiting for the boarding announcement for flight 1704. He had booked the Chicago flight in answer to an urgent call he’d received from a Chicago hospital nurse concerning Josh, his long-time Marine buddy being severely injured in an automobile wreck.

The nurse’s call, the unknown reality of his friend’s fight for life, the early morning awakening, the hurried packing, and the rush to the airport had disrupted Griffin’s early morning rhythms.

The stale airport odors, the bag-check line, people complaining, and the hassle of getting through security all created uncertainty for him.

The anxious and confused people milling about—some trying to make conversation, some standing in line for early morning coffee, some sleeping and snoring, and bothersome children frantically running around—added to Griffin’s distractions. He sat troubled, uncomfortable, and anxious while waiting for his flight number to be announced.

For unrevealed reasons his flight was delayed, making him edgy and prompting him to stand in line for a second cup of coffee. That in itself was unusual because he considered himself disciplined enough not to indulge in second cups.

Dire thoughts of his friend’s fight for life crowded his thinking. With his impatience stretched to the limit, Griffin fidgeted as he waited for his flight to be announced.

The hospital caller hadn’t been specific about Josh’s life-threatening injuries, but the urgency in her voice frequented his troubled mind. He recalled the nurse saying she had found his phone number in Josh’s wallet.

Irritating questions filled his thoughts.

Did his friend have relatives living in the Chicago area? If so, could he contact them? If not, what should he do? Over the years, Josh’s family had become a memory blur. His parents, sisters, and brothers were strangely missing from Griffin’s memory, making him curious about who he could contact if Josh passed away or was left badly disabled. Or could he be Josh’s only living contact?

Would his stay in Chicago be a lengthy one? If so, where could he stay? How would he handle himself if Josh’s condition were life-threatening as the caller indicated? How could he help Josh overcome his injuries?

After all, Griffin’s life’s work was in law enforcement. He knew nothing about taking care of anyone sick or injured. Somehow, he needed to find a way to ease his friend’s pain and undertake the necessary steps to hasten his recovery. But where could he find the help to accomplish this enormous undertaking? With possible failure looming in his thoughts, Griffin searched for a solution.

During the past thirty years Griffin and Josh always found a way to help one another through various scrapes of life. Now, this crushing urge to be with his lifetime friend was controlling Griffin.

Without forethought, putting all of his distractions aside, Griffin’s mind drifted into kinder thoughts—thoughts about his lifelong friendship with his ex-Marine buddy. Their experiences dated back to the exciting years they had spent together in the Marine Corps.

From day one, their meeting was an event that melded them together. A special memory—a rare experience—came to mind, and he smiled inwardly. It was a humorous time and an incident worth recalling throughout later life.

On their first day in boot camp, Griffin and Josh had become hopelessly lost inside the vast Camp Pendleton Marine Base. When they bumped into each other near the front gate, Griffin was asking Josh how to find barracks # 21. While chuckling at his predicament, Josh was asking Griffin the same question. He couldn’t find his way back to his barracks either. After enjoying a mutual laugh about their situation, they shared their unfortunate circumstances with the gate guard who found their confusion amusing. The guard’s elation about their plight irritated them; however, he finally gave them directions back to their barracks.

This humorous beginning would unfold into a lifelong friendship for the two Marine recruits.

They often referred to their meeting as, ‘Two hicks in the midst of a new beginning.’ At the time they had no idea how the future would blend their lives together, but time would unveil a long-lasting friendship. This chance meeting became a special episode in their lives as Marines, one that was always good for a chuckle, especially later in life.

Since that first day, Josh and Griffin shared many good days, countless mediocre days, and some days they would rather forget. It was their military history that filled their civilian lives with remembrances of those tumultuous days. The military experiences they shared were tucked into a few short years. Somehow, those times impacted the rest of their lives. Those youthful milestones left a significant impression on each of them to share with one another in later life.

Being a Marine has a way, or maybe you could call it an unspoken covenant, of making fellow Marines a major part of everyday life even after leaving the service.

The old saying, Once a Marine, always a Marine holds true for those who have shared the special experience of being a Marine. In the throes of battle, one considers his fellow Marine a brother—one whom he could trust with his most intimate secrets, one to lean on, share laughs, heartaches, and joys of the times. This is how Griffin and Josh entwined their lives together.

As they aged, their relationship continued to thrive. A weekly e-mail, a birthday card, a Christmas card, an occasional thoughtful present became routine over the years. Busy work schedules prevented them from making mutual visits, but the e-mails fueled their interest in one another’s lives.

It had been a while since they’d spent time together, but Griffin’s desire to help his fellow Marine in his hour of need was driving his urgency to be with him. Perhaps Griffin’s visit would revive the closeness they once enjoyed.

Years ago they pledged, ‘One for all, all for one.’ Those youthful, cross-your-heart promises made to each other during those difficult days in the heat of battle in Vietnam now seemed like juvenile thinking, but those memories somehow enriched the second half of their lives and were frequently shared in their e-mails.

Josh had become a recluse since his wife passed several years ago. Judging by his e-mails, Griffin concluded Josh’s personality was changing over time.

It was true Josh was a loner—a private person. He was an unapproachable person to encounter because of his enormous size, and a person not wanting to share his friendship easily except when he thought the situation warranted his involvement.

At last, Griffin’s flight was announced. As he boarded, the flight attendants’ neat attire and warm smiles sparked his interest. It brought to life memories of ‘the good old days’ when the stewardesses treated all passengers with the same attention they now reserved for first-class passengers. Griffin’s seat was close to the first class section where he could observe the well-to-do passengers getting the special attention for which a premium was paid. Not being a first class passenger, he reflected on what it would be like for him to receive the favors given so freely by those attentive flight attendants.

Griffin’s recent retirement from the FBI had left him searching for a worthwhile venture to fill the daylight hours. Listless, without friends close by, his empty hours were becoming an every day problem. Perhaps taking care of Josh during his recovery would be the answer to his empty hours doldrums.

When Griffin arrived at St. Joseph’s hospital, he found Josh on the fifth floor. He asked the lady at the nurses’ station which room Josh was in and said someone had called him from the intensive care nursing station.

You must be Griffin Callaway! The nurse eagerly responded.

Griffin answered the nurse’s exuberant response with a nod and a smile.

It was me that called you! I’m pleased you’re here. Josh hasn’t regained consciousness since his arrival in intensive care. It was a miracle we found your phone number in his decrepit wallet. The paramedic told me he had been lying out in the rain for a number of hours before anyone discovered the wreck.

Griffin was half asleep when she called. The short call hadn’t allowed him to inquire about the seriousness of Josh’s injuries. The nurse’s smile was warm and friendly, instantly signaling she would be a good ally if something of necessity would arise at the hospital.

The nurse asked Griffin to keep his visit brief. Josh was experiencing complications with his many injuries, and his medical condition remained critical. Her words about his friend’s injuries took him aback.

Nervously opening the door, his pulse elevated, his mind in a state of flux, Griffin pondered what he could do to help his friend. What if his friend was hanging onto life by a mere thread? If he were, what could he possibly do to help him? After military service, he had spent his life working in law enforcement. He knew nothing about caring for sick or injured people.

Griffin breathlessly approached his friend’s bed, not wanting to discover the real truth. Thoughts of Josh’s dire condition raced wildly through his mind like a runaway horse just released from an overnight stall.

Josh appeared to be sleeping soundly, his heart and blood pressure monitors pulsating, his breathing labored, his eyes closed, face ashen. Griffin sat next to the bed to view his long-time service friend.

Josh’s hair had grayed and the lines in his forehead and face had deepened since he last saw him. Time had changed his facial features. His face was gaunt and his cheekbones protruded, making Griffin wonder if he would recognize him on the street. His arm and both legs were encased in casts. Tubes were running into the back of his hands, mouth and nose, and he was lying on a special bed fixture.

The whole scene set off a frisson of alarm within him. Aghast by the scene in front of him, his mind became chaotic. Josh’s condition appeared more serious than he expected. Griffin’s lifetime of chasing criminals had consumed his every minute. Fear engulfed him. What could he do to rescue his friend from this terrible phenomenon?

He sensed the urgency of announcing his arrival to Josh—but how—could he do it?

Josh’s entire body was covered with casts and bandages. Griffin’s indecision crept unhindered through him. He needed to tell Josh he was here for him. But how could he do it?

Josh needed to know of his arrival. He was here to help him through his latest crisis.

Unsure about what to do, Griffin searched through his alternatives to solve the difficult task before him. Stay calm and not panic was the rational approach, but could he contain himself in this protracted situation?

Perhaps he should talk to him in a steady voice much like he had done years ago in Vietnam when Josh was wounded in battle.

Griffin found himself recalling that episode. Thoughts he had purposely pushed into the far reaches of his mind in an attempt to forget the terrible events of those days were tumbling through his mind like huge boulders cascading down a bluff.

All at once those desperate times came into full focus. His mind flooded with images of violent moments in Vietnam. He took Josh’s hand in his own, closed his eyes, and suddenly he was drawn into the thick of the action they experienced together on that hot, humid day in Vietnam.

One moment they were advancing through a rice paddy with water up to their waists. Abruptly, without warning, Josh fell face first into the murky waters. Griffin’s radio static masked the volley of shots arriving in murky splashes all around them.

He grasped Josh’s backpack, pulled his head out of the water, slung his weapon over his shoulder, put his arm around him, and together they retreated amidst heavy gunfire announced by angry splashes around them. Ignoring the danger, Griffin’s single thought was to get him back to the far edges of the rice paddy. Just before they reached dry land Josh’s body recoiled. He had been hit again. His body became limp; his full weight came to rest on Griffin. He struggled under Josh’s huge frame, keeping his head out of the water and finally laying him down on the crest of dirt surrounding the rice paddy. He sensed his sidekick was badly hurt but kept reassuring himself that he would recover and everything would turn out well.

He didn’t know how many times Josh had been hit, but he knew things weren’t good. The static of his radio, Josh getting hit more than once, his yelling for a medic, a medic not responding—those memories flooded into Griffin’s thoughts like a raging river through a narrow canyon.

It’s moments like these one can never forget. Griffin sighed aloud.

Josh hadn’t recalled what happened during that troubled time. Some things were better left unsaid.

It was Griffin’s life experience, his deep-down brush with death, and an episode he was unable to share with anyone—not even his best Marine buddy.

With the passing years neither of them would share their experiences of that eventful day. But, unknowingly, it was a day that bonded them for life.

He and Josh had been through a number of skirmishes in the past months, but the possibility of getting wounded or killed was something they both dreaded. It was the norm for them not to talk about it, otherwise facing enemy fire, the next day, would be an impossible task. In past skirmishes, they had seen other Marines going down, making them wonder when their turn would come. This prevailing fear was hidden deep inside of them. Each time they witnessed another Marine getting wounded or killed, thoughts of not returning home became more real. They often wondered if they would ever make it back home alive.

During those grueling months they both escaped that dreaded helicopter ride to the field hospital they so often joked about—a helicopter ride out of the hot, sweaty, dirty, bug-laden hellhole, on a stretcher, might be the only way out.

Thoughts of leaving in a body bag occasionally crept into their minds, especially when they saw a number of their fellow Marines going out that way. Endless skirmishes had erased memories of their civilian lives.

Josh’s body was lifeless. Griffin laid his huge frame down on the crest of the rice paddy, held his hand, uttered words of support and screamed for a medic. Josh’s breathing was shallow and his inability to answer Griffin’s constant chatter indicated he was badly injured. He feared the worst, but kept repeating words of hope to him, interrupting his chatter with screams for a medic.

His search for Josh’s wounds was unsuccessful. Josh’s inability to respond to Griffin’s jabbering continued to heighten his distress. He knew his fellow Marine had been hit twice but could it have been more? Josh was large and strong. The first hit slowed him. Josh was able to walk until he was hit again about ten feet from the edge of the rice paddy. Those final few feet were nearly impossible for him. Griffin kept up his stream of encouraging words while straining under his lethargic frame. He could no longer hear his fellow Marine breathing, causing him great alarm.

For unknown reasons Griffin could no longer hear the rest of the platoon, but the static of his radio burst aloud with words of, ‘enemy fire, enemy fire.’

Strangely, a deadly silence engulfed them both. It was as if they had been lifted momentarily from this hellhole on earth. Griffin silently asked God for help. He needed Him for support in these wild minutes. Where was He? It was now he needed Him the most. His friend, his Marine buddy laid before him in need of help.

Griffin and Josh had prayed many times before and after each skirmish for their safety as well as for their fellow Marines. Could He be listening to their prayers or were they destined to see an end to their lives in this nowhere land?

The medic arrived on the scene, pushed him aside and urged him to return to the battle. Ignoring his repeated demands, Griffin kept up his constant barrage of inspiring words until Josh was loaded onto the helicopter, the same helicopter they often joked about, the one no one wanted to ride. When Griffin saw Josh departing in a rush of wind, he rejoined his platoon, all the while wondering if his sidekick was going to make it back home alive.

Griffin was wounded hours later in the same encounter. Two days later Josh and Griffin found each other, side-by-side, on a transport plane going back to the States for rehabilitation. They had survived—a miracle, possibly, but a welcome closure to their tour in Vietnam.

The discomfort of their wounds was temporarily brushed aside as they celebrated the good fortune of being alive and heading back to the States, making the event something extra-special, and a memory to be shared many times in later life.

The events leading to their arrival on the hospital plane were now permeating Griffin’s thoughts; wounded in the same skirmish . . . frightening, ferried by helicopter . . . harrowing, patched up in a field hospital . . . unsettling, wounded . . . but surviving, going home . . . joyously alive, and celebrating . . . together. Leaving behind those field operations filled with exhaustion, fear, and horrible food heightened their delight. They had found a way home, a little damaged, but alive.

The nurse gave each of them a sedative to keep their rowdy talk from disturbing the other wounded Marines on board. Being together again and heading back to the States, wounded but alive, was a time neither of them would forget.

Over the years they exchanged joyous e-mails recalling the special time they had survived and headed back to the States for rehabilitation was the best of news. Oh! Those times on the plane home were filled with rich remembrances for both of them.

CHAPTER ONE

M y mind cleared. I was back to the present and I needed to deal with the dire situation before me.

I wondered what I could do to help my Marine friend. It was time for me to face up to this latest turn of events. Josh needed my help, but was I up to the task?

I mulled over my friend’s plight for life. If Josh could hear my voice, maybe he would respond to my urgings. I started talking in a soft, steady tone, assuring him I had the strength to keep him going, and it was okay to lean on me. Yes, lean on me, once again.

I talked about our good times in the service. Instantly his eyes popped open and his head turned toward me. He recognized my voice!

Hi Josh, I’m here for you.

He looked at me—his eyes empty with a distant stare. It left me dismayed. The seriousness of his condition was alarming. Another check of the monitors indicated he was again in a deep sleep. The situation fueled my desire to help him recover. The question plaguing me was, What can I possibly do to help him get through this terrible tragedy?

Suddenly, one of the monitors started beeping a loud, erratic sound. The shock of it caused me to back away from the bed and migrate to the edge of the room where I stood, paralyzed. Indecision gripped my mind.

Why was I so traumatized, I asked myself. Could it be my new surroundings? My involuntary actions were puzzling. We had seen the worst of things in Vietnam, so why had Josh’s medical alarms left me standing, frozen, beside the door? Could it be the shock of seeing my friend in this precarious condition? Could Josh be dying at this very moment and I didn’t know how to help him?

The door burst open, and the overhead light snapped on. The responding nurse rushed to Josh’s bedside to survey the situation. She lifted his eyelids, checked his array of machines, reset the noisy one, wrote something in her chart then turned, her eyes suddenly fixated on me . . . silently frozen . . . near the doorway. Her face mirrored shock and surprise. We stared at each other for unending seconds, followed by her stream of explicit cuss words. The verbal tirade was revolting, even to a veteran Marine like me. Then she directed her harsh and abrupt questions at me.

Did you touch any of his machines? Where are your mask and gown? Who are you? Who let you in here, anyway?

The nurse’s sharply pointed words flew at me faster than an eagle after its morning feed.

Stunned by the avalanche of her cursing and heated words, speech failed me. Shock had taken control of my mind and body.

The disturbed look remained on the nurse’s face. She was waiting for answers—answers frozen in my throat. The defiant nurse planted her feet in front of mine waiting, and waiting, for an explanation.

Silent moments passed. When I didn’t speak, the nurse ultimately recognized the alarm painted vividly on my face.

She put her hand on my upper arm and uttered, It’s best if you leave now. I’m sorry for yelling at you. Josh’s condition continues to be critical. Since his arrival we haven’t been able to stabilize him, no matter what we have tried.

She calmly ushered me out the door while asking question after question. Are you part of Josh’s family? Are you his friend we called last night? Did you touch any of his machines? Where is your mask and gown? Who let you in here?

Still not responding to her words, though phrased in a kinder manner, I stood dazed and confused by the situation before me.

My shocked demeanor and the nurse’s regret for cursing and accusing me of various misdeeds had somehow forged a strange bond between us.

I’m sorry for yelling at you. Josh’s condition is critical and it changes hourly. He was on the brink of death three times last night, but somehow he made an ever-so-slight recovery. He’s fighting a tough uphill battle. It’s natural you’d want to stay, but Josh’s condition is too critical for you to be in his room. Please don’t try to visit him without my permission.

The nurse’s gruff words took on a sympathetic tone as she related Josh’s condition. My half-hearted smile relayed my acceptance of her change in mood, but it was difficult to accept her description of Josh’s struggle for life.

The door closed behind her. I stood dazed, alone, and bewildered in the hallway, my mind in disarray, my body attempting to accept the grim news of my friend’s fight for life. Feelings of fear and despair descended over me like a dark shroud.

Her words about a ‘slight recovery’ came as a relief to my exhausted mind, providing a needed glimmer of hope to my troubled body. Needing to hear something positive about Josh, my imagination hit rock bottom. Seeing him in this precarious condition, the machine malfunction, and the nurse’s description of his condition, all ratcheted up my concern for Josh’s life.

Helplessness overcame me. Where was my ability to help my Marine buddy? What could I possibly do to help him through this crisis? A feeling of ineptness crept over me. It was like being lost at sea, with no land in sight.

All at once a calm enveloped me. Could this change be an answer to my prayers?

Doubt crowded my thoughts. There must be a way to help my friend. I put myself in harm’s way before, but now I must find a way to help him recover. Yes, I was younger and stronger years ago, but what about now?

Suddenly I was empowered with a new feeling of urgency to do something, but what? With new determination erupting within me, I went to the nurses’ station. Josh’s doctors should have the answers to my many questions. The nurse told me the doctor wouldn’t be in until early afternoon. Not wanting to wait that long to find out about his recovery or . . . the unthinkable . . . my mind searched for a solution.

The news about Josh became too difficult for me to accept. I was consumed with thoughts of finding a relative or someone to share this crushing burden with. There must be a way. How?

The time came for me to find a nearby hotel or other place to stay. The overall situation was more serious than my mind could accept. My stay in Chicago could be a lengthy one. I vowed to stay as long as my buddy needed me. Our bond, sealed many years ago, needed to be reignited. I would do anything necessary to bring my Marine friend back to a stable life.

When Josh was a young, strong Marine, wounded in Vietnam, he had the strength of youth to help with his recovery. Even with the severe wounds he’d received in battle, his positive spirit never wavered. His ability to overcome his battle injuries and live a normal life became a symbolic goal for me to follow, a vow giving me strength and the ability to overcome my difficulties later in life.

Perhaps time had taken its toll. It would be more difficult for him to recover from the injuries he just received. He had developed a robust drinking habit since his wife passed. This unwanted habit could pose a problem for me in caring for him outside of the hospital. Regardless of the obstacles, my friend could count on me to help him get through his latest crisis.

CHAPTER TWO

I found a nearby Residence Inn where I could walk to the hospital.

While I ate lunch and considered my next move, a handsome woman stopped by my table, smiled and said, Hi, I’m one of the flight attendants on your plane this morning. You were in seat 1A in the coach section. Do you remember me?

I looked up. She was tall and slim, and neatly dressed in her flight attendant’s uniform—an appealing sight to an older man like me.

Immediately recognizing her, I gave her one of my robust smiles and answered, Of course, how could anyone forget a pretty face like yours? It’s nice of you to remember me.

She gave me a warm, inviting smile. You remind me so much of my father—that’s why I remember you so well. May I sit?

Inwardly I winced. ‘Her father!’ At least she remembered me!

Of course, please do. Would you like some lunch or something?

No, I’m okay.

She sat directly across from me. Her eyes portrayed a trace of uncertainty.

During my professional law enforcement career as an FBI agent, I’d learned to recognize signs of distress. Years of experience had given me the ability to uncover subtle clues of this nature.

Her warm, inviting smile of minutes earlier slowly changed to a face of concern. Her facial features reflected indecision. Her deep blue eyes mirrored her uneasiness at approaching a stranger and her voice wavered with tension as she said, I have experienced some unusual events this morning. May I share them with you?

Awaiting an answer, she looked directly into my eyes and smiled. Her smile once again was warm and captivating. Her perfume worked its way to my side of the table and I was entranced with her lovely presence. Her blonde wavy hair lay softly against her cheeks, adding to her attractiveness. She had a strikingly beautiful, perfectly symmetrical face, with large deep blue eyes. Her overall beauty left me spellbound.

Sure, my time is yours. I’m waiting to talk to the doctor about my injured friend. My name is Griffin Callaway. Tell me, what do you want to share with me?

Hello Griffin, my name is Kate. Kate Morrison. Something unusual happened on the flight into Chicago this morning—something that has left me uncomfortable, scared and vulnerable. I’m in need of your advice. Father told me not to bother strangers with my problems, but you remind me so much of him. Your features, the way you hold your hands, the tilt of your head, your hair—all resemble him so much. I need him so much today. If dad were still alive I wouldn’t be bothering you. Before he passed he always had an answer to my many problems. It’s strange about parents—you don’t really miss them, you know, really miss them, every hour of every day, until you need them. Somehow you think you can just call them, and they will be there to solve your problems forever. Do you know what I mean?

She looked at me for an answer to her ramblings about her parents—ramblings that intrigued me, but ramblings for which I didn’t have an answer. Just looking into her beautiful face was a reward in itself, but she was looking for a response from me. I had listened carefully, but was unable to understand her quandary.

While trying to find an answer, I gazed into her unsettled eyes. There was no doubt I wanted to help this young woman. No one so young and so beautiful had asked for my help for a long, long time. Finally I conjured an answer to her rambling questions.

I remind you of your father. That’s quite a compliment to give to a complete stranger.

Did you notice the activity in the first-class section this morning?

Yes, there was a bit of activity up front, but I thought someone spilled their orange juice or something out of the ordinary like that.

It was far more serious. A passenger passed away while he was having breakfast. I’ve been on this job for four years, and nothing this disturbing has ever happened to me.

Kate, it’s understandable. Life is unpredictable. People die all of the time without warning. You’ve been fortunate something this unusual hasn’t occurred in your life before.

In spite of my attempt to calm and reassure her, the troubled look remained on Kate’s face. She lowered her voice to a whisper, making me believe she was afraid someone would overhear our conversation.

A few seconds before my passenger passed away, he handed me an envelope.

He handed you an envelope? I imagine that was a surprise. Did he say anything?

My passenger mouthed, ‘I’ve been poisoned. Give this envelope to General Nathan Ridgeway in the Pentagon. It’s a matter of national security.’ He shoved the envelope into my hands and then collapsed in my arms.

She reached into her purse, brought out a white envelope, and laid it on the table in front of me. It was large and rather bulky, with nothing written on the exposed side. I took my pen and flipped it over. It was blank on the other side too. At this moment, I looked around to see if anyone was looking in our direction. It was a normal precaution for an FBI agent. There were several people in the dining area, but no one appeared to be concerned with our activities. I normally kept several sizes of plastic bags on my person for such an occasion, as any law enforcement person would do. I carefully placed the envelope into a plastic bag and pushed it under my sleeve for safekeeping.

It’s best if you don’t handle it because of fingerprints, DNA, and such. I’m a retired FBI special agent. Perhaps the situation is most serious and you do need my help.

An FBI man, how interesting. It appears I’ve asked the right person for help. Your friendly face and similarity to my father attracted me to you.

Kate continued, Just before my passenger passed away he stood up, pulled me close to him, and whispered that message in my ear. It was disturbing because he had just finished the orange juice I served him minutes earlier. He handed me the envelope, asked me to deliver the envelope, and collapsed. He fell against me! It was at that very moment I realized the man had died. He took his last breath while he was in my arms. The passenger across the aisle helped me get him back in his seat.

Kate, your concern is understandable. It’s enough to get anyone upset over such an unusual event. Did you promise you would deliver the envelope to the general, whatever his name is?

Of course, what else could I have done? Wait, there’s more, much more. Our company policy is, ‘All goods given to an employee by a passenger during flight must be turned in to the onboard officer at the conclusion of the flight.’ You see, I’m in trouble with the Captain because I didn’t turn the envelope over to him, and I’m in trouble with Bryan, my passenger, for telling him I would deliver the envelope to the General.

The situation Kate was describing appeared solvable.

What do you want me to do? Do you want me to deliver the envelope to the General and talk to your Captain for you?

Her ramblings continued and I held my hand up in a stop motion. She stopped talking and gave me a surprised look. The situation was rapidly deteriorating into a one-sided conversation . . . hers!

Kate, slow down—answer a few questions for me.

I took out my memo pad and started writing down some of the details she was spouting like an oil gusher out of control. Making notes while it was fresh from a witness’s lips was a normal procedure for a law enforcement person. Every detail, large or small, could become important and should be recorded.

What was Bryan’s last name? Did he say anything else to you before he passed? Try to remember every detail, because it could be important.

He didn’t say anything else. When he came on board he introduced himself as Bryan, didn’t give me a last name. It isn’t out of the ordinary because most of my first-class passengers don’t use last names. We get celebrities in first class all of the time that doesn’t use either. They want to travel incognito.

Let me help you deliver the envelope and get to the bottom of your concern, so you can put your troubled mind to rest.

Wait! There’s more. Kate blurted, That isn’t all.

Kate! Responding curtly. Tell me what you want me to do. You keep giving me your story in bits and pieces. With each breath you add more events. What else do you want to tell me?

There you go, talking and acting like father, when he would scold me. You two are so much alike. It’s incredible. I’m mixed up and scared—not my normal self today.

Kate, take a deep breath. You are getting too excited.

I’m sorry. I can’t help myself. So many things have happened since Bryan, my passenger, passed away. I feel someone is following me. I went to my room and found somebody has searched through my luggage. They may still be in my room. I slammed the door and came down here. I’m involved in something—something really weird. Can you tell me what to do? All these strange happenings in the last few hours are freakish! Freakish, I tell you.

CHAPTER THREE

T he people in the restaurant were throwing strange looks our way. A childish instinct told me to slide down in my seat but I fought off my foolish behavior. As an experienced law enforcement officer, I needed to act like one.

The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. The restaurant diners were staring at me as if I was doing something harmful to my lovely companion. The need to take action to keep Kate calm was now at hand. One of the diners approached our table and asked Kate if she needed any help. I showed him my FBI retirement badge and he immediately backed away.

Concerned with Kate’s frantic behavior I sprang into action. Kate, that’s enough! You’re getting hysterical. Quiet down. If you don’t calm down, I can’t help solve your problem.

I understand. I’m so scared I get carried away. I’m not my normal self. My life is quite normal and things like this don’t happen to me.

Kate, answer my questions as simply as possible.

Okay, okay, I’ll do my best.

Was someone in your room when you opened the door?

Yes, maybe. I didn’t see anyone, but I’m sure someone was in there.

What makes you think someone was in your room? Did you see something or someone move?

No, maybe, I felt someone was there! Heck, I’m not sure. Please don’t ask me any more questions. I’m getting confused.

Sorry about that! Sometimes I get carried away. I just wanted to know if someone was in your room while you were there.

There may have been someone in my room . . . Heck, it beats me. I got so scared. I’m not sure. Nothing moved when I entered the room but my clothes were scattered around on the bed and floor, and my suitcases were torn apart. I got panicky, rushed out, closed the door, and came down here. I can’t go back to my room alone. Can you go up there and take a look around for me? Can you help me? Tell me what to do, Mr. FBI man. Maybe you have a gun or something. I need to get my things for the flight out tomorrow morning. Tell me, please tell me, what I should do?

Her voice escalated from a pleading murmur to a high-pitched shrill. Her demeanor was rapidly spiraling out of control. I put the envelope into my pocket and quickly ushered her out of the restaurant into an adjoining room, where we could have more privacy while I continued to soothe her dysfunctional behavior. Admittedly this sequence of events was beginning to alarm me too. My concern for Kate’s safety heightened.

Calm down, Kate—take a deep breath. You’re hyperventilating. Of course I’ll help you. Everything you’ve told me sounds serious enough for me to be concerned too.

In a matter of minutes my efforts appeared to be working.

Suddenly she gave me one of her million dollar smiles, making me melt and feel special. She was a beautiful woman. I was pleased she asked me to help her. This interesting woman had cast a spell on me. Now she was acting normal by accepting me as a companion who was willing and able to help her.

It was time for me to use my strength and knowledge