Twenty-Four

A braham Stein wasn’t much bigger than his sister and looked twice as old. “I called some friends,” he was telling Juliana as he led her with surprising agility through a glass door, “and they know someone who knows someone who knows someone who was friends with the father, the first Senator Ryder, who was killed, you know, in Vietnam. They’ve been to the fishing camp, which is more for entertainment than for fish, and it has a helicopter pad. Isn’t that beautiful?”

Juliana looked at him, baffled. The old man spoke very rapidly, his accent more noticeable than his sister’s, and she wondered if she’d misunderstood. “The father was in Vietnam? But I thought it was the son who’d gone.”

“Yes, yes, as a soldier. The father was a senator then. Of course, I forget how young you are, you might not remember. He was killed during a fact-finding mission to Vietnam, when his helicopter was caught in a battle of some sort. It was a terrible thing. Quite a scandal. The son was with him and himself was nearly killed.” Abraham Stein looked at Juliana, his lively dark eyes suddenly grave and filled with sorrow. “It’s a terrible thing for a son to have to watch his father die. From cancer and old age, yes, then there can be no regrets, but at the hands of others-” he shook his head “-that never leaves you. No matter how we pretend, it’s always there.”

“You speak from experience?” Juliana asked, not sure she should.

He smiled sadly. “Do I need to? But enough of this. Come. I have a helicopter waiting for you. The pilot knows how to get to Senator Ryder’s camp. I told him there might be some danger involved and he said good, he hasn’t had any excitement in a while. Helicopter pilots tend to be this way, I think.”

Juliana thought so, too. She could just bet who’d been piloting the helicopter in which the senior Senator Ryder had been killed. During the flight to Tallahassee, the thought of Matthew had never left her; she wondered where he was, what he was doing. She hadn’t stayed put in Vermont as he’d obviously intended her to. She wasn’t sure how that would sit with him. But he’d let her know.

She’d thrown her parka over her arm and now reached into the inside pocket and pulled out the paper bag in which she’d placed the Minstrel’s Rough, inside its faded velvet. “I have another favor,” she said, embarrassed.

Abraham Stein was delighted. “Yes, what is it?”

She thrust the bag at him. “Take this. I can’t tell you what’s inside, and I’d like to ask you not to look-for your own sake, no other reason. If you don’t hear from me within twenty-four hours, take a boat out into the ocean where the water’s very, very deep and throw the bag into it. Then call in the National Guard and tell them to come get me. Will you do that?”

“Of course.” He tucked the bag into his suitcoat pocket, with no indication whatsoever of curiosity.

“You don’t have any questions?”

“No,” he said. “I have no questions.”

They were outside now, and Juliana couldn’t suppress a rush of excitement liberally mingled with fear as she saw the helicopter standing out on the landing pad, warmed up and ready to go. “Aunt Willie, Mother,” she whispered, “hang in there.”

Then she heard a familiar rough, deep voice. “What the hell do you mean this is the last goddamn helicopter and it’s unavailable?”

She looked around and saw him. Matthew. Samuel Ryder was standing next to him, Matthew’s intense dark looks, black leather jacket, and Gokey boots in contrast to the fair, patrician handsomeness of the senator. Juliana took a sharp breath, wondering if there was some way she could just sneak into the helicopter.

The unhappy official tried to explain there was nothing whatever he could do, the helicopter was already spoken for, but Matthew wasn’t listening. His gaze had fallen on Juliana. He ignored the official and Ryder and the little old man standing next to her and walked up to her.

“I should have tied you to the goddamn bedpost,” he said. “My mistake.”

“What are you doing here?” She could see plainly enough he wanted to ask her the same question. Abraham Stein was watching the proceedings with interest.

“Damn it,” Stark said.

“If you don’t behave,” she said, “I won’t let you ride in my helicopter.”

“I ought to steal the thing right out from under you.”

But she grabbed his wrist and held him back. “Don’t, Matthew. Neanderthal tactics aren’t going to work with me. I’ll just find another way there.”

“You know, lady, you may be generally uninformed about life in the twentieth century, but-” he paused, grinning. “You’ve got guts. Let’s go.”

Juliana and Ryder rode in back, Matthew up front with the pilot, who’d also flown in Vietnam and had heard of Steelman Stark-and sympathized with his feelings toward the junior senator from Florida. Matthew had told the pilot Ryder wasn’t going to enjoy the trip: “He won’t know if I’ll try to toss his butt out of the chopper or not.”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you did,” the pilot had replied. “The way I hear it, he was responsible for what happened back in ’Nam.”

“Matthew,” Ryder croaked, his face ashen, “don’t do it.”

“Why not, Sam? I’ve been waiting twenty years to get back into a helicopter with you-”

“For God’s sake, that’s over and done with! It wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t my fault. It was just one of those terrible things that happens in war.”

“No, it wasn’t. It never should have happened, Sam. Your father, Jake, and Chuck could all be alive today if you hadn’t lied about that LZ-or maybe if I’d been a better pilot or just smart enough to know you were lying.”

“Matt, don’t. Jake and Chuck were good soldiers; they knew the risks. And my father-he would have forgiven you. I forgive you.”

“Jesus Christ, Sam, it just might be worth the consequences to toss your goddamn dumb ass out of here. But it’s not.” Matthew saw the confusion in Juliana’s eyes and grinned at her. “More history for you to learn, sweet cheeks. We’ll talk later, okay?” She nodded, and he turned back to the pilot. “How far to the Dead Lakes?”

“Maybe twenty minutes.”

Behind them, Ryder said, “Bloch will kill you the minute you land.”

“He can try.”

“Dammit, Stark, I wish you wouldn’t talk like that! We need to consider alternatives to violence.”

Matthew looked over at the Golden Boy senator with the wide, terrified baby blue eyes. “I’d love to, Sam. Got any ideas? You think Bloch’s going to want to deal? The sonofabitch killed the Weaze, and he probably killed Rachel Stein, and he’s going to kill those women-unless old Aunt Willie gets loose first and kills him.”

Ryder licked his lips. “You could at least try to make a deal-”

“Jesus, you’re a card, Sam. Don’t you remember ’Nam? Phil Bloch doesn’t deal. He’s very good at killing people, and he’s very good at taking care of himself. Look, if it helps, I have no interest in killing the man. I just want to stop him, which is what you should have done to begin with. Of all people, Sam, you know what he is.”

“How could I have stopped him? He was threatening to tell people I was the one who told you to fly into a hot LZ, that I got my own father killed! How could I function with that kind of rumor hanging over my head?”

“Not rumor,” Stark said. “Fact.”

“That’s not true! The LZ was secure as far as we knew, but there was a war going on, for God’s sake. There were VC and NVA all over that valley.”

“Sam,” Matthew said without emotion, “that LZ was never secure, but the information I got was that it was cold-safe for a goddamn United States senator to have a visit with his son the lieutenant. But you wanted your daddy to see you in action, and what should have been a routine resupply mission turned into a firefight.”