“What are we going to do tomorrow?” he had asked.
“Whatever you want,” his father told him.
“I want to fish again.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
“I love you, Dad.” Not the Wes of the memory, but the Wes bleeding on the rocks said.
The sound of movement in the brush. It was off in the direction Anna had gone.
“Please tell me you found them,” Wes said, his voice not nearly as strong as he’d thought it would be.
More steps.
“Anna?”
Someone moved into the leveled area. The shadowy form was too tall to be his girlfriend.
Wes looked around for Dori’s pistol, unsure if it had gone over the side with her, but he didn’t see it. Instead, the best he could do was a palm-size stone. He picked it up.
“You don’t seriously think you could hit me with that, do you?”
“Lars?” Wes said.
The moonlight revealed the face of Wes’s old friend.
“I thought you were …? How did you …?”
Lars was about to say something, then he glanced at Dillman’s body.
“That who I think it is?”
“Michael Dillman. Remember him? He … was Dori’s husband. Dori Dillman … Only Dori Dillman was—”
“I know,” Lars said. “Mandy’s sister.”
“How did you know?”
“Later.” Lars paused. “Where’s Commander Forman?”
Wes nodded with his chin toward the dark form lying on the rock. “That’s him. Anna checked him a few … minutes ago. He’s alive.”
Lars jogged over to the commander and did his own check. When he came back, he said, “What about you? Are you okay?”
Wes raised the hand that had been pressed against his wound. “I’ve been better. Anna went down … to get the keys so we could take Dori’s car. Now that you’re here … maybe we can get the commander out, too. Wait, if you have a car, we can just take that.”
Lars shook his head. “I’m on your motorcycle.”
Wes stared at him. “I don’t even want to know how that happened.”
“Where did you say Anna was?”
“Down … there.” Wes looked toward the edge.
Lars walked out to the end of the rock, then knelt down and glanced over.
“No Anna. Unless she’s that body lying down there.”
“Dori,” Wes said.
Sounds in the bushes again, only this time it was Anna who stepped out. She was dangling something in her hand. “Found them. Now let’s get—”
She pulled up short as Lars stood up from where he’d been kneeling.
“Lars?” she said, then brightened. “Great. You can help me get him to the car.”
“You’re not going to need the car,” Lars said.
“What are you talking about?” Wes asked.
Then he heard a noise in the distance, something familiar. It almost sounded like the breeze, but it was growing steadily louder.
It took Wes a moment, but as soon as he placed it he smiled.
Helicopters.
WES SPENT TWO NIGHTS IN THE RIDGECREST Regional Hospital, before being airlifted—courtesy of the United States Navy—to the UCLA Medical Center in Los Angeles. Anna spent every moment she could with him, overstaying visiting hours and making the nurses force her to leave.
Dione and Alison came by a few times, each telling him he was looking good, and asking when he was going to come back to work.
“We’ve got a shoot lined up for New Orleans at the end of the month,” Dione said one afternoon. “I expect you to be ready by then.”
Wes had smiled and thanked her, but had not committed. He knew he was going to have to get back to work soon, but it wasn’t something he wanted to think about yet.
Casey came by often, too—that is, after Wes remembered to call his brother and tell him to pass along the all-clear signal.
Danny visited only once. He looked like he’d aged ten years, and there was none of the humor he usually displayed. It was obvious he had taken Dori’s deception hard.
“You can’t blame yourself,” Wes told him. “No way you could have known. Hell, I didn’t even recognize her.”
“Sure,” Danny said without conviction, then left not long after, the cloud over his head as dark as it had been when he arrived.
Three days after Wes had been moved to Los Angeles, Lars showed up.
“Forman is still in intensive care but out of danger,” he said after a few moments of small talk.
“What story is he telling?” Wes asked.
“The truth, actually.”
“Really?” Wes was surprised.
“The investigators had pieced most of it together by the time he regained consciousness. And when they told him they’d already rounded up the two other commanders and a rear admiral who’d been involved with him, he knew he had no choice.”
They were silent for a moment. “What about you?” Wes asked. Lars had admitted his own part in Forman’s plan while they had waited for the helicopters to land at the Drama Rocks.
“My involvement is still under investigation.”
“I’m sorry, Lars. If you want me to talk to somebody, I will.”
Lars smiled. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine … well, maybe not fine, but I’ll make out all right. Senator Jamieson has been very helpful.”
“Oh, I see. You have friends more important than me now.”
“Something like that.”
They both laughed.
“So why didn’t Lieutenant Jamieson just follow your script? None of this would have ever happened if he had.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Lars said. “It would have. Maybe not with him, but with somebody else if SCORCH had been approved. Don’t get me wrong. I wish he hadn’t died, but exposing the flaws and those who were pushing for a defective product may have actually saved dozens of lives. So it was a good thing that the lieutenant was a straight shooter, and felt compelled to give SCORCH a full workout before giving his father his report.”
“Funny I haven’t seen any of this on the news.”
In fact, the only news that had come out had been a local story in Ridgecrest about the accidental death of longtime resident Doreen Dillman.
“The parties involved have agreed a more sanitized version is better for all concerned.”
Wes raised an eyebrow. “And Senator Jamieson?”
“He’s also on board. In a few days his son will be reported killed in a training exercise at sea. The group who was responsible for his actual death will be dealt with appropriately by the Navy.”
Wes looked skeptical.
“I gave them my word you and your friends would go along with it, too,” Lars said.
“You seriously think they’ll all go along with it?”
“I’ve already talked to them.”
“Even Dione?”
“She was tough, I’ll give you that. But she said yes.”
Wes frowned. “Swept under the rug nice and neat.”
“Dealt with nice and neat, that’s all. I admit it’s not exactly right, but some good has come out of it. Project Pastiche has been shut down, Forman and his people have been rounded up, and SCORCH has been officially canceled.”
They were silent for a moment.
“What about Tony?” Wes asked.
“His body was retrieved two days ago.” Lars paused. “They found fiber evidence linking Dillman to the body. Couple that with Dillman’s confession to you, and as far as the police are concerned the case is closed.”
Dillman had never regained consciousness, and had died the day after his wife.
“And the other body?” Wes asked.
“There was no other body,” Lars said, his tone indicating that no matter what had really been found, officially the mine was empty.
So that was it. The incident with Jack was over. Wes was … free.
“Then you’re here just to m
ake sure I play along?”
“I’m here to check on my friend,” Lars said. “If you don’t want to play along, I can’t stop you.”
The corner of Wes’s lip rose. “Your Navy friends wouldn’t be too happy about that.”
Lars shrugged. “Too bad.”
“I have to ask you something else.”
“Sure. What?”
“About my father. You were supposed to meet him that night, weren’t you? You were going to help him move Jack.”
Lars was silent for several seconds. “Yes.”
“What I don’t understand is why Dad wanted to move him.”
“That was Dori’s doing, I think. He saw signs that someone was nosing around the mine on several different occasions. He was afraid the body would be discovered. He asked me to help him. But … but I chickened out. I’m so sorry, Wes. I should have been there. Maybe if I was, he’d still be alive.”
Wes shook his head. “No. What would have happened is that Dori would have realized you were involved, too, and you would have been killed years ago.”
Lars gave him a small smile. “Thanks.”
They talked for a few more minutes, then the door opened and Anna came in.
“Sorry,” she said when she saw Lars. “You guys need a little time?”
“No,” Lars said. “Not at all. I need to leave, anyway. Got to drive back up this afternoon.” He looked at Wes. “Let’s not let it go another seventeen years.”
Wes shook his hand. “Yeah. Let’s not.”
Lars gave Anna a hug and then was gone.
Alone with Anna again, Wes felt that maybe, just maybe, life was going to be okay.
“Move in with me,” he said, knowing it was partially the drugs talking, but also knowing it was the truth.
She looked around. “This room isn’t big enough for both of us.”
“Very funny.” He shut his eyes for a moment, then popped them open as he realized he’d started to drift off. “I’m … serious.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “I know you are. Now sleep. I’m not going anywhere.” He smiled, not sure if she’d just said yes, but knowing even if she hadn’t, she’d get there.
As soon as his eyes shut, an image flashed in his mind. Trees and the coast and Anna’s arms wrapped around his waist as they rode on his father’s old motorcycle.
The bike, his father, the trees …
… A memory. No, not so much a memory as a promise unable to be fulfilled. A trip his father was going to take him on. A camping trip on motorcycles to Redwood National Park near the California-Oregon border. A trip that had never happened.
As sleep began to overtake him, he knew that as soon as he was out, he and Anna would take that trip.
For his father.
And for himself.
It would be the right thing to do.
There are two people
I’d like to dedicate this novel to—
Gunnar, the best friend the teenage me
could have ever had,
and Lieutenant Commander Theodore Faller,
a true hero
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THE SAYING IS: YOU CAN’T GO HOME AGAIN. Well, I hope I’ve proved that wrong. While I’ve manipulated and added things to aid in the telling of this story, Ridgecrest and China Lake are very real places, ones that have played important parts in my life. I won’t spell out what’s real and what I’ve invented (though those who have lived there will easily pick those out). The one exception I will say is that the Drama Rocks do exist, though if they are still called that these days I have no idea. And, with apologies to many old friends, I’ve also taken the liberty of moving them several miles to the east.
There are several people whose help has been invaluable in the writing of No Return. My friend and fellow novelist Bill Cameron’s comments and suggestions were invaluable, as was the support of Robert Gregory Browne, Sophie Littlefield, Tasha Alexander, and Tim Hallinan. Which reminds me, a big thank-you to the folks at the Novel Café for the food, the table, and the friendly smiles.
A big thank-you, also, to childhood friend and retired Naval Commander Richard Evert, and two other friends from those early days, Ted Lemon and Karen Mendonca. Motorcycle tips came from Chris Franklin (thanks, Chris!), but any mistakes I’ve made would be mine alone. Thank you to Sue Ann Jaffarian for pointing me toward Jonathan Hayes on drug matters, and to Jonathan for helping me find what I needed … not for me personally, but for the story.
Finally, stories are often sparked by something an author has heard or experienced. In August of 1979, Lieutenant Commander Theodore Faller had just taken off from China Lake in a QF-86 Sabre when his engine failed. Below him were the homes and businesses of Ridgecrest. Fighting with his controls, he managed to crash land in an empty field just beyond the fence of an elementary school that now bears his name. While he survived the crash, he did not survive the fire that consumed the plane once he was on the ground.
I remember the smoke that day, rising above the town, me and my friends wondering what had happened. The story came out in the days that followed, and we all knew that Lieutenant Commander Faller died a hero.
His story has stayed with me all these years, and my intention in using a similar event in No Return is intended as a way for me to honor what he did so many years ago.
BY BRETT BATTLES
The Cleaner
The Deceived
Shadow of Betrayal
The Silenced
No Return
No Return Page 27
