“My son doesn’t keep secrets from me, Mr. Lyttle. He’s a boy, not a man. I’m responsible for this family.”
“Sir, if you will give me a moment; let me plead my case.” Lemuel pointed at the folder. “No matter what you decide, I give you my word that the folder there is yours to destroy. I have no copies. And the resources which made it possible for me to gather that information will make sure that the truth about Grant is hidden forever. Moreover, if anyone tries to learn about him—about any of you—you will be warned.”
Hank studied the brown folder then folded his arms across his chest. “Be quick. We have church.”
“From what I have studied, and what I have seen, sir, you are an exemplary father. Your wife is a wonderful mother. Your family… I could only wish for one a tenth as nice. Polly and Grant, seen from afar, are wonderful, kind, considerate, and helpful. And they cover the burden they bear very well.”
“You discovered it.”
“I discovered bits of it, but I’ve also been trained to do that over the past dozen years. Your decision last night to keep Grant in jail speaks to your nobility and wisdom.”
“But you saw fit to countermand my wishes for my child.”
“Only, sir, because if other NVA elements decided to attack the jail and free their comrades, Grant’s exposure would be assured. He couldn’t stand by and do nothing. The coincidence of his presence at the robbery and two failed jailbreaks would not go unnoticed.”
Hank’s scowl deepened, but he raised his head. “I’m still listening.”
“I’m not a parent. Heck, I don’t even have a father. I can’t begin to imagine the struggles you had raising a son like Grant. The patience, the vigilance, the anxiety. I don’t know how you handled it.”
“Flattery doesn’t impress me.”
Lemuel nodded solemnly. “Didn’t mean to waste your time, sir. Let me put it directly: you’ve raised a fine young man, just as your father raised you. Thinking back, sir, I’m sure you had young male friends. Your cronies. The ones who helped you think through the problems your parents couldn’t anticipate. When you were Grant’s age, the world wasn’t like this. There are questions…”
“There’s still right and wrong, Mr. Lyttle.”
“I agree, sir. There’s also a need in each one of us to be able to confide in our peers. I’m sure there were things that troubled you that you could never see discussing with your parents.”
Hank turned to Grant. “I’ll always listen to you, son. You’ll always be my son, no matter what.”
Grant swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “I know, Dad.”
“Sir, there is no way I can know what it feels like to be Grant, with his abilities; but we have something in common. By dint of his birth and how he was raised, he’s extraordinary. My training has made me pretty special, too.”
Grant nodded. “Dad, he figured out I can see in infrared, so he modified his gas bomb so I couldn’t see through the smoke.”
“Telling me he found a way to blind you is not helping, Grant.” Hank pointed at Lemuel. “If I get your gist, Grant’s gonna have problems that he needs more than his family to help him cope with. Tensions. That sort of thing. And you’re willing to help out there?”
Lemuel gathered his hands at the small of his back. “Yes, sir.”
“And how would this be of benefit to you?” Hank’s eyes became slits. “Gonna groom him to be your sidekick? You do something stupid and he’s going to race in and pull your fat out of the fire? You bite off more than you can chew and he cleans up for you?”
Lemuel lifted his chin. “No, sir. That’s not my intention.”
“But it is your need.” Hank shook his head. “I was born at night, son, but not last night. This information you collected, you’ve had it long enough that this little chat could have taken place any time. I ask myself. Why now? What is so special about now? And what it is ... is that the NVA has come to Lyttleton. They’ll be coming back in numbers big enough to break others out of jail. You said that. And you need my son to help you deal with them—with gun wielding, bomb-throwing revolutionaries, right?”
“Sir…”
“And somehow you thought I’d see your giving me this file as some huge, altruistic act, and I’d just ignore the fact that you want my son to join you in playing tag with murderers? This may be your family’s town, Mr. Lyttle; but that doesn’t make the people your toy soldiers.”
Lemuel stiffened. “Sir, that was never my intention. Everything I’ve done is to keep this town and your family safe. You listened. I shall abide by my side of our bargain. If anyone finds your children, it will be over my dead body.”
Hank picked up the folder and held it in both well-callused hands. “How old are you, son?”
“Seventeen.”
“When I was your age, I was scared shitless, freezing in North Korea, waiting for a Red to kill me. I lied about my age to get in the military. I’d had five months training, fired my rifle three times, and figured I’d never eat another hot meal. And those friends you talked about, they were all there freezing with me. Not many of them made it back.”
Grant stared at his father. He’d always known his father had been in the service. He knew it was during the Korean War, but Hank had never talked about it. Grant didn’t even know he’d left the country, and when the family had gone to the lake swimming, he’d never seen any combat scars on his father’s body.
“I understand, sir.” Lemuel nodded. “As I said before, you’re an exemplary father.”
“I don’t think you do understand, Mr. Lyttle.” Hank put the folder down again, then rested his hands on Grant’s shoulders. “You’ll always be my son. That doesn’t mean you will always be a boy. Your mother and I have worked hard to set you on a course that will make you a very special man.”
Grant stared up at his father, for the first time seeing tears glimmering in those blue eyes. “Dad…”
“Grant, I know all you’ve done. Well, maybe not all, since I figure Polly has covered up for more than I’ll ever know about. I would have to be stupid if I didn’t realize you could be a superhero. That doesn’t mean such a life is for you, or that I think you should pursue it. But, as Mr. Lyttle suggests, this is a decision where I can offer advice and guidance; not one that I can finally make for you.”
Grant nodded. “Thank you.”
Hank Stone turned back toward Merlin. “You clearly have some sort of a plan working. You also don’t have adult supervision.”
“Sir…”
“Son, the folks in Lyttleton don’t call your aunt the Dowager Empress for nothing. We’re all serfs in her eyes. You’re her champion. She just wants to know you’ve prevailed. You’re planning something to deal with the NVA. Why can’t you reveal what you’ve learned to Chief Peck?”
“I believe the NVA has a source in Lyttleton’s police. I am certain it is not Chief Peck.” Merlin shrugged. “I think someone who used to live here, who has a friend or relative on the force, is tied to the NVA and is leaking information innocently.”
“So you’re going to set a trap.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s the plan?”
Merlin jogged out to his car and came back with a folder and a suitcase. He pulled a map from the folder and laid it out on the workbench. “The guys captured at the bank had to break themselves out. The only help they got was having guns deposited in the alley. That means Commander Seven is in the area. Marta Coulden, I believe, is his target since freeing her would create as much publicity as kidnapping her did in the first place. The FBI has her in a safe house locally for debriefing. I don’t know where. However, a teletype message has gone into the police station ordering local cops to stay clear of State Route 19, tomorrow morning, for when the FBI is going to move her to Capital City at dawn.”
Merlin traced a finger along the winding, two-lane highway that worked east and then north from Lyttleton. “Out here by the gravel pits is the only place where the N
VA—based on analysis of other jobs they’ve pulled—could stop the FBI van and free Coulden. They stage an accident here, have a truck pull onto the road from the gravel pit after the van passes to block retreat, and attack the van when it slows for the accident. It’s fast, clean, and a long walk to find a phone.”
Grant pointed. “The road sinks down a yard or so there for a mile or two, so seeing guys just over the berm would be tough, and you can’t really turn around fast.”
“Right.” Merlin smiled. “If the survivors walk back toward town, your farm is one of the first places the FBI agents would come to.”
Hanks tapped the map with a finger. “But you’ll be in the van, counting on close quarters to bring them in so you can deal with them?”
“That’s the plan, sir.”
“And you’re counting on their wanting to keep the Coulden woman alive to prevent them from riddling the van with bullets.”
“That’s my hope, but I am taking precautions against that. A dummy will be behind the wheel. I’ll be driving from within the van, in an armored shell impervious to small-arms fire. I’m assuming they’ll discover they’ve been tricked and move in to attack, drawing them close enough for me to handle.”
“What would you have Grant do?”
Lemuel nodded in Grant’s direction. “As he said, the sunken road makes it difficult to pick out NVA members. What I would like is for him to use his speed and a walkie-talkie. He parallels the road on the north side, lets me know where people are, and I handle them.”
He dropped to a knee and opened the suitcase. “While I was being trained, my aunt devised a number of costumes for me. This was one of the most practical.”
Straightening up, he pulled from the suitcase a bulky, light brown coverall, with darker brown sleeves. The case contained dark brown boots, belt and gloves as well. The suit had an integrated hood and cowl. “The torso and groin are protected with kevlar—it’s fairly new, stronger than steel by weight, and being used as body armor. As long as you’re not at point-blank range, it’ll stop everything up to an AK-47 round. The hood and cowl are woven from it, too, but not as thick. The speed at which you move, Grant, no one will hit you. If they get lucky, this will stop a stray shot.”
Hank frowned. “Having the capital G on the breast, isn’t that going to give away Grant’s identity?”
“The way he moves, they’ll think it stands for Gazelle. My aunt meant it to stand for Gyrfalcon, which she likes better than Merlin.”
“It could also stand for Ganymede or Graviton.” Grant shrugged as the other two looked at him. “I was reading science fiction over the summer.”
“Either of those could work, too. The trick is that she had this one made a bit large, thinking I would grow into it. It’s a bit bulky for my style, but Grant’s strength eliminates that problem.”
Hank nodded. “You seem to have thought things out.”
“As well as I could, sir.”
“You know no plan survives contact with the enemy.”
Lemuel glanced down. “Von Moltke, yes, sir. I know what.”
“And your plan if it all goes badly?”
“Grant should get the heck out of there and alert the police. I’ll do what I can do to contain things.”
Hank looked at his son. “You hear that? He tells you to get clear, you get clear.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hank rubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw. I’m going to tell you, Mr. Lyttle, I don’t like this at all. You shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t like you operating without adult supervision. I also realize I can’t stop you, short of violating your trust and putting my family in jeopardy.”
Lemuel raised both of his hands. “Sir, on my honor…”
“I know, you’d never do that. I understand.” Hank smiled for an instant. “I understand a lot more than you expect. I am inclined to let Grant help you, provided both of you promise me that if things go wrong, you get out of there. The. Both. Of. You. And I mean that, Mr. Lyttle. You just spent of lot of time telling me that my son is going to need someone who understands what he’s going through. You offered yourself as that person. I’m going to trust that you are that person. Doing something stupid will violate that trust.”
Grant watched Lemuel’s face. His expression froze. His eyes flicked, his gaze toward the floor. It seemed Lemuel was running through multiple scenarios in his mind, testing each one against the senior Stone’s request. Lemuel said nothing, and the thoughtful silence spoke volumes.
Finally he looked up. “I understand your conditions, Mr. Stone. I believe I can abide by them. I would ask, however, some time to work through all the ramifications.”
“That’s a good idea. As I said, I’m inclined to let Grant work with you; but not completely convinced. I need some time, too. As does Grant.”
“Me?” Grant frowned. “I’m willing to help.”
Lemuel smiled, sharing a glance with Hank Stone. “There was never any doubt of that, Grant. You can help just by getting up on Lone Tree Hill, watching everything with binoculars, and reporting back to me.” He laid a hand on the brown costume. “Whether or not you want to be a hero isn’t a question with easy answers.”
Grant’s shoulders slumped. All his life he’d been helpful. He liked helping people. It made him feel good inside. But for the first time he’d be out there looking for trouble. It is the difference between having a hobby and choosing a career.
Hank pressed his hands together. “Let me suggest that we all take time to consider. We should make our final determinations after church. I’m sure all of us can use a little guidance.”
Grant had no trouble staying awake at mass, but if it weren’t for years of training that made responses automatic, his parents would have realized just how much he wasn’t paying attention. He tried to, hoping that the readings or homily might provide him some insight. They didn’t. Mindful of the fact that the day was going to be beautiful and that it had already gotten hot inside the church, Father Kinnian kept to a light, feel-good message, and sped through the liturgy.
Two thoughts chased themselves in a circle through Grant’s mind. They orbited a hub representing the desire to keep his family safe. The first thought was that being a hero would be an extraordinary thing. He knew he had gifts which would be of great advantage in being a hero. Any doubt of that vanished in light of Lemuel asking him to help.
Hot on its heels came the central fact of his life: the only way he could keep his family safe was to be ordinary. Sure, a secret identity could safeguard his family, but the very fact of his public existence would mean that people would start looking for who he really was. The people with the greatest stake in piercing his secret would be those who would be happy to prey on his family. And as much as he and Lemuel might work to hide his secret, there was no protecting him from someone making a wild-ass but correct guess based on erroneous assumptions. As the old saying goes, even a blind squirrel finds an acorn now and again.
He had spent his entire life being ordinary. He did everything he could to avoid calling attention to himself. He’d made mistakes, but they’d been easy to cover up—often with Polly’s help. If he became a hero, he was just opening himself up to making more mistakes, and papering them over would be even more difficult.
After mass he rode in silence back to the farm. He and his father retreated to the barn. “I know why you’ve been quiet, Grant.” His father kept his voice low but warm. “No matter what decision you make, I’ll support you.”
Grant nodded. “Thanks.”
“I have one more thing to say.” Hank lifted his chin and clasped his hands at the small of his back. “The toughest thing about being a hero isn’t saving people—it’s living with the fact that you couldn’t save them all.”
Grant covered his face with his hands. A scenario where an emergency requiring him to rescue a group of people would result in his revealing his true identity blossomed in his mind. He might make a tiny mistake, one of which he wasn’t even
aware, and that would put his family in jeopardy. At the same time he was getting a medal from the President, enemies would be slaughtering his family.
His hands fell away. “I can’t do it. I can’t put you and mom and Polly at risk. I can’t. I mean, I’ll always help out as I can, but there are limits.”
Hank clapped his son on both shoulders, then drew him into a hug. Grant clung on tight, hating the fact that he couldn’t hold his father as close as he wanted to without crushing him.
“It’s okay, son. You’ve made a very tough decision. A mature one. I am proud of you.” Hank stroked his son’s head. “You should go in and help your mother with Sunday dinner. I’ll let Mr. Lyttle know your decision.”
Grant pulled back. “I can go. I should do that.”
“No, son. You’ve taken enough responsibility for today. As your father, full responsibility for your actions falls on me.” Hank gave his son a quick nod and a quicker grin. “You’ve done what you needed to do. Now it’s my turn.”
Sunday dinner went well. It took a bit for Grant to feel like eating, but the scent of pot roast and fresh-baked apple pie won him over. He and his father left Polly and his mom to clean up while they did the evening chores. The family regrouped on the porch as twilight came on. Mom knitted while Grant and Polly alternated reading from Pride and Prejudice—a book which was on the LUHS summer reading list. This continued a tradition that had existed for as long as Grant could remember, beginning with his parents reading fairytales or novels; and shifting to where everyone took turns as he and his sister grew up.
After only a couple of chapters, Hank suggested they turn in early. The coming week was the last before school started again. “There’s a fair amount of work I need to get out of you two before I lose you; so we should start bright and early tomorrow.”
Polly protested, but Grant was happy for the chance to be alone. As night came on, he found his knowledge of what Lemuel would be doing at dawn began to weigh upon him. He didn’t think Lemuel would do anything stupid; but stupid pretty much defined the action of superheroes right down the line. As he crawled into bed he wondered if he’d awaken to stories of Lemuel having been killed on a lonely stretch of road.
A Hero By Any Other Name Page 21
