by Dan Walsh
Mrs. Harrison looked up at her. “Now, Mamie Lee, you know as well as I do he hasn’t called. You’re the one answers the phone most of the time.”
“That’s true. I thought maybe he might have called this afternoon while I was out in the backyard hanging laundry.”
Mrs. Harrison reached for her glass. “No, he didn’t call. Wish he had, but he didn’t.”
“Hopefully, no news is good news,” Mamie said.
Mrs. Harrison glanced up at the wall clock hanging above the antique country sideboard. “What are you still doing here? Haven’t you missed your bus?”
“I did. But I had some things needed tending to. It’s a beautiful night out, so I thought I’d just walk home, enjoy the breeze and night air.” Mamie turned, as if heading back toward the kitchen. Then stopped and said, “Mind me asking, ma’am, why don’t you call Mister Scott and ask him about Colt and Timmy? He probably just got busy and forgot to call. I’m sure everything is all right.”
Mrs. Harrison shook her head. “I can’t call over there.”
“I sure would,” Mamie said, “he were my boy. And I’d give him a piece of my mind at the same time, making his mother worry all day like this.”
Mrs. Harrison smiled. She actually smiled. Mamie half expected a scolding for being so bold. “I could call him, if you want me to. I’ve called over there a few times before.”
“No, Mamie Lee. We’ll just leave well enough alone. He’ll call when he’s ready. If I haven’t heard anything by the time Henry gets home from his dinner, I’ll have him call.”
“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you think is best. You still eating that dinner, or want me to take it away?”
“No, you can take it. I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll be right back to get it. Shortly after that, I’ll be heading home.” Of course, Mamie thought, she could wait around for Mr. Harrison to call when he got home. But that could be hours from now.
That would make it too late for her to hear anything about the boys tonight. And that wouldn’t do.
No sir, that wouldn’t do at all.
23
Colt was alone in the car, huddled in the corner of the backseat. He wanted to open his eyes, but he was afraid to look. He knew they were home. Mr. Hammond, the nicer FBI agent, had already told him that.
He had pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in between them. Held on tight, as if by ignoring his circumstances hard enough, he could will himself to be somewhere else. Reality was too painful. He was not with Timmy in Savannah, enjoying the sympathy of Uncle Mike and Aunt Rose. He was in the backseat of a dark FBI car in his own driveway, and Timmy was gone. Maybe forever. And it was all his fault. Why did he think this idea would ever work?
For several moments, nothing happened. He could hear the muffled voices of men talking just a few feet away. The backseat door opened on the other side of the car. He tensed up, waiting for . . . he didn’t know what.
“Colt?”
It was his father’s voice, speaking gently. He pretended not to hear.
“Colt . . . it’s Dad. Please come here. You’re home now, son.”
He didn’t move.
A few more moments passed in silence. “Colt, I . . . we, your mother and I, don’t hate you. We love you, as much as we ever did.” It sounded like he was choking up. Is Dad crying? “I know you feel bad about this, about what happened. You know you did wrong running away like that. But we don’t blame you. We know . . . you never meant for any of this to happen.”
That did it.
“I didn’t, Dad.” Tears poured out of Colt, and he turned to face his father. His dad reached for Colt across the seat. “I’m real sorry,” Colt said through his tears. He wasn’t sure if his dad heard him because he was crying too.
They clung to each other for a good while. He cried a long time. Finally, he heard Agent Hammond say from outside the car, “Scott, could Nate and I watch President Kennedy’s address on your television?”
They stopped crying, or at least his dad did. Colt tried, and was at least able to start calming down. They slid out of the car together and faced Agent Hammond. “I’m sorry, what did you say, Vic?” his father said.
“The president’s about to go live in a couple of minutes,” Vic said. “He’s gonna talk about Cuba. We really don’t want to miss it, if that’s okay with you.”
“No, that’s fine. Let’s go back in the house. Are you okay, Colt?”
Colt stood in front of his father; his father rested his hands on Colt’s shoulders. “I guess so,” Colt said. But now he had to face his mom.
“Lead the way, Vic,” his dad said. And they headed toward the house.
The front door opened before they got there. His mom was in the doorway, tears coming down her face. She opened her arms and said, “Colt, I’m so glad you’re home.” He ran into them, and the crying started all over again.
Five minutes later, they were all sitting around the television in the living room.
It was an odd sight for Colt, one that anchored the memory in his mind even more firmly than it would’ve otherwise been, given the historic nature of what they were about to witness. His mom and dad were sitting where they usually sat when the TV was on, but joining them were two strangers in dark suits, FBI agents no less. All of them with eyes glued on the president, John F. Kennedy, who was about to speak.
As odd as it was, Colt was glad for the distraction.
The president looked straight into the camera. The atmosphere in the living room instantly changed.
Good evening, my fellow citizens. This government, as promised, has maintained the closest surveillance of the Soviet military buildup on the island of Cuba. Within the past week, unmistakable evidence has established the fact that a series of offensive missile sites is now in preparation on that imprisoned island. The purpose of these bases can be none other than to provide a nuclear strike capability against the Western Hemisphere.
Colt liked President Kennedy, but he talked funny.
Upon receiving the first preliminary hard information of this nature last Tuesday morning at 9:00 a.m., I directed that our surveillance be stepped up. And having now confirmed and completed our evaluation of the evidence and our decision on a course of action, this government feels obliged to report this new crisis to you in fullest detail.
“Wow,” Nate Winters said, breaking the silence. “You hear that? He just called it a crisis. That’s saying a lot, coming from him.”
The characteristics of these new missile sites indicate two distinct types of installations. Several of them include medium range ballistic missiles, capable of carrying a nuclear warhead for a distance of more than 1,000 nautical miles. Each of these missiles, in short, is capable of striking Washington, DC, the Panama Canal, Cape Canaveral, Mexico City, or any other city in the southeastern part of the United States, in Central America, or in the Caribbean area.
“Cape Canaveral,” his mother repeated. “What’s that mean, Scott? Is he saying—”
“He’s saying the Russians have nukes on Cuba,” his dad said, “capable of reaching Washington and every city in between, including the Cape.” He patted her knee, an attempt to end the conversation.
The president went on to say that other missile sites on Cuba, ones that weren’t finished yet, would give the Soviets the ability to launch missiles twice as far, all the way north to Canada and all the way down to Peru. Then the president started talking about some treaties the Soviets were breaking and, it sounded like, some lies they were telling about what they were up to. Colt didn’t understand everything.
His eyes kept switching back and forth from his parents’ faces to the FBI agents, then back to the president on TV. He had never seen adults look more serious about anything than the four of them did that night. The president finally began to say some things Colt could understand, except one word, quarantine.
Acting, therefore, in the defense of our own security and of the entire Western Hemisphere, and
under the authority entrusted to me by the Constitution as endorsed by the Resolution of the Congress, I have directed that the following initial steps be taken immediately:
First: To halt this offensive buildup a strict quarantine on all offensive military equipment under shipment to Cuba is being initiated. All ships of any kind bound for Cuba from whatever nation or port will, if found to contain cargoes of offensive weapons, be turned back. This quarantine will be extended, if needed, to other types of cargo and carriers. We are not at this time, however, denying the necessities of life as the Soviets attempted to do in their Berlin blockade of 1948.
“He’s really talking about a naval blockade, Vic,” Nate said. “Isn’t he?”
“What’s that mean?” Colt’s mom asked, a frantic look on her face. She was gripping his dad’s leg.
“The Soviets might see this as an act of war,” he replied. “It means an invasion of Cuba. It means old Weldon was right.”
“That’s what all those tanks and truck caravans are all about,” Nate said. “Getting ready for a D-Day–like invasion.”
As President Kennedy kept talking, Colt thought about a conversation he’d witnessed between his father and grandfather last year, on the twentieth anniversary of Pearl Harbor. His dad was eleven when Pearl Harbor was attacked, Colt’s age. His grandfather reminded his dad about something he’d said when they first heard the news coming in over the radio. “Pay attention, Scott. You’re going to remember what happened today for the rest of your life.”
Was that the kind of moment Colt was experiencing now? Was this as bad as Pearl Harbor?
Third: It shall be the policy of this nation to regard any nuclear missile launched from Cuba against any nation in the Western Hemisphere as an attack by the Soviet Union on the United States, requiring a full retaliatory response upon the Soviet Union . . .
“Oh my Lord . . .” Colt’s dad was rubbing his temples.
“What?” his mother said.
“He’s talking about starting World War III, Vic,” Nate said.
“Nuclear war,” his dad said. Dread all over his face.
Colt instantly remembered something else, something a kid in his science class had said, during one of those drop-and-cover drills. “These drills don’t work. You know that, right? My dad said if we ever go to war with the Soviets, it’s pretty much the end of the world.”
24
Mamie Lee was a bit shaken up. “Dear Lord, is this it? Is this Armageddon?” She was walking under a streetlight toward home, seeing as she had missed the bus. Along the way, she’d walked through part of the downtown area, right past an appliance store. A bunch of people were standing around the front window watching a television, so she stopped to see what all the fuss was about. It was the president talking. She stood there in the back, listening as best she could.
She didn’t understand everything the president said, but she understood enough. And then to hear all the people talking after, the things they were saying . . . ’bout scared her to death.
One of the men, who talked with great certainty, said there was no way the Russians would tolerate this ship blockade the president was setting up. Another man said now we knew where all those Army tanks and trucks heading south were really going. They were headed straight for Cuba! He said just you wait, see if we don’t invade Cuba before the week is out. The first man said, when that happens you can be sure nuclear missiles will start firing off in the sky, blowin’ everything up. New York City, Philadelphia, Washington DC . . . even Cape Canaveral, just a ways south from here. And of course, the US will blow up Havana, Moscow, and Leningrad.
When Mamie left those people, they were still talking about one bad thing happening after another. She had to get away, ’fore she had no peace left at all in her heart.
It was all too hard to fathom. She had all the worry she could handle right now with her grandbabies missing. Listen to her, like they were her grandbabies. Felt like it sometimes, close as she felt to Mister Scott, their daddy.
Up ahead on the corner she saw a telephone booth under the streetlight. That thought came again to call Mister Scott, see if the boys got in all right, give their daddy a poke to call his mother right away, so she could have some peace too ’fore this night was over.
When she got under the light, Mamie reached in her purse to make sure she had plenty of change. It was long distance to call from DeLand to Daytona. But she was fine; she always kept plenty of change in her purse for emergencies. ’Course, she could’ve just called their house collect. Once a couple of years ago, when she’d got caught walking home in a bad rainstorm, she’d called Mister Scott, who came to her rescue right away. After dropping her off at the house, he’d gently scolded her for not calling collect. So sweet, what he’d said after she thanked him. “Mamie Lee, you’re like my mama. You don’t ever have to pay to ask for my help, you hear? Anytime you need to call me, you just call collect, and I’ll come as quick as I can.”
About brought a tear to her eye. But still, it didn’t feel right calling collect when she had plenty of change in her purse. Anyway, she wasn’t calling for help. Wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Had a beautiful full moon to light her whole way home, and a nice breeze besides.
She slid the booth door closed and dialed his number.
Scott was the first one to get up when the president finished speaking. He walked over and turned the television off. “I don’t think my brain can absorb one more bad thought in a single day.”
No one said anything for a moment, then the two FBI agents stood. “I know all that sounds terrible,” Vic said, “and it is, but it’s about what I expected the president to say, based on what Nate and I have been hearing around the office.”
Scott had known something was up too. Everyone did, watching all this military traffic going through town. There was also a lot of buzz at GE. Especially from the guys who worked at the Cape. But for some reason, he had never imagined something this bad.
Not World War III, not a nuclear holocaust.
But the full impact of this news was muffled by the far greater impact of losing his son. “Do you think what the president said will affect the search for Timmy?” Scott looked over at Gina. She looked back and forth between the two agents. She had the same question.
“I can’t see how it won’t,” Nate said. “Normally, a kidnapped little boy would take priority over everything.”
“But now it won’t?” Gina asked. “I don’t understand. My little boy is out there with some strange man.” Tears began welling up in her eyes. “How can anything else matter?”
“Finding Timmy will still be a high priority,” Vic said. “For Nate and me, it will be our top priority. But you have to understand, Mrs. Harrison, what President Kennedy just said involves national security. Our whole country is in grave danger. Probably more danger than we were in during all of World War II.”
“Yeah,” Nate added, “as long as these nukes remain in Cuba, there’s no safe place anywhere in the US.”
Scott instantly looked at Colt, who got up from the floor and stood by his mom.
“Mom,” he said quietly, “are we all going to die?”
Gina put her arm around him and drew him close. “No, honey, I don’t think so. We’ll be okay.” He didn’t look reassured. She turned to the FBI agents. “But you’re talking about the danger we might be in. Timmy is in danger right now. I don’t understand why every agent and every police officer in Florida isn’t stopping every Greyhound bus on the road, or at least every bus as it pulls into a terminal. They should’ve been doing that right away, as soon as we knew he was taken by a man on a bus.”
“Ma’am, I know it’s hard to understand what I’m saying, but the truth is, there are hundreds of buses and bus routes involved. We have no way of knowing which bus they’re on. And the Cuba crisis has made things ten times worse for every law enforcement officer in the country, not just in this state.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this anymore to
night,” Scott said, looking at Colt’s face.
“Agreed,” Vic said. Both agents grabbed their hats and began walking toward the front door. Vic turned to face the family. “I want you all to know, Nate and I will do everything in our power to find Timmy. And we’re going to work hard to get as many law enforcement personnel involved in the case as possible.”
“When will his picture get in the newspapers? And the sketch of the kidnapper?” Scott asked.
“I’d get it in there tomorrow morning,” Vic said. “But we have to leave a little time to make sure it’s not a typical kidnapping for ransom.”
“You don’t want a lot of publicity on something like that,” Nate added. “Could make the kidnapper angry.”
“But you don’t think that’s what we’ve got here,” Scott said. Both agents shook their head no.
“How will we know if it is?” Gina said.
“Because that phone will ring,” Vic said, “and a man on the other end will say they have him and start spelling out demands.”
At that moment the telephone rang.
Scott looked at Vic. “What should I do?”
“Go ahead and answer it,” Vic said. He quickly moved toward the phone, taking out a pad and pen. “If it’s the kidnapper, just talk normally. I’ll write down any important information.”
“But what if they say don’t involve the police?”
“Scott, just answer it,” Gina said, “before they hang up.”
Scott lifted the receiver. “Hello?”
“Mister Scott, is that you? It’s Mamie Lee calling.”
Scott was instantly relieved to hear her voice, though part of him wished it had been the kidnapper. “It’s me, Mamie Lee.” He looked at Vic and then the others, shaking his head. “Can you hold on one moment?”
