by Jeff Dixon
“It doesn’t matter to me.” Hawk turned toward the door.
“My mother is Nancy Alport,” Kiran blurted out.
The declaration stopped Hawk in his tracks. In the five words she had just said, he suddenly felt years of puzzle pieces start clicking into place. Nancy Alport had been the administrative assistant for Farren Rales. After working for him throughout his legendary career, she had gone to work for Hawk in the same position as he had assumed leadership of the company. Nancy had disappeared after Kiran had shown up a few years ago and tried to make her play, along with Reginald Cambridge, to take over the company.
“My mother worked faithfully for Farren for years and years. She became aware of some great secret that Walt had given Farren. She never understood what it all was about but knew that Farren had to pass it along to someone else. I was a lifelong admirer of Walt Disney, I went to work for the company, and I became an expert in the world of Disney. My mom knew that Farren started trying to contact Imagineers who had worked with him in the past. She figured out that he was getting ready to share the secret with someone—he had to, time was going to catch up with him. Farren didn’t know me or that Nancy was my mom, but she was putting a plan into place that would allow the old man to entrust her and me with all of Walt’s secrets. Then he chose you,” she said venomously.
So in trying to help Nancy Alport by giving her a role working for him, Hawk had inadvertently given her more access to try to figure out how to take what Rales had passed along. For years she would have caught snippets of the secret. More than enough to make her want it for herself and for her daughter. Nancy had disappeared as the plot began to unravel a few years ago, when it became apparent that she had been setting Hawk up to fail in finding what the Imagineers wanted him to find.
“Where is your mom?” Hawk still had not turned back toward her. “Haven’t seen her for some time now.”
“Somewhere you’ll never find her.” Kiran smiled as if she had somehow triumphed. “Just like you will never find the third Imagineer that you want to meet so badly.”
Hawk hesitated for a moment. She was right, he wanted to meet the third Imag-ineer, but he knew she was able to spin such complex webs of lies that he would never know whether she knew the Imagineer or not. His instincts told him she was bluffing. But now he knew that Nancy Alport, wherever she might be, was a driving force behind the enemies he had been facing for years. And he had invited her in, trusted her, and kept her close. So had Farren—and the results had been catastrophic.
“It’s over for you, Kiran.” Hawk turned back to face her, then opened up the door to the jail cell.
“Don’t leave me in here like this,” she shrieked. “Grayson Hawkes, you are a—”
The blast of the gun caused him to duck as he stepped outside the jail cell. The impact of the shell above him drowned out anything Kiran had to say. He gritted his teeth in silent frustration. He had allowed himself to get distracted by Kiran’s startling revelation. His momentary lack of focus had nearly gotten him shot. Glancing down, he saw the blade that Kiran had dropped moments before; he scooped it up and tucked it safely into his belt. Hawk’s mind shifted gears quickly, and he ran for cover.
He had been right. The assassin was following Kiran and had managed to follow her again today. While that was all well and good, the bigger problem now was that Hawk hadn’t been able to anticipate when the assassin would show up.
There was no time to ponder that now. The dark-haired assassin was here.
CHAPTER FIFTY - EIGHT
Aftermath—
Post Storm—Day One
10:30 A.M.
The second blast missed Hawk as he darted through Fort Langhorn. He couldn’t see where the assassin was but knew the general vicinity from the direction and sound of the blast. He took cover behind a wall and pressed up against it. He still had to run down the length of the fort. There was a door that years ago had been marked as an escape tunnel. The door had been closed for a remodel, and because people wouldn’t quit going inside, the maintenance crew had sealed it shut. In anticipation of today’s events, unsealing the door had been one of his projects on the island last night. The escape tunnel would carry him downward, through a series of darkened passageways, and put him outside the fort.
Counting to three silently, he pushed off the wall and ran. This time no blasts followed him. He didn’t know why but he was thankful. He found the door, opened it, and was instantly surrounded by darkness. He had anticipated this as well. He pulled a penlight from his pocket and cut it on so he could see the steps. Through the years, kids had loved this tunnel on the island; some parents did not, because as the tunnel progressed, it got narrower and narrower. It became a dark, miserable squeeze for some parents to get through before it dumped them out along the outside of the fort. For Hawk, navigating the tunnel was easy. He had visited here many times before and had gone through it again last night. He was ready, he had anticipated the events as much as he could; and in this moment, things finally were moving along as he thought they might after the assassin had shown up more quickly than he’d expected, and he’d taken longer than planned chatting with Kiran—Nancy Alport’s daughter. It did make so many things make sense. Hopefully, if he survived, he could think more about that later.
He emerged from the escape tunnel and crouched low to see if he could spot the assassin. He could not; he’d hoped that the dark-haired man had stalked him into the fort. If he had, then Hawk had a chance. He realized that if he guessed wrong, then what he was about to do was the most dangerous part of his plan. Again, breathing deeply, he readied himself.
Kicking up into an all-out sprint, Hawk rounded the front of the fort and raced across Superstition Bridge. If the assassin hadn’t gone inside the fort, he would be running straight toward him. Halfway across the bridge, a shot whizzed past his ear. That was close! Hawk knew he had guessed correctly, and he kept running. The shot had come from behind him, and that meant the assassin had been inside the fort. He wouldn’t be there now, he would be after Hawk, which was exactly what Hawk wanted.
Hawk raced past Poor Ole Jim’s Shack, across the barrel bridge, soaking his feet in the process, around Smuggler’s Cove, and then back to the interior of the island. He knew his wet feet were leaving a slight trail and, because of the morning shade, they would not disappear for a few minutes. That, too, was a part of the plan. He raced to the dock where the rafts landed. Much to his surprise, there was only one raft there. As he looked out over the water, he saw two loose rafts, lazily floating on the Rivers of America. The assassin had done the same thing to Kiran’s raft that she had done to Hawk’s. His intent was to have the only way off the island. Hawk reached over and pulled out the blade he had picked up after Kiran lost it. He reached in and cut the fuel line as Kiran had done earlier, and then he cut loose the raft from the dock. The boat floated away. Now no one had a way off; it was going to end here.
He turned to his right and ran to the entrance of Old Scratch’s Mystery Mine. It would be too dark for the assassin to track him in the mine. But he wanted the assassin to follow him there.
Old Scratch’s Mystery Mine is an example of a homespun American original. As far as Hawk knew, they had never built anything else like this in any Disney theme park. Years ago, attractions like this were all over the country. They had been designed creatively to use simple perspective tricks. Sometimes they were called the Mystery Hill or the Mystery Spot. The mine put a new spin on those old traditional roadside attractions; in many ways in our advanced high-tech culture, this was a forever lost piece of Americana. The entry tunnel gradually increases in pitch, and although the walls appear to remain upright, they are not quite what they seem. The effect makes the guests feel as if they are being pulled to the left, while an ominous humming, the sound of some magnetic force at work around them, can be heard. Just through the tunnel, inside a main opening in the mine, is a sluice placed under a trickle of water, which seems to run uphill into a barrel; a small indoor waterfal
l becomes a river running upstream toward a formation of jewels that juts out of the wall, and the jewels are shaped like the profile of a man. Completely disorienting, these simple yet powerful special effects are high impact and leave the guests wondering what is happening. The entire room is tilted; the strange angles make travel unsteady and force guests to lean toward the magnetic jewels. The mine is a magnetic field of disorienting activity. As you move beyond that point, the last area is an optical illusion; a diminishing mine shaft, where guests seem to grow larger as they get closer to the end—an optical illusion that could be operated with no cast member needed. Tom Sawyer Island held this very mysterious secret that most would never see.
The small area between the magnetic jewel room and the entrance to this tunnel was Hawk’s next stop. The night before, he had hidden a baseball bat there, leaning it against the wall. Grabbing it and flattening himself against the wall of the mine, he waited. Here the advantage was all his; he could see anyone coming toward him, but they could never see him. Clutching the bat, he tried to zero in on the noises coming from the mine shaft. He had considered borrowing a gun. But this was more his way…he wanted a fight up close and personal.
Suddenly the assassin was there. Hawk swung the bat, and it made contact across the man’s wrist. The rifle he was carrying clanked against the floor, and the man recoiled in pain. The advantage was now Hawk’s. In one move, he kicked the rifle into the darkness and swung the bat a second time. He had not fully planned this part of the strategy, he was just swinging. As hard as he could swing the bat, with every ounce of strength focused on dropping the assassin, Hawk felt the bat connect against the man’s side.
He went down.
Hawk leaned over top of him as the man gasped in pain. Grabbing him by the shirt, Hawk lifted him up toward him and drew back the bat in the opposite hand. He looked into the man’s face and saw him gazing coldly back at him. Hawk was shaking, the bat was cocked back, and he was ready to swing it downward.
“Do it,” the man growled. “Do it! I would do it to you if I had the chance.”
“I know.” Hawk tightened his fist in the man’s shirt. Getting ready to bring the bat down on the head of Kate’s murderer. “And that is why I won’t. I can’t be like you. I couldn’t live with myself.”
Hawk threw him back to the ground, and the man hit with a thud. Hawk turned and moved over to find the rifle, which he had kicked away. He reached down and picked it up—and heard a noise behind him. Turning quickly, he saw the assassin now holding a handgun and aiming it toward him. Hawk leaped to his left into the darkness as the gun went off, but instantly emerged before the man had a chance to fire again. The man was hurt—Hawk suspected he’d dealt out a few cracked ribs—and rising up to clip off a shot had been difficult. He slumped back to the ground. Again Hawk lashed out with the bat and connected with the pistol. It went sailing down the mine shaft, banging against the rock, and the echo from the first shot seemed still to be echoing around them.
Hawk stepped back over the man and placed the bat against the side of his face. He pressed down. “Like I was saying, I would kill you, but then that would make me like you and it wouldn’t bring back Kate.” Hawk leaned forward and whispered, “So here is what I am going to do. I’m going to give you a chance. I’m going to leave you here on the island. If you are going to escape, you can swim for it.”
“I can’t swim,” the man hissed.
“I know.” Hawk released the pressure of the bat and stepped away.
“How do you know that about me?”
“You told me when you tried to kill me in the hospital…remember?” Hawk allowed himself a satisfied grin as he reached over and picked up the rifle.
He exited the mine, picked up the pistol on the way out, and stepped back into the sunlight of the post-hurricane morning. Kiran was in a jail cell in Fort Langhorn, and the assassin was lying injured in Old Scratch’s Mystery Mine. Now all he needed to do was get off the island. Since he had disabled the only raft that was left, he had to find another way. He could swim, of course—he had done it the night before—but that wasn’t necessary. He crossed back over the suspension bridge to make his way to River Pirate Ridge, where he had hidden a small boat last night before swimming back. He passed by Fort Langhorn again, and he was tempted to go back inside to tell Kiran goodbye. Part of him wanted her to know that she had failed. But as with the assassin, that wouldn’t undo anything that had been done. Hawk was leaving her stranded on the island as well. As she had told him recently, she could rock a bathing suit, but she couldn’t swim. He smiled once again to himself as he climbed in the boat with his bat and the rifle.
He eased out onto the Rivers of America and looked to the shoreline for the last part of his plan. Stepping out from the shadows of trees, stationed all along the shoreline, completely surrounding the Rivers of America, were members of the Orange County Sheriff’s Department. Even if by some chance Kiran or the assassin did decide to risk swimming, the shore party that waited for them would not be pleasant. As Hawk picked up the oar and started to paddle, he looked to the landing, where the law enforcement officers were now boarding rafts to come to Tom Sawyer Island. Cal McManus stood on the dock; he waved toward Hawk and gave him a thumbs-up signal with an upraised palm. He wanted to know if Hawk’s plan had worked.
The night before, after Shep had left, Hawk had asked McManus to help him with this last portion of the trap. McManus had been reluctant, but finally had yielded; Hawk had had been persuasive as always. Hawk gave him a thumbs-up in reply. Then suddenly tired, he allowed the boat to drift toward the shoreline. He nodded toward McManus as the sheriff smiled and the message was received. Hawk leaned back into the boat and looked up at the morning sky. As he had done so many times before, he reminded himself that when the night seems darkest, always remember there is a sunrise coming the next day.
This was that day. He had no idea how to move forward from here, but it was a new day. He would somehow make the best of it.
CHAPTER FIFTY - NINE
Aftermath—
Post Storm—Day Three
3:00 P.M.
Hawk had lost a day of his life. The day after the storm and his confrontation on Tom Sawyer Island had left him exhausted. The week before that, sleep had come in irregular bursts. After facing down Kiran Roberts and the assassin, whose name he now knew to be Peter Breck, he had finally slowed down and fallen into a deep, deep sleep. The better part of the day had him tucked away in his apartment over the Fire Station as the Walt Disney World resort was reopened, and for the most part, business was going on as usual.
He walked down the hallway of the Celebration Community Church. He still felt tired, his emotions were raw, and the heaviness he carried was now evident in the stoop of his shoulders as he walked with Jonathan, Juliette, and Al Gann toward the conference room at the end of the hall. In the background, Hawk could hear the noise and movement of people leaving. He had just officiated the funeral of Kate Young. The casket had been taken out of the sanctuary and placed into a hearse, which had driven back to a local funeral home to ship her body back to her parents’ hometown. The interment would be in New York, and in a week, he would be flying up to conduct a graveside service for her family there.
Hawk had known the funeral would be a media event, as much of the activity of the previous week had been. The decision to allow cameras in the worship center had not been an easy one, but Kate had lived the better portion of her adult life in front of cameras, either making or covering news. Her life would be remembered by many that way, so the decision had been made to let them in. The church was full, and the people were still buzzing about the things that Hawk had said. He had been very open and transparent about his feelings in losing Kate and the manner in which she had died. He had made the statement that people often try to bargain with God and ask him to give them more time with those they love. Sometimes God answers that prayer and they get more time. Often they don’t.
He reminded
people that when God doesn’t do what they want him to do, it is so important to not be angry, because God really does have a better plan and a better script for our lives. He told people that when God doesn’t give us what we like, we get mad, bitter, and sometimes decide that God isn’t really good and kind. Yet, when we ask God to give us more time with a loved one, it rarely is about the loved one, it is more about ourselves.
Hawk had confessed that he had argued with God and told God that he should have more time to spend with Kate. But God reminded Hawk that Kate was now with God, in his presence. If she had a choice, she would not come back because she was in the presence of her Savior, Jesus. So while he had been arguing that God had not been fair, or had not been good, or had not been kind…God had told him to be quiet and pay attention. God was being more than fair, more than good, and more than kind—because Kate was now with him. She was better than she had ever been. There was no more pain, no more struggling, and no more suffering. God had told Hawk to quit making it about himself and start honoring Kate.
The crowd had watched as Hawk wept. He told them it was hard to imagine a better version of Kate Young, because, well, she was spectacular already. But he couldn’t wait to meet the new, improved, and even more awesome version of Kate one day…the version God created her to be.
He shared that how we live our lives is important and that each day is a gift. That precious gift is not to be squandered by whining, griping, complaining, or holding on to hard feelings of hurt and anger.
He had said this while he was looking at his friend Shep.
If anyone had looked closely, they would have seen Hawk wink at Shep when he said it. Forgiveness had been given.
Hawk had closed with the powerful story of how Kate had met Jesus and decided to follow Him during a time she was being shot at covering a riot in Detroit. He had said bluntly that this time as shots were fired, she had no reason to panic, no reason to fear; her eternity was secure. He encouraged the crowd to live life forward as followers of Jesus. No excuses.
