by Mike Jenne
“Okay. Well, I’m in a generous mood tonight, and he is in the Air Force, so let’s just settle this episode with a warning. Just drive him home, and we’ll forget any of this ever happened.”
“That’s very kind of you,” she replied. “Would you mind helping me put him in my car? Also, I would like to use a phone, if you don’t mind.”
“There’s a pay phone inside, miss. Do you need some change?”
She shook her head as she reached inside her purse for some coins and a business card. She walked into the store, smiled at the store clerk, deposited a dime into the phone, and dialed a number scrawled on the back of the card. Next to the phone, a color poster showed a grinning tiger over the words “Put a Tiger in Your Tank!” Next to the cash register, a transistor radio played “Midnight Confessions” by the Grass Roots. Clutching the handset to her ear, she listened to the phone ring several times. Finally, a familiar but groggy voice answered.
“Hello?” she said, speaking quietly into the mouthpiece. “This is Bea Harper. Yes, that Bea. I’m calling about Scott Ourecky. You said I could call anytime. We really need to chat.” Listening to the reply, she looked at a tidy display of oil and brake fluid. “Yes, I know that place. Tomorrow’s Friday. He usually leaves by seven, so I’ll meet you there at eight.”
She listened again for a few moments. “Okay. I’ll see you then. Good night.” She hung up the phone, walked back outside, thanked the policeman, and then drove Ourecky home.
25
BREAKFAST WITH BEA
Waffle n’ Egg Diner, Dayton, Ohio
8:20 a.m., Friday, November 1, 1968
Looking around, Bea unbuttoned her Navy pea jacket. The diner was a noisy place, with harried waitresses shouting orders at short order cooks, accompanied by the constant din and clatter of steel spatulas stirring eggs in skillets. The air was thick with the smells of coffee, frying bacon and overdone toast. A jukebox, barely audible above the noise, played “Little Green Apples” by O.C. Smith. Listening to the buzz of conversations, it was obvious that the prevailing topic was the potential outcome of next week’s presidential election.
She spotted Tew in a booth near the back of the diner. He wore a staid brown suit, much like something an insurance salesman might select to call on prospective clients, and was reading the front section of the local newspaper. The paper’s headline told of President Johnson’s surprise announcement—made just last night on national television—of an abrupt halt to all bombing in North Vietnam. Tew’s florid nose was adorned by a pair of black-framed reading glasses. He stood up when he saw Bea, smiled broadly, and beckoned her over.
“Bea,” he said, politely waiting for her to take her seat before he resumed his. “So nice to see you again. You look lovely.” He folded his paper and placed it on the seat next to him, then took off his reading glasses and put them in his jacket pocket.
“Nice to see you again, General Tew.”
“Call me Mark,” he said. “Please.”
Smacking on a cud of pink bubble gum, a raven-haired waitress strolled up. She wore a light blue dress and a frazzled expression. “And what can I bring for you two?” she asked hurriedly, extracting a grease-stained order pad and pencil from the pocket of a white apron.
Tew nodded at Bea and gestured for her to order.
“Oh,” she said. “Breakfast would be nice. I’ll have hot tea, one poached egg, and toast. No butter on the toast, please.” Bea used her thumb to wipe a small circle in the condensation on the window beside her and peered out at her red Kharmann Ghia in the parking lot.
Scrawling down the order, the waitress asked, “And you, sir?”
“Cream of wheat,” said Tew. “Farina would be fine, if you have it. A bowl of plain oatmeal if you don’t. And a refill on the milk. Drop a couple of ice cubes in the glass, if you don’t mind.”
“Ice cubes? Sure. Coffee?”
Tew paused to contemplate the question and then answered, “No. I had better not.”
“Jelly or jam for your toast, darling?” asked the waitress, looking at Bea.
“Orange marmalade if you have it,” replied Bea. “Otherwise, just bring the toast plain.”
The waitress nodded and then delivered their order to the cook. Bea pulled two napkins from a dispenser and spread them across her lap. “It’s funny,” she observed. “But my mum would never dream of coming into a place like this, just because they don’t have cloth napkins.”
“Some people are just set in their ways,” noted Tew. “My wife won’t eat any food with her fingers. She says only savages eat that way. Needless to say, we don’t attend many picnics.”
“You’re not having coffee? On a cold morning like this?”
“I would love a cup of coffee, but I can’t.” Patting his stomach, Tew lamented, “Chronic ulcers. I haven’t had coffee or real food in over two months. The docs tell me if my stomach doesn’t get better soon, I’ll need to have surgery.”
“Sorry. I had no idea that you were ailing so,” she said, reaching out to touch his hand. It was cold, like he had just come from outside.
“So how have you been, Bea? How is the airline treating you?”
“Fine, but I’m not looking forward to the holidays. It’s so hectic, and there are a lot of families travelling with children. I dearly love children, I do, but they don’t fare well on airplanes. It’s always something: if they don’t get airsick, then their ears hurt from the pressure changes. The parents believe that we stewardesses can work miracles to stop their kids from crying, but the truth is that there is only so much we can do, and it’s really not that much.”
“I think I know the feeling,” said Tew, glancing upwards at the ceiling. “Look, Bea, I don’t want to be short with you, but my time is limited. What is it that you wanted to talk about? Last night you said something about Scott Ourecky. Is there something I need to know?”
“No, but you said that I could call you anytime if I ever had a question.”
“Fair enough. I did say that. What’s on your mind?”
“I’m really concerned about Scott,” she said. “He always seems to be physically exhausted at the end of the week. It’s usually all he can do just to stay awake, but he normally snaps out of it by Saturday. He always seems to have fresh injuries, like scrapes or bruises. I think that he also suffers some memory loss, at least temporarily, and I’m really concerned that he may be having hallucinations. I’m just really scared, Mark. Can you understand that?”
Balancing a serving tray, the waitress walked up to the table. Her saddle shoes squeaked on the dirty linoleum. “Poached and toast?” she asked, sliding a white china plate in front of Bea. She placed a steaming bowl of Farina before Tew. “And hot tea for you, darling, and fresh milk for the gentleman. I hope you two enjoy.”
Tew poured some milk into the Farina, added a spoonful of sugar, and stirred the white mush with his spoon. He furtively tried a spoonful and then frowned. “This is all news to me, Bea. Really. You might not believe it, but I have very little personal contact with Scott.”
Bea sliced into the egg with her fork, dipped her toast into the oozing yolk, and then daintily bit off a corner. She glanced at her reflection in the napkin dispenser to check her mascara. Chewing slowly, she cooed, “Mark? That’s what you want me to call you, right?”
He nodded, spooning up Farina.
Gently fluttering her eyelashes, she quietly said, “Mark, I might come across as some naive bimbo stewardess, but I’ve spent enough time around the military to know how things work. Scott and I are close, but we’re not married, so I don’t feel obligated to act like some junior officer’s wife who’s terrified to question a general. I’m genuinely concerned about Scott, and that’s why I asked you to talk. Now, are you going to be straight with me or not?”
He didn’t speak, as if stunned that she would dare challenge his authority. Then he answered, “Sincerely, Bea, I’m not trying to deceive you. I rarely have routine contact with him, but if you’re
worried about his well-being, then I should be concerned also.” He drank some of the milk. “I’m curious, though. What makes you believe he suffers from memory loss?”
“Memory loss?” she asked, sprinkling pepper on her egg. For a moment, she considered describing what had transpired last night, but thought better of it, because she wasn’t sure whether she might inadvertently land Scott in trouble. “Well, Mark, sometimes when he’s really worn out, he says things, and the next day, after he has had a good night’s sleep, it’s very obvious that he doesn’t remember saying them.” She bit off a piece of toast as she watched a wave of panic come over his face and saw that his hands were trembling.
“What exactly does he say?” he implored, self-consciously placing his hands in his lap. He cringed as his face lost color, as if he were witnessing a ghost hovering over the table between them. “I mean, what is it that he says at night that he can’t remember saying the next morning?”
She smiled coyly. “Just between us, Mark? Our little secret?”
“Just between us, Bea,” he insisted. “Please.”
“Well, he asked me to marry him, but he obviously didn’t remember it the next day.”
“That’s all?” croaked Tew. The color gradually returned to his face.
“That’s all ? You don’t think that’s significant? I certainly do. Trust me, Mark, I’ve received more than a few marriage proposals in my time, but it just really bothers me that a man like Scott could ask me that one night and then completely forget it by the next day.” She put down her fork and pointed at her heart. “That kind of stings right here. You know what I mean?”
“I can see how that would be bothersome. But he didn’t say anything about . . .”
“What he does at work?” she asked curtly.
Swallowing, he nodded.
“No. He never talks about it, except in the vaguest of terms. Any secret that you have with Scott is safe with him.” She took a sip of her tea. “Mark, I read the papers and I hear the rumors, so I’m aware that a lot of strange stuff goes on in the government and the military. Just the other day, I read an article about an Army sergeant who claims that the CIA slipped him LSD in some far-out mind control experiment. I dearly love Scott, and he’s still as sweet as when we first met, but sometimes he is so out of it that it just gives me pause for thought.”
“Bea, when we first talked, I urged you not to get too curious about what Scott did,” Tew said quietly, leaning over the table toward her. “I can’t talk about any specifics, but I will tell you what I can. Right now Scott is involved in a crash project to get a vital system operational as soon as possible. I’m sorry that it’s so demanding for him, but we’re at a crucial juncture and it’s hard on everyone involved. Now, if you promise me that you can keep a secret between us, I’ll tell you some things that should dispel some of your fears. I’m still working on some of them, so you can’t share them with Scott. Fair enough? Can you keep a secret with me?”
“I can,” answered Bea. “I will, if you’re being sincere with me.”
“I am being sincere, Bea. Truly. First, regardless of whether we’re successful or not, Scott’s involvement will be over in January. Second, we asked Scott to come here because he had some very special skills that we needed to tap into. To motivate him to participate, I made him some promises. He fulfilled his end of the bargain, and I’m going to make good on mine.”
“And what did you promise him, Mark?”
“He said that he wanted to go back to school for an advanced degree, so I’m making arrangements for him to study for his PhD at MIT. MIT is a prestigious school. It’s near Boston.” Grimacing, he pulled an aspirin tin out of his pocket, opened it, and selected two pills. “He’ll go there as an Air Force officer, so we’ll pay for everything.”
“But I suppose you’re not doing this strictly out of the kindness of your heart,” she observed. “I expect that the Air Force expects something in return.”
Nodding, Tew slipped the pills into his mouth and washed them down with milk. “That’s correct, Bea, but it’s still a tremendous opportunity for him. Now, mind you, he won’t go directly to MIT from here. Sometime after January, we’ll send him to California for a few months, to work with an Air Force agency out there, mostly to get a jump on his thesis work. Then sometime around mid-summer, he’ll move to Cambridge to start classes in the fall.”
Bea laughed. “And the reason you’re telling me this is because . . .”
“Bea, I sense that you two are getting a lot more serious, so I feel like I owe you at least some inkling of what your life may be like in the future, so you can plan accordingly.”
“So you’re assuming that I’m going to pull up stakes and follow him? What if I want to stay right here in Dayton? My job and friends are here, so what would motivate me to leave?”
“I’m not telling you what to do,” Tew said. “I’m just asking you to think about Scott’s future. He’s a brilliant man with incredible potential. I’m expediting the process to put him at MIT, but I strongly suspect that he’s so smitten with you that he would readily pass up a great opportunity if you asked him to. All I’m asking is that you help me to help Scott make the right decisions, even if it entails some sacrifices on your part.”
“I’ll think about it. I won’t make you any promises, but I’ll at least be open to the idea.”
“Thanks,” he replied. “Remember, he doesn’t know about MIT yet. I need him to concentrate on his work until January, so I urge you not to share any of this with him.”
She nodded. “I’ll keep my end of the bargain, Mark, if you keep yours.”
“Done. Now, Bea, as much as I’ve enjoyed chatting with you, I have to head back to the office before they decide to dispatch a search party.”
Simulator Facility, Aerospace Support Project
8:00 a.m., Tuesday, November 5, 1968
Outfitted in his training suit, Carson lounged on a Barcalounger in the suit-up area. As he studied his mission profile notes, a suit technician checked pressure fittings and made minor adjustments. Stowing a pack of Juicy Fruit gum in a leg pocket, he glanced to the other side of the room. Wearing cotton long underwear, Ourecky was cradled in an identical recliner.
The alterations on Ourecky’s training suit had just been completed. Once they suited up, they were scheduled to climb into the Box for a twenty-eight hour run. Since this was his first time to wear the hand-me-down suit during an extended simulation, the plan was for him to wear it for as long as he could tolerate it and then take it off for the remainder of the test.
Russo walked into the suit-up room and watched as Carson underwent the final stages of the suiting process. He nodded toward Ourecky. Holding a thermometer in his mouth as a medical technician took his blood pressure, Ourecky smiled and waved back.
“I don’t understand why they’re wasting so much time on him in the Box if he’s not going to fly,” stated Russo quietly, leaning over Carson and shaking his head.
Carson looked to Russo and said, “As far as I’m concerned, buddy, he’s already flown. Maybe he won’t fly into orbit, but he’s certainly paid his dues here.”
A suit technician interrupted the conversation. “Ready for your helmet, Major?” Wearing pristine white cotton gloves, the technician gingerly held the helmet before him, like a loyal page tending to a valiant knight before an epic battle.
Carson nodded. He tugged on the recliner’s handle to bring the seatback upright and then checked the hold-down cable assembly on the suit’s neck ring, making sure that it was positioned correctly. If the hold-down was set too loose, his helmet would bob around awkwardly; if it was set too tight, the helmet would be painfully jammed down on his head.
Clenching his fists, he was silent as the suit technician lowered his helmet onto his head, fitted the helmet’s ring to the matching neck ring, and then clicked the ring’s fastener to seal the helmet to the suit. He checked the placement of the microphones in front of his lips and swiveled t
he clear faceplace down to check that it moved freely before pushing it back up.
“So why are they fitting Ourecky for a suit?” asked Russo skeptically.
“We need Ourecky to complete the forty-eight hour sim. It has to be done in suits, and it has to be completed by the end of January. And I would appreciate it if you refrain from saying anything negative about Scott. He’s gone above and beyond to contribute to this project.”
“If you say so, but it’s a lot of effort for someone who isn’t going up.”
Heydrich appeared at the doorway. “Drew, I need your assistance with a pre-flight systems check. Captain Ourecky will join you as soon as he’s kitted up.”
“Jawohl, Herr Gunter,” answered Carson. “I’ll be out on the floor in a minute.”
With covetous eyes, Russo studied the details of Carson’s cumbersome suit. “Need a hand up?” he asked.
“Please.” Carson scooted forward in the seat of the recliner and stuck out his hands.
Russo grabbed them and pulled Carson to his feet. “Man, I envy you. I would kill to take your place. You’re definitely in the catbird’s seat.”
Carson smiled. “Be patient, Ed, and you’ll have your turn. But let me warn you: after you’ve spent a full day locked in the Box, you would kill to be anywhere else.” He picked up his gloves, turned to Ourecky and waved. “See you in a bit, Scott. Don’t forget to hit the head one last time before you suit up. It’s going to be a long, long day.”
Aerospace Support Project
12:05 p.m., Wednesday, November 6, 1968
Puffing on a torpedo-sized Macanudo, Wolcott dropped his helmet bag on his desk. “Marcus! El jefe! Your prodigal children have returned from the Alaskan wilderness!”
Tew slowly stood up and extended his hand. “Good to see you again, Virgil. Celebrating?”
“This?” asked Wolcott, pulling the cigar out of his mouth. “Oh, yay and verily, I’m celebratin’ all right. I’m holding another stogie, if you feel like joinin’ in.”
Tew cringed at the thought of smoking a cigar. “So, I guess you heard the news then.”
