Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1) by Gregory Gates Page B
Authors: Gregory Gates
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mansions?”
“Yes, a couple. They kind of add a
whole new dimension to ‘opulent excess’.”
Jeff laughed, “That’s a fact.”
A few miles down the road, Jeff
pointed to the left, “About five miles east, on the bay, is Quonset State
Airport. It used to be Quonset Point Naval Air Station but during a round of
base closures back in the early ‘70s, the Navy handed it over to the state. I’m
thinking I’ll need to get a plane pretty soon, vagaries of commercial airline
scheduling being what they are. That’ll be a good place to park it.”
Abby leaned forward from the back
seat, “What kind of plane are you thinking about?”
“Oh, probably a Citation.”
“Those are nice. Any particular
model?”
“I’m leaning toward a CJ3, plenty
of them around. Didn’t you tell me you’re rated in Citations?”
“Yeah.”
“Single pilot?”
“Uh huh.”
“Have you flown a CJ3?”
“Sure. A bit anti-climactic after
F/A-18s, but fun to fly, very forgiving.”
Susan turned to her, “What’s an…
F/A-18?”
“F/A-18E Super Hornet. It’s a multi-mission,
single-seat, twin-engine fighter and ground attack jet.”
“Is that what you did in the Navy?
You were a fighter pilot?”
“Yep. Flew Super Hornets for about
five years.”
“I didn’t think they allowed women
in combat.”
“Oh yeah. Not many in fighters but
there are a few, more every year. It took the Navy a while to realize that a
woman with PMS in the seat of a jet fighter could be a devastating weapon, but
they finally figured it out.”
Everyone laughed. Jeff said, “God
have mercy on the bad guys.”
Jeff turned east onto 138 and, as
they crossed over the Jamestown Bridge, pointed north and south, “This is Narragansett
Bay.”
Gabe looked south, “Lot of
sailboats.”
“Oh yeah. This is one of the
sailing capitols of the world. Newport is the home of the New York Yacht Club.
And, no, don’t ask me why the New York Yacht Club isn’t in New York; I have no
idea. Anyway, the America’s Cup was held here, I dunno, maybe a dozen times
from the ‘30s clear into the early ‘80s. Do you sail?”
“Me? No. I’ve never even been on a
boat.”
“Hmmm. We may have to rectify that
discrepancy in your résumé .”
“Oh god, I think I’d get seasick.”
“You get used to it.”
“Do you live on an island?” Susan
asked.
“Yeah, Aquidneck Island. But it’s
pretty big, about 20 miles from end to end.”
They crossed over the Claiborne
Pell Bridge and turned south through town. “Welcome to beautiful downtown
Newport.” He turned left at Mill Street, then right onto Bellevue. “There’s a
quicker way to get to my place, but we’ll take the scenic route.”
It was getting on toward 5:30 and
the late-afternoon sun was giving the spring countryside a warm glow. Abby
pointed out the window, “What’s that, the county courthouse?”
“No,” Jeff said, “that’s a house,
or at least it used to be. That’s called ‘The Elms’. I don’t know who
originally owned it, some turn-of-the-century industrialist.”
“That’s a house? Good lord. Gabe, I
see what you mean about ‘opulent excess’. Wow.”
Gabe chuckled, “Wait till you see
what they look like inside.”
“There are more?”
“Oh yeah, a lot more.”
“Have you been in there?”
“No, not that one.”
Jeff continued his guided tour,
“Over there is Salve Regina College.”
Susan gasped, “Oh, isn’t that
beautiful.”
“That’s
‘Chateau-sur-Mer,’ it’s one of the older mansions. It was built around 1850, I
think. Most of these were built around the turn-of-the-century, give or take a
decade or two. This was the playground of the very rich and famous back then.”
They drove on in
silence, punctuated with occasional gasps and “Ah!”s. “This one’s called
‘Rosecliff’,” Jeff pointed. “It was built by the daughter of one of the owners
of the Comstock Load, the big Nevada silver mine. Down that road on the
“Yes, a couple. They kind of add a
whole new dimension to ‘opulent excess’.”
Jeff laughed, “That’s a fact.”
A few miles down the road, Jeff
pointed to the left, “About five miles east, on the bay, is Quonset State
Airport. It used to be Quonset Point Naval Air Station but during a round of
base closures back in the early ‘70s, the Navy handed it over to the state. I’m
thinking I’ll need to get a plane pretty soon, vagaries of commercial airline
scheduling being what they are. That’ll be a good place to park it.”
Abby leaned forward from the back
seat, “What kind of plane are you thinking about?”
“Oh, probably a Citation.”
“Those are nice. Any particular
model?”
“I’m leaning toward a CJ3, plenty
of them around. Didn’t you tell me you’re rated in Citations?”
“Yeah.”
“Single pilot?”
“Uh huh.”
“Have you flown a CJ3?”
“Sure. A bit anti-climactic after
F/A-18s, but fun to fly, very forgiving.”
Susan turned to her, “What’s an…
F/A-18?”
“F/A-18E Super Hornet. It’s a multi-mission,
single-seat, twin-engine fighter and ground attack jet.”
“Is that what you did in the Navy?
You were a fighter pilot?”
“Yep. Flew Super Hornets for about
five years.”
“I didn’t think they allowed women
in combat.”
“Oh yeah. Not many in fighters but
there are a few, more every year. It took the Navy a while to realize that a
woman with PMS in the seat of a jet fighter could be a devastating weapon, but
they finally figured it out.”
Everyone laughed. Jeff said, “God
have mercy on the bad guys.”
Jeff turned east onto 138 and, as
they crossed over the Jamestown Bridge, pointed north and south, “This is Narragansett
Bay.”
Gabe looked south, “Lot of
sailboats.”
“Oh yeah. This is one of the
sailing capitols of the world. Newport is the home of the New York Yacht Club.
And, no, don’t ask me why the New York Yacht Club isn’t in New York; I have no
idea. Anyway, the America’s Cup was held here, I dunno, maybe a dozen times
from the ‘30s clear into the early ‘80s. Do you sail?”
“Me? No. I’ve never even been on a
boat.”
“Hmmm. We may have to rectify that
discrepancy in your résumé .”
“Oh god, I think I’d get seasick.”
“You get used to it.”
“Do you live on an island?” Susan
asked.
“Yeah, Aquidneck Island. But it’s
pretty big, about 20 miles from end to end.”
They crossed over the Claiborne
Pell Bridge and turned south through town. “Welcome to beautiful downtown
Newport.” He turned left at Mill Street, then right onto Bellevue. “There’s a
quicker way to get to my place, but we’ll take the scenic route.”
It was getting on toward 5:30 and
the late-afternoon sun was giving the spring countryside a warm glow. Abby
pointed out the window, “What’s that, the county courthouse?”
“No,” Jeff said, “that’s a house,
or at least it used to be. That’s called ‘The Elms’. I don’t know who
originally owned it, some turn-of-the-century industrialist.”
“That’s a house? Good lord. Gabe, I
see what you mean about ‘opulent excess’. Wow.”
Gabe chuckled, “Wait till you see
what they look like inside.”
“There are more?”
“Oh yeah, a lot more.”
“Have you been in there?”
“No, not that one.”
Jeff continued his guided tour,
“Over there is Salve Regina College.”
Susan gasped, “Oh, isn’t that
beautiful.”
“That’s
‘Chateau-sur-Mer,’ it’s one of the older mansions. It was built around 1850, I
think. Most of these were built around the turn-of-the-century, give or take a
decade or two. This was the playground of the very rich and famous back then.”
They drove on in
silence, punctuated with occasional gasps and “Ah!”s. “This one’s called
‘Rosecliff’,” Jeff pointed. “It was built by the daughter of one of the owners
of the Comstock Load, the big Nevada silver mine. Down that road on the
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