Julian were the last to appear, Julian still munching on half a muffin. The driver said, “Okay, kids, come on, shake it up,” but only Julian climbed up on the step to the door and turned to look back.
Marge came over, reached up and gave him a kiss. She said, “Good-bye, Julian, and thank you.”
Julian, looking down upon her, was slightly baffled and embarrassed and asked, “What for?”
Bill held out his hand and said, “Good luck with the invention. Be seeing you sometime.” He and Marge turned towards the San Diego-bound bus.
The driver called after them, “Hey, what’s with you two? Aren’t you going on?”
Bill turned and called back, “We changed our minds.”
The driver used the fingers of his right hand for counting, “That makes one-two-three-four-five. What’s the matter with my bus? Of all the loony trips.”
Marshall let Julian have the window seat as the bus moved off. He said, “How was it? Sleep okay last night?”
Julian replied, “G-g-great. There weren’t any more rooms and I had to g-g-go with Marge and Bill.”
Marshall gave Julian a long and quizzical look. He said, “You did? What happened?”
Julian replied, “Nothing. They were nice. There was an extra bed in a closet that came out.” He suddenly grinned in recollection. “I had to b-b-bounce over them.”
Marshall said, “They must have enjoyed that.”
“Aw, they didn’t care.”
Marshall, still studying Julian half amused, was visualizing the scene and wondering exactly what had happened and whether Julian had had any suspicion as he himself had that this was not a honeymoon pair at all but a couple of kids getting away from home for a lay. He thought probably not. It was this quality of innocence in Julian which somehow had touched him. Wise guy, smart-alec children he couldn’t bear. In this day and age most of them were. He said, “What made them suddenly decide to turn around and go back to San Diego?”
“I dunno. They didn’t say.”
“And you didn’t ask?”
Julian looked at him in astonishment. “What for?”
Marshall laughed. “Kid, if you go on minding your own business like that you’ll go far.”
C H A P T E R
8
T he pilot of the light plane had just spotted the distant fringe of coast in the early morning light with its white band of gently breaking Pacific surf barely visible when the two searching army jets picked up his blips on their radar and soon had him in eye range, a tiny moth flying at five thousand feet.
The first jet pilot tuned his radio to the private commercial band and spoke into his microphone, “Piper Number VN 473, do you read me?” He repeated, “Piper Number VN 473, do you read me?” He received no reply but thought he saw a change in the direction and angle of flight of the light plane. He spoke again into his mike and said, “Okay, mister, it’s your hard luck if you don’t read me. Go down and land before we shoot you down. Those are orders.”
The man in the cockpit of the Piper’s cabin grimaced. There was the packet to deliver, the big pay handout, but it was also a silly way to die. He took a quick note of his position, the coastline and a stretch of flat beach vacated by the tide. He also saw something which he was convinced the pursuing jets might very well see but would not think about. Their job was simply to get him out of the air. He picked up his microphone and turned to the military frequency. He said, “I read you. Okay. Roger. Wilko. I’m going down. Don’t get nervous, boys.”
He kicked the right rudder and put his plane into a side slip and dropped like an express elevator while the two jets descended to the level he had vacated. With the ground looming he kicked the rudder again, yanked the stick back and fishtailed on to the strip of beach. The hovercraft that had been waiting in the shallows sent up a spume of spray as it darted inshore and nosed on to the beach.
The man in the Piper climbed out of his cockpit, threw one
Marge came over, reached up and gave him a kiss. She said, “Good-bye, Julian, and thank you.”
Julian, looking down upon her, was slightly baffled and embarrassed and asked, “What for?”
Bill held out his hand and said, “Good luck with the invention. Be seeing you sometime.” He and Marge turned towards the San Diego-bound bus.
The driver called after them, “Hey, what’s with you two? Aren’t you going on?”
Bill turned and called back, “We changed our minds.”
The driver used the fingers of his right hand for counting, “That makes one-two-three-four-five. What’s the matter with my bus? Of all the loony trips.”
Marshall let Julian have the window seat as the bus moved off. He said, “How was it? Sleep okay last night?”
Julian replied, “G-g-great. There weren’t any more rooms and I had to g-g-go with Marge and Bill.”
Marshall gave Julian a long and quizzical look. He said, “You did? What happened?”
Julian replied, “Nothing. They were nice. There was an extra bed in a closet that came out.” He suddenly grinned in recollection. “I had to b-b-bounce over them.”
Marshall said, “They must have enjoyed that.”
“Aw, they didn’t care.”
Marshall, still studying Julian half amused, was visualizing the scene and wondering exactly what had happened and whether Julian had had any suspicion as he himself had that this was not a honeymoon pair at all but a couple of kids getting away from home for a lay. He thought probably not. It was this quality of innocence in Julian which somehow had touched him. Wise guy, smart-alec children he couldn’t bear. In this day and age most of them were. He said, “What made them suddenly decide to turn around and go back to San Diego?”
“I dunno. They didn’t say.”
“And you didn’t ask?”
Julian looked at him in astonishment. “What for?”
Marshall laughed. “Kid, if you go on minding your own business like that you’ll go far.”
C H A P T E R
8
T he pilot of the light plane had just spotted the distant fringe of coast in the early morning light with its white band of gently breaking Pacific surf barely visible when the two searching army jets picked up his blips on their radar and soon had him in eye range, a tiny moth flying at five thousand feet.
The first jet pilot tuned his radio to the private commercial band and spoke into his microphone, “Piper Number VN 473, do you read me?” He repeated, “Piper Number VN 473, do you read me?” He received no reply but thought he saw a change in the direction and angle of flight of the light plane. He spoke again into his mike and said, “Okay, mister, it’s your hard luck if you don’t read me. Go down and land before we shoot you down. Those are orders.”
The man in the cockpit of the Piper’s cabin grimaced. There was the packet to deliver, the big pay handout, but it was also a silly way to die. He took a quick note of his position, the coastline and a stretch of flat beach vacated by the tide. He also saw something which he was convinced the pursuing jets might very well see but would not think about. Their job was simply to get him out of the air. He picked up his microphone and turned to the military frequency. He said, “I read you. Okay. Roger. Wilko. I’m going down. Don’t get nervous, boys.”
He kicked the right rudder and put his plane into a side slip and dropped like an express elevator while the two jets descended to the level he had vacated. With the ground looming he kicked the rudder again, yanked the stick back and fishtailed on to the strip of beach. The hovercraft that had been waiting in the shallows sent up a spume of spray as it darted inshore and nosed on to the beach.
The man in the Piper climbed out of his cockpit, threw one
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