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Bel Air
May 1981
"Uncle Robert, can you please tell me how my father died. I really need to know."
Robert McCall listened as his nephew, Nick Michaels, repeated a request asked of him since Nicky was a little boy. As he studied his nephew, now sixteen, he noted the patrician nose and light brown hair of the Michaels clan -- traits given to him by his father, Jake -- as well as the slightly Asian look around the eyes inherited from his mother. Robert looked over at Rose now. She was seated across from her son. Rose Foley had not changed much since Robert had first met her at his brother-in-law's wedding. She had been a beautiful bride then, with her unusual Eurasian features. Time and maturity had only enhanced her unique beauty. She was Dr. Rose Foley Michaels now. After Jake's death in Vietnam and the subsequent birth of her son, she had returned to school and pursued a medical career.
"I think you should tell, Nicky, Dad," Scott McCall interrupted his father's musings.
McCall turned to look at his own son. Scott had been visiting his cousin in L.A. and McCall had come out to the Foley house to see him. McCall's job made it impossible to be with his son as often as he wished, but he did try to as much as possible, even though he knew it was all too little time in the life of a growing boy.
McCall had come back from another assignment abroad. When he'd checked with Kay, his ex-wife had grudgingly told him that Scott had gone out to California to visit Nicky for the summer. McCall had been glad to find that Scott was here. McCall had always liked and gotten along with his sister-in-law and all of her family. It also had the added bonus of him not having to deal with his ex-wife.
"I really wish you would tell us, Robert," Rose added her plea to the boys. "Even when you brought him home all those years ago, you never told me the whole story." She gave him an understanding smile. "I'm sure you did it to spare us as well as yourself, but Nicky needs to know how his father died."
McCall knew that Rose was right. It was time. Years had passed and it would be easier to tell it now. The secrets that had kept him silent were long past as well.
McCall smiled sadly at his family. He'd come to a decision. "You're right, it's past time."
South Vietnam
May 13, 1965
Flying over South Vietnam gave the impression of cruising above a giant patchwork quilt comprised of uneven, multi-colored swatches laid out on numerous flatlands. Bamboo huts, rice patties, mud trails, rivers, made up the lowlands of almost every Asian country. Interspersed with the rain forests, the tall grass and the dense trees, this land could be mistaken for anywhere in the Pacific or Sea of Japan.
With two days of helicopter recon, a lot of countryside was behind them. Last night was spent in the bush, the group caught by the sudden, merciless monsoons that had kept them grounded until this morning. Dark rain clouds now hovered over the jungles and mountains to the north. For this early hour of the morning, Pleiku Air Base was, as yet, sunny and warm. In a few hours it would change to the dichotomy of drenching rain coupled with hot temperatures. Robert McCall stared at the dismal clouds gathering to obscure the highland region. That was the direction they would be heading. He tried not to think of the weather as an ominous sign.
Robert slapped an insect off his arm and returned to studying the terrain. Vietnam was a beautiful country. He prayed they could be useful here -- save the people and land -- but he was not optimistic. War changed the face of a nation, a culture, forever. Perhaps, though, they were here in time to preserve something. That's what he and his colleagues believed. Beyond the mission, he had the secondary objective of watching out for his associates -- a mixed bag of professionals; new and veteran, to the war and the covert operations game. They'd been pulled together on this project to do some good, to save lives. He hoped all of them, including the strike teams, made it back. And when his job was done, he counted it a success if the task was accomplished without losing anyone on his side of the fence.
The helicopter dipped down and to the left. Through the open door McCall could see a landing strip, a chopper circle and rows of buildings and tents assembled in a clearing cut out of the jungle. There was little evidence that the Viet Con (V.C.) had attacked this airbase only three months earlier. The battle had cost American lives and had been the excuse President Johnson needed to escalate the war. He had ordered thousands more troops into the little country, and bombing raids initiated on North Vietnam.
Soon this insignificant little rice patty would be a graveyard. Well, he was here to decrease the American graves, if they were successful. He hoped they were. Not only for the thousands of faceless young men who would die in this foreign country, but for the young men who were not faceless; the young men he knew.
"Pleiku?" a terse voice shouted from behind McCall.
Robert gave a curt nod. "Gather your baggage, mate. Our next stop on the Orient Express," he yelled back against the wind whipping through the hatch.
Illya Kuryakin leaned over to get a better view of the quickly approaching helipad. He grimaced and shook his head. "Just as well Napoleon stayed in Saigon. He hates the jungle."
McCall snorted out a derisive laugh. "You mean he likes the night life in Saigon better," he corrected jokingly. "He hated missing out on the action, didn't he?"
Illya's agreement was wry. "It is a curse to be so good at a profession, but he's still recovering. We nearly lost him in New Mexico.."
Kuryakin gathered his duffle bag from the floor and slung the strap over his shoulder. The Russian was dressed in jungle fatigues and combat boots. He looked like any of the other soldiers traveling in the chopper, except for the acute scrutiny assessed by his sharp blue eyes. He viewed the world with a shrewd, suspicious caution; revealing little emotion in his controlled expression or tone.
"He'll find his own bloody action..."
"Trouble," Kuryakin corrected.
"Trouble," McCall agreed. "As long as it stays away from our little band of merry men."
Illya studied his colleague for a moment. "You're worried about your brother-in-law."
McCall scowled. "He's only been here a few damn months."
The blond agent surrendered a tight nod. "He was assigned to Gamma Project by Goldman, wasn't he?" McCall's acknowledgement was a glare. "That's why you came over, wasn't it?"
"You're a bloody nosey Parker, mate," Robert replied.
"An occupational hazard."
"I am not babysitting, if that's what you think. And if you whisper a word of this to J.J., I'll feed you to the eels."
Kuryakin smirked back in a silent pact. They both knew the boundaries and loyalties of the mission. They were here for personal reasons far beyond the scope of the Gamma Project. Motivations didn't need to be discussed, they were understood. As much as the rules demanded objectivity and stoicism, every agent had his own agenda. The best agents just made sure the personal aspects -- emotions -- feelings -- never disrupted the completion of an assignment.
The chopper leveled off and descended. Dust swirled into the door. The asphalt pad was strewn with dirt, the dried remains of the sloshy monsoon floods. As soon as they touched down, the G.I.'s piled out. The more mature operatives sauntered off last, ducking away from the blades and squinting through the clouds of grit. In the blowing wind and grime they bumped into a soldier in battle dress.
"Mr. McCall?" he asked both of them.
Robert raised a hand.
"Sergeant Anderson, Bravo Company, sir. I've been assigned to escort you to the Captain."
Robert introduced him to Illya and told the young man to lead the way.
Outside one of the tents they saw two tall, dark haired men who were completely incongruous in the battle setting. Brian Devlin was older, dressed in camoulflage, but wore them as if they had come from Saville Row. Broad shouldered, confident, handsome, he seemed more suited to a board room in New York than a jungle in Southeast Asia.
The younger, shorter man in easy conversation with Devlin leaned on a cane with the air of a casual observer. The bush vest and khaki clothes could have placed him as correspondent for Reuters instead of being one of the best international spies on this side of the Iron Curtain. Kuryakin groaned as they approached the men.
"Brian, glad you could make it," McCall greeted and shook hands with his old friend. Robert grimaced rueful acceptance at the other man.
To his partner, Kuryakin said, "You were supposed to stay in Saigon, Napoleon."
Devlin greeted the new arrivals with amusement. "He predicted you'd say that. I can't blame him. This is a good cause."
McCall cast a disapproving eye at Solo, then turned back to Devlin. "Thanks for coming. No one knows the Soviets like you do."
"I thought you were retired," Illya commented.
"That's what I thought," Solo added.
Brian shrugged. "I am. I'm here doing a favor for a friend." He gave a short nod to McCall.
It was enough of an explanation for all of them. Once included in the espionage brotherhood, it was a lifetime membership. There was no real way to quit or walk away. Some element of that life would always come back to touch an agent; old debts, old enemies, old scores to settle. Robert reflected they were all connected. The web now extended beyond his own colleagues, into his family. It was a precarious balancing act and if not juggled very carefully, the relationships would probably grow more complex than he imagined.
Sergeant Anderson urged them toward a large tent. Inside, an eager young man fairly leaped at them when they entered.
"Robert!"
"J.J.!"
The youthful Lieutenant could have been a Hollywood model for aftershave; the embodiment of the clean-cut, well built, recruitment poster good looks -- seemingly too well assembled for a common person. J.J. Michaels enthusiastically pumped McCall's hand. He gave a cordial greeting to the blond U.N.C.L.E. agent, then directed his focus on his brother-in-law again.
From the corner of the shelter, Colonel Stetson muttered his welcome. He moved to make room for the newly arrived agents. Members of adjoining clubs, they exchanged little more than nods. There would be time later to catch up on amenities.
J.J. pressed McCall for information. "How's everything at home? Did you talk to Rose before you left?" he asked almost in one breath.
"No, sorry," McCall laughed.
A throat was cleared with inordinate volume. J.J. nearly snapped his spine coming to rigid attention. "Sir, excuse me."
"At ease," waved a weary captain from the side of the tent. The tall, square-jawed officer stepped forward and firmly shook hands with the new arrivals. "Captain Rusty Wallace, Bravo Company," he introduced. After all names were exchanged, he indicated the others. "I take it you already know my civilian visitors."
Undue emphasis was placed on the non-com appellation, and all ignored the obvious, wry tone. The Captain obviously felt somewhat slighted by being nearly overrun with covert agents.
Wallace called their attention to a table where a map of the region was smoothed out and held down with various paperweights, including a canteen, a rock and a pistol. The flat thud of fat raindrops on canvas pattered above them. Wallace turned up hanging lanterns as the clouds rolled over the base. The leading edge of the monsoon drenched the camp.
Illya glanced out the flap-door and inwardly sighed. He was getting very tired of the rain and mud. First New Mexico, now Vietnam. After this was over, he was going to request an assignment in a dry desert.
"Recon has scoped out two good test targets," Wallace began. He indicated the map. "Team Alpha will take this hill farther north. Intelligence suspects there're V.C. tunnels here, but the villagers are reluctant to cooperate with them, so there should be a minimal danger level." He looked at McCall and Kuryakin. "That'll be your group."
"No need to coddle us!" McCall retorted.
"You haven't been in country for a while, Robert," J.J. tempered with a smile.
The agent studied his protegé. There was a seasoned, tough edge to his brother-in-law now; a weathered maturity, hardness born of harsh experience. J.J. was grown up. War and death did that to a man. It could destroy him or make him. Robert was pleased to see J.J. was somewhere in the middle. Not yet disillusioned and cynical as Devlin, nor worn around the edges like he, Kuryakin and Solo. J.J. was tough enough to take care of himself and get the job done.
"I'd like to stay with Lt. Michaels," McCall stated.
J.J. actually blushed. "I don't need to be coddled either, Robert."
McCall smiled and gave a nod of understanding.
"Omega team will take the hill a few klicks south. They've built their huts at the base of some slopes. The forest is thick there and we suspect extensive tunnel activity. Michaels, Devlin and Anderson will head up that unit, along with the best combat veterans in Bravo Company. Sergeant Anderson is commanding right now. We lost our lieutenant two weeks ago and don't have a replacement yet. Colonel Stetson and Mr. Solo will act as liaisons between Washington and the field units." He looked to the tall, brooding man standing to the side of the group. "Agent Devlin will fill you in from here."
Arms folded, expression grim, the broad shouldered operative surveyed the group with a stern gaze. "I've been in country for months on different missions," he began, his deep voice resonating with disapproval. "I'll give you the same report I gave Goldman. The V.C. in this area are known to have Soviet advisors. I believe two agents familiar to some of us here are supplying North Vietnam with weapons and training."
Sergeant Anderson cast a sidelong glance at Illya. The questioning look was noted by the others.
"I am Russian," Illya admitted, clearing the air. "I am here representing U.N.C.L.E. I have no allegiance to the Soviet government or the Communist party."
Anderson glanced to Michaels, who nodded his acceptance. The approval seemed enough for the skeptical sergeant, and the briefing continued.
Robert studied Devlin. Brian's manner during the whole meeting was an obvious display of his dislike for the whole assignment.
"You think it's more than the Russians just holding their hands."
Brian nodded. "That's right, McCall. I think they've gotten wind of this little experiment and are here specifically to sabotage it."
"Who?" Illya asked.
Devlin stared at him for a moment. "I have no proof, but I think it's Kobal and Durkin."
McCall grimaced. "KGB likes to send the very best."
Kuryakin explained to the others that these two Soviet agents were involved with the spy operation in New Mexico, nearly destroying Gamma Project several weeks back. Kobal was one of the enemies responsible for nearly killing Solo and himself. It was not something Illya would forget, or forgive.
J.J. asked, "Does this change the operation?
"I think so," Devlin insisted. "If they're here, their specific mission is to take out Gamma. They'll be watching for us."
"An ambush?" Wallace clarified. "That danger exists every time we step out of camp. Hell, it's only been a few months since this base was overrun. To scrub the mission I'd have to have solid proof of massed forces in the area. Or intelligence that our teams would be specific targets and that they were tracked by the V.C.."
Scowling, Devlin shook his head. "I have no certain proof." He appealed to McCall. "But is it worth the risk?"
In other circumstances, to another person, McCall would have sneered at the ridiculous question. None of them were in the business because it was safe. Danger and death was part of their existence. Because it was a trusted comrade, someone Robert knew could vouch for, he neither scoffed, nor minimized the advice.
Stetson was the one who answered. "We have no proof, Brian. Without something more definite, we have to go along with the plan. Our satellite window is this afternoon. If we wait for another prime target time the monsoons will probably be in full force."
"Heavier floods are expected tomorrow," Wallace confirmed. "We've got to pull this off today."
"I see no reason for delay," Kuryakin agreed.
Devlin resisted. "Let's contact Oscar, at least. Get his opinion. Maybe the satellite can pick up the massed forces you're looking for."
McCall scoffed. "You know what he'll say. He's got to make this work today, or it will be taken out of his hands."
The operatives fell silent. This was a rare chance for them to do some obvious, realistic good. If Gamma Project worked, it could be used to detect hidden enemy strongholds. Vietnam was a conquered piece of land many times over in thousands of years. The people long ago learned guerilla warfare from above and below ground. American combat techniques were of little effect on such tactics. Their best defense was now high-tech. If Goldman couldn't make it work, it would be given to other agencies, who would utilize it for more covert, less patriotic ends. Once a project was swept under the secret blanket of a black operation, it might never see the light of public good again.
"Just how certain are you of this danger, Brian," Napoleon asked. "Can you give a percentage? An educated guess?"
"It's a danger. If the Soviet's are waiting for us..." He shrugged.
Wallace interjected, "Anywhere on or above this damn country is a danger, Mr. Devlin. We can't delay because of rumors or suspicions."
Devlin nodded his silent, reluctant assent.
"All right," Wallace announced. "Sergeant Anderson, assemble your men. Choppers will be on the pad at 0900. Dismissed."
"Stick close to Brian," McCall advised his brother-in-law as they walked across the landing pad to the first helicopter. "Keep your head down and..."
"Robert, cool down, man." J.J. laughed. "I'll be fine." He shrugged toward his sergeant, who was practically in step with him. "Zeke'll make sure we come out of this alive. I've promised to take him home and introduce him to some Hollywood actresses on our next leave." J.J. winked at the non-com. "Or even one of my sister-in-laws."
Anderson acknowledged with a ghost of a smile, but the serious glance he exchanged with McCall underscored the sober reality of the advice.
"I'll keep my eye on him," Anderson assured.
J.J. playfully punched him in the arm. "He owes me. I saved his life last month. I won't let him forget."
They stopped as they reached the circle on the pad. Devlin waved from the chopper and climbed out to join the group.
"I'll watch him," Brian promised his old friend. "And try to retrain him from all the bad habits he's learned from you."
"After all the work I've put into this boy?" To J.J., McCall cautioned again, "Just be careful." He shook hands with young Michaels. For a moment they were frozen; there was too much to say and they were unable to put any of it into words. "Good luck."
"You too." He offered a salute to Team Alpha, now walking toward their helicopter on the other side of the huge asphalt pad. "See you tonight."
McCall backed off and watched the big Huey lift into the drizzly gray sky.
"He'll be fine," Charles Stetson reassured as he, Kuryakin and Solo joined the agent.
"I hope so. I can't really go back to the old homestead and tell them all I've gotten their boy killed, now, can I?"
"Not with the Michaels family," Stetson fervently agreed.
Wallace and five of his men joined them. He waved the G.I.'s into the Huey and informed the agents it was time to depart. He advised Stetson and Solo to stay in close contact with both teams. With a salute, the stragglers of Team Alpha climbed onto the chopper and lifted off.
The chopper set them down a few klicks from their designated area. Besides Michaels, Devlin and Zeke Anderson, there were five others -- seasoned G.I.'s from Bravo Company. With one man on point, Devlin led off, having already scoped out the desired target a day before. J.J. and the other men followed, while Anderson brought up the rear.
The jungle was miserable. The earlier rains only served to exacerbate the heat and insects. J.J. found he just couldn't get used to the jungle's oppressive tropical heat. His desert upbringing hadn't prepared him for anything like this.
The combat here wasn't what he'd been prepared for either. He'd already been involved in a number of fire fights since arriving, making a point to go with Zeke Anderson and his men on their forays to familiarize himself with the terrain and the style of fighting to be found. Early on, the G.I.'s discovered the Viet Cong didn't fight a conventional war, not the type J.J. had been taught at West Point. He hoped and prayed new courses on the rules of engagement would be introduced at the Academy soon.
J.J. glanced ahead at their leader, who'd dropped back and let another take the point. He'd met Brian Devlin only a few days before, but had faith in him because Robert did. He knew his brother-in-law was not one to give his trust lightly.
"How long have you known, McCall?" J.J. quietly asked as he joined Devlin.
"Eight years, I'd guess. He was just starting out and he and I were thrown together." Devlin looked like he wanted to say more but refrained. "We've been friends ever since."
"How about you?"
"He's my brother-in-law?"
"Uh-huh."
"I introduced him to my sister and the rest is history." J.J. looked quizzically at Brian. "Most of my family -- especially my father -- thinks I took up this business because of McCall."
"Did you?"
"No. I'd decided that part of my life a long time ago, ever since my Uncle Matt used to entertain me with some of his stories." J.J. paused. "Of course, he wasn't my uncle at the time."
"Matt Stetson?"
"Did you know him?"
"Only briefly. Actually, McCall introduced me to the Stetsons once."
J.J. looked thoughtful. "It was later... after I met Robert. Finding out what his profession was... well, it rekindled the dreams I had as a little boy."
Devlin gave him a ironic smile. "Sometimes our dreams become our nightmares."
Signalling the point man to wait, Devlin and Michaels halted at a stand of trees not far from a clearing. The rain had started to fall again. They consulted the map J.J. was carrying. The team gathered around and Lt. Michaels informed them they'd reached their objective. Anderson motioned to Jackson who was carrying the radio pack and he came over. Devlin grabbed the phone.
"Team Omega to Delta Base we're in position."
"Good job, Brian, you've beat Alpha to the objective," Stetson informed them. "Hold on for just a few and we'll hook you up with Gamma Base."
"Zeke, keep Jones and Abrams covering our backs. Let the other men rest for a few minutes," J.J. instructed the sergeant.
"Yes, sir."
Having placed his men, Michaels squatted down with Devlin to wait. "Is that what it's been for you... a nightmare?"
"Still thinking about that?" Devlin asked, amused by the young man's tenacity.
"It sounds like we'll have a few minutes before we start," J.J. said, realizing how badly he wanted to know what had caused a top agent to give up the intelligence business. "It was a nightmare?"
"No, not at first. I was a lot like you... and McCall. Believing this was right."
"But..."
"Don't get me wrong. I still believe that. I was behind the iron curtain for six years. I saw what life would be like under the Communists."
"Then why the disillusionment, Brian?"
"It's the Company. It becomes your life and that's all you have."
"What happened?" J.J. asked him, knowing there was more to it.
"I was in love once. She was wonderful and beautiful -- a concert pianist. We made plans, talked of having children and then..."
"And then...?
"I went underground for a time and when I came back, she was dead... and so were all our dreams and hopes."
J.J. pondered the story Devlin had just told him. " I won't let that happen."
"You won't be able to prevent it," Devlin informed him with certainty. "Neither will McCall. He swears it won't happen to him either." Devlin gave him a penetrating stare. "You're married right? And hoping to have a family?"
"Yes."
"Get out of this business before you end up losing that family."
J.J. couldn't escape the haunted look he saw in Devlin's eyes.
Colonel Stetson finally broke through. "Devlin?"
"Here, Stetson."
"I'm patching you through to Gamma Base."
"Team Omega this is Gamma Base. You're coming in loud and clear." Goldman's voice sounded surprised. "Alpha hasn't reached their objective yet."
"What's the satellite tell us, Oscar?" Devlin asked excitedly.
"There are Seven Charlies, 300 meters northwest of your position, six meters down. Do you copy?"
"How lovely, six feet under," Anderson commented as he came up to listen in on the conversation.
"Copy, Gamma Base."
"Get your men ready, Zeke, we're going hunting."
"Yes, sir."
J.J. led the men forward, Zeke behind him and the other men fanning out into the clearing. Devlin came last. J.J. could tell that the man was not as totally blasé about the mission as he had pretended. Devlin might be right that the job could wreak havoc on your home life, but it sure was exciting to be involved in a huge project like this one was turning into.
Brian was the first to sense something wrong. Maybe it was all the years spent living as a double agent; a perception honed over many years, but it felt wrong to him. He thought he could see the faint outline of the hidden enemy. Ambush!
"It's a trap!"
He hit the dirt and brought up his rifle just as the first volley erupted. He saw young Michaels respond the fastest to his warning. Not worrying about his own safety he quickly pushed Anderson out of the line of fire. As soon as he was down, Zeke brought up his own gun and started firing. J.J. joined him on the ground a second later. Brian could see him crawling to check some of the other men. Their radioman was dead.
They were lost already. The enemy, in greater numbers, was quickly over-running their position. He and his men fought with everything they had, but he watched, grief-stricken, as one by one they were slaughtered.
J.J. went down last. He, Zeke Anderson and Pvt. Jones were the only ones still putting up a defense, even though they'd all had been hit. Devlin had felt at least two himself. Devastated, he knew there was nothing he could do. Soon it would be over for all of them.
"Team Alpha to Delta Base."
"Delta Base, reading you loud and clear," Solo's voice replied. "How're you boys enjoying the bugs out there on this fine day?"
Kuryakin grimaced as he wiped muddy rain out of his sopping hair. He'd abandoned the combat helmet in favor of a canvas fatigue hat, which did little to ward off the ever-present rain.
"Wish you were here," the Russian muttered darkly.
"I bet." The U.N.C.L.E. agent laughed.
"Now you know why I gave up partners," McCall commented to Illya.
"Patching you through to Gamma Base."
Wallace nodded curtly to McCall and Kuryakin. Both moved close to the man who held the heavy radio pack on his back.
"Go ahead Gamma," Wallace invited.
"I have a clear signal," Oscar Goldman responded. "Team Omega was the first to reach their objective. Your turn now."
"Gamma, this is Team Alpha. How is Team Omega?"
"Omega's operation is in progress," Goldman related. "Patience, Captain," he chided. "Satellite information indicates you are approximately 200 meters southeast of your target and seven meters underground. Do you copy?"
"Copy."
"Data indicates there are eight Charlies at your location. Copy?"
"Copy that, Gamma. Eight Charlies."
"You may go in at your discreti..."
"Alpha! Don't move!" Solo warned from the base location. "Repeat, no go. Omega is under heavy fire... ambush... damn..."
"Solo!" Oscar shouted. "Are you sure? Solo! How could that be? There was nothing on the satellite picture!"
McCall grabbed the phone from Wallace. "Napoleon! What's happening?"
Only mumbled voices answered him for a maddeningly long time. Aware they were in a critical combat position themselves, McCall tried not to scream into the field phone.
"Damn -- hell is breaking loose for Omega," Solo reported. "They're in a hot fire fight."
"Send in the bloody Marines!" McCall growled.
"Alpha," a shaken Goldman announced, "can you get to Omega's position? The V.C. are coming in on three sides. I can see the whole thing on the satellite feed."
"Can they get an airlift?" Wallace asked.
McCall turned to Wallace. "How fast can we get there?"
The Captain shook his head. "Not fast enough. Three or four klicks through the rain forest -- too much time to make much of a difference."
Solo came back on the line. "Wallace, get Alpha there as fast as you can. We're trying to scramble chopper support, but no one's close enough right now."
"Copy you, Delta. Keep us informed. Alpha out."
McCall jogged through the humid jungle at a merciless pace. Fear and urgency lent strength and speed to his body. He had little trouble keeping up with the young combat troops around him. They made a fast, but careful track through the jungle. Booby-traps, V.C. or land mines could be behind any bush. Yet Wallace ran them at a steady, brisk pace until they were almost on top of Omega's location.
The map coordinates were committed to memory, and McCall recognized the landmark of a forked river. To the immediate north, on their same side of the river, a small valley dropped out of the forest. It was on the hillside leading down to the valley that Team Omega was supposed to find the enemy's tunnel refuge.
Wallace called a halt. Since the ambush, they'd maintained radio silence. If another unit arrived ahead of them, they would have called in. They were now forced to assume they were the first hope for rescue.
The pointman sent word that all was quiet in the valley below -- too quiet. Wallace sent out three men to recon the area. McCall bit back the near panic surging against the reasonable calm of the operation. Of course they couldn't recklessly charge in, but the waiting tore at his soul. J.J. needed his help, and he was not there to give it.
Kuryakin silently trailed one of the recon soldiers. He and the young man returned, both of them pale and grave. Illya gave his colleague a curt shake of the head.
"Bad?" McCall whispered.
Kuryakin nodded. "The whole unit went down."
McCall closed his eyes against the heartache that shot through him like an arrow.
Shortly, the other two soldiers returned and reported the area was clear. In the distance, the rotor hum of chopper blades echoed through the clouds, above the drizzling rain.
Wallace contacted Gamma and Delta base. Goldman reported no V.C. activity in the area. He also reported no other movement, except for Alpha. Wallace, unwilling to give up, reported he expected to find survivors, but that was unconfirmed. There was no hope in his tone, but the optimistic defiance buoyed those around the captain.
"Let's go in," he ordered.
McCall grabbed Illya's arm. "Did you see J.J.?"
The Russian shook his head. "No... I... there was no way to distinguish... not from a distance."
McCall forced himself to maintain faith. "He could be alive."
Kuryakin's eyes were bleak. In a tone matching his expression, he answered, "Perhaps."
For McCall, years of covert, sanitary espionage had almost faded the worst nightmares of what the face of death could be like at it's most horrendous. Almost. Before they completely broke through the rain forest, he could sense the carnage. A hundred little clues: smell, feel, and sound, alerted him. A knot caught in his throat as they emerged onto the green grassland covered with bodies. The stench, the visceral colors, the mangled clothing and flesh; it all came back so quickly. Cuba, Indonesia, Africa. Different countries, different bodies, yet death was the same. No, not the same this time. Worse. This time it was personal.
Team Alpha slowly started to fan out. The V.C. loved to booby-trap American bodies to snag a few more G.I.'s in body bags as the dead were recovered by other men. Several of the veteran soldiers remained on guard at the perimeter of the battleground. The rest cautiously checked for signs of life. Two of the green privates behind McCall were throwing up in the bushes. Slowly, with practiced discipline, he closed out the extra images overcrowding his mind. He gradually focused down to his main target -- J.J.
Illya, only a few meters away, scavenged for bullet casings and weapons as he scanned the bodies. He held up several items, which McCall glanced at to confirm the Russian's suspicions. Soviet military issue ammo and guns. Devlin had been right. It seemed a pathetic epitaph.
So many men. So tragically butchered. Robert scanned the youthful faces, looking at hair color, collars -- anything that would be familiar. Twice he detected slight movements. He called the medic over to see to their comrade, and he continued the search.
"McCall," Kuryakin called from across the field on the left. "It's Devlin."
From this distance the new fatigues seemed as tattered and blood stained as the others. Devlin joined this operation as a favor to McCall. Now... to come to this...
"He's alive," Kuryakin reported. "I think he'll make it."
"Good," Robert sighed.
He continued on a few more meters. A torso, nearly buried in the mud, shifted. The familiar profile under the helmet was blood-stained but recognizable -- Anderson. A nasty red ribbon slashed across his back and torn uniform. A bayonet wound in the back was proof that the V.C. came though in a last sweep of the massacre to assure everyone was dead. But a few, including the sergeant, had eluded that fate.
Finding Anderson meant J.J. was close. The sergeant wouldn't have let his lieutenant out of his sight.
"Anderson! We're here for you. Where's J.J.?"
McCall crouched down and removed some of the grass and mud from the dark head. Semi-conscious, Anderson shifted. He hissed with pain as McCall tipped him onto his side. Pressed into the mud and grass was another body, protected by the ever-vigilant sergeant. The hair was no longer blond, the metal collar bars no longer shiny, but there was no doubt of the identity of the young man.
"J.J.! My God, J.J.!"
With tears in his eyes, McCall carefully wiped away the mud that covered J.J.'s still face. Two exit wounds in the side were matted with sticky blood. He pressed a hand to the torn chest. There was still a heart beat, still the faint rise and fall from breathing. J.J. was alive.
McCall lifted the young Lieutenant in his arms. The movement startled J.J. back to consciousness.
"J.J.? Can you hear me?"
Michaels' eyelids fluttered, but his eyes never opened enough to see. His breathing was labored. Blood oozed from the chest wounds.
"We're going to get you out of here, J.J.," McCall lied in a whisper.
The younger man's mouth moved.
"Yes?"
"Rose."
Even though J.J. couldn't see him, McCall nodded. Tears streamed down his face; his throat was too knotted for words.
"Rose," he gasped. "Love her. Give her my..." He coughed, fighting for air. McCall held onto the trembling shoulders. "Take care... of her..."
The body stilled, the head collapsed against him.
Out of habit, McCall tested for a pulse, knowing there would be none. With bleary vision, he studied the calm, handsome face of his friend and brother, now at rest from earthly pain. He brushed the dirt from the pale skin.
"Sir, we'll take him now."
Someone pulled McCall back by the shoulders, while another soldier took J.J. out of his arms. McCall looked around. The air cavalry was on the scene. Wounded were being loaded onto choppers. Reinforcements were debarking to bag the dead. Illya helped him to his feet.
"I think you should go back with the... with J.J."
McCall gave a nod and plodded along to the chopper. He climbed aboard, staring out at the grassy field where green-clad G.I.'s carried black tarps through the gray rain. It had been a long time since anything had touched him this deeply -- this tragically. He'd fooled himself into thinking this game was one-on-one with cloak and dagger chaps in alleys and midnight rendezvous -- deluded himself into forgetting the pain, the loss, when a close friend just wasn't lucky enough to beat the odds. A lot of impersonal years pitting wits and skills against an unseen enemy had lulled him into complacency. This time he would never forget how painful a death could be
Over the Pacific
May 14, 1965
The trip back to the States was long. McCall had arranged to accompany J.J. back home and Colonel Stetson had insisted on joining him. McCall felt a hand on his shoulder as he slumped dejectedly in his seat.
"I thought you could use some coffee, Robert." Charles handed the cup to McCall and then sat down in the seat next to him.
"Thanks."
They were the only passengers on the flight. The box carrying J.J. Michaels's body was further down the aisle, the stars and stripes draped over the casket.
"What are you going to do?"
"When we stop in Hawaii, I'll call Rose to see what she wants arranged."
"What about his father? He's probably been notified as well." Stetson looked concerned. "I don't envy you, Robert... having to face Jake Michaels."
McCall gave his friend a wry glance. "I can handle Jake. It's Rose I'm concerned about. I'm not sure I can face her."
"Do you think she'll blame you for this?"
"No... she won't," McCall assured the Colonel. "But that will only make it harder."
"We've got a long haul before we hit Honolulu. Why don't you try to get some rest."
"Yes, I guess that would be a good idea," McCall agreed, knowing he wasn't going to be able to sleep at all. He'd just left one friend back in a hospital badly wounded and was taking another -- a companion and brother -- back home to be buried. No, it would be many days before he would be able to sleep.
Bel Air
May 1981
McCall ended his narrative and for a time the room was quiet. Both the boys sat silent, deep in their own thoughts. He saw Rose wipe at a few tears that had escaped to run down her cheeks. He reached out a hand to her.
"I'm sorry, Rose. I didn't mean to bring it all back."
She shook her head and gave him a grateful smile. "Not at all, Robert. I'm glad you told us."
"Me too, Uncle Robert," Nick spoke up in an uncharacteristically sober voice. "I've always wondered about it."
"Then I'm glad I could help you," McCall told him warmly.
Nick flashed him a smile and then nudged his cousin. "C'mon, Scott. Let's go upstairs. I have some new records I wanna show you."
"Okay."
Scott got up slowly and McCall could tell he was still pondering the story. He glanced up and caught his father's eye for a moment and Robert wished he knew his son better so he could tell what was going through the boy's mind. But in a moment the teens were tromping up to Nick's bedroom, leaving both the adults alone with their own memories of the past.
Bel Air
May 15, 1965
The telegram arrived in the afternoon.. Clapper had answered the door and had accepted it, but knew this was not his place to receive this kind of news. He waited for Nick to arrive and handed it wordlessly to his friend and employer.
Nick Foley already knew what the distressing contents must hold. He stood staring at the envelope for a long time, unaware Clapper was still behind him.
"Rose came home about an hour ago."
"Where is she?"
"In her room... studying."
The climb up the stairs was long. Nick felt as if his legs were moving in slow motion. All too soon, however, he found himself at his daughter's door. When she opened it at his knock, Nick couldn't remember when he'd seen her look so happy.
Rose greeted her father with a quick hug and kiss, then sat down in the chair in front of the desk. "What's up, Nick?"
Reluctantly, he handed the telegram to his daughter. He then watched as she read the contents, knowing he couldn't spare her the heartbreak. The only thing he could do was love and support her through this.
"No. No... it can't be true."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry."
Nick took Rose in his arms as she started to cry.
Diane came home later than usual.
"Hi, guys," she greeted Patty and Mickey. "Why're you doing your homework at this time of the day?" Diane knew full well that her sisters always put that task off until after dinner.
"We didn't want to disturb, Rose."
"Why? Is she sick?"
Patty looked uncomfortable at her older sister's question. "No but..."
"Ah, good you're home, Diane." Clapper walked into the den. "The guv's in his office, you better go and see him."
Diane put her books on one of the tables and did as Clapper suggested, confused by everyone's odd behavior.
Nick was on the phone when Diane walked in and she caught the tail end of the conversation.
"Ok, Marva, I'll call you tomorrow and let you know what the arrangements are. Take care." Nick hung up the phone and looked over at Diane.
"Hi, Nick. What's going on?"
Nick seemed so sad and solemn, that Diane was suddenly afraid. Her fear must have shown on her face, for he gave her a slight smile.
"Come on in, honey. I've got bad news."
The first call of what was to be many, came later that afternoon from Jacob Michaels. He demanded -- and demanded was the only word Nick could use for his manner -- to talk to Rose. Knowing how upset the man must be by his son's death, Nick sincerely offered his condolences and tried to ignore the obnoxious attitude. He put the man off, politely promising to have his daughter call when she was able too.
Nick didn't want to disturb Rose. She'd gone to her room to rest, and to cry as well, Nick knew. After she'd been there for an hour or so, Nick went to check on her. Everyone was worried. Diane wanted to go up as soon as she heard the news, but Nick convinced her to wait a little. They'd all taken turns seeing how she was, but Rose wanted to be alone and they respected her wishes. But that didn't stop them from checking every hour.
The second time Jake Michaels called Nick managed to stall him again, but he knew Rose need to eventually talk to the man. There were arrangements that would have to be made. But he hoped to wait at least until tomorrow, to give his daughter a chance to recover somewhat from her loss.
Rose had cried herself out long ago. Now she only felt numb. The daylight had long since passed. A full moon peered in as the now bereft woman sat, as she had for hours, at her bedroom window. Rose had never felt so empty or lonely. She'd been aware that each one of her family had been coming in and checking on her regularly, but her loneliness stemmed from the heart; part of her had died with Jake. She looked down in a stupor and realized she still clutched the telegram her father had given her. Rose slowly got up from her chair and wandered over to her bed.
How could this have happened? How could Jake be dead? Today she'd learned news that would have made Jake Michaels the happiest man -- news that now she would never get to tell him. He would never know he was going to be a father. She'd suspected for a week or so, but hadn't wanted to say anything to anyone until she was certain. The doctor had confirmed it this morning.
They were going to have a baby in December. They, she thought bitterly, there was no they anymore. That terrible thought brought more tears.
Nick knew he couldn't put off Jake Michaels any longer. He'd now called the house five times. The last time he simply notified Nick that Jake would be buried at the ranch and he didn't care if Rose showed up or not. Nick tried to placate him, and told him that no offense was meant, but that decision was Rose's and no one else's.
Michaels again told him without preamble that his son would be buried in Glorieta and nothing else. No other arrangements needed to be made.
Nick knocked at the door and heard the subdued sobs. He entered the room and sat on the bed. He silently took her in his arms and comforted her until the crying subsided again.
"I'm okay now," Rose whispered, but made no move to leave her father's loving embrace.
"I know, but I'll just stay here awhile."
They sat for a while in silence except for the night sounds of crickets drifting through the open window.
Rose looked at her father. "You came in here for a reason."
Nick sighed in frustration. "I didn't want to trouble you tonight, but Jake's father keeps insisting that you call him."
Rose looked bleak. "Could you take care of it for me, Dad?"
"I tried, sweetheart, but... he wants Jake buried at the ranch and he doesn't seem to want to give you any other choice."
Before Rose could respond, Diane was at the open door.
"I'm sorry, Rose, but Clapper sent me up. Jake's on the phone again, I'm afraid."
"I'll talk to him."
Nick could see Rose trying to compose herself as she reached for the extension. He joined her at the desk in a show of moral support. Diane slipped in as well, turning the lights on as she came into the room.
Nick sat in his office and stared at the various pictures of his daughters on the desk. It was early morning, but he'd been unable to sleep. He'd made all the calls necessary for the next day's activities and there was nothing left to do. Diane and the two younger girls had gone to bed hours ago. Rose was in her room, but he knew she wasn't sleeping either.
The phone rang unexpectedly, echoing loudly in the room. Nick grabbed it, hoping to prevent anyone else waking up.
"Hello?"
"Nick, it's Robert."
"Robert, where are you?"
"Hawaii." He hesitated. "I'm with J.J."
"I kinda thought you would be."
"We have a layover for a few hours, then we'll be in California sometime later this morning."
"Let me know where and I'll take care of things at this end."
"Is he staying in California?"
"No. Jake pushed Rose into burying J.J. in Glorieta. I couldn't prevent it."
"I'm not surprised. He's a hard man to stop," Robert told him.
"Rose isn't in any shape to deal with him."
"I can take the body all the way, if it would be easier on Rose."
"I've arranged to have him go with us on the same flight we're taking out to New Mexico. Why don't you come here, Robert. We'll all go out together."
"A united front, eh?" McCall's voice belied the flippant remark and Nick could tell how hard this was for him.
"Safety in numbers, my friend," Nick advised with a dry smile. "And it will give you a little breather before you have to face Michaels."
"Thanks, Nick. I believe I'll take you up on it."
"I'll send a car for you."
"Right, good-bye."
"Bye." Nick hung up and sighed, not looking forward to the next couple of days.
Glorieta
May 16, 1965
It was worse than McCall had thought it would be.
They'd all gotten off the plane in Albuquerque. Going down the stairs and onto the tarmac, Rose could see as the baggage handlers unloaded Jake's coffin. The U.S. flag still draped over it. They went out through the terminal, Clapper staying behind to take care of the bags and be sure the men from the mortuary arrived to take care of J.J.
The group had no sooner walked out into the sunny afternoon, than they were met by Jake. He didn't acknowledge Rose or her family, but immediately squared off in front of McCall, as if he were going to strike him.
"You dare to come here after what you did!" Jake shouted virulently.
"Jake, it's not Robert's fault." Rose tried to intervene, placing herself between McCall and their father-in-law.
Jake directed his rage at Rose, stepping menacingly closer.
"Don't ever threaten my daughter or nothing will stop me from tearing you apart," Nick told him with deadly earnest. The limo Nick had hired arrived just then and he looked over at his other daughters, standing huddled together, frightened by the turn of events. "Girls, why don't you get into the limo and wait for us, okay?"
The girls complied readily to his suggestion and Nick couldn't blame them. He turned back to Jake.
"The arrangements have been taken care of," he stated evenly. "As you requested, the funeral will be in the little chapel in Glorieta, near the cemetery." He reached behind him and grabbed Rose's hand. "We'll see you later."
Nick headed over to the car, Rose's hand still clasped in his. He gestured for McCall to follow them. Robert decided now wasn't the time for a confrontation with Jake and got into the car after them. The driver started the limo at Nick's direction and the group left Jake Michaels standing at the terminal, still fuming as they made their escape.
Nick chose to stay in Santa Fe with his daughters. McCall didn't blame him. If he'd been given the chance, he would've stayed there too. He knew Nick was trying to spare his daughter the wrath of Jake Michaels, and after what happened at the airport, they all could attest to the fact that Jake was on the war path.
Robert rented a car and headed out to Glorieta, still not sure he was ready to face Jake Michaels again, but knowing Jake wasn't the only one there for him to see. Kay had just lost her only brother and she would be needing him. He very much wanted to be with her too.
When he reached the ranch he found many of the family already in attendance. He knew some of them had come some distance for the funeral. He still had trouble keeping track of his wife's vast family, but he absently noted the presence of Andy, Skip, Murphy and Lee. That meant that Charles Stetson would be close. Under ordinary circumstances he'd have been pleased to spend time with the boys, but this was hardly a normal visit.
McCall was met most graciously by Katherine Michaels, who showed him to his regular room. There he found Kay waiting for him.
"Oh, Robert, I'm so glad to see you." She threw her arms around his neck.
That surprised and relieved McCall. He'd been afraid she would blame him for the death of her brother. "Kay." He took her in his arms and held her.
Before either could say anything else the door burst open and Jake walked in. "Well, I see you've arrived."
"Dad, not now. Can't you see how tired he is?"
"At least he can feel," Jake told her angrily. "My son is never going to feel anything again, thanks to him."
"Robert didn't kill, J.J. The war did."
"I'm sorry, Jake," McCall began, "I wish to God this hadn't happened."
"I don't need any platitudes from you, McCall. I need my son. Why in hell couldn't it be you lying there dead and not him?"
"Daddy, how can you say that?" Kay was aghast at her father's statement.
"How can you defend this man? He killed your brother!"
"Robert is my husband," Kay reminded him. "He didn't cause J.J.'s death."
Before Jake could continue his tirade, he was interrupted by his mother, who'd obviously decided it was time to intervene.
"That's enough, Jacob Michaels. Let them be."
"But..."
"You heard me."
McCall could tell Jake wasn't happy, but he obeyed his mother and left the room.
"I'm so sorry about that." Grandma Michaels reached out and touched Robert's hand before she followed her son out the door.
After they left, McCall turned back to Kay. "You're not angry with me?"
"Angry? Robert... I'm grateful you're still alive." Kay gazed at her husband and McCall could see the vestiges of fear haunting her blue eyes.
McCall pulled her into his embrace. "I missed you so much, darling."
"I missed you too." Kay returned the hug. "I don't think I could stand it if you ever had to go back there."
McCall kept wisely silent. Now was not the time to discuss the demands of his job.
McCall came down the stairs, hoping he wouldn't meet Jake on the way out the door. Charles had called and told him that he needed to get out to White Sands today to see Oscar Goldman A.S.A.P. He'd explained to Kay and she'd seemed to understood, but she was reluctant to let him out of her sight.
He hoped to have dinner with Rose, Nick and the Foley family in Santa Fe after he left White Sands. They'd asked him to come if things got too hard to deal with at the ranch, and the prospect of a short respite from Jake was too inviting.
He almost made it to the front door, when a voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Sneaking out so you don't have to face your crime?"
McCall sighed wearily. "No, Jake, I still have a job to finish. I'm expected at White Sands in a couple of hours."
"That's all you think about isn't it, McCall?"
"No." Robert found himself close to tears for the first time since he'd come back home. Frustration, lack of sleep and grief were wearing him down. But he would be damned if he would show any weakness in front of this man. "To not finish the job J.J. started would be to believe his death was for nothing."
"His death was meaningless."
McCall turned angrily on his father-in-law. It took all the control he had not to raise his fists to this man. "J.J. was doing what he always wanted to do -- defending his country and all it stands for." McCall was now so furious he wanted to do nothing more then beat some sense into his father-in-law. "You're the one who demeans his death by your pettiness towards Rose and everyone else who cared for him."
"How dare you say that," Jake sputtered in indignation.
McCall was disgusted. If he didn't leave now and get his temper under control, he would probably do something he would enjoy in the short term, but regret much later. He spun away and quickly burst out the front door.
His meeting with Oscar Goldman had been short. The Gamma project was declared a failure and would be shelved -- at least by the U.S. government. The primary backers would pursue it on their own instead, now that the Company was pulling out. Someone else would try to determine the problems, but as far as McCall and Oscar were concerned, they wanted nothing more to do with it.
Goldman was starting another assignment, something to do with cybernetic engineering. That had been his first choice anyway. Oscar had only worked on Gamma as a favor to the head of the Company. The only good news Oscar had for him was that Brian Devlin and Zeke Anderson would make it.
When he reached Santa Fe, he felt a weight lifting off of him. He walked into the lobby of the hotel and a bellboy pointed out the restaurant. He knew he was a little late, but found that the Foley family had just gotten there too.
They greeted him as he came to the table and took his seat. The meal was quiet and the conversation was subdued, but McCall was comfortable here. The younger girls finished and said their good-nights as Clapper shepherded them upstairs.
The older Foley sisters didn't stay much later. They too got up from the table. Nick and he both stood. McCall noticed how Marva and Diane seemed to act as Rose's support. All three girls went over and gave their father a hug and kiss goodnight. Nick held onto Rose the longest. Diane and Marva said good-night to McCall and waited at the entrance as Rose came over to him.
"How are you doing, Robert?"
"I should be asking you that?" McCall felt a lump form in his throat.
Rose didn't answer him. She just pulled him into a hug and then joined her sisters at the door and they all went out together.
"I think you need this." Nick shoved a drink in his hand as he sat back down.
"Thanks." McCall drained the glass in one gulp, feeling the comforting burn as the Scotch went down his throat.
Nick poured again, refilling his own as well.
"You look like hell, Robert."
"Thank you for that astute observation, Nick." McCall examined the amber liquor swirling in his glass. "Do you think if we just crawl into this, we'll get through tomorrow."
"If there's one thing I've learned, it's that this stuff is only a temporary solution." Nick raised his glass in a salute and took a drink.
"Too true." Robert also took another swig of the liquor, but not as fast. This time he savored the taste of the Scotch, knowing nothing could dull his pain or guilt.
"You can't blame yourself, my friend," Nick counseled, observing McCall's change of expressions.
McCall felt again the tears threatening to spill. This time he didn't suppress them as he felt the cleansing wetness slowly wash down his cheeks. Curious he felt no shame about showing weakness in front of this man as he had Jacob Michaels.
He knew he was totally exhausted and he wasn't sure he could even bring himself to stand. Heading back to the ranch tonight would be impossible. He felt a hand on his shoulder and saw the sympathy and warmth in his friends eyes.
"Come on, McCall. I've got a room for you." Nick helped him up from the table and guided him towards the door.
Glorieta
May 1, 1965
The limo picked them up at nine and the funeral was scheduled for eleven in the old chapel next to the cemetery. Nick made sure Robert rose early enough to get back to the ranch and join his wife.
Rose sat next to her father, his arms around her in comfort. Diane was seated beside her and Marva. Patty and Mickey sat with Clapper on the opposite seat. No one said anything for most of the trip.
The driver stopped to let them out near the front of the church. They were met by Jacob Michaels, who looked to be in the same mood as yesterday. He stood in the entrance, as if he expected to block their way in. Rose spied the military compliment already inside.
Nick gestured for Clapper to escort the girls in and they slipped around the enraged man. Rose stayed with her father, having figured out why Jake was so angry at Nick. They were joined shortly by other members of the Michaels family, as well as McCall and Charles Stetson.
Since J.J. had died in the service of his country, he was entitled to a full military funeral. Jake Michaels had made it clear when they talked to him from L.A. that he wanted none of that. Nick Foley couldn't stop J.J. from being buried so far from his wife, but he was at least able to give Rose the memorial J.J. deserved.
"I will not allow this service to go on, Foley, until you get rid of those men." Jake was practically screaming.
"Those men are here to honor your son," Nick answered back, keeping his voice level and quiet.
No one noticed as Rose slipped away into the chapel.
McCall suddenly came to a realization. After the wedding incident, Nick must have refigured his tactics. He never seemed to raise his voice, which only served to rile Jake Michaels even more. Jake was used to either fear or anger from the people he abused. Nick Foley displayed neither. Nick acted as a reasonable man and it made Jake look foolish. The more reasonable Nick was, the more it set Jake off and the more asinine he looked.
The argument didn't last long as Grandma Michaels appeared at the door, Rose close behind her.
"Jake Michaels, you get in here and stop this foolishness. Is this the way you show respect for your son?"
Jake actually looked sheepish for a fleeting moment. He turned around and stomped into the chapel without another word. The other few spectators also headed back inside, leaving Rose, Nick, and Robert to follow. Rose had about reached her breaking point and grabbed her father's hand on one side and McCall's on the other. Feeling better with the two men at her side, the three of them entered the church together.
Rose didn't remember much of the brief service. It all passed by in a blur. It was strange her marriage ceremony to Jake seemed a dream too. Joy and happiness managed to have the same effect as pain and sorrow.
The minister said a few words over the coffin. After that, the honor guard snapped to attention. They raised their weapons to the sky and gave Jake his due with a twenty-one gun salute. The flag draping the casket was reverently folded. One of the infantrymen saluted McCall and handed the emblem over to him.
McCall accepted the flag. As the haunting sounds of a bugle playing Taps filled the morning air, McCall carefully carried the symbol of J.J. Michaels sacrifice to his country over to his wife. He presented it to her. Rose took it and clutched it against her breast, tears streaming down her face in anguish.
Bel Air
May 1981
"Thank you, Robert."
Rose's voice drew McCall out of his reverie. He glanced over at the woman beside him. "For what?"
Rose smiled knowingly. "For being... how should I put it... 'discreet' with the boys about all that awful stuff with Jake, Sr."
McCall merely shook his head. "It would serve no purpose. Jake does himself enough harm without you or I having to add to it. He is their grandfather, after all."
Rose nodded thoughtfully. "I've always wanted Nicky to make his own judgements, but I'm afraid he's heard enough of the stories from my family."
"That's something that couldn't be helped, I suppose." He met Rose's gaze and smiled. "You've been more than fair, Rose."
She blushed self-consciously. "It hasn't always been easy."
Robert laughed lightly. "Now there's an understatement if I've ever heard one." He sat back, watching Rose loose herself again in her memories, and wondered what he might have done differently... if he could have changed anything. Pragmatist that he was, he supposed there was no way to undo the past. That didn't mean, however, that the future was carved in stone. He thought of everything he'd lost -- the things he'd sacrificed. Too late to bring anyone or anything back. But the future... yes, the future might make all the difference.