No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(6)
There had been no question where the Clute twins would end up.
Unfortunately, through a quirk of heredity passed down from their mother, McKinley was genetically red-green color-blind. It wasn’t that he couldn’t see colors, just that he sometimes mixed those two specifically. They didn’t find out until he was tested in high school, and just like that, his dreams of being the next Top Gun Maverick went up in smoke. He’d done the next best thing, joining the Marine Corps. Currently a captain in the military police, he’d been stationed at the provost marshal’s office on Camp Foster, Okinawa, for the last two years.
Kaelyn had continued in the family tradition and was one of the few females flying the F/A-18F Super Hornet. Assigned to VFA-103, she had been detailed for mission planning and review of OPLAN 5027—the order of battle for the Korean Peninsula. A mundane tasking, it meant she’d spend her days validating such things as targets, refueling responsibilities, logistics trails, and a smorgasbord of other requirements that needed to be planned in advance if they had any hope of winning a fight with North Korea. She wasn’t looking forward to working with her joint partners in the Air Force and Army, but there was one bright spot: The meetings were all taking place on Kadena Air Base, just a stone’s throw from Camp Foster.
She hadn’t seen McKinley for eight months and had wrangled a way to fly in a day early to make that happen. Now if he’d only show up.
She saw another ubiquitous white four-door sedan enter the parking lot and recognized the shock of red hair even with most of it shorn off. An involuntary smile broke out.
McKinley pulled to the curb and leapt out, holding his arms wide, and she jumped off the bench, saying, “Mack!”
She ran into his embrace, ignoring the stares from the people coming and going. She said, “What took so long? Today’s the only day I have.”
He made an excuse, then got back behind the wheel saying, “The wait will be worth it. I’ve got a treat for you.”
As he drove out of the parking lot she said, “What’s that?”
“A place called Kajinho, which apparently means ‘Pizza in the Sky.’”
“Pizza? You’re shitting me. Why can’t we go to a local place? Something Okinawan.”
“I see the Navy has done wonders for your vocabulary. Don’t worry. It is local, and you’ll get to see more of the island getting there than eating around here. It’s about an hour and a half north, on the tip of the island, and it has the best views around. I’ll play tour guide.”
He turned onto National Route 58 and they began the tour, Mack pointing out landmarks as they passed. The Army post Torii Station, the Marine Corps’ Camp Hansen, Shinto shrines, Okinawan tombs, and anything else he could find, all the while talking like an expert. In between they caught up and compared notes on their two military careers.
About ninety minutes later they were off of 58, winding through the mountainous jungle. Eventually, the road was only a car and a half wide, the switchbacks coming every five hundred feet, concrete tombs peeking out from the tangled jungle growth on the hills.
Kaeyln said, “You sure you know where you’re going?”
“Yeah. It’s right up here another hundred meters.”
They broke through to the top and she saw what looked like an old Okinawan house, with a view 360 degrees around. Her brother had been right; it was gorgeous.
They ordered their pizza and struck up a conversation with a couple of foreign backpackers new to the island. On their way to Australia, they had only a day to spend but had still managed to find the little slice of heaven at the top of Okinawa. They asked for further things to explore and McKinley was more than willing to play tour guide. While paying the bill, he agreed to lead them to the Okinawa Aquarium just fifteen minutes away.
They never made it.
Captain McKinley Clute’s car wasn’t found for two days, lodged in a ditch on a winding dirt road. The Okinawan police and Camp Butler Provost Marshal questioned everyone in the surrounding area but came up with nothing. The Clute twins had disappeared without a trace. The only lead was a couple of Irishmen who had been seen talking to them at a pizza joint a mile away.
All attempts to locate them for questioning failed.
* * *
Governor Rachel Deleon speed-walked to her car to get out of the crisp winter air. The driver, a sergeant in the Texas Department of Public Safety, opened her door. She said, “Bill, take the long way in. I’m expecting a call.”
He said, “Yes, ma’am,” and closed the door.
As the governor of Texas, she had a mansion within spitting distance of the capitol, but instead of a convenience, the closeness made her feel as if the job never left. In reality, it didn’t leave no matter where she went, but she preferred her house on West Lake.
As the most powerful person in one of the largest states, she had defied the odds to achieve the position. Right off the bat, she was a female fighting in a man’s world. To make matters worse, she wasn’t classically beautiful. In fact, she was downright homely, something that every campaign manager she’d ever known said made her dead on arrival. She had fought a vicious campaign on the usual issues separating the parties and would have lost handily, but she had a couple of assets that nobody else in the running could tear down.
For one, she was Hispanic in heritage, which in Texas could do quite a bit to counterbalance her less than telegenic appearance. But it wasn’t enough. She needed the dyed-in-the-wool conservative vote from the people who were scared of that very heritage. People who might believe she had an agenda related to the immigrants swimming across the Rio Grande, which is where her husband came in.