The Boy Who Could Fly Without a Motor (6 page)

You are totally right,
Jon thought.
All the cells. Billions of them.

Jon's mother said, "I feel feint."

Jon sincerely hoped his skull would not have to be opened. More than ever he wanted to talk to Ling Wu and end this business of having to carry buckets of paint around. He was past being weary of the red lead.

There was a knock on the door, and the FBI agent stuck his head in. "Mr. Jeffers, the president of the United States wants you to go to Washington, D.C., immediately. He wants to be the first person to be photographed with the boy who can fly without a motor."

Mr. Jeffers?
Less than an hour before, Jon had been just a stupid kid who'd breached the security of the nation. Now the president wanted to meet him. Adults were strange. Jon said to Agent Forbes, "
You
were the first person to have your picture taken with me. You brought that photographer."

Agent Forbes said, "I'd appreciate it if you'd forget about that picture. Don't tell the president. Now, we must hurry. There's an aircraft fueling up."

Jon said, "What about my Ether? He'd like to meet the president."

The Coast Guard lieutenant said, "We don't have time to go out and get him. He'd have to be relieved. We'll fly him there tomorrow. This will be a breaking story all over the world."

Jon said, "I have to take my mother and Smacks."

Agent Forbes nodded and said to Dr. Buxtehede, "I'll bring your patient back in a few days."

The doctor was smiling widely. It wasn't every day he had a patient who would be photographed with the president. He said, "Be sure to mention my name to Mr. Roosevelt."

Then he said to Jon, "I'll be working night and day to find a way for you to keep on flying and at the same time have landing and takeoff control. I promise you, night and day!" He sprang up from behind his desk and shook Jon's hand and kissed a surprised Mabel Jeffers on the cheek. He even reached down to pat Smacks.

Off they went, with the usual guards and even a motorcycle escort, to the airport.

Neither Jon nor his mother—or Smacks—had ever thought they'd fly in an airplane. But then again Jon never thought he'd fly, period. Soon they were cruising east at ten thousand feet in a navy twin-engined DC-3.

As they crossed the Grand Canyon, the plane bouncing all over the sky, Jon realized he could never again call himself the loneliest boy on Earth. He was about to be known from Washington to Tibet.

Bucking strong headwinds, the DC-3 had to be refueled twice before it landed at Anacostia Naval Air Station at about 4:00 A.M. Agent Forbes said, "I'll bet you sleep in the Lincoln bedroom the rest of the night." Jon had heard of Abraham Lincoln but not his bedroom in the White House.

"And you'll probably have breakfast with the president and first lady in the morning."

"Will you be there?"

"I doubt it very much. If anybody discovers I was photographed with you, I'll be assigned to Arkansas."

Jon had begun to like Hiram K. Forbes, and he said, "I'll keep our secret, but I won't tell the president how I fly."

The agent sighed and thanked him and shook his hand as White House people rushed to the DC-3 stairway to greet the first human to fly without a motor.

Agent Forbes said that Secret Service agents would be taking care of him as long as he was in Washington. Jon had read about them in
Popular Science.
They followed the president everywhere he went. They even watched the chefs cooking his food before the president could take a bite.

Two stern-faced Secret Service agents got into the limousine with them, and Jon noticed two other black cars, one ahead and one behind, loaded with men in black suits.
Even a Martian might not get better protection,
Jon thought.

Soon Mrs. Jeffers, Jon, and Smacks arrived at the White House and were offered a snack before being shown to the Lincoln bedroom. Mrs. Jeffers said, "Never in my life did I think this Nebraska girl would sleep where the Lincolns slept."

There was a temporary crisis when she asked a maid for all the safety pins in the White House.

It had been another exhausting day for Smacks, and he jumped into the bed between Jon and his mother, perhaps the first four-legged creature ever to nestle down on the fancy spread under which Abe and Mary Todd had spent their nights.

Jon thought the mattress was hard. Maybe it was the original one?

JON HAD SEEN PHOTOS OF PRESIDENT
and Mrs. Roosevelt in the
Chronicle
and had listened on Sunday nights to his famous "fireside chats" on the Jeffers's new Philco radio set. The family listened to his program so regularly, it was like going to church.

He'd also seen President Roosevelt in the newsreels at the picture shows on the mainland whenever his parents took him. The president had a nice smile and wore rimless glasses. He seemed to care for all Americans.

Jon hadn't seen or heard Mrs. Roosevelt much, but she seemed nice, too. He remembered seeing her in the Fox Movie-tone News, touring a poor section of the country called Appalachia. His mother had said, "She's a different first lady; nothing fancy about her. Look at that plain dress and that little hat"

And now here he was at the White House, soon to meet Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt.

AT BREAKFAST, JON
told of his adventures flying over the lighthouse and the
Cacciatore Roma,
and how it all started with the Chinese magician, but not how he actually flew. He thought Ling Wu might forgive him for everything except betraying the secret of levitation. Telling that would bring on the flaming straw and the shark.

Along with the president and the first lady, the admirals commanding the navy and the Coast Guard—as well as the generals commanding the army and the Army Air Corps—attended the breakfast. These were the men in charge of defending the United States of America, and people flying around without motors were a definite threat to the country's well-being.

The man in charge of the FBI was also there. He had a face like a bulldog and a body like a warthog, just as compact. His name was Hoover.

The president explained Jon's buckets to those at the table by saying there was some type of temporary imbalance with Jon's system, but one of the world's foremost neurosurgeons, Dr. Leon Buxtehede, had assured him a solution was soon to be found. Jon would by no means have to carry gallons of red lead around the rest of his life. Everyone nodded solemnly.

Jon and his mother sat opposite President Roosevelt and the first lady. Smacks was beneath the table, having been fed in the kitchen. Everyone was as nice to Smacks as they were to Jon and his mother.

The president said, "Now, Jon, you have to tell us how you do it."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't. I took an oath never to reveal that secret."

"Come now, Jon, your secret is safe in this room," said the president.

The navy admiral insisted, "Tell us."

"Yes," said the army general.

The FBI man named Hoover ordered, "Boy, tell us. Or else."

Mrs. Roosevelt interrupted. "Stop it, Franklin—all of you. Jon is only nine."

"All right, Eleanor, we'll discuss it later," the president said.

Then he smiled at Jon. "I can't wait to see you fly."

"Neither can I," said Mrs. Roosevelt.

The admirals and generals and Mr. Hoover took their cue, and all agreed that they, too, couldn't wait.

"The whole world is waiting, Jon. More than two hundred newspaper reporters and radio reporters and photographers will be on the lawn at ten-thirty to see you fly without a motor. The movie newsreel people will be there, too. You'll be on the screens of every movie theater in the country within three days, then overseas," said the president.

The Coast Guard admiral said, "It boggles my mind to think that one of our Coast Guard children achieved this unbelievable feat."

It wasn't until that moment that Jon considered the possibility that his aerial brain cells might not be working this morning or might even refuse to cooperate. He began to get very nervous.

The first lady said, "Well, now that breakfast is over, I'll take you on a tour of our house, so my husband can get a little work done before your historic moment."

Jon, his mother, and Smacks followed her into rooms that would never be seen by the average citizen. Jon's mother whispered into his ear, "Tell the president in private how you fly."

The buckets banging against his knees, he whispered back, "I can't." How would
she
feel, nailed to the back of a shark?

The tour ended in the Oval Office, where the president did his hardest work and made decisions that affected the entire world. FDR smiled and said, "Jon, now will you tell me how you do it?"

Jon panicked, blurting, "I have to go to the bathroom," clearly the dumbest answer ever given to any chief executive of the United States of America.

Mr. Hoover followed Jon into the bathroom and grabbed him by his left ear, growling, "You better tell the president how you do it, or I'll throw you in jail for as long as you live."

"Owww!" Jon yelled.

Just then the Coast Guard admiral entered and said loudly, "What are you doing, J. Edgar?"

Mr. Hoover scowled at the Coast Guard admiral. "Russian communist agents could kidnap him."

"Hardly," the Coast Guard admiral said. "I'll have a boat patrolling the lighthouse day and night."

THE PRESS HAD BEEN GATHERING ON THE
lawn since eight o'clock. At last count there were more than three hundred people, including correspondents from around the globe. Chairs to accommodate the president, the first lady, Jon's mother, and Jon himself faced the batteries of cameras, microphones, and print reporters. A White House aide held Smacks's leash.

The president introduced Jon and Mrs. Jeffers, even Smacks.

As quickly as he could, Jon told the story of Ling Wu for the sixth or seventh time. He then answered questions—but not about how he flew—for a good fifteen minutes, until President Roosevelt's press secretary stepped forward and told Jon to proceed with the demonstration.

Holding the buckets, Jon waited until the press secretary tied one end of a fifty-foot yellow line to his ankle, the other end to an anvil. There was such a hush over the audience that only the sound of cawing crows could be heard. The press secretary whispered, "That anvil will be a museum piece someday."

Jon closed his eyes and called upon five hundred million cells to lift his feet off the ground. He dropped the ballast buckets and shot up into the air like a rocket to
oooooohs
and
ahhhhs
from the audience, and then thunderous applause.

He flew around the lawn at the end of his tether and was photographed with the president and the first lady. Although a war had recently begun in Europe, Jonathan Jeffers captured headlines around the world the next day.

Jon and his mother, who had now been joined by Bosun Jeffers, stayed on in Washington for another six days of sight-seeing. Several shoemakers offered to provide Jon with lead-soled shoes, but he decided that twenty-five pounds of lead on each foot would become very tiresome, especially since he only weighed fifty-two pounds. Jon decided to keep carrying the buckets for the time being, until Dr. Buxtehede could come up with a solution. And anyway, he liked the shoulder muscles he was developing.

When the Jeffers returned to San Francisco, hundreds of people were there to greet them, including the press and Hiram K. Forbes. He hadn't been reassigned to Arkansas, after all. The photo of him and Jon had remained a secret and was now in a safety deposit drawer at the main branch of the Bank of America, hidden from the eyes of White House busybodies.

There was a hurriedly assembled parade. The Jeffers sat in the back of a long open Cadillac, waving to the crowds along Market Street, just like Lindbergh had done eight years earlier. There was a reception in the mayor's office, and Jon received the key to the city. The Coast Guard Command saluted him with a luncheon. There was a huge dinner at the Mark Hopkins Hotel, with every notable in town attending, including Dr. Buxtehede, who whispered to Jon, "Come see me tomorrow."

The next day, Dr. Buxtehede was waiting for Jon and his parents in his office. He put on a brave smile when (hey entered, shook hands all around, and then admitted, that despite twenty-hour days and endless conversations with his colleagues all the way to Boston and across to London, he'd had no success.

Mrs. Jeffers said, "Oh no, oh no."

"However, there is one last hope before I have to open your skull, Jon. Two nights ago I spent an evening backstage at the Pagoda Theater with a very old Chinese magician named Shue Ming, which in English means 'speak bright' He knew all about Ling Wu but not how to contact him."

Mrs. Jeffers said, with deep frustration, "Where
is
that man?"

Dr. Buxtehede continued, "I took notes. Shue Ming believes there is a cure for what you have, Jon, that dates back five thousand years. He said you will have to swallow a mixture of scales from the Purple Carp, dust from the paws of the Horrible Bear, and a tear from the Great Idol of Kokmong."

Aghast, Mrs. Jeffers asked, "Fish scales?"

Bosun Jeffers asked, "Where are these things? We'll get them."

Dr. Buxtehede held up a hand. "Wait!" He consulted his notes. "Two thousand years ago the sacred Purple Carp was removed from the Forbidden City pool because of threats that heathens would steal it."

There's that word again,
Jon thought.

"It is now believed to be in the cold depths of Sun Moon Lake, at the foot of the Thangla mountains, in Tibet."

"And the Horrible Bear?" Jon asked.

"He is in a mountain cave not far from Sun Moon Lake."

"And the Great Idol of Kokmong?"

Dr. Buxtehede took off his glasses. He had very warm brown eyes, like Jon's. "He is closer, in the South China Sea. On the island of Kokmong, of course."

"How will we get the Purple Carp scales, the bear dust, and the tear from that Kokmong idol once we get there?" Mr. Jeffers asked.