Thunder in the Morning Calm (32 page)

“Yippee!” Tyler said. They released her and galloped like a thundering herd of ponies straight to the kitchen.

“Bri, I thought you would have hit the mall by now,” Margaret said. She managed a smile at her daughter-in-law, who reciprocated, while swiping a loose strand of long blonde hair from across her green eyes.

“The mall isn’t going anywhere,” Bri said. “They’re open all day, and I don’t want to get trampled under that idiotic stampede that’s been waiting out there since midnight. Besides, I wanted to come check on my favorite mother-in-law.”

“You’re sweet.” Margaret set the mug of cider on the small marble table in the foyer and moved into Bri’s warm embrace.

“Mother, Bri’s heading to the mall, but I’m staying with you and the kids,” Gorman said.

“Don’t be silly, Gorman. Go with Bri. She’ll need all the help she can get carrying those bags around.”

“She’ll be fine,” Gorman argued. “Besides, I haven’t decorated a Christmas tree in years. Bri and the kids have all the fun in that department. I figured it’d be a good way to get into the Christmas spirit.”

Looking over Gorman’s shoulder, out on Pendleton Road, Margaret saw a small white car slow down, then turn and drive through the main gate and head down the long driveway.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” Margaret said.

“Who could that be at this hour?” Gorman said.

The car turned onto the circular driveway in front the house. As it turned, they all saw its silver-and-black front tag with the words “US Government.”

“Uh-oh,” Gorman said. “You paid your taxes, Mother?”

The car rolled to a stop and the right passenger door opened. A tall Navy officer, dressed in his dress-blue uniform, stepped out. He had two gold stripes on his coat with a star sewn above the stripes, which Margaret recognized as being the rank of a lieutenant. A gold cord hung from his right shoulder.

Then the driver’s door opened. An enlisted Navy man emerged, wearing a dark blue “cracker jack” uniform and a white “Dixie-cup” style cap.

A second later, the other passenger door opened. Another officer got out. He sported the four gold stripes of a Navy captain. A gold cross was sewn on his sleeve right above the four stripes. The cross, which
normally brought peace to her soul, sent Margaret’s heart racing. “Dear God, no … no …” she said, as the captain affixed his white-black-and-gold officer’s cover on his head.

“What is it?” Bri asked.

“He’s a chaplain.” Margaret buried her face in her hands. “Please, Jesus. Not my son too. Please.” She felt Gorman’s arm wrap around her. Tears flooded her eyes.

“Mrs. McCormick?” The captain removed his cap.

“I’m Margaret McCormick.” She wiped the tears from her eyes, but more kept coming.

“Mrs. McCormick.” The captain’s voice was soft and kind. “I’m Chaplain Roberson from the Norfolk Naval Station.” The chaplain offered her a white handkerchief from his pocket.

“Thank you, Captain. I never expected this visit.”

“This is Lieutenant Duckworth. He’s here on behalf of Admiral Rusotto, who’s the commander of the Norfolk Naval Base.”

“Lieutenant,” she said, acknowledging the junior officer, then turned her eyes back to the captain. “It’s Gunner, isn’t it, Captain?” Her body started to shake. “I’m so sorry, Captain.” Another rainstorm of tears. “But I lost my father in Korea … and I never thought …”

“Captain,” Gorman said, “I’m Gorman McCormick. I’m Gunner’s brother. We heard about the missile attack on the
Harry Truman
. Mother has been unable to sleep knowing that’s Gunner’s ship. I take it you’re here because of that.”

“Mr. McCormick, I’m afraid that I do not have good news about your brother.”

“I was afraid of that,” Gorman said.

“But I’m not here because of the attack on the
Harry Truman
.”

Margaret looked up at the chaplain. “What do you mean?”

“Mrs. McCormick, I’m afraid that your son appears to be lost at sea.”

“Lost at sea? What?”

“Ma’am, Lieutenant Commander McCormick was not on board the
Harry Truman
at the time of the attack. He’d taken a thirty-day leave the day before and had flown off the ship to Osan. He then took a private plane to Japan. The plane went down in the Sea of Japan sometime yesterday afternoon. We’ve conducted an extensive search of the area and found nothing. It doesn’t look good. I’m sorry.”

Margaret stared out across the yard, across the brown grass to the
log fence. A flock of geese, flying south for the winter, flew in a perfect V-formation overhead. She let her eyes linger for a moment on the sky.

Then she looked at the chaplain. “Captain, may I ask something of you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Ask anything you’d like.”

She inhaled and exhaled slowly and wiped her eyes with the handkerchief. “If they find his body, would you come back and let me know?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that.”

“And one other thing.”

“Anything, ma’am.”

“I want a military service for him with full honors, with a Navy honor guard. I want a Navy chaplain officiating. Would you consider officiating at the service?”

The chaplain reached out and took both of Margaret’s hands in his. “Mrs. McCormick, I’ll give you my card with my personal cell number. When you’re ready to hold a service, ma’am, it would be my honor to officiate and to assure you that your son will receive the full military honors that he deserves. Lieutenant Roberson here will lodge your request with the admiral’s staff.”

The lieutenant nodded.

She smiled through streaming tears. “You’re a good man, Captain.”

“You and your family are in my prayers, Mrs. McCormick.” He handed her one of his cards, put his cap on, tipped the bill, and, with a nod to her, said, “Ma’am.”

Then he turned and the three men got back in the car. The white car circled back to the long driveway and headed for the gate and Pendleton Road.

Margaret watched it until it disappeared around a bend in the road.

East coast of North Korea
along the road between Iwon and Sinch’ang

F
reeze!” Jackrabbit whispered.
From inside the treeline paralleling the road, Gunner froze in his steps. Up ahead, across the road to the left and overlooking the beach, he saw the source of Jackrabbit’s concern. Three North Korean Marines huddled around a jeep, whooping it up in loud and animated conversation. They all were smoking cigarettes. One would periodically gaze out to sea with a pair of binoculars.

This marked the second such unit they had discovered. Clearly, the North Koreans were establishing watch positions along the coastline to monitor the sea.

Jackrabbit motioned his hand to the right, and the trio moved deeper into the woods, farther away from the loud-mouthed Marines. They kept moving parallel to the road, quietly moving from tree to tree, stopping for a few seconds behind each trunk, hiding in the dark shadows.

When they had gone a hundred yards or a little more beyond the North Korean observation post, the GPS showed they were just over a mile northeast of the outskirts of Sinch’ang.

As they rounded the next bend in the road, Jackrabbit held up his hand. Bright lights shone about a quarter of a mile ahead.

Another checkpoint?

Gunner brought his binoculars to his eyes.

A petrol station.

The parking lot was empty. The cigarette-smoking clerk was walking toward the lone gas pump. He threw down his cigarette, stamped it on the ground, and started fiddling with the pump.

“Pssst.”
Gunner motioned for Jung-Hoon and Jackrabbit to huddle around him. “I think it’s open. I think it would be a good idea for Jung-Hoon to go check things out.”

“Bad idea, Commander,” Jackrabbit said. “I say we stay in the trees and walk behind the store and keep moving. No point in risking discovery tonight. Not with these Communist Marines hanging around.”

Gunner eyed his compatriots for a moment. “Jung-Hoon, go into the store and see if you can find anything for Jackrabbit’s gunshot wound. Alcohol. Antiseptic. Bandages. Anything. I’m worried about infection setting in.”

“Oh, come on, Commander, that isn’t necessary.” He reverted to his whining, country-boy, redneck tone. “I told you I splashed a little saltwater on it earlier. It’ll be fine.”

“Sorry, Jackrabbit. I’m paying for this trip, and I’m just protecting an asset. I’ve seen the way you shoot, and I need to make sure you keep both arms. I don’t want to have to become the number-one sharpshooter around here. Besides, Jung-Hoon might be able to gather some valuable intel.”

“But —”

“No buts.” This time Gunner held up his hand in a that’s-enough gesture. “I’m sure Jung-Hoon can take care of himself for a few minutes while we hang in the woods and pop popcorn or something.”

Jackrabbit shook his head. “Jung-Hoon, are you okay with that?”

“That’s an excellent idea. I will be back shortly, if you can make Jackrabbit behave himself while I am gone.”

“Need me to take that?” Gunner asked, pointing at Jung-Hoon’s rifle.

“Good idea.” Jung-Hoon handed him the M-16 as Jackrabbit kept shaking his head in protest.

“Got your .45 locked and loaded?”

“In the back of my belt.”

Jung-Hoon pulled a bottled water from his pack, poured some in his hands, and slapped his face to wash off the final residue of black
grease he had not gotten earlier. Then he squatted down and scooped up some snow and rubbed that against his cheeks.

“You’re going to get frostbite,” Gunner said.

“Here’s a rag,” Jackrabbit said. “I don’t like this whole idea, but at least finish getting that grease off your face.”

Jung-Hoon took the towel from Jackrabbit without comment and wiped it hard across his face like a wash rag. Then he handed it back to Jackrabbit.

Gunner patted Jung-Hoon on the back. “See you in a few minutes.”

Jung-Hoon stepped out from behind a fir tree and headed for the gas station, walking along the bank of the ditch that ran next to the road.

Corbin Hall
Suffolk, Virginia

G
orman sat in the large wingback chair at the back of the house and sipped a brandy in stunned disbelief. Just yesterday, they had celebrated a joyous Thanksgiving together. Of course his mother had gotten a bit sentimental at first about her father — the grandfather he never knew — but after that, aside from Gunner’s absence, it had been one of the more enjoyable Thanksgivings in several years.

And now this.

For Gorman, reality had not yet melted away the stunned disbelief at the fate of his younger brother. Gorman had always been more stable, the serious family man determined to come home after Virginia Tech to run the family business and take care of his mother. Gunner was five years younger. They never attended high school or college together. While Gorman returned to his peanut-farming roots, Gunner was bent on sowing his wild oats. In the Navy, then in New York. And back to the Navy.

The brothers were never at odds with each other, as brothers from well-to-do families sometimes can be. But then again, their relationship was never close.

Gunner was closer to his niece and nephew, Jill and Tyler, than he was to his own brother. In fact, although Gorman was back here
running the farm and Gunner was off playing Navy, Gunner was the mama’s boy. Go figure. Gorman didn’t think he was jealous. He sipped more brandy and stared out through the large window overlooking the pool and beyond that to the acres of peanut fields, now dormant.

Sipping on the warm brandy, trying to control his thoughts, he suddenly felt a wave of regret. Perhaps, under the surface, he always justified their less-than-cozy relationship as being Gunner’s fault. Gunner was the one who left Virginia. If Gunner had wanted a relationship or if he had been interested in farming at Corbin Hall, he would have come home and done his part rather than play sailor.

As he sat there, looking out, Gorman’s regret turned to guilt. The preacher last week at First Baptist Church had quoted David and said that “life is like a vapor. Here today. Gone tomorrow.”

Did the preacher have a premonition?

His cell phone rang.

“Scott and Stringfellow” popped up on the screen.

The day after Thanksgiving? Why would his broker be calling today? Aren’t the markets closed? Odd. Let it go to voice mail, he thought.

No, Todd Stacks was a longtime friend. It might be important. He answered the phone. “Todd? … Not too well … Hang on a second, will you?” He stepped out through the glass French doors, out onto the back deck around the pool. “Sorry, Todd, I didn’t want the kids to hear this yet.” He told him the news they’d received that morning, then listened as Todd gave the reason for his call. “What? Say that again…. How much? … When? … Yesterday? … Yes, I’ll let you know if we hear anything else…. Right away. Thanks, Todd. Thanks for calling.”

He stuck the phone in his pocket and walked back into the house, past the sunroom where the kids were decorating the tree, and then up the grand staircase.

He knocked twice on his mother’s bedroom door. “Mother?”

“Come in.” Her voice was weak, tired sounding.

Margaret sat in the chair beside her bed, her Bible in her lap, still holding the chaplain’s handkerchief as if it were a security blanket. She looked up at him through glazed, reddened eyes.

“I got a call from Todd Stacks, Mother.”

“From Todd? Today?” A curious look crossed her face. “I thought the markets were closed today.”

“They are.” He sat at the end of the king-sized bed. “Todd called because his computer alerted him about a large transfer from Gunner’s trust account yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” She cocked her head to one side. “How much?”

“Six hundred thousand dollars.”

“What? That’s almost his entire cash reserve!”

“That’s right, and it looks like he drained another two hundred thousand in cash before he deployed.”

“Why would Gunner withdraw that much without telling anyone?”

“I have no idea about the withdrawal, but Todd checked the wire transfers, and a large sum was wired to a private airport owner in South Korea. Todd made a few follow-up calls and found out that money went to buy an airplane.”