Roswell Fanatics

Flight 526,
18 nautical miles north and 5000 feet above Phoenix, Arizona en route to Flagstaff

"This aircraft is wallowing like a pig," said Ned Harris, ".... are you sure you have the SAS turned on?"

"I'm sure," said Joe Hendershott, even before looking at the switch. "It must be that the circuit breaker popped," he said as he feigned pushing the circuit breakers back in while with the other hand flipped on the stability augmentation switch.

“That’s better,” said Harris. “We need to have maintenance check that. We can fly this thing with out stab-aug, but if we get into turbulence it’ll sway back and forth. That makes flying approaches a lot harder – besides, the pax tend to barf all over the place. Not that that bothers me, of course, the copilot gets to clean that up.”

It wasn't THAT important an oversight, really. Certainly there are aircraft – like fighter aircraft and even some transports that are purposely designed without aerodynamic stability so they are better at maneuvering or just more efficient – that absolutely REQUIRE a working stability augmentation system to keep from flinging themselves out of the sky. The Beech1900D is not like that, in fact, most of the A through C models didn't even have the stability augmentation system as an option. The larger and heavier D-model did – but it could be safely flown without it and in fact you didn't even turn it on until you were 400 feet above the ground. But the oversight was symptomatic of a more important problem

Joe Hendershott was simply too inexperienced. Oh, he could fly the aircraft – under optimum conditions in good weather and if it were behaving itself. But he had little experience with complex aircraft and if anything – anything out of the ordinary at all – occurred, Joe was simply not knowledgeable enough to deal with it. To an extent, that's true of all new-hires – the very reason that the Chief Pilot had teamed him with a pilot as experienced as Ned Harris – but in fact neither the Chief Pilot nor Ned himself really understood how little meaningful experience Joe had because he'd lied so effectively on his application for employment. Most copilots are in somehwat of a race against time – to learn enough quickly enough to keep from making some totally stupid mistake. Joe had stacked the odds of success against himself.


Superior Court, Boulder Colorado

“Your honor,” said Lance Bertram III, attorney at law, “... prior to the testimony of the officer I would request the indulgence of the court in allowing me to confer with my client. I assure you it will be very brief and it is quite important and it may lead to a rapid and reasonable resolution of this case.”

Judge Randolph Perkins rolled his head skyward and smiled. “It would appear that I've totally lost control of this courtroom, Mr. Bertram, but if it will contribute in anyway to bringing some semblance of order to this – you may use my chambers to talk to your client for ten minutes. After that it would appear that Officer Blair will have the floor.”

“Thank you, your honor,” said Bertram, who took Drevins hand and almost pulled him from the defendant's chair and pushed him toward the door to the judge's chamber. As soon as the door was closed, Drevins turned to him and spoke.

“Just what in Hell do you think you are doing, Bertram?” asked Drevins angrily.

“Trying to save your worthless ass, that's what,” relied Bertram just as heatedly. “Look kid, this is the first time you've gotten caught – God alone knows how many times you've broken the law, but He ain't telling so you go into this without a record. You've already pissed away any chance you had to get off by not telling me the whole story...”

“The AG and the federal prosecutor have told me they can get me off – no jail time, just parole – and put Max Evans away for a long time. That's better than what you said you could do for me. Why shouldn't I take their deal?”

“I don't know what your IQ is kid, but you've got no street smarts whatsoever. I know you thought you had a deal with the AG and the federal prosecutor, but I can tell you right now that the wheels are about to come off that bus. Those two are politicians, not even as honorable as a crooked defense lawyer. But even so, if you'd just told them to let the Evans kid walk, you MIGHT have gotten away with it. If you'd have gotten both Evans and Parker back to New Mexico and let passions cool, you might have slipped by with a plea bargain and neither of those kids would have even come back here to testify at your sentencing – but no, you don't want to listen to anyone. Look kid, you've only got one friend in this court and that's me. Those two bastards that are trying to get you to make a deal with them are NOT your friend – and to tell the truth I'm just your friend because you are paying me $2000 a billable hour, but I do have enough integrity left that I'm going to give you one last chance before you make a mistake you'll spend a long time regretting.”

“So what are you asking me to do?” asked Drevins warily.

“This is the deal, kid. Forget about your deal with the politicians – that angry cop in there and that young assistant prosecutor are going to blow them right out of the water – besides that whole deal is more grief than you can handle. Let me make a deal with the prosecutor lady – you cop to felonious assault and illegal possession of drugs. The feds can't prove you ever took them out if the state unless you admit to it so the federal charge goes away. As a first timer you get eight to ten years on the assault charge – maybe a couple on the possession charge – but with any luck at all we'll get those to run concurrently. What that'll really mean is that you do two years in juvenile detention – hell you can spend most of that time playing video games and shooting pool in the day room – and at most another three in adult prison. With time off for good behavior it may even be less, but anyway you look at it you'll be out before you're old enough to legally buy a drink with your whole life ahead of you. But the kicker is, kid, that you have got to tell them to let the Evans kid walk. Tell them you don't hold it against him what he did – that you did something stupid and wrong and you deserved for him to pound your face in . Trust me kid, it always plays well when you act magnanimous – even when the alternative is worse, which for you it is.”

“That's crazy.... why should I give up the deal I have?”

“Kid, you are better off making a deal with a prostitute than a politician. Either way you're going to get screwed, but with the prostitute you'll enjoy it a lot more. They are actually nicer company, too, I've defended both prostitutes and politicians in my time – I vastly prefer the former. The point is, you don't really have a deal. Once that policeman digs his heels in the two politicians are going to pressure him. Once they do that, that young assistant deputy prosecutor is going to get HER hackles up. Once that happens...”

“But she works for the attorney general..”

“Sort of, kid, but it doesn't matter. Did you see the look in that cop's eyes? In the end it's going to be the cop and the lady against the two politicians. The politicians are going to be playing a game of chicken with the cop and the lady, and let me tell you this, son, the politicians always chicken out first. So let me make my deal – now – before it's too late, because once every one gets their backs up, the shit is truly going to hit the fan...”

“No – I don't believe you. You are just saying that – you're pissed off that I just made a better deal than you could.”

“Last chance, kid. Do it my way or I swear to God, we go back in there I'm just going to let you do whatever you want – and you are NOT going to like the result.”

“I'll take my chances,.”

“Your decision, kid. Don't ever say I didn't warn you. “Don't worry about paying me though – what I got for the phone call was more than enough. I'll just sit in there and rubber stamp whatever deal you end up with, but I can guarantee you won't like it as much as the one you are turning down.”

Two minutes later they were back in the courtroom.

“I believe you had something to say, Officer Blair?” asked Judge Randolph Perkins.

“I certainly did, your honor. First, with regard to this defendant, there is no way that he should ever be allowed to walk from what he did last night. We have clear evidence of a felonious sexual assault with special circumstances – drugging of the victim – and the sworn affidavit of the accused has been proven to be a total fabrication. We have the glassine envelopes that have partial prints on them that we know do not belong to the victim – we will be attempting to match them up with the accused as soon as we get his prints – and we have...”

“Officer Blair,” interrupted the AG, “...you are a simple policeman. You do not make these decisions – the prosecutor makes these decision – or in this case the Attorney General of the state. Sometimes in the interest of public safety some degree of leniency must be shown to those with information to insure their cooperation. Every prosecutor knows that...”

“While that may be true, there are still limits.” said Patty Holmes. “You can't seriously be considering letting the defendant off completely from the assault charges..?” she asked in disbelief.

“May I remind you, Miss Holmes, you work for the prosecutor's office and through them you work for me. As junior as you are, I don't think I'd say another word right now,” said the Attorney General.

As it turned out, that was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Fifteen minutes later
Superior Court, Boulder Colorado

Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam

The gavel fell loudly - and repeatedly.

Judge Randolph Perkins spoke loudly as well.

"Order in the court. I will have order in this courtroom."

His face appeared grim but the reality was he was fighting to keep from smiling. True, the politicians had lived up - or more accurately down - to his expectations. On the other hand, the young prosecutor had acted even better than he had hoped and the police officers and FBI agent had come through as well. It had been a busy fifteen minutes and heaven alone knew how long it would eventually take the poor transcriptionist to make a hard copy of the taped record. There had been a lot of people talking at once - a fair number shouting at once. But the key person had been Miss Holmes - which was why he'd made sure the clerk had called her for this meeting rather than letting the AG and Federal Prosecutor handle it by themselves. Either one of the politicians would have rolled over for a chance to score some quick favorable publicity. Liz Parker deserved better than that. So did Max Evans, although a few calls to lawyers that knew his mother when she was in law school had pretty well convinced him that Max Evans was not directly at risk. But even so, Liz Parker deserved at least a modicum of justice. Hence his decision to have Miss Holmes called in for this hearing.

Threatening Miss Holmes' job had been incredibly stupid. Even politicians were expected to be smarter than that. Judge Perkins decided at that minute that when the idiot finally did run for Governor he'd most likely vote for the other guy. Patty Holmes was sort of a younger version of Diane Evans. The girl could walk away from her present job into a junior partnership that paid three times what she was making now - and double that when she made senior partner in two or three years. Despite her naivete, she was an excellent young lawyer, and perhaps what she would learn from this day would even make her better.

The AG had threatened her, Officer Blair had leaped to her defense, the AG had threatened him as well. It had gone downhill from there. The Federal Prosecutor had jumped into the fray - threatening to bring federal hate-crime charges against the Evans kid for 'violating the civil rights' of the Drevins boy, which had brought the young FBI agent into the conversation stating the obvious - that the case against the young lad was clearly not a federal case, and in his opinion given the young man's mental health history and the fact that he'd been impaired by the stun gun, it was not altogether sure he was responsible for his actions at all. That had made the Federal Prosecutor threaten the young FBI agents career - bringing Detective Hofstra into the fight.

Detective Hofstra had unloaded on both of the politicians by threatening to retire - he apparently had the years service to do so - and 'go on every talk radio station and public forum in Colorado to tell them what a couple of assholes you two are,' whereupon the Federal Prosecutor had threatened Hofstra with a lawsuit for slander - an idle threat in the opinion of Judge Perkins - both of the politicians WERE assholes - or at least had one, which was probably close enough. Both of the other law enforcement officers had said they'd go on the programs with him - followed quickly by Miss Holmes, to the chagrin of both of the politicians. They might have been able to claim that one disgruntled former detective shouldn't be listened to - but two cops, an FBI guy, and a very attractive and photogenic young lady lawyer would eat them alive.

Oh, the arrogance of the politicians died hard. They were used to being obeyed by their toadies and no doubt still were hoping for some way to intimidate the others - but it wasn't going to happen. In their anger and arrogance it was obvious that everyone had forgotten the tape machine for the court recorder was going. That wouldn't hurt the police or the assistant deputy prosecutor who were obviously fighting the good fight, but it would be devastating to the political careers of the AG and Federal Prosecutor if it were ever released - and released it would be, if those bastards actually tried to make good on any of the threats they'd made against the careers of the others.

Bam Bam Bam!

"I will have order in this court."

Perkins looked at the wide-eyed young defendant who he had no doubt was starting to realize that he'd been promised something that the politicians would be unable to deliver. Strangely enough, Lance Bertram III actually seemed amused.

"Now we have two choices," said the judge. "Clearly this defendant is NOT going to be allowed to walk from this charge - and as I have already stated, I have no intention of either granting him bail or signing off on the writ of habeus corpus, so the issue now comes down to what IS going to be an acceptable plea bargain - one that will grant the defendant some credit for the information he will be able to provide while still not bargaining away the justice owed to Miss Parker - at least not completely."

"Your honor ....," said Patty Holmes...

"Your honor.....,"said the Attorney General...

"Your honor.....,"said the Federal Prosecutor...

"Your honor.....,"said Officer Blair...

Bam!

"Quiet," said Judge Perkins.

"Miss Holmes, Officers Hofstra and Blair - please go into my chambers NOW,"said Judge Perkins, "... I'll be with you momentarily. Agent Anderson, if you would be so good as to remain here to see that Mr. Drevins does likewise."

Within fifteen seconds the three were behind the closed door of the judge's chambers. Judge Perkins looked down at Drevins, shaking his head. "Young man, what has been attempted here is a classic case of over-reaching. I don't know if the over-reaching was initiated by Mr. Sorensen and Mr Reynolds, or by you. Whatever the case, I'm rather amazed that Mr. Bertram didn't advise you against it."

"In fact, I did, your honor," stated Lance Bertram.

"It never fails to amaze me that after paying truly mind-boggling amounts of money to some defense attorneys, their clients aren't bright enough to actually abide by the recommendations of the lawyers they have paid for. But be that as it may, we are now at somewhat of an impasse and - considering the youth of the defendant here - I feel that in fairness I need to apprise him of the situation as it now exists.
Young man, you have seriously over-reached. I realize that you have information that law enforcement values, but there is a limit to the extent that society can, in good conscience, deny justice to a victim to gain that information. You have exceeded that limit. I realize that these two no doubt promised you they could get you whatever you wanted – they are politicians after all – but the reality is somewhat different. For this plea bargain to go through it would have been necessary for a judge to buy off on it and I will confess to my chagrin, that they may have been able to find a pet judge that – had no one noticed or intervened – might have given you close to a free ride. The difficulty is that this has been noticed – and that changes everything.
Certainly no judge is going to grant any sort of a plea bargain without hearing from the arresting officer, and now that Miss Holmes has also been made aware of this as well, there is little chance of sneaking this by her either.

What that means to you, Mr. Drevins, is worse than the mere fact that you aren't going to be allowed to walk. I have three very angry people in the next room and for any plea bargain to occur, I need to placate all three of them. If one – any one of them – actually goes through with their threats to resign and go public on this, do you know what will happen?”

“Uh – Mr. Sorensen and Mr. Reynolds would renege on the deal?”

“Son – that would be the least of it. These two have failed to slide this one by without it being noticed, and they have failed to intimidate the people that would now expose them. They are unequivocally going to renege on the deal - that's a given. But it's far worse than that.
At this point, they too are entirely dependent upon my going in to my chambers and talking reason to the three in there, because if I cannot convince all three of them to not blow the whistle on this, Mr. Sorensen and Mr. Reynolds' best chance at keeping their political careers intact will be to immunize themselves against the allegations of those three people by finding the roughest prosecutor they can and putting unlimited resources at their disposal to insure that you are absolutely hammered at your trial – to make sure that no one can credibly say that they went easy on you.”

Drevins looked at the two politicians – who couldn't quite bring their eyes to meet his – and then to Bertram who was nodding gravely – and he began to realize just how deep a hole he was in.

“So I'm going to tell you what I'm going to do, son, in the interest of justice and in the interest of obtaining the information from you that the members of the anti-drug task force would very much like to have, I AM going to go talk reason to those three and I will come back with a deal for you – take it or leave it, it doesn't matter to me – but I assure you you aren't going to get a better plea bargain because at this point unless all three of those people in that room approve it, these two scalawags certainly will not, I assure you of that....”


Flight 526 on approach to Flagstaff-Pulliam regional airport
Flagstaff, AZ

Flagstaff was 7000 feet above sea level and it had snowfall three days previously. Traces of snow were common in the wintertime in Flagstaff, but this had been more than a trace. The one working snowplow at the airport had managed to clear the runway – but only by pushing the snow off to the side of the runway. The snow was pushed no farther, because to do so would have involved shearing off the runway lights on the side of the runway, so much of the snow still sat there in a long row adjacent to the only runway. During the day it would get up into the mid-forties and the pile would start to melt – flowing back onto the runway. Night in the high desert would get down to the mid-twenties – and the puddled water would freeze up again. It was above freezing now and most of the ice was melted – except where a few shadows had protected it from the heat of the sun. Unfortunately, that was on the approach end of runway 03.

The approach plate had a caution on it: RUNWAY 03/21 WINDSHEAR & TURBULENCE AT BOTH ENDS OF RY WHEN SFC WINDS EXCEED 10 KNOTS. The winds were almost 20 knots from the East when Flight 526 landed on runway 03, giving a crosswind component of over 15 knots – about the most the Beech 1900 could comfortably handle usually. Usually was the operative word.

The aircraft landed in a slight drift to the west but it should have been easily controllable – would have been easily controllable almost anywhere else on the runway – but the brakes and the nosewheel steering were ineffective on the ice – surprisingly so. The slide to the left was slow – but it seemed inexorable. It looked like within seconds they would be off the side of the runway into the snow and the mud beneath it.

“Son of a BITCH!” exclaimed Ned Harris as he wrestled the yoke with one hand while using differential power and reverse thrust – using the braking power of the propellers running in reverse for both braking and for steering – to control the sliding of the aircraft and force it back toward the center of the runway. “...the damn ice must have screwed up our anti-skid. It felt just like our tires totally locked up when I hit the brakes.”

Joe Hendershott nodded without speaking – he'd been sure in those few seconds that they were going to be leaving the runway at nearly 100 knots- about 115 mph – and likely ending up in a fireball. He hadn't been able to find the anti-skid arming switch on approach – things were just happening too fast – and he'd called 'check' without really arming it. He looked sideways at Ned who seemed totally occupied with taxiing the aircraft on the icy tarmac and found it at last. As he pressed the button, the workload seemed to be better for the pilot who breathed an audible sigh of relief.

“Well,” said Ned, “... that was interesting. I'll let you have the landing at Salt Lake City. They have runways there that are larger and longer – and enough of them that you won't have a 70 degree crosswind either. I'm not sure you'd have been ready for this one.”

Hendershott was pretty sure he wouldn't have been ready for this one either but he was confident he could handle the wide clear runways of a major airport. It was these 'systems' things that made him uncomfortable. The planes he had flown hadn't had things like anti-skid or even reverse thrust. But if he could just keep faking it he knew he'd pick all this stuff up. He'd certainly never forget the anti-skid switch again.

The judge had scarcely left the chamber before Drevins was hissing at the AG and Federal Prosecutor under his breath. “You two promised me that you'd get me off....”

“We did nothing of the sort. We told you that with luck we could get it so you didn't actually have to serve any time. Obviously our luck didn't turn out quite that good,” replied Sorensen.

“So are you really going to hammer me if one of those three goes public?”

“Kid, it's nothing personal,” said Reynolds, “...but the whole purpose of doing this was to get some favorable publicity. You can hardly expect us to push to go throw with the original deal and give up our careers.”

“Look, kid, you need to think about this. Perkins here isn't going to be the one trying this – we can see to that. All judges kind of read from the same playbook – they have a range of penalties and the judges have discretion within that range. With a plea bargain we can see that the case goes to one of the judges that routinely gives the low range of the sentencing guidelines. Say the judge gets them to buy off on charges that carry five years on the state charges and a couple on the federal charges. With the right intervention from the AG and myself, we can get that down to just a couple of years on the state side – you'll just serve those in the juvenile detention facility playing pool and video games. Then a year or less out at a minimum security facility in California – Hell, you'll be out before you turn nneteen if you are lucky. Only thing is, you'll probably have to give up going after the Evans kid – it would look better if you were remorseful and taking responsibility for your actions and all that crap.”

“Not a problem,” said Drevins. “I'd just as soon Evans walked...,” he said, visualizing how he had last seen Max – the look in his eyes not quite altogether human – and thinking about seeing him in the dayroom of the juvenile detention facility with a pool cue in his hand. No, he didn't need that sort of grief. Three years wasn't forever – he'd get out eventually – and then he could go after the little bitch that had caused all this. Hurting her would hurt Evans more than anything else he could do – that much he was sure of....

Inside Judge Perkins' chambers,:

"Miss Holmes, Officers Hofstra and Blair – we need to talk,"said Judge Perkins, "You have spoken out against a plea bargain for Mr. Drevins with nobility and passion. I need you to set aside that passion now and listen to why you need to agree to a plea bargain for him – not the one that was proposed which amounted to simply letting him walk – but a more reasonable one.”

“Reasonable? What's reasonable about denying justice to Elizabeth Parker,” asked Patty.

Judge Perkins held up his hand. “Right now there is a lot of emotion in this room. You are being emotional, Miss Holmes, because you identify with the young Miss Parker. You can imagine being her – knowing what it would have felt like if something like that had happened to you at her age. You, officer Blair, are no doubt still berating yourself for using the stun gun on Mr. Evans in error – and likely berating yourself again for using it in restraining Mr. Evans from bludgeoning Mr. Drevins to death. Perhaps you are even thinking of your own young daughter someday being in a circumstance like that of Miss Parker. Detective Hofstra, on the other hand, is no doubt remembering every time in the last twenty-five years where some judge or prosecutor has let a perpetrator go because someone hiccuped while reading the suspect their Miranda rights, or the convicted got an unreasonably light sentence because the prosecutor failed to do their homework on previous convictions – or perhaps some case that you were emotionally invested in went to a lenient judge and all your hard work went for naught. I understand, all three of you are worked up over this and any one of you might easily throw yourself on your sword careerwise over this to do the right thing – and I applaud you for that. But first let me tell you why a plea bargain is the right thing.”

All three of them stared at the judge briefly – finally Patty Holmes found her voice. “ I suppose it wouldn't hurt to listen – but I still want justice for that girl.”

Perkins sat down and looked at the young assistant deputy prosecutor. “Miss Holmes, there are many definitions of justice. The original one - the quality of being just; righteousness, equitableness, or moral rightness and conformity to this principle, as manifested in conduct; just conduct, dealing, or treatment, is very different from the process of justice - the maintenance or administration of what is just by law, as by judicial or other proceedings. This justice system lacks the capability to be just to Miss Parker – it is far too late for that. Long before she came to our attention she had already been drugged and assaulted. There is nothing just or morally right about that. Absent the intervention of Mr. Evans she would have almost certainly been raped and likely killed. Nothing that this court or any other one can do can make what happened to her just at this late date.”

“But we can certainly punish Drevins.”

“Certainly there are penalties we can impose on Mr. Drevins, but it's important to be realistic about those penalties. Had Mr. Evans not managed to stop him, do you think that Miss Parker have would find any equitableness or moral righteousness in our imprisoning Mr. Drevins – or even giving him the death penalty?”

“Well we certainly shouldn't let him go unpunished,” said Blair.

“Nor am I suggesting that we should, Officer Blair,” said Perkins. “... but neither should we think that anything we do can really bring a moral justice to the situation. We can only do what we can do – we cannot un-assault Miss Parker. We cannot in any meaningful way balance the injury that was done to her. The justice system has inherent limitations. Suppose we somehow managed to convict Mr. Drevins and get him sentenced to thirty years- would that erase the assault on Miss Parker? Likewise, once Mr. Drevins completes his term – however long it is – has he truly 'paid his debt to society'?
Of course not. No criminal – whatever sentence he serves – regains moral equivalence with the citizen who was similarly tempted but chose NOT to commit the crime – but we pretend that they do. The entire justice system is a fiction that way – a consensus we agree to – in many cases the lowest common denominator - in order to let us live in a society in relative peace and security.”

“I guess I don't understand,” said Patty.

“But it's important that you DO understand,” said Perkins, “...all lawyers come to realize this sometime in their careers – some like Mr. Bertram take advantage of the fact that we live in a society that errs on the side of the defendant and get rich working the odds – some like our esteemed Attorney General decide that since the system doesn't work as advertised hey might as well use it as a stepping stone to their own particular goals – the best lawyers, Miss Holmes – the best lawyers do the best they can to use this imperfect system to protect the public. The justice system cannot un-assault Miss Parker, Miss Holmes, but it can punish – within limits – her assailant. Or it can – again within limits – deny her some measure of the imperfect justice she would have otherwise received and trade that – trade it for information that will prevent other young ladies from going through the experience she has gone through – or worse. Is that fair, you may ask? Nothing about this situation is fair, Miss Holmes. It never was. Case in point – Mr. Evans is most likely going to be charged with assault and battery upon Mr Drevins. I would submit that the real damage done was done TO Mr. Evans by Mr. Drevins. You are familiar with the young man's history – he already demonstrated he was willing to give his life to protect that young lady from being kidnapped and violated – you have seen the witness testimony about the fear and panic he demonstrated. Clearly the beating that Drevins received did not begin to compare with the fear and pain that young Mr. Evans experienced when he was frantically searching for her.... yet Officer Blair did as the law required when he stopped young Max from beating Drevins to death – Hell if you want justice for Max Evans we should have just left him alone – but this is about more than Max Evans – this is about society. Society cannot afford vigilante justice because human beings are fallible – that's why it was necessary for Officer Blair to stop young Mr. Evans. In this case I have little doubt that Mr. Evans did indeed have the right culprit – but that isn't always the case. We have accepted that in our society the guilty will go free sometimes rather than the innocent being punished. That is why – both because he MAY have been wrong and because society could not afford to establish the precedent of permitting Max Evans to revenge himself on Mr. Drevins, Officer Blair NEEDED to intervene. Do you accept the idea, Miss Holmes that is is better for a guilty person to get off than for an innocent person to be harmed?”

“Well, yes, I guess...”

“Well that is precisely what we need to do now. Drevins is guilty – but to a degree we must let him go – in order that the information he possesses will allow us to keep other innocents – like Miss Parker – from suffering her fate – or worse.”
“I hate to say it, but he's right, Miss,” said Detective Hofstra. “Getting the names of 140 pushers – that'd likely give us the names of a half dozen or more suppliers by the time we got done … this could save dozens – maybe hundreds of kids from being in that girl's shoes.”

“But he tried to kill her...,” said Patty.

“Which you and I both know you'll never be able to prove...” said Perkins, “... in fact, even with the evidence that you have, he can still claim that much of it was the girl's fault – that he was lying to cover her involvement because he cared for her or felt sorry for her. He needs to convince only one of the twelve jurors that he didn't do something 'beyond a reasonable doubt,' or that her voluntarily leaving the dance with him was 'implied consent' or some such utter nonsense – but it happens all the time, Miss Holmes. Realistically we need to look at this case dispassionately – to see what you have that is beyond a shadow of a doubt – and that becomes the baseline for what you can realistically expect a jury to allow – then you need to cut back on that to make the deal. So honestly – realistically – what do you think you can prove beyond any shadow of a doubt?”

“Really? Felonious assault – probably not even sexual assault – he can claim she took her own pants off and she won't be able to testify any differently – she just doesn't remember. Possession of GHBA and transport across state lines for a federal charge...”

“So what that boils down to for a first time offender is maybe five to eight years for the assault and a couple years for the federal charges.”

“That's all? That's all he gets?”

“No, he won't even get that much. To get the plea bargain we want we'll have to offer probably five years and one year – and hope the judge doesn't run them concurrently. Worst case, I can see him out in two and a half years if he gets a judge that is exceptionally lenient.”

“That just doesn't seem fair...”

“I understand that , Miss Holmes,” said Perkins,”... but is it fair to those 'dozens or hundreds' of other girls to NOT make that deal?”



“Mesa 526, you are cleared for a visual approach to Runway 34 Left. Contact Salt Lake Tower at 132 decimal six-five passing Fflag,” said Salt Lake City Approach.

“Cleared visual 34 Left, contact tower at Fflag,” repeated back Ned Harris to approach control as he watched Joe Hendershott pull the power back and start to descend out of ten thousand feet.

It was a beautiful day, and Salt Lake City International was clearly visible just a little over twenty miles away. Hendershott actually flew the nineteen passenger – well seventeen passenger plus crew of two if they were fully loaded – aircraft reasonably well. It was obvious he was used to lighter aircraft, and both his radio skills and knowledge of standard air traffic control procedures were marginal at best – not too surprising really, a lot of the newer first officers had little or no time flying actual instruments. Just instructing some marginally less competent student pilot around the same airport where you flew as an entry level instructor didn't really build those skills. Worse yet was his complete absence of comfort with the more complex systems in the aircraft – not that thie was a particularly complicated aircraft as airliners went. Still – multiengine turboprop time was expensive - in even a medium turboprop twin like the Beech 1900. Because of that most first officers didn't have much beyond the entry level second in command course the company gave the new-hires. Even so, Hendershott seemed more uncomfortable than most. It was no wonder the Chief Pilot wanted me to watch him closely,' thought Harris to himself.

Ten minutes later they were at the end of Runway 34 Left and Hendershott squeaked it on. 'Not bad,' thought Ned, '...of course, he's got a runway 150 feet wide and 12,000 feet long. We'll see how he does at Kingman or some of the smaller airports.'

"So what you are saying," said Patty Holmes, "...is that Elizabeth Parker can't ever really have 'justice' because she's fundamentally different from Drevins...?"

"That's right," said Judge Perkins. "Even if we were to somehow hurt him as much as he has hurt her - and others as well since I doubt very much that Miss Parker is the first victim of this young monster - he seemed too knowledgeable and well practiced at this - it still would bring no equivalency because Liz Parker simply couldn't take the .... the JOY ... in Jimmy Drevins' pain that he is capable of taking in hers.
Perhaps all people are CREATED equal, Miss Holmes, but they simply don't stay that way. We can do things to try to deter Drevins from such actions in the future - we MUST do those things in the interest not just of Miss Parker but of society as a whole - but we can neither restore to her - nor to any of this dreadful boys previous victims - the innocence they had. Not merely the sexual innocence which fortunately young Mr. Evans was timely enough to preserve in Miss Parkers case, but the sort of innocence children enjoy not knowing that there is evil in this world - evil like Jimmy Drevins."

The discussion in the judge's chambers would continue for another 15 minutes, but in the end Judge Perkins' appeal to the three others won out. ADA Holmes, Officer Blair, and Detective Hofstra all agreed that if Jimmy Drevins pleaded guilty to felonious assault, possession of a controlled substance, and transporting a controlled substance in interstate commerce they would not go public with objections to the plea bargain. None of the three were entirely happy about that – in fact all three were pretty upset knowing that Drevins would likely serve – at most seven years less probably three years for 'providing material assistance to the joint federal-state task force in controlling illegal drug distribution over a four state area. Four years seemed little enough for what they knew he had done – but the judge's argument that they would be protecting dozens of others did win out.

The only good news was that – given the statement by Jimmy Drevins that he did not want assault and battery charges brought against Max for their altercation the assault charge against Max was reduced to simple assault with a decision on prosecution deferred pending an examination by Max's own mental health worker as to his ability to understand the difference between right and wrong at the time of the incident. The only remaining charge against Max was escape from custody. Jim Blair quickly provided testimony that at the time of his escape the treating physician considered Max to be 'significantly impaired mentally by the effects of the stun gun on his brain,' and this last charge was dropped and the information sent to the mental health professional in New Mexico who would be handling Max's evaluation. That would pretty well terminate any realistic likelihood of his prosecution for either offense in the state of Colorado.

Jim Blair personally picked Max from the hospital and took copies of the doctors opinion for the Colorado Superior Court Records and for his mental health provider's use. Max was taken to the Boulder city jail - booked, photographed, fingerprinted, - held for Mr. Raff to pick up.

The AG and the Federal Prosecutor wasted little time in getting Jimmy Drevins before another state judge – the most lenient one they could find, who approved the plea bargain that had been worked out.
It would take almost three weeks, but he would ultimately be sentenced to a state sentence of five years for felonious assault and a federal charge of three years for drug possession and transport in interstate commerce. The sentences were ordered to be served concurrently.

With time off for good behavior and credit for assisting in the apprehension of 140 drug pushers, the state sentence was ultimately lowered to two years as was the federal sentence. Drevins served eighteen months in the Colorado State juvenile corrections institute – mainly shooting pool and playing video games in the day room - and plotting his revenge. Upon reaching eighteen years of age, he was given time off for good behavior from the remainder of his state sentence and was transferred back to California where he served less than six weeks of the remaining four and a half months of his federal sentence in the minimum security camp of the federal minimum correctional facility at Herlong, California after which time he was granted a 'humanitarian' release from the facility and returned back to his luxury Marin County home. Altogether, Drevins would serve only nineteen and a half months iof incarceration.

On a happier note, Patty would get to her dinner with Bryce. They would be married five months later. Eleven years later she would be appointed as a superior court judge to replace retiring Judge Perkins. Jim Blair would go home to his daughter and wife and have the knowledge that he had made the world a little safer for both of them. He would be promoted six months later. Agent Anderson and and Detective Hofstra would receive substantial credit for the many drug pushers that would be arrested. Both would be promoted, Hofstra retiring three years later as a police Lieutenant. The AG would lose his bid to be Colorado State Governor and – with a change in the party in power in Washington, the Federal Prosecutor would find himself out of a job. He would eventually achieve modest success working as a Washington DC lobbyist but never hold a higher government office than Federal Prosecutor for the Denver district.


Meanwhile, in Salt Lake City

Ned Harris left dispatch and found a secluded public phone to make the phone call. He had a cellphone, but he wouldn't use it to call the number that had shown up on his pager – you couldn't be too careful. The number was that of Francisco Calderon, who no doubt was calling him from Albuquerque. Calderon was – well the phrase consigliere was probably the closest – the consigliere of the Valencia cocaine syndicate – the one which Ned normally did business with. Normally Calderon and his boss Ramon Valencia were in northern Chihuahua but this week they had been in Albuquerque. Ned knew that because he'd taken them there from El Paso and he'd be taking them back from Albuquerque to El Paso this evening. This was their annual Christmas shopping expedition – and a chance to meet in person with the people who ran the northern half of the syndicate's lucrative operation.

Ned knew Francisco Calderon fairly well – and had even had dinner once at the hacienda of Ramon Valencia. Both considered themselves good Catholics and both had large families. Once each year they would come to Albuquerque like this – accompanied by four bodyguards – running a cocaine syndicate was not without risks and competitors had been known to summarily execute the leadership of competing cartels. Apparently neither were quite THAT good a Catholic, however, because on both occasions that Ned had flown them to Albuquerque, they'd also taken aloong their mistresses. Apparently these mistresses did the actual shopping for the mens children – and wives – while the men themselves were in business meetings most of the week.

From Salt Lake Flight 526 would next go to Grand Junction Colorado, Denver, Albuquerque, Roswell, and El Paso (where he would pick up his next cocaine shipment) before returning finally to Phoenix. Normally the leg from Albuquerque to El Paso would only have a few passengers going to or coming from Roswell – if it had any passengers at all – because both Albuquerque and El Pasl were minor hubs in the hub and spoke system used by the major airlines. There would be three or four flights this evening – with larger jet planes that would go non-stop from Albuquerque to El Paso - that would make the trip quicker than possible with the smal; twin turboprop. But Calderon and Valencia preferred the small plane – in large measure because Ned would smuggle the guns of the bodyguards through security. Valencia in particular felt paranoid about his competitors attacking him in El Paso – and even in Albuquerque. He wanted his personal bodyguards armed until they reached security and armed again before they left the aircraft. The four pistols fit easily into Ned Harris's flight bag and we would distribute them before they landed. No doubt Calderon wanted reassurance that the flight would be on time – and to find out if they could fly direct – possible only if there were no passengers going either to or from Roswell.

Checking one last time for anyone listening, Ned made the call.

“Hola?”

“Hola.” said Ned, “ ¿Puedo hablar yo con Sr. Calderon, por favor? “

“Sí, un minuto, por favor.”

It was about thirty seconds later that Ned heard Calderone's voice.

“Si?”

“Ned Harris, Mr. Calderone, returning your call....”

“Ah, si, Ned, el Jefe was asking if the flight from Albuquerque would be direct or not...”

“Unfortunately no, sir.”

“Please, Ned, call me Francisco...”

“Sure Mr. C … Francisco. Unfortunately we have a couple of passengers that we are picking up in Denver that are staying on through Roswell – then it looks like two to pick up in Roswell going on to El Paso as well. Sorry, but it can't be helped. Even with loading and unloading in Roswell though, it shouldn't add much more than forty minutes to our flight.”

“As you say, Ned, it can't be helped. I'll tell el Jefe – by the way, I'd like to ask a favor of you, I have found a present for my cousin – a semi automatic rifle, except it has been altered and is semi-automatic no more. Naturally I would not like to check it through. Would it be possible for you to carry it through security? It is disassembled and in a discreet suitcase but even so – it would not do to have it x-rayed.”

“I'll take care of it, Francisco.”

“Thank you, my friend. By the way, we are planning an expansion of our distribution system in Arizona and New Mexico – having a small fleet of jet aircraft of our own based in El Paso. We will need a chief pilot in charge of aircraft operations and the position will pay handsomely. Perhaps we can discuss it during the flight this evening.”

Ned smiled. This was his chance – to make it back to the big money – more even than the guys flying 747s made. All good things come to those who wait..,' he said to himself. “I'm looking forward to that, Francisco. Looking forward to it very much....”

The Crashdown Restaurant,
Roswell New Mexico

“You two are the lawyers,” said Nancy, “.... so what do you think?”

“About which? Them deciding to essentially let Max off the hook? That's about as good as we could hope for...,” said Diane, “....but if you are talking about letting that boy off that lightly for what he did to Liz … well that just sucks, as my daughter would undoubtedly say.”

“We know it sucks,” said Jeff, “... but do you really think it's the best they can do?”

“I talked to the young ADA for about fifteen minutes and she was very apologetic. I'm not sure the decision was totally hers to make – apparently the state attorney general got involved too – but I got the impression the kid had some information about other criminal activity that they desperately needed to keep other innocent people from being hurt, and a reduction of the charges against him for what he did to Liz was the only coin they had to pay him for that info. I don't really have enough information to know if the knowledge they needed was really worth it or not – but I'm not sure at this point there's much we can do about it. If they've made him the offer and he's given them the information, the state of Colorado couldn't back out of it if they wanted to now.”

“So where does that leave us?,” asked Jeff.

“”Well, we you can go to Colorado and raise a stink and perhaps embarrass the attorney general there but that really wouldn't change anything. Like Diane says, it's a done deal now,” said Philip. “You could also sue the Drevins kid for pain, suffering, mental and physical trauma... that might be worth doing.”

“Assuming his lawyer didn't go after Liz on the stand – accusing her of asking for what happened to her – maybe even instigating it,” said Diane.

“You can't be serious,” said Nancy.

Diane shook her head. “I wish I weren't. Criminal trials are tricky – it's not that hard to manipulate a jury. A few years ago a young man admitted to strangling his girlfriend because she wanted to date other boys – admitted to it. But when it came to trial he claimed the girl liked rough sex – that she'd asked for it – and that he'd accidentally killed her while he was strangling her in order to cause the sexual asphyxia she wanted to increase her satisfaction.”

“But surely no one could believe that...?” said Nancy.

“The jury tossed out the first degree murder charge and found the young man guilty of only criminally negligent homicide. He served only four years in jail for what was almost certainly rape and murder. The problem was that there was no one to testify against him. The seventeen year old girl wasn't around to testify against him. The problem here is similar – Liz isn't dead, thank God, but she can't remember anything so she can't very well refute much of what he says.”

“Not just thank God,” said Jeff, “...thank Max, too.”

Nancy nodded in agreement. “But Max is still at risk to be sued for pain and suffering for what he did to that young bastard, isn't he?”

“Oh, I'd almost enjoy it if he actually did that,” said Diane. “We'd counter sue the little turd for mental anguish, pain and suffering., intentional infliction of suffering – two can play that win the sympathy of the jury game.....”

“So your advice is what?” Jeff asked Diane and Philip,”...to just stay here and let them send the kids back home?”

“We might as well,” said Philip, “...since we can't do anything to stop the plea bargain with that boy from happening anyway at this point. Besides ... whatever legal action we might contemplate for the future, we have plenty of time to consider once we've talked to the two kids and fully heard their story. Besides, I'd really like to get Max out of Colorado before someone there changes their mind about the assault charge.”

“We need to get both of them back here,” said Nancy, “... in their own homes – and in the arms of the people who love them.”

The other three around the table solemnly nodded.



Back in Boulder, Colorado

"Are you sure you're OK, Max?" asked Officer Blair.

"I'm OK, I guess," he replied, still beating himself up inside for having left Liz and letting that happen to her. She might have died and it was all his fault. His very reason for coming to this meeting had been to protect her - but he'd let his emotions get in the way - drive him away from her when she needed his protection most. He wasn't sure he'd ever forgive himself for that.

Jim Blair saw the boy's far-off stare through the filter of his own guilt for having zapped him all those times. He winced internally and apologized yet again. "Look, I really am sorry about the stun gun thing - at least the first time. No, not just the first time - if I'd had any idea how lightly Drevins was going to get off I'd have probably let you work him over a little harder the second time - maybe even joined in."

Max looked up with sympathetic brown eyes. "No, no you wouldn't. You aren't that sort of guy. I'm not either, I guess - not when I'm fully with it at least," Max's cerebrums were back in control and doing a pretty good job of reining in his midbrain right now. ",...and you don't have to feel guilty, Officer. I swear, I don't even remember getting zapped - not either time."

"Well, I'm sorry anyway. Sorry for your young lady too .... she deserved more justice than we were able to give her."

Max winced internally at that. Liz wasn't 'his' young lady ... and never would be. He needed to resign himself to that - but something deep down inside him just wouldn't let him.

"Here - I brought you a soda and some doughnuts - swiped them from the backroom. If there's one thing you can be sure of it's that every police station has a box of doughnuts somewhere. I'm going to go fax the documents on all of this to Deputy Sheriff Valenti. He seems like a good guy - said he'd take care of you. He said he'd make sure they got to whoever will be evaluating this down in New Mexico. I told him frankly that you didn't do anything wrong - and he thinks that's how it will all go down. If there is any trouble, give me a call and I'll come down to talk to your shrink or whatever else I can do."

"Deputy Valenti's son is in our class - we go back a few years. I'm sure if he told you he'd take care of me my legal troubles are over."

"I'll be back in a little bit. You need to just sit here - the duty desk guy there will look after you. I'll finish processing your paperwork and faxing the stuff to Roswell, then get back here and sit with you until Mr. Raff gets here."

"You need to go home to bed. How long have you been on duty?"

"Since about two hours before I met you."

"See, that's what - almost seventeen hours now. You look tired."

"No more so than you, my young friend."

"Naw, I got to bed twice in that time..."

"Yeah - a hospital bed - because I put you there."

"I said I didn't blame you...," said Max, smiling slightly.

"Yeah kid, and I believe you," said Jim Blair as he went off to do the paperwork before the kid could see the tears start to form in his eyes. He did believe Max Evans - and he'd tell Jim Valenti about that too. The kid didn't even hold a grudge that he'd shocked him by mistake that first time. That was because Max was a good kid - more than that - a good human being. Not like that piece of trash Drevins.


The officer brought the man in the orange jail jumpsuit from back in the jail. "Have a seat on the bench and stay there until I finish the paperwork," he told him, as he went up to the desk sergeant. "I'm transferring this guy back to Denver to hold him for trial," he announced, and the two started the laborious process of filling out the paperwork. In the meantime, across the room, The AG, the federal prosecutor, Detective Hofstra, and Agent Anderson were hustling Jimmy Drevins through the lobby toward a waiting car. Max looked at Drevins and somehow - just for a second - his midbrain overcame his cerebral hemispheres and his jaw clenched. The momentary lapse was noticed by the guy in the orange jumpsuit.

"Don't much care for Max Evans there I take it?" the man asked.

Max looked at him in puzzlement. "Max Evans? I AM Max Evans. That piece of.... that guy was Jimmy Drevins. He drugged a classmate of mine - almost killed her - and he's getting off with just a few years because he cut a deal with those guys to inform on a bunch of drug dealers."

"Life isn't fair sometimes, kid, but you know - I believe in karma. That kid there - he's accumulated a lot of bad karma. Someday it'll all come back on him in a big way."

"Maybe..." said Max doubtfully.

The man reached over and put his hand softly on Max's shoulder. "Kid - I guarantee it."

Max looked into the man's eyes and the connection started to form. His cerebral hemispheres stopped it - but not before his midbrain had tasted the certainty in the man's response.

"Yeah kid, Bugs Quigley owes you one - and Bugs pays his debts..."

Bugs Quigley didn't have the money to hire a Lance Bertram, but even a public defender could contact a state Attorney General's office - threaten to make a big scene in court before the jury - and the press - about giving the distributor a sweetheart deal and hammering a guy who'd only taken some free samples from the guy. OK, he did have the grass in his possession too, but even so, you couldn't give a third strike to a little fish when you let the big fish get by with what amounted to only three years. A jury wouldn't go for that, and the state attorney general damn well knew it.

So even without a big name lawyer, Bugs would only serve three years. Three years that would turn his life around. Three years after which he would get out of the business. Well, not totally perhaps. For three years he would write to the woman who had borne his child – convince her he'd learned the error of his ways. She'd marry him as soon as they got out – the family would move to California – and Bugs would set up a medical marijuana shop. Thirty-one varieties of cannabis – for the discriminating medical marijuana user who wanted only the best. After a brief legal dispute with Baskin Robbins over copyright infringement, Bugs would ultimately franchise his operation to over twenty stores in the Golden State – Sensimilla Surprise being their most popular cannabis variety - and retire happy and relatively wealthy – never again having anything to do with GHBA or other drugs.

Of course he wouldn't be exactly quiet during the first couple years that he spent in prison in Colorado. He made sure that everyone knew that he hadn't squealed on Jimmy Drevins – that the bastard had squealed on him. And since the recidivism rate among released inmates was so high, the word quickly spread around the country – even to federal prisons in far-away California.

So when Jimmy finally arrived at Herlong, his presence had a very unifying effect on the inmates. Old animosities were – at least for awhile - set aside. Crips made common cause with Bloods, even with Vatos and Esse's. Skinheads of the Aryan nation set aside their differences with – well pretty much everyone. Because everyone hated a snitch.

Jimmy Drevins didn't have a clue he was public enemy number one within Herlong when he went into the shower room three weeks after his arrival. He was – no doubt – still contemplating the revenge he would take on a small town girl in New Mexico and this likely distracted him. He had barely started shampooing his hair when he was grabbed from behind – hooded with a sweaty 'Herzog federal prison' t-shirt, and spread-eagled on his stomach by at least four assailants who held his wrists and ankles.

The skin of the scrotum is actually pretty tough – it has a layer of muscle adhering to its underside called the dartos fascia that makes it durable and resistant to damage - even by a pair of boots driven down by a 200 pound ex-drug pusher. The contents of that scrotum, however, are much less sturdy. The testicles themselves are surrounded by a fibromuscular tunic and they fracture under such a force. Perhaps with immediate medical attention Jimmy's testicles could have been saved. But the attention he got for the next two hours certainly wasn't medical. Still, a guy can live a relatively normal life even without testicles had that been the only problem – silicon prosthetics can be inserted, and with the appropriate hormone therapy one can even have a relatively normal sex life, although of course you needn't worry about procreation. Of course, by the end of the two hours, that was not Jimmy's only problem – or even his most serious one.

Rape is not really about sex – it's about power – and about degrading the victim of the rape. Jimmy should have known that – he'd done it often enough to girls very much like Liz Parker. But just in case he'd forgotten – that point was driven home – quite brutally - by three of his attackers while the small crowd made comments of a rather demeaning personal nature about the victim. Even that would have been easily repairable by a good proctologist, however, a stitch here, pulling a little lacerated tissue back together there – a few weeks of healing..., the damage would have been easily repairable had they not then used a weapon.

It wasn't much of a weapon as most people would consider weapons – the federal penitentiary system actually goes to considerable length to deny ANY weapons to inmates. The weapon had started its life as a simple cardboard tube on the inside of a roll of paper towels. But you have a lot of idle time in a prison – the management goes to some length not to make it too interesting there – and some modification had been done. The diet in prison tends to have a lot of starchy food and a handful of tapioca or mashed potatoes could be combined – over time – with bits of newspaper to form a paper mache' – this substance forced into the cardboard tube over a number of weeks and months had solidified into a rod just as heavy and strong as any nightstick. But clubbing him wasn't what they had in mind. Not all of the inmates who hated Jimmy – and everyone hates a snitch, even those who only knew someone he had snitched on – had a sexual orientation that actually permitted them to rape him – but of the dozen or so in the shower room, none seemed to have any qualms about violating him with the tube. After two hours they left him – he was found by the guards just before bedcheck. They got him to the infirmary in time to keep him from bleeding to death - but only just.

The surgeons did what they could – but you can't salvage a rectal sphincter that is too shredded and contaminated with feces to even be identifiable. The prostate and seminal vesicles were also too damaged to save – in part because of a raging infection that subsequently developed – apparently someone had decided to obscure the DNA evidence of the perpetrators by shoving several handsful of prison barbershop sweepings into the wound. The lack of prostate and seminal vesicles of course precluded him from ever having any sort of climax, even with the testosterone shots and the silicon cojones the urologists were able to supply.

The other major problem was the pelvic floor itself. Three surgeries to rebuild the torn muscles failed to heal – the first due just to the infection from the hair that had contaminated the entire pelvic wound – the second apparently just bad luck – the third from the effect of the HIV drugs Jimmy was on – they interfere with wound healing.

Of the twelve people that were involved in the attack, only nine were ever brought to trial. Four of them swore that four of the other inmates – had done the crime, those four swore that the first four had - the remaining one swore that Drevins had done it to himself in some masochistic sexual rite of some sort. Several dozen others from the general inmate population all claimed to have seen some or all of the defendants in the library at the very time the attack was happening....
Lance Bertram III, the noted defense lawyer flew out from Boulder Colorado to defend all of the accused – pro bono. They were all acquitted.

Jimmy was given a humanitarian release from the rest of his sentence. He returned to Marin county under treatment for his HIV, without an anus, with silicone balls that were strictly ornamental. and with a permanent colostomy. There is no evidence that he ever thought about Liz Parker – or any other girl – again.

Dulles Airport
Chantilly, Virginia

The last cars of the airshow attendees were leaving the parking lot as Captain Roger “Rabbit” Reynolds came out of the operations building. He had checked the weather - it was forecast to be gorgeous all the way to Holloman AFB, and now he needed to do a rather intensive pre-flight of the F-117A. The guards had kept the crowd back a short distance, but he'd had to show a number of VIPs the cockpit, and there seemed to be something that just compelled people to toss switches when they were seated in a fighter cockpit - even if they didn't know what those switches did. With the master switch and master arm switch both off there wasn't too much they could do while the aircraft was in the chocks - although he had caught one lame brain Senator accidentally arming the ejection seat - that would have made the headlines!
No, a good long pre-flight check was in order - then off before dark and race the sun to the West. He'd lose that race, of course. This late in the winter it would be dark at least an hour before he got there. On the plus side though, the forecast weather couldn't have been better.


Grand Junction Regional Airport,
Grand Junction, Colorado

Ned Harris checked the weather for the rest of the flight while Joe Hendershott made sure the baggage was secured in the back of the aircraft. It would be cold - but clear - according to the forecast. Ned found it difficult to concentrate on the rest of the trip though - his mind kept wandering back to what Francisco Calderon had told him. Chief pilot of his own small airline - back to flying jets - even if they were small ones - rather than a turboprop that crept along from one dinky town like Kingman Arizona to another dinky town like Roswell. How much, he wondered, would the job pay him? For just what he was already doing the syndicate paid him almost $90,000 a year - enough nearly, when added to what his official employer paid him, for his total pay to equal what he would have made if he were still flying as a captain at a major airline. Working fulltime - hell, his pay would be at least three times that - in cash, and the IRS wouldn't know a thing about it. There would be other perks too. The cartel moved a lot of cocaine - and they didn't particularly care if there employees used a little of that when they were off duty. If he wasn't hauling passenger for hire - officially at least - he'd not be subject to those damn drug tests. He could use all he wanted to - when he wasn't flying of course - and he wouldn't have to pee in some bottle for the Department of Transportation and get caught using.
Yes, there were a number of advantages to the promised job and he decided he wanted it very badly. He'd do whatever he needed to to land it. This piss-ant job could go to the inexperienced young fools like Hendershott. Let them hump their butts in these two-bit towns. He was meant for bigger and better things....

Denver International Airport,
Denver, CO

"American Flight 384 for San Francisco is now boarding all rows and all seats. If you have a ticket on American Flight 384, you should now be boarding.

And he should have been boarding - Doug knew that - but there were still a dozen people in line to get their tickets scanned, he had Lexie in his arms in the deserted waiting area of the next gate, and he had time for one last hug and kiss. "Mmmm, I love you..."

"I love you, Doug. Doug, I'm sorry."

"Sorry? About what?"

"Last night was not exactly the way I planned on it being."

"What do you mean? I'm putting it down in MY diary as the first time we ever slept together..."

Lexie giggled. "I don't think sleeping side by side on a couch in a hospital waiting room is really my idea of sleeping together."

"Well what? Did you actually expect me to ask to go back to your room with you when Liz and Max were in the hospital?"

"Well, the thought did cross my mind."

"No it didn't. Liz is your friend and you needed to be there for her. You and I will have other times..."

"A long time off..."

"Not THAT long - besides, we'll be able to phone and to text and to..."

"It won't be the same as holding you..."

"No it won't," admitted Doug, "but that day is coming, Miss Rudman, or should I say the future Mrs. Hanover."

"Well I like the sound of that - even if I'm afraid my dad won't."

"Well, he'll just have to get used to it, because I plan on you being Mrs. Hanover for a long, long time."

"American Flight 384 is in final boarding. Any passengers on American Flight 384 for San Francisco need to board immediately."

"You better go, Doug," Lexie said giving him a quick hug and one last kiss. Doug sprinted for the Jetway door the last passenger to board. Then she headed downstairs to the regional airline waiting area to join up again with Liz and Mrs. Raff.

Lexie had originally been scheduled to fly out on a major airline two hours earlier. She'd changed that and would now be flying back to Albuquerque on the same small regional airline as Liz. The change had had a couple of advantages - it gave her two more hours with Doug - always a plus - but it also let her fly at least part of the way with Liz and perhaps try to talk some sense in to her.

Most of the afternoon they hadn't thought that Max would be released from jail in time to make this flight, and Lexie hadn't wanted Liz to be on it by herself staring at the empty seat that Max should have occupied. The girl was beating herself up emotionally about what had happened to him - blaming herself. Lexie had told her that it really wasn't her fault, but Liz wouldn't hear of it. She said that Lexie had warned her and Max had warned her and she just wouldn't let it go that she had gotten upset with Max and done in spite what they both had warned her against - and Max had paid the price. God, she must love that boy, thought Lexie, she wasn't whining about what that turd Drevins had done to her - just about Max. Lexie did NOT understand Max. It was obvious the boy cared for her and she would have thought that someone who was ready to die for Liz - or to beat Drevins face in - would have gone to a few dances with her if that was what was necessary to keep Liz happy - but apparently not. Well, girls develop faster than boys - she was going to tell Liz not to give up hope.

As she got to the regional airline waiting area she saw Liz and Mrs. Raff - who seemed to be coming back from the telephone.

"Well, I talked to my husband and he has Max and ought to be getting here in time for the two of you to go on your flight - if he can get through security in time."

"That's great," said Liz, "...so they let Max go?"

"Well, they apparently are referring his case to the New Mexico Human Services people for further psychological evaluation, but it doesn't look like he'll be criminally prosecuted - at least not now."

"What do you mean, not now?"

"It's called deferred prosecution. Max's folks agreed to have him get psychiatric evaluation in return for the State of Colorado agreeing to not prosecute him if he does that. It appears that the school district isn't going to be quite so forgiving though."

"The school district?" asked Lexie, "What have THEY to do with this?"

"Well, their interpretation is that - since this is a school sponsored activity - the two of you are accountable under school rules. No one is really upset with you for the drugs or alcohol, Liz, that was forced upon you.... but Max ... Max went back and attacked that horrid boy. I'm not saying he didn't deserve it, but the fact that he violently attacked him - that if the policeman hadn't been there to stop him he would have likely killed him - well, let's just say we have a lot of upset administrators and school board members..."

Dammit, thought Lexie. That was just what Liz DIDN'T need to hear - she was feeling guilty enough already. "Liz," said Lexie,"... I'm sure Max's mom and dad can fix this - you said they are lawyers."

But she could see the tears form in Liz's eyes. "Maybe they can," said the young girl, "... but they shouldn't have to. Max is in trouble with the school and has a criminal record ... and it's all my fault."

Sierra Blanca Regional Airport
15 Miles NE of Ruidoso New Mexico

It was a good sized runway, but the airport had no tower. There were only about 45 aircraft based there – all but three were small single engine aircraft. The three twin aircraft were owned by the Mescalero tribe and flew rarely in the winter time – in fact the airport was used mainly to bring in charter flights of rich Texans to do trophy hunting on the Mescalero reservation during the summer. It had a small automated weather station – something called an AWOS-3 – that would transmit locally the winds, the sky conditions, the temperature and dewpoint and – oh yes – the barometric pressure.

Had there been anyone flying on a late Sunday afternoon, they probably would have noticed the precipitous fall in the barometric pressure given by that AWOS. But there was a Dallas Cowboys – Redskins game on, and even on the reservation the Cowboys were wildly popular – especially against their hated rivals the Redskins, ironical as that may seem. No one was flying that late afternoon. Nobody noticed the rapidly falling barometer – the harbinger of a major thunderstorm.

The temperature was rising as the warm tropical air moved in to the area as well – and as it did so the moist air mass also started to rise. As it rose it also started to cool but that would take time. Along the edges of the air mass the temperature was cooling to the dewpoint – and the first hints of clouds were beginning to form. But most of the air mass was just rising in the center – carrying with it the uncountable tons of water vapor that the warm sun of the tropics had evaporated in to the air mass. Still – it could not rise forever. Just by expanding – air masses cool. Eventually that and the cold of the high altitude would lower the temperature of the entire air mass causing all that water vapor to condense as water. When that happened, things would get VERY interesting.

32,000 feet over Benton Arkansas

“Ghostrider 25, Little Rock Departure – Climb and maintain flight level 340, cleared direct Wichita Falls, J166 to Chisum – then as filed.”

“Climb and maintain flight level 340, direct Wichita Falls – direct Chisum – then as filed, for Ghostrider 25,” repeated Rabbit.

He pushed the throttles forward and engaged the autopilot while he pulled out his map. He had filed direct to Holloman but they were routing him slightly north of Holloman – apparently because of heavy airline traffic south of Jet airway 166 stacking up trying to get in to Dallas-Ft.Worth. Chisum was a VOR about 4 miles from Roswell New Mexico. That would mean a slight delay getting home – only about four or five minutes though. It transitioned nicely into a Hi ILS 22 approach. Rabbit was anxious to get home. Going on TDY – temporary duty – like this was fun when you were a wild young bachelor with nobody waiting at home for you. When TDY kept you away from a wife that you were going to have to leave shortly for a longer TDY to learn a new airplane, it was simply a pain in the rear. One more little irritation – like flying directly into the setting sun like he was doing now. 'Damn, where are the clodus when you need them?' he asked himself, shaking his head in amusement. Ninety minutes later he'd remember what he said – and it wouldn't strike him as one damn bit funny.
He pulled the throttles back to cruise as he approached Flight Level 340 – thirty-four thousand feet – and hit the altitude hold on the autopilot.

“Ghostrider 25 is level, flight level 340.”

“Roger Ghostrider. Contact Memphis Center on 122 decimal 65”


Mesa Flight 526
19,000 feet over Espanola, New Mexico

“Liz – you've got to talk to him,” said Lexie.

Liz just shook her head sadly, and Lexie just got all the more frustrated. This was not the place to have this discussion. Maybe when they got on the ground at Albuquerque it would be easier.

Lexie was sitting in the left front seat of the passenger compartment – Liz in the right front seat. It hadn't started out that way. Liz and Max needed to talk, so when Liz had gotten in the aircraft and gone all the way to te front Lexie had seated herself across the aisle from Liz and one seat back – hoping that Max at least would have the good sense to sit next to Liz and start to straighten her out. It was obvious that Max cared a lot for Liz – and equally obvious she cared just as much for him, but somehow neither was communicating all that well. With Max it might just be shyness – Liz had made it clear that for all his good points, Max was not particularly adept at social situations – but the problem with Liz now was one of guilt. Lexie had tried to talk her out of beating herself up about guilt over Max being in trouble with the school district and having a record – heck, it was obvious that Max wasn't worried about such things. All he had seemed to be worried about was Liz – and pounding Jimmy Drevins face in of course – both of which sounded perfectly reasonable to Lexie.

What was unreasonable was Liz's guilt. They'd fought about it even before they had boarded the airplane. Liz was having a hard time forgiving herself – not just for going with Drevins, but for publicly humiliating Max when she'd done it.

Liz had said – well she'd said that she was no good for Max - that she had used her social skills to understand what would hurt him the most – like tossing the pendant and rejecting him for her lab partner and finally publicly humiliating him on the dance hall – and then gone right ahead and done the things that would hurt him the worst. Liz had said she was petty and hurtful and Max was better off without her. Sure, Max had made mistakes, but Max's mistakes were because he didn't know any better – not because he had been being hateful.

Lexie had tried to tell her that she wasn't being hateful - that she was only human, just like Max – and that sometimes human beings made mistakes. She'd tried to tell her that she and Doug had made their fair share of mistakes early on – that it wasn't uncommon and didn't mean either one was hateful.

She'd told her that when Doug had once gotten a little more physical than she had been really comfortable with early in their relationship, that Doug wasn't really trying to use or exploit her or push her into something she didn't want to do. He'd thought that she'd wanted and been ready for that. At the time she hadn't been, but that didn't mean she was rejecting ever being physically affectionate either, obviously since Liz had caught them in the act. They'd just needed to communicate better – their expectations – their dreams – their needs – their hopes - they needed to get these in synch and there was no way to do that without communication. She and Doug had done that... and everything had worked out fine.

Similarly, Lexie had explained to Liz that her problems with Max and his problems with her didn't mean that there was no future for them – nor was it one of these men are from Mars and women are from Venus sorts of things.

What it meant was that they – Max and Liz – needed to sit down and talk frankly – openly and unashamedly – about where their relationship was and where each of them wanted to go with it. Communications and understanding were key to any relationship, she had stressed, and Liz had almost bought it. Not quite, but almost. Her head was bobbing in all the right places – she was only momentss away from agreeing to talk to Max.

Then Max had finally showed up – stuck his head in the door and looked forward – and then gone back and taken the farthest seat back in the aircraft – putting as much distance as possible between himself and Liz. Lexie had almost screamed in frustration. She'd moved up to the seat next to Liz immediately after takeoff and she had been screaming almost – over the roar of the engines – for Liz to go back and sit next to him – for her to initiate a real conversation. No success so far though.

Well, the pilot had announced on the PA system that all passengers – even the two passengers flying on to Roswell – would have to get off in Albuquerque – they didn't allow passengers on when the airplane was being refueled.

Lexie had told her folks she'd call them when she got in. They wouldn't be waiting for her. She'd have almost a half hour – if the flight stayed on schedule – to beat some sense into Liz while she was still on the ground in Albuquerque. She only hoped it worked. She really liked Liz – and liked Max as well – but these two really needed to talk.

Max looked forward. He couldn't quite see Liz, but he could see Lexie talking to her. He wondered if she still had the bruise from Drevins fist on her abdomen – and clenched his own fists in anger. Partly at Drevins, but mostly for being an idiot and walking off and leaving her alone. Why had he been so angry? She'd just said that he wasn't her boyfriend – and he'd known that. He'd been at the dance to get pictures of her dancing -to reassure the guys – the normal guys – that he wasn't her boyfriend. That was the whole idea./ It shouldn't have made him mad. I mean, he'd never really expected to be her boyfriend …. what had gotten into him to make him act like that. His conscious mind kept asking itself – his subconscious probably new better. His midbrain damn sure knew better.

“This is your Captain speaking, we are beginning our descent for Albuquerque. The seatbelt sign is on. We'd like you to stay in your seats with your seatbelt fastened. We should be getting into the gate in about 15 minutes. All continuing passengers will need to wait in the terminal while we refuel. While you may leave the immediate gate area and visit the terminal for food or other necessities I will caution you, however, not to leave the terminal area and in particular I'd recommend that you not go past security since if you do you will have to be rescreened before being allowed to re-enter the secue area of the terminal. With a thirty minute stop, that might be pushing it just a little. For those of you leaving us at Albuquerque, thanks for flying Mesa Air and please consider us for your next flight...”

Albuquerque-Sunport International Airport
Albuquerque New Mexico

The sky was clear but the sun was nearly setting as the little turboprop taxied in to the Mesa gate at Albuquerque. The area for the small regional airlines was on the bottom floor - the big moving jetways that served the large aircraft couldn't reach down to the smaller craft. Instead you walked down a few steps onto the tarmac and then walked in the swirling cold winds past the now motionless left propeller about twenty-five feet into the bottom of the terminal building.

The cold hit Liz and Lexie as they made that short walk - the dying remains of a cold front that had blown down from Canada four days previously - and they scurried quickly into the building as the fuel truck pulled up alongside Flight 526. Eventually - following a half dozen other passengers - Max straggled in to the building after them.

Liz shivered as she sat on the seat in the waiting area. She was tired - not too much sleep last night - and had been feeling the effects of fighting off the hangover this morning all day. Even so, Lexie's appeals were starting to get to her. She knew she'd screwed up - knew she'd hurt Max - but in a small town like Roswell - let alone being in the same middle school with him - it wasn't like she could avoid facing him forever. Still, given her choice she'd have rather talked to him somewhere else - after school at the Crashdown maybe - or even at his house. It was hard yelling to be heard over the noise of the aircraft engines, and the open bay of the waiting area didn't seem like the place to have a private personal conversation.

"You need to talk to him, Liz," Lexie repeated.

"I know - I know," said Liz, fighting back the tears, "...but not right now - now I have to go to the bathroom."

It was a lame excuse - Liz knew it too - but it would buy her some time. She went in to the ladies room and sat on the couch, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. How on earth have I fouled things up so bad...?' she asked herself.


Max saw Liz talk to Lexie and then head toward the ladies room. Liz didn't look like she felt well, and Lexie looked concerned about her. Max was concerned too - concerned enough that he went to talk to Lexie. Max liked Lexie and Doug - they'd been friendly enough and Lexie clearly cared about Liz. He remembered Lexie tricking him - giving him that wonderful dance with Liz. Obviously the girl had a good heart - it wasn't her fault that he was - different. If it weren't for that - well once Lexie had tricked him into dancing with Liz he would have danced with her all night, and none of that horror would have ever happened to Liz. Of course what happened wasn't Lexie's fault. She hadn't known.
When he saw Liz walk toward the ladies room Max decided to go talk to Lexie to make sure Liz was alright.


'The good news,' thought First Officer Joe Hendershott, '...was that Albuquerque was a big enough airport that even their little regional airline had baggage crews here – unlike Grand Junction where the loading of the two passengers luggage was entirely the responsibility of the First Officer.' While the baggage smashers were doing their thing he thought he'd have time to get a snack and do a leisurely job of calculating the weight and balance. The FAA used a standard weight for winter time passengers of 195# and four of the passengers waiting to board looked like real brutes – 220 or better for each of them. Of course the two teenagers going to Roswell didn't weigh all that much and the two women were considerably less than that and there would only be ten passengers in an aircraft that could easily have held 15 so weight ought not to be a problem. Nonetheless, the FAA could ramp check him on this some day and he needed to learn how to do it. Since Captain Harris had told him about the computer program in dispatch he wanted to try that. Before he did, though, he found he had a problem he had no idea how to handle.

“You the copilot of 526?” asked a parka wearing baggage handler who was chewing on a wad of tobacco and carrying a styrofoam coffee cup,

“I'm the first officer, yes,” replied Hendershott.

The man leaned forward and spit tobacco juice into the cup in his hand, “Well then you got a problem. You wouldn't believe all the baggage these people have. It's a real shitload.”

“Are you telling me they have too many bags or that they are overweight?”

“Well, they got a lot of bags, but the ticketing guys said they paid for the excess baggage. It doesn't quite put you overweight, but it's got a shitload of cube....”

“Cube.....?” asked Hendershottt, not at all sure what the baggage handler was talking about.

“Yeah, you know, cube.... cubic volume. We can't get all this shit in the baggage compartment. I think these people bought out half the department stores in town, and packed everything in styrofoam peanuts to take it home with them. The TSA guys say it's all Christmas gifts – far as they can tell,” finished the baggage handler, punctuating the sentence with another spit in the styrofoam cup.

“Well what do you USUALLY do when this happens?” Hendershott asked in frustration.

“Tell the First Officer, of course...,” said the man, taking a pinch of snuff out of a pouch and putting it behind his front lip, “...so what are YOU going to do about it, Mr. Copilot?”

“Just a minute, I need to talk to the Captain,” said Joe.

“Take your time – it's warm in here,” replied the baggage handler as he spit once more into his cup.


It took almost five minutes to locate Ned Harris. He was up talking to some of the passengers. Finally Joe Hendershott pulled him aside.

“I'm not sure how we handle this, sir, but the passengers have way too much luggage. Apparently they paid for the excess weight, but it has too much – uh – cube - and it won't fit in the baggage compartment.”

Ned looked at the passengers – one of whom was going to be offering him a job that would net him $300 thousand a year – tax free. He was NOT going to tell Mr. Valencia that his wife and kids presents would have to take another plane and – hopefully – catch up to him at his hacienda a hundred miles south of Juarez in the Chihuahua desert. Calderon had made it clear to him that Ramon Valencia sought out people who could make things happen – not people who gave him excuses. But there was a way – not even illegal at that, although somewhat against company policy....

“Look, Joe,” said Harris, “.... here's what you need to do...”

Five minutes later Hendershott was back in the aft part of the aircraft cabin – just forward of the bulkhead to the baggage compartment, down on his hands and knees with a flashlight and a pair of pliers. The narrow-bodied turboprop had a single seat on either side of a narrow aisle and – in the configuration generally flown by the company – had sixteen passenger seats. Other companies flew other configurations for the twin turboprop. Some executive versions had only six or seven seats – with tables. Air ambulance versions had litters with just attendant seats. There was even a cargo version with no passenger seats at all. The cargo was netted to tiedowns on the floor. The secret to this versatility was the seatrail system on the floor. The seats and other equipment locked in to two sets of tracks that ran the length of the aircraft. While their company had fourteen revenue seats, all you had to do to fit sixteen or even eighteen seats was to shorten the legroom between seats. There was a sort of cam-lock device that you loosened and the seats with their attached seat belts could slide backward or forward to one of the next round areas in the rail where they could be re- secured. If you shortened the interval between all of the seats you could eventually add a few more in each row. The current problem was just the opposite. They had a good deal more seats than cargo space but by loosening the back six seats and sliding them forward, Joe created a space for the excess baggage. Once he had laboriously done this, Tiedown rings would be slid into the same rails and locked in place – then a baggage net would be used to secure the extra baggage against the rear bulkhead. Finally the rear seats would be moved backwards as far as possible and locked into place as well. Joe Henderson saw the carry-on of the teenage boy up in the overhead and shoved it forward several seats in case he might need something from it during the flight. The seat the kid had been sitting in was going to have no legroom at all because it would be pushed into the seat in front of it – possibly the next seat as well. But that was OK – they'd have six empty seats with just ten passengers – and they could steal some legroom from the rest of the seats if they needed to. Joe took the pliers and started to work.


Ned Harris met Calderon – and the bodyguard who was now carrying four pistols – outside the security area. He motioned for them to follow him and pushed the button for the elevator next to the escalator from the baggage area to the Mesa gate. As soon as the doors closed he placed the pistols in his flight bag.

“I'll get these back to you when we get airborne. Just make sure neither of our regular passengers see them,” said Ned to the bodyguard.
“Si, senor..”

“I have the rifle also,” said Calderon. “It can go with the rest of the bags – as long as it does not get inspected.”

“Fully automatic?”

“Yes. There is a gunsmith in Santa Fe who is quite good at modifying semi-automatics. My cousin will love it.”

“OK then, “ said Ned, taking the suitcase and pulling out the button to restart the elevator, “...I'll need to use my security badge to get to dispatch and then I'll walk these out to the aircraft from there. I'll see you on the plane, gentlemen...”


Joe Hendershott had fumbled around for almost a half hour, but he'd finally gotten it almost done. The excess baggage was stacked against the rear cabin bulkhead and netted safely in place. By simply moving the last two rows of seats forward against the seats before them, enough space had been created for all the baggage without taking any of the legroom from any of the forward twelve seats. He had just locked down the four seats that he'd had to move forward when he was interrupted by a voice from the front of the aircraft.

“I've got one more suitcase for you,” said Ned Harris. He walked the length of the aircraft and handed Hendershott the small locked suitcase containing the disassembled automatic rifle, then turned and walked back to the cockpit. “The weather looks good and we've got our full fuel load... once you get that secured go ahead and do a weight and balance – then we can start boarding passengers.

Hendershott looked at the suitcase in disgust, sure that he was going to have to redo all of his work. But it turned out not to be all that difficult. He unhooked the net at two of its top tiedowns and was able to stretch the net enough to shoehorn the suitcase into it without having to redo the whole works. He secured the top tiedowns and shook the net – making sure it was secure. Hendershott didn't have a clue how to do a weight and balance on this sort of lash-up, but the dispatch computer apparently did. He took the weight figures that the baggage handler had given him and headed in to dispatch. He needed to do this quickly if they were going to make their scheduled takeoff time.

The Tularosa Basin contains Holloman AFB and most of the White Sands Missile Range. Geologically, it is what is known as a graben basin - formed from the subsidence of the land from two faults. Roughly 150 miles by sixty miles, it is a third larger than the state of Connecticut. Sparsely settled is somewhat of an understatement - the first atomic blast above ground - at Trinity site - went pretty much unnoticed.

The basin has no outlet to the sea - to any sea - the few mountain streams that flow into it losing themselves among alkali flats - the gypsum they bring from the surrounding mountains eventually ending up in Lake Lucero - a small expanse of saturated alkali-water, where the desert winds blow crystals from the top to form the White Sands, an expanse of gypsum crystals so large it can be seen from outer space. It is a harsh land - of desert and lava flows - used mainly for bombing and missile ranges by the Army from their bases near El Paso and the Air Force from Holloman AFB.

The Tularosa basin is surrounded by mountain ranges - the most impressive being the Sacramento Mountains to the east. The highest peak - Sierra Blanca - reaches almost 12,000 feet above sea level and this mountain range separates the Basin from the nearly always windy high plains of eastern New Mexico.


This evening the winds of eastern New Mexico were particularly brisk as the dying remnants of the cold front from Canada pushed against the eastern slopes of the Sacramento Mountains over the Lincoln National Forest. In doing so they caught the moist air mass of the tropical low and shoved it skyward in a process known to meteorologists as orographic lift. Even under normal circumstances orographic thunderstorms are among the most severe generally seen, but the warm air from the tropics was warmer by far than that of the cold front - driving the air mass higher and higher. Already microdroplets were forming along the periphery of the air mass and - as they interfaced with the cold air - these rapidly rising droplets were acting as a gigantic Wimshurst machine to put electrical charges into the gathering clouds. This was originally solar energy trapped by thousands of square miles of tropical sea water - now getting ready to release all of this power in a relatively small area on the Eastern edge of the Sacramento mountains. Of course 'relatively small' when it comes to a thunderstorm can still be pretty big. Before the night was done, most of eastern and central southern New Mexico would feel at least some effects of this storm.


Lexie saw Max walk toward her. What she wanted to talk about - of course - was him talking to Liz. Of course, you don't just jump in to that sort of conversation. She needed to break the ice somehow.

"Uh, congratulations, Max - I was a high school sophomore before I got in the top ten at the divisional science fair."

"What?"

"You and Liz both finished in the top ten - don't tell me Mr Raff didn't tell you?"

"Maybe he did..." admitted Max, "...I don't remember. I guess I didn't feel that anyone should have been congratulating me for anything after what I let happen to Liz..."

Suddenly, it clicked in Lexie's mind - kind of like the solution to a multilinear singular integral - it was so damn clear. Liz had told her everything - even about trying to submarine Max at the regionals in Clovis. It wasn't that Lexie hadn't believed Liz - but she simply hadn't understood why Max would do all the work to go to Clovis and present a project that he really didn't believe in. But now it had clicked - and the answer seemed self-evident. Max's purpose in going to Clovis hadn't been to compete with Liz - merely to win the right to come here to Colorado where he knew Liz would be. Max didn't give a rat's ass about the efficiency of windmills - that was just a means to an end. All he'd ever wanted was to be here - to protect Liz Parker.

"So I saw you talking to Liz....Is she OK?" asked Max.

"Yes she is, ....thanks to you. You are really a hero, Max. Without you I hate to think what would have happened to her.."

Max shook his head sadly. "I fouled up. I never should have left her at the dance. When I think of what I almost caused...."

Lexie looked at the young teenager and shook her head. "Max, Liz made the mistake - she knows that. She's angry with herself - first for yelling at you on the dance floor - and second for going off with Drevins - and from what I can tell, more for the first than the second."

"It was MY mistake," insisted Max. "If I'd stayed and watched over her, it would have never happened. What kind of a friend lets something like that happen?"

"Well thanks just a hell of a lot, Max. I'm Liz's friend ... and so is Doug. But we weren't there to stop anything bad from happening. We were upstairs - passionately oblivious to what was going on. Are we culpable too?"

"I wasn't trying to blame you..." protested Max.

"But you were trying to blame yourself - and that's just as wrong, Max. Doug had told me that Drevins was a creep and I'd told Liz. You told her too, and she didn't listen to you. OK, the way you told her wasn't the best maybe, but it wasn't as if Liz hadn't been adequately warned. Liz made a mistake, Max ... not you, not me, not the Raffs. She made a mistake because she's young and going through emotions that she hasn't totally sorted out yet and yes - maybe if you had done something different or if I had done something different or if Doug had done something different or if there was no dance - maybe any or all of those things might have changed that, but that hardly gives you the right to single out yourself for fault. Liz is becoming an adult - she was presented with a series of options and she took the wrong one. That's Liz's fault, and she acknowledges that - even if you don't. Given that she did that, your actions were all that kept HER mistake from turning into a horrible tragedy. You saved her life, Max, you ought to feel good about that.... you shouldn't have your tail between your legs about what you didn't do."

"But I think what I did made her upset - that's why she did that?"

"Which makes it an even greater mistake - she not only did something stupid, but she did out of misplaced anger - did it in an effort to hurt someone she knows is her friend. But since you brought the subject up, let's talk about it.
Max, this Spring is going to be the happiest day of my life, because I'm going to marry Doug. But it won't be as happy as it could have been, because my parents aren't going to be there and Doug's parents aren't going to be there because neither his father nor mine can accept the fact that Doug and I are growing up and we have to make our own choices. My dad loves me, Max, and I'm sure he means well - but I can't live my life by his biases - and Doug feels the same way. My father can no longer 'forbid' me to do anything - I have to think for myself and make my own mistakes. I don't think marrying Doug is a mistake, but if it is it's at least a mistake I'm going into with my eyes open and it's MY mistake, not my fathers, and I'll live with the consequences.

You, Max, are Liz's friend. You aren't even her father, but even if you were, she's too old to 'forbid' to do things - too old to tell her who she can't dance with or date or anything else. Even if you had your ring on her finger Liz would still have to make her own adult decisions - and have to live with the consequences. You can't do that for her, Max, and you can't blame yourself every time Liz makes a mistake."

"But if I'd just stayed there - followed him when he lead her off to that room..."

"Earth to Max - you are not her father, Max," said Lexie, smiling inwardly when she thought that there was certainly nothing fatherly about what Liz's feelings really seemed to be for the young man.

"If you want to really be her friend you'll give her your best advice, let her make her choice, and then support her in her decision and be ready to help her if it turns out to be a bad one. That's what friends do, Max. Can't you understand that?"

"I guess so..."

"Look, I want you to make me a promise. When you get back to Roswell, you and Liz will just go and sit down someplace and talk about your friendship and where you want it to go - just the two of you, OK? You don't have time to do it here and you can't do it that well on a noisy crowded airplane, but when you get back to Roswell you need to do it. Promise me?"

It wouldn't work - Max knew that. It wouldn't work because Liz didn't know - couldn't know - the truth about him. But even so, it was obvious that Liz felt as bad about this as he did. Maybe talking would somehow help her. Lexie seemed to think it would anyway.

"OK, I guess...," said Max.

"Air Mesa Flight 526 to El Paso with one stop at Roswell is now loading at gate A2...," said the woman at the desk over the PA system.

"Whoops," said Lexie, "... I'd better go scare up Liz before she misses the flight. You take good care of yourself," she said, kissing Max on the cheek, "... and Liz too," she said completing the sentence. Not that she really thought that would be a problem. Whatever else Max had problems with socially he seemed to be quite good at that....

Lexie retrieved Liz from the ladies room - by that time the aircraft was almost loaded. There was no sign of Max.

"You have my telephone number and e-mail," said Lexie. "I want to hear from you...."

She hugged Liz and sent her scurrying out the gate to climb into the aircraft. She watched as the aircraft was quickly loaded and taxied away from the gate, then she called up home.

"Daddy? I'm back in Albuquerque. I'm just picking up my baggage now."


Above Morton, Texas

"Ghostrider 25, Ft. Worth Center - you are cleared for a descent at pilot's discretion to FL260"

The sun that had been bothering him seemed to be obscured by some high thin stratus as he looked westward. That made flying that way a little more comfortable. The sun would be down altogether in just a few minutes so even though he was only about two hundred nautical miles from home it would be dark before his arrival. It was indeed time to start his descent, thought Rabbit, thinking about his coming reunion with his wife.

"Center, Ghostrider 25 - Leaving FL340 for FL260 - cruise descent."