The Line

CHAPTER 30

“It all makes sense now,” Boomer said as he swung onto Kalakau Avenue and headed west.

“The diary is the key to all this.”

“It doesn’t make sense to me,” Trace replied.

“This whole thing was just to get that diary? Killing the Joint Chiefs? The plot against the President? All of it was a setup to get us to get Rison to give up the diary?”

Boomer shook his head.

“No. All that was real. The Line was real too. And they did have. a plot against the President.

But you and I. We were brought into it to get the diary.

That’s what made me feel uncomfortable down in that briefing room. I didn’t buy Decker’s explanation that I was involved just to go to the President with a warning. They could have picked anyone for that.”

“But how could they have found out about you and me?” Trace asked.

“They did it backwards,” Boomer said.

“Skibicki wasn’t in on it either. Not in the beginning. In fact, he was the key, and they used him too. Jordan must have known about the diary, and he knew it would destroy him if it was ever made public.”

Boomer tapped his pocket.

“Obviously, according to Hooker, Jordan also knew about The Line way back in 1941.”

“Back up,” Trace demanded.

“How do you know Jordan is this lieutenant?”

Boomer quickly related the story that Maggie had told him about her lover and the picture in her bedroom of a young Jimmie Jordan.

“I thought I recognized the face.

Now I know for sure.”

“So Jordan was the father of Skibicki’s half-brother?”

Trace asked.

“Right. And not only that,” Boomer said, “but he was directly responsible for the death of Ski’s sister.”

Boomer sorted it all out in his mind and spoke slowly, fitting the pieces together.

“Jordan knew the only way to get the diary was through Rison. Everyone who knew about the diary knew that. The Line was willing to have a truce with Rison as long as he kept quiet. But Jordan couldn’t.

Maybe Hooker was even blackmailing him about his previous collaboration with The Line in allowing the attack on Pearl to occur so long ago.

Trying to pressure Jordan to get to the President. In fact, if Jordan refused to accede to The Line, it could have precipitated the drastic action here in Hawaii.

“The diary was a huge threat to Jordan. And he knew about Rison. And the best way to get to Rison was through Skibicki. But Skibicki wouldn’t just let anyone go to Rison.

He had to have a reason. So Jordan must have had Skibicki checked, and they found out about my dad and then me.

And then when they checked me out, they found out about you.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” Trace asked.

“Not for a man with the power that Senator Jordan wields. I’ll bet you every dime I have that he had you set up with Mrs. Howard and the letter and interview. He was trying to kill two birds with one stone.

Flush out the diary through you and me, and also try to fight The Line, because now that he’s in the position he’s in, he’s on the other side, working with the President. Look at what The Line did to Eisenhower with the U-2 incident. I think Jordan was in bed with The Line until his close friend got elected President, then things got sticky for him, and he had to decide which side he was on.”

“So many people have died,” Trace said.

“I don’t know any more who the good guys are and who the bad guys are.

You’re telling me that The Line did plot to kill the President, right?”

Boomer remembered the struggle in the water just a few hours ago.

“Correct.”

“But you’re also saying that Senator Jordan, the President’s right-hand man, was working to get back evidence that he had collaborated with The Line in allowing the attack on Pearl Harbor fifty-four years ago.”

“Right.” Boomer took the turn off to head into Pacific Palisades.

“So what are you going to do about this?” Trace asked.

“I don’t know quite yet. But I do know someone who has some decisions to make and is entitled to this information right now.”

Skibicki looked at his mother.

“Is it true? You told me the man in the picture was just an old friend of dad’s.”

In reply, Maggie went to her bedroom and returned with the photo that Boomer had seen and handed it to her son.

“I let go of my memories of Jimmie Jordan until I saw his name in the paper years ago when he was first elected to the Senate. And then I simply avoided thinking about it.”

She looked at Boomer.

“Let me see those pages.” Maggie took the papers and read them, tears forming in her eyes.

“So Jimmie really did know about the attack?” she asked, handing them back.

“Yes.” Boomer said.

“And he allowed me to spend the night with him and leave my daughter home, knowing we were going to be attacked December seventh?”

Boomer didn’t answer. Trace took Maggie in her arms as she surrendered to the anguish of fifty-four years of lies.

Skibicki stood, putting the picture down on the coffee table and began pacing the room.

“That means they set me up too. When Falk told me about the planned attack on the President, right before you showed me the message about the drop,” he added, looking at Boomer.

“I thought that it was all above-board. At least from our end.”

“It was,” Boomer said.

“You just didn’t know that Senator Jordan was pulling the strings through Decker for his own motives.”

“Son of a bitch,” Skibicki muttered.

“Son of a bitch.”

Maggie pulled herself out of Trace’s arms and wiped her eyes with a tissue.

“Will it ever end?”

“General Maxwell, and through him, the President believe it’s over now,” Boomer said.

“They’ve closed the book on this.”

“Who has the diary?” Skibicki asked.

“Senator Jordan,” Trace replied.

“No shit,” Skibicki said.

“It worked just like he wanted.”

Boomer stood.

“Any word on what happened at Hooker’s quarters?”

“Keyes and his men were killed,” Skibicki said.

“Vasquez was killed too.”

“I’m sorry,” Boomer said.

“I’m responsible for her,” Skibicki said.

“I got her involved.

They found her body in there, along with a whole bunch of people at Hooker’s V.I.P quarters. The people in the tunnel have broken everything down. Security folks at Pearl and Hickam are going crazy, what with the attack on the quarters and Looking Glass going down.”

“Maxwell will cover all that,” Boomer said.

“Hooker?” he asked again.

“His body hasn’t been found yet. His jet’s at Hickam.”

“I think they closed the book too fast,” Boomer said.

“If Keyes and his men are all dead, who do they think fired the last shot?”

“If Hooker’s still alive, I want him,” Skibicki said.

“He’ll want to get out of here,” Boomer said.

“Hickam,” Skibicki said, standing.

“Hooker and Jordan,” Skibicki said, glaring out the windshield of his jeep at the Learjet.

“Like you said in the tunnel, they think they’re fucking God. That they can use people, kill them, just to fit whatever plans they dream up.”

The jet appeared to be deserted. They were parked off the end of the runway, about 200 feet from it. Boomer didn’t know — what to say to Skibicki. He himself was overwhelmed with all he had learned and experienced over the past several days. He couldn’t imagine how Skibicki felt after learning about Jordan and hearing about Vasquez’s death.

“He knew about Pearl. Hell, they both knew about it,” Skibicki said.

“Hooker and his pals might as well have been in Tokyo working with the Japanese Imperial staff.

Then Jordan — fucking Jordan — allowed it to happen. He killed my sister!” Skibicki pounded the dashboard with his fist. Plastic splintered and blood seeped out where the skin tore. Boomer remained silent, watching the jet. Trace was in the back seat, but she’d been quiet ever since they’d left Maggie’s.

Boomer tapped the sergeant major as a bus pulled up to the plane and two pilots stepped off. The bus pulled away as the two men began pre-flighting the aircraft.

“Someone’s going somewhere,” Boomer said.

“No they ain’t,” Skibicki vowed. He reached under his seat and pulled out the Calico.

“There’s air police all around,” Boomer warned.

“We’ll have to take him quietly.”

Skibicki didn’t answer. His eyes were two black beads, peering straight at the jet. One of the pilots climbed in. The other removed the chocks from the wheels.

Boomer looked around. A van was coming down the flight line. It stopped to the side of the jet. The driver hopped out and opened the side door. He offered his arm and an old man gingerly stepped out.

“That’s Hooker,” Skibicki said. He started to get out of the jeep.

“Hold it,” Boomer said, grabbing his arm.

“What are you going to do?”

“End it.” Skibicki pulled back the bolt on the Calico.

“This won’t end it,” Boomer said.

“I’ll end part of it.” He looked at Boomer.

“The rest is on you.” He shrugged off Boomer’s hand. He began jogging toward the jet.

“Stop him!” Trace slapped Boomer on the back.

“No one can stop him,” Boomer said. They watched helplessly as Skibicki got closer to the plane.

The driver saw Skibicki first. He had Hooker in his arms.

He pushed the old man toward the stairs leading into the plane, and one of the pilots grabbed Hooker. The driver reached under his jacket for a weapon, but Skibicki, who was now only fifty meters away fired a burst. The rounds caught the driver in the chest, flipping him backwards.

Boomer looked to his right. An Air Police vehicle was racing toward the scene. At the jet, the pilot was lifting Hooker inside. Boomer could hear the jet engines running.

The other pilot was at the controls.

Skibicki was in an all-out sprint now. He fired at the cockpit and Plexiglas shattered. He was only ten meters away and must have been out of ammunition because he threw down the Calico.

The police car screeched to a halt at the wingtip and the two cops leaped out, weapons at the ready.

“Freeze!” they both screamed.

Skibicki ignored them. The co-pilot jumped between him and Hooker, who was leaning against the stairs. Skibicki went through him like he wasn’t there, his fists flailing, the man falling to the ground.

A knife appeared in Skibicki’s hand and he grabbed Hooker drawing him toward him.

“Drop the knife!” the cops yelled, edging closer.

“Shoot him!” Hooker called out.

“I am General Hooker, and I order you to shoot him!”

Skibicki smiled. He drew the knife across Hooker’s throat, and blood gushed forth. The police shot, the rounds knocking Skibicki back against the skin of the plane. He slid down, his body on top of Hooker’s.

Boomer slumped back in the seat. Other Air Police cars were arriving, surrounding the jet.

“We need to get out of here,” Trace said gently.

“Boomer?”

“Yeah.” Boomer pressed the starter for the jeep, put it into gear, and slowly drove away.

They were silent for a while, until Trace spoke.

“Skibicki was right.”

“About what?” Boomer wearily asked.

“About not letting it go. About not letting this disappear into the blackness of secrecy again.”

“Hooker’s dead,” Boomer said.

“It’s over.”

“No, it’s not over,” Trace said.

“What are we going to do?” Boomer asked.

“Whatever we can,” Trace said.

“Whatever we can.”