“Of course not. Your shining example for postmilitary entrepreneurship is in the cash economy and knows not to talk too much about it.”
My phone buzzed and I looked down at the caller ID.
“I’ve got a call coming. Let’s pick this up later.”
She hung up, and I took Beatty’s call.
“I’m coming in to your office this morning to get interviewed,” Beatty said. “Any chance I can meet with you first?”
“Sure. Where are you?”
“How about Willie McCool Park in an hour?”
“See you there.”
11
I sat on top of a picnic table in the shade at Willie McCool Park and watched two white-haired seniors in shorts, sandals, and T-shirts fly remote-controlled World War II–era model airplanes. They looked very into it but were aware of me and probably thought I was there to watch them refight the war. The buzzing planes were loud. The park was otherwise empty and hot.
I cleaned my sunglasses and thought about Jeremy flying remotes here. After his discharge and after his ex-fiancée, Laura Cotter, moved out, he would sometimes call from here, his voice tight with anxiety. This place was a refuge for him, an emotional touchstone named for a hero of his, so it wasn’t surprising this was where he wanted to meet before a long day of interrogation.
As a child, Willie McCool flew remote-controlled model airplanes with his father on the airfield at Ann Road and Fifth. Later as a pilot, he flew from the USS Coral Sea and the Enterprise. He learned to fly twenty-four different types of aircraft and was forty-one years old and captain of the space shuttle Columbia when it broke up over the southern United States sixteen minutes before landing.
Beatty was a next generation pilot, certified by the US Air Force as an “external pilot.” He learned at the unmanned aerial vehicle school, usually called the UAV school, in Fort Huachuca, Arizona. He loved video games and, like Willie McCool, he was avid about remote-controlled aircraft. Beatty never made carrier landings or flew a space shuttle, but he flew in the early coming-of-age years of the drones. It wouldn’t be long before they were everywhere.
I turned at the smooth sound of Beatty’s motorcycle then watched him park and walk through the gate. I wanted to reassure him he was doing the right thing, coming in to answer questions, but I was too roiled by sadness. I didn’t have it in me. He’d have to sail his own ship. He walked up and embraced me.
“If you need me to do anything for Julia or at Jim and Melissa’s house, just tell me,” Beatty said.
I nodded but said, “Let’s talk about you.”
“There’s not much to say. I want to get my name cleared, so I’m coming in to answer questions. They can ask me whatever they want to.”
“They will, don’t worry. Are you bringing a lawyer with you?”
“I don’t need a lawyer.”
“No one ever does, I guess.”
But I was glad he was going in alone. I sat on that several seconds and watched that WWII Japanese Zero attack again.
“I’m pretty fucking keyed up,” Beatty said. “When I told you about the Hakim Salter strike, I said I’d thought the surveillance watching me was CIA. I saw your face when I said that. You thought that was insane. But is it more insane than what I’m going to do this morning? I’m going to your office to try to convince the FBI I didn’t have anything to do with my friends getting murdered. It makes me think the FBI has no clue where to look.”
“It’s true. When you said CIA, I didn’t get it. You took out some bad dudes, Jeremy, a lot of them, but more than a few bed down locations get wiped out with everyone included, families and all, right?”
“Sure.”
“The CIA knows the public is inured to collateral damage. And to be blunt, Salter is probably old news to them. They’d probably have to look him up to remember him, and most likely they’d look you up first. You’ve had psychological issues. That gives them a big door to walk through if they want to discredit you. They don’t need to watch you. Forget the CIA. You’ll probably never see another CIA employee in your lifetime. How angry are you still at the air force? That’s a question I’d be asking myself if I were you.”
“Does it mean anything that I’m coming in on my own?”
“It doesn’t change the questions, but it says something about your character.”
“And you’d bring a lawyer, that’s what you’re telling me. But you’re good with me not having one. You’re FBI to the core, you know that.”
Beatty stood, glanced up at the air war, then back at me.
“I’m like you, Grale. I want whoever did this found and killed. I want them dead. I know you do too. You just won’t say it.”
“Are you ready to go in? If you are, I’ll follow you.”
Beatty flinched and looked out through the gate at his bike then back at me.
“I’m angry about what happened. I’m angry I have to do this, but I’ll do it.”
“I’d be angry too.”