The Icarus Effect Page 13

  “Why, Carlos?” Ben almost shouted in his frustration. “They’ve already decided the answers! Geez, I’m surprised they haven’t asked me if it was difficult coming up with a plan to get Hannah and Ronnie killed!”

  “Settle down now, Ben,” Carlos pleaded.

  “I’m not gonna settle down, Carlos! Ever since we got back into town, people have been treating me at best like I’m a coward, and at worst, like I’m some kind of a monster. Like I deliberately sabotaged Hannah’s shelter, and like I was the one who panicked and got Ronnie killed. None of that’s true, Carlos. You know what a jackass Chad is. Everybody here should know that by now, but they don’t. All they see is that he tells his lies louder and longer than I can possibly tell the truth, and then they don’t need to care about what really happened. It’s just lazy, to give a blowhard like him the time of day, much less to buy off on his story. He got Ronnie killed, and everybody’s treating him like he’s a hero, but now you want me to settle down?!?”

  Carlos started to speak, but Ben cut him off. “Have you even bothered to talk to Lloyd and Eamon?”

  “Well, we did try,” Carlos said, “but Eamon was, ah… he was sent back out on the fire.”

  Ben scoffed. “That’s convenient. What about Lloyd? C’mon, Carlos - he and Eamon pulled Ronnie’s body off of me and Chad. They can tell you what -”

  “Lloyd backed up Chad’s story.” Carlos’ voice was flat, emotionless.

  Ben sagged into a chair. “Why would he do that?”

  “He said that’s the way he remembered it.”

  “What?” Ben asked. The betrayal felt like a kick in the crotch. “Remembered what, exactly, Carlos? When he and Eamon pulled Ronnie and the shelter off of us, Chad was face down and I was on top of him, because I was holding him down. I was keeping him from running off again. Eamon and Lloyd both saw us.”

  Carlos shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what they saw, Ben,” he murmured.

  “Doesn’t matter?” Ben was incredulous. “How can it not matter? Two people died, and I’m being blamed for it…” His voice trailed off. Something in Carlos’ tone wasn’t right. “Why doesn’t it matter what they saw, Carlos?”

  The older man looked very tired. “You don’t have any witnesses, Ben. Lloyd and Eamon were both in shock because of what happened to Ronnie, so their ability to accurately recall details of anything else at that moment -”

  “Yeah, I know, Mr. Uni-brow in there said the same thing. Basically that because the only eyewitness that actually saw what happened got killed because Chad ran away, I have no way to counter Chad’s version of things.”

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  “Really?” Ben almost laughed. “What more could there possibly be?”

  Carlos raised his eyes to meet Ben’s. “Chad’s uncle is the Associate Chief of Staff.”

  Ben blinked. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that his uncle is the number two man on the Forest Service totem pole, nation-wide.” Ben’s face fell as Carlos went on. “Word got to him in D.C. before you guys even made it outta the fire that his nephew was involved in the blow-up. We were ‘notified’ that we needed to play up Chad’s role in the fire, even if it was non-existent. Headquarters wanted a hero story, as a counter to the bad press from the crash of MAFFS10. They figured Chad’s being related to the Associate Chief of Staff was a human interest story that would carry a lot of weight.

  “We had reporters here almost right away, and they were asking questions about Chad’s ‘heroism’ before we even knew we had casualties. Our public affairs officer ran with it, and by the time we heard that Hannah and Ronnie had been killed, they’d already painted a picture in the media of Chad somehow single-handedly saving his crew in the blow-up. By then it was way too late - there was no way they were going to walk that back.”

  “So, what?” Ben threw up his hands and got out of the chair. “Those lawyers in the other room, they’re here to pin the blame on me? Doesn’t the truth matter at all?”

  Carlos shook his head. “Welcome to the bureaucracy.”

  Ben looked down at him, his jaw hanging open. “You’re not even gonna try to make it right, are you?”

  “I’m sorry Ben, but I can’t help you. I have my own career to think about -”

  “Your career?!?” Ben was livid. “What about my life??” He stared at Carlos for a few moments, but the man made no attempt to answer.

  Ben slammed the door behind him on his way out.

  On the lawn in front of NIFC, Chad’s latest interview was just about wrapping up. I think this reporter’s into me, Chad was thinking, as the woman treated the camera with a gushing monologue about how Chad had saved his crew from the flames, against all odds. He was surreptitiously admiring her figure as she faced the camera to sign off, when a shout from behind startled them both.

  “HEY!”

  Chad turned to see Ben coming toward him from the front of the building. His face was a cloud of fury. Chad inadvertently took a couple of steps backward as Ben approached, accidentally bumping into the reporter, who was just as surprised as he was.

  “You want the real story, Ma’am?” Ben’s voice didn’t make it seem the reporter had much choice.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said, “but who are you?”

  Ben glared at Chad, then looked into the camera. “I’m the guy who tackled your so-called hero when he panicked out there.”

  “Hey, I -” Chad’s fumbling protest was stopped short when Ben gave him a vicious stiff arm to the chest, knocking him back on his heels. The cameraman was working hard to keep the entire scene in frame, and the reporter was tripping over audio cables, trying to make sure she didn’t miss anything.

  “This… coward,” Ben said through clenched teeth, pointing an accusing finger at Chad, “panicked right before the fire rolled over us. Ronnie Lundy and I were the last ones to deploy our shelters, and Ronnie saw Chad running away behind me.”

  “That’s a lie!” Chad shouted, trying to get back in the picture. Ben stiff armed him again, this time knocking him to the ground.

  Ben kept going. “Ronnie hollered at me to grab him, so I did. I tackled him and laid on top of him to keep him from running again. Ronnie ran over and covered the two of us with my shelter, then he piled on top of us and held us there while the fire burned through. Ronnie died, because Chad panicked.”

  “So, you’re saying that you’re the actual hero, here?” the reporter asked, shoving the microphone back in Ben’s face.

  “I’m nothing,” Ben answered. “All I did was do what my crew chief told me to do. Ronnie Lundy’s the hero in all this.” Ben looked down at Chad, sitting gaping on the grass. “Not this clown.”

  “Why haven’t you come forward sooner, Mr…?”

  Ben didn’t bother to give his name. “I only just found out that the reason they’re pushing so hard to make Chad here look good, is because his uncle is the second highest guy in the entire Forest Service, some Assistant Chief of something in Washington, D.C. You want a story? Look him up. Here’s your chance for some investigative journalism. Or are you content to just swallow whatever propaganda the Forest Service’s public affairs office feeds you?”

  The reporter looked shocked, but Ben could tell she was turning his story over in her mind, and the idea of a breaking scandal was appealing to her. He looked down at Chad, then back to the reporter. “You have a nice day.” He shoved past the cameraman and crossed the street to his hotel.

  Carlos was trying to get the other five people in the briefing room to calm down for a minute, but none of them seemed to even care that he was there. Cruella was shouting about the public relations nightmare that had blown up on the front lawn moments earlier, while the toothy man was arguing with The Eyebrow about what legal recourse they had against a seasonal employee who talked to the press about an ongoing investigation without permission.

  “I’d say I’m about the last of your worries, at this point.” Ben’s loud
voice from the doorway silenced the room.

  Cruella was the first to gather herself. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done, young man?”

  “Pointed out an institutional-grade lie?” Ben shot back. “I don’t think anybody’s gonna hang me for that. You people should think twice before trying to frame an innocent person. The people who died out there the other day deserve better than to have their deaths used as a PR campaign.”

  “You have a great deal to answer for, Mr. Bennett,” Teeth said in a tone that couldn’t have been more patronizing if he’d tried.

  “Not as much as you, I’m guessing,” Ben said. “You have no evidence at all that I did anything wrong. That reporter is gonna dig into Chad’s uncle’s involvement in this story, and inside of twenty-four hours, they’re gonna be screaming about how nepotism got Ronnie Lundy killed. I kinda doubt Chad’s integrity is gonna stand up to that kind of scrutiny.”

  “Now just hold it a minute,” The Eyebrow said, standing up across the table and wagging a finger at Ben. “Making rash, unfounded accusations about something as improper as that is no way to ingratiate yourself to your employer, son.”

  Ben couldn’t stop himself. His right hand shot out and grabbed The Eyebrow’s necktie. He hauled back on it, pulling the struggling man off his feet and halfway onto the table between them. The rest of the suits all scrambled backward to get away from the confrontation.

  “Don’t you ever call me ‘son’, you pathetic excuse for a human being,” Ben said, his jaw muscles working as he spoke through gritted teeth. “I am not your son. Call me that again, and I’ll stitch your lips shut with that ridiculous eyebrow.” He shoved the man backward, where he collapsed into his chair, a stunned look on his face. Ben looked over at Carlos, who was studiously looking away. “I hope you enjoy your retirement, Carlos. I’m sure you’ve earned it.” He unslung his issued firefighter’s pack from his left shoulder and tossed it with a clatter onto the table.

  “I quit.”

  Boise Airport

  10:45 A.M

  “Do you still have any seats available on the eleven-thirty flight to Twin Falls?” Ben asked the ticket agent. Specifying the time of the flight was somewhat pointless, since that was the only flight the tiny regional airline offered to Twin Falls.

  The agent smiled up at Ben, then checked her computer. “You’re in luck,” she said. “We still have three empty seats. Shall I book that for you?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I’ll need photo I.D.”

  Ben took out his driver’s license and handed it over.

  “Will this be cash, or a credit card?”

  Ben pulled out the credit card his parents had given him the year before, to be used in emergencies. He’d never used it, and didn’t know what the credit limit was, but he knew it had to be pretty low. He just hoped it was high enough to cover a one-way ticket home.

  “All righty,” the agent said, taking the card. “With taxes and fees, that comes to $173.90.”

  Ben’s jaw dropped. “That much?”

  “Is that a problem?” the woman asked, feigning concern.

  “Uh… no,” Ben said. “Just surprising, that’s all. Didn’t think it’d cost so much when you can drive there in less than two hours.”

  “Well, you are welcome to drive, if you’d rather.” She flashed a fake smile at him.

  “No,” Ben said. “I’ll take the ticket.”

  Twenty minutes later, Ben stood and walked to his gate in response to the boarding announcement over the public address system. He was last in line, and there were only six other people ahead of him. How small is this plane, he thought, if it only has nine seats?

  He exited the terminal through the gate and walked down the covered open-air boarding walkway to the plane. It was parked in the last spot, and as Ben came out into the sunlight next to it, he found out how small it really was. The plane was a Cessna 208B Grand Caravan, a high-wing, single engine turboprop, with seating for just nine passengers and two pilots, though this flight only had one of those, and he was doubling as a baggage handler at the moment.

  Ben stopped twenty feet from the plane, suddenly finding that he couldn’t get his feet to move any closer. He stared as the pilot loaded bags into the under-belly cargo pod and in the area behind the seats. A large passenger jet roared past on the runway nearby, climbing rapidly into the late-morning sky. Other aircraft were in various stages of pushing back from their gates or taxiing to and from the runways. The noise brought on a flashback, where Ben was walking across the ramp in Twin Falls prior to boarding MAFFS10.

  Ben’s mouth had suddenly gone dry. He felt his heart pounding, and his palms were all sweaty. He stared at the open cabin door leading to the interior of the little commuter plane, but all he could see was the crew of MAFFS10 as he’d last seen them, smiling and shaking his hand, encouraging him to embrace the idea of flying for himself one day.

  He knew that was a dream he’d never be able to pursue, not after what he’d been through. He knew he couldn’t bring himself to get on that plane.

  “Sir?” the pilot had finished loading and was standing next to him, a quizzical look on his face. “If you’ll just climb aboard, sir, we’ll get under way.”

  Ben stared at the plane for another moment, then shook his head. “No.”

  “I’m sorry?” the pilot looked like he was only about twenty-four. By the shocked look on his face, Ben imagined he’d almost certainly never had anything like this happen to him.

  “I need to go back,” Ben said, turning toward the terminal.

  “Sir!” the pilot hurried to get in front of Ben, blocking his way. “You can’t go back that way, sir, security doesn’t allow you to go back inside once you’ve left the gate!”

  Ben looked at him. “Look, I’m sick, all right? I don’t think you want me puking my guts out as you’re taking off in that thing, do you? I need to get back inside!” he shouldered his way past and continued toward the gate.

  The pilot grabbed a phone handset from a stanchion near the walkway and started speaking excitedly into it as Ben walked away.

  The gate agent was the same woman who had sold Ben the ticket earlier. She opened the door for him and started lecturing him about security and how much trouble he was going to be in. Ben mumbled an apology, then faked a heave, pointing his face directly at hers, only clamping a hand over his mouth at what looked like the last possible moment. He pointed toward the bathroom, his eyes wide and pleading.

  The woman just nodded and backed away, an appalled expression on her face.

  Ben hustled toward the men’s room, moving with an urgency that was only partially faked. Once inside, he ducked into a stall and quickly peeled off his white t-shirt, replacing it with a dark colored sweatshirt from his backpack. He took off his baseball cap and jammed that into the pack with the t-shirt, then left the stall and went to the sink. Turning on the water, he filled his hands and soaked his hair, slicking it back as best as he could. Then he hand-carried the pack low at his side and left the bathroom, sticking close to a group of three men who were all shuffling out the door at the same time.

  Outside the restroom, Ben turned and walked quickly away from the departure gates, and up the escalator to the exit. He didn’t know how much trouble he could get in for refusing to board a flight, but in his current state of mind, he really didn’t want to stick around to find out. He made it out of the gate area and past the baggage claim area without drawing attention, so he just kept on going out the front doors, heading for the freeway.

  Boise Stage Stop

  20 Miles SE of Boise, Idaho

  One Hour Later

  Ben swung down from the passenger door of the tractor-trailer rig and walked around the front to the driver’s side, offering his hand to the trucker as he prepared to fill his fuel tanks. “I really appreciate the ride, sir, thank you.”

  The burly man took Ben’s hand in his own and shook it. “That’s not a problem, young man,” he said.
“You wait around long enough for me to hit the little boy’s room, I’ll be getting right back on the road - you’re still welcome to ride along.”

  “That’s kind of you,” Ben said, “but I didn’t think to get breakfast or lunch before I quit my job this morning, so I think I’ll go inside and get a bite. I don’t want to hold you up.”

  “I understand,” The trucker said, smiling. “If I wasn’t already running a little late, I’d join you. I feel like my backbone’s rubbin’ a hole in my belly!”

  Ben grinned. He figured that with a belly that size, the man would need a pretty big hole to empty it. “Well, thanks again for the lift.”

  “No problem.” The trucker went back to filling his tank, and Ben walked across the lot, dodging other trucks on his way to the restaurant.

  “Just sit anywhere ya like!” a waitress shouted over her shoulder as Ben walked in. He nodded, then found an empty stool at the bar in front of the grill. The waitress came around the bar, turned over the cup on the napkin in front of him, and poured a cup of coffee without asking if he wanted it. “What can I get ya, hon?”

  Ben wrapped his hands around the cup. “Well, coffee’s a good start. Are you still serving breakfast?”

  “It’s a truck stop, sweetheart,” she said, putting one hand on her hip. We serve any meal you want, any time of day.”

  “Great.” Ben was suddenly ravenous. He had a mental picture of his own backbone rubbing a hole in his belly. “Can I please get a Denver omelette, and an order of waffles?”

  “Sure thing. You want maple syrup, or blueberry?”

  “Peanut butter,” Ben said.

  “Peanut butter.” She looked at him with an eyebrow cocked, trying to decide if he was joking.

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s a habit I got from my dad.”

  She shook her head and wrote his order on her pad. “Takes all kinds, I guess. That it?”

  “That’ll do for now, yes ma’am.”