Chapter 24

Office of Hanna Symanski, Washington DC

“To be honest, the best thing I remember about my co-pilot Doyle was the fact that his wife was always sending him pictures of herself wearing nothing.” Trisha Masters told Hanna Symanski.

“He always showed pictures of his wife with no clothing?” Hanna asked rather surprised.

“Yes ... No...” Trisha sighed, smiled, and then started again. “Doyle’s wife Shannon was a fitness freak. She loved the gym and everything to do with it. Until Doyle was killed, she did fitness competitions quite often. Doyle would always be in the front rows and Shannon would be posing for no one else but him when she was up on stage. She never looked at anyone else but him. The judges, the fans, the other people watching, there was only Doyle in the audience. She never cared about winning, it was all about Doyle when she was up there.”

“Oh, I understand now. The competitions were for her, but the work she did on her body was all for him.” Hanna said smiling.

“Exactly. Back to the thing with no clothes on. After Doyle, her favorite thing in the world was yoga. She worked at the main gym on Fort Campbell, and on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, she taught yoga. 99% of the time, it was standing room only in her class.” Trisha told her.

“You took a few classes from her?” Hanna asked.

“I wanted to work on my flexibility, and since Shannon was the most flexible woman I’ve ever met, it was a no-brainer.” Trisha explained. “Anyway, she would send Doyle pictures of herself with no clothing but showing nothing to the camera,” Trisha explained.

“I see what you are saying. She would pose but you would see neither her breasts nor pubic regions in the pictures.” Hanna told her.

“Exactly. You knew she was naked but would never see anything in the pictures. She was always coming up with new poses to send to him.” Trisha paused for a second. “Doyle was always saying that he married way above of his class. Shannon was always saying that she was so lucky she married Doyle and that she loved him with all of her soul.” She paused, took her glasses off, and put them on the table. Trisha wiped a tear from her eye and started speaking again. “I remember Shannon being one of the most vibrant people I’ve ever met. There was a light in her eyes when you saw her. She never had anyone say a bad word about her or her about anyone. When she came to Walter Reed after the funeral, the light that she had in her eyes was gone and she looked 20 years older than she was. She told me that she’d never find the same love she had with Doyle again.” Trisha leaned forward and the tears became sobs. She covered her face with her hands as her grief took over.

Hanna quickly got up, went to her side, and wrapped her up, and held her there. “It is alright, let it out...” She whispered to her as her own tears started to fall. “Just let it go and let it out...” After five minutes, Trisha was recomposed. She sat back up and was wiping the tears. Hanna sat back on the couch next to her. “As a therapist but more as a woman, I would tell you that there’s nothing better to help with grief than a good cry.” She said giving her another tissue. “What happened to Doyle’s wife?”

“Shannon went home to Atlanta and finished her master’s degree in business management. She works for a trucking company managing one of their hub stations. We talk on the phone a good bit and have lunch if I’m down that way or she’s in the Philadelphia area.” Trisha said dabbing another few tears. “She never went into the gym again. She still runs three or four times a week, but she doesn’t compete and hasn’t done yoga since the day he died. The last time we talked, I asked her if she was seeing anyone. Shannon said no and that she had no interest in dating. When I asked her why she told me ‘I buried the only man I’ll ever love’.” Trisha was silent after she said that.

“It is a very good thing that you keep in touch with her. You are helping each other through the grieving process just by listening to each other. But ... and this might pain you to hear me say it, you are not responsible for Shannon’s life or lack thereof. Everything she does in her own life, she is responsible for. Not you.” Hanna told her.

“Deep down, I know that. I know that Doyle was killed by a group of goat-humping farmers and woman-haters.” She told Hanna. “I know that I’m not responsible for the way Shannon lives. But it still hurts to that I lived, and he didn’t.”

A bell sounded on Hanna’s desk. She looked at her watch and then up at Trisha. “I regret to say this, but our time is finished for today. How do you feel after talking with me?”

Trisha looked at her. “Thinking and talking about some of the good things from my crew helped. I might tear up when I think about them, but at least I can laugh along with the tears now.”

“Would you like to continue meeting with me then?” Hanna asked with a smile.

“Yes, I think I would,” Trisha told her. She picked up her glasses and put them back on. Looking around her office, she saw a painting of what she thought was van Gogh’s Starry Night. She walked over and looked at it closer. She smiled when she saw that it was the military version of it.

“I had a client that used art as therapy. He would come to his appointments and paint while we talked. He painted this for me before he moved back to Texas with his family.” Hanna told her.

“It’s really quite good actually.” She replied with a smile.

“He truly has a gift...” Hanna said quietly looking at the painting.

Hanna and Trisha walked out of the room where she met with clients and into the main area of her office. The woman sitting behind the desk quickly looked up and smiled at Hanna. “Yes ma’am...”

“Amelia, get Trisha Masters an appointment on this day next week,” Hanna told her.

She opened the appointment schedule and looked at it closely. “I’ll have to move some people around, but that will be no problem. Will an afternoon appointment be good for you?”

“Afternoon is fine,” Trisha replied.

Amelia made a note on a spiral binder and then erased two names and wrote Trisha’s in their place. “Same day next week, 1400.” She said smiling at Trisha handing her an appointment slip.

“Thank you, Amelia. And Trisha, for homework, please think of a joke that each of your crewmates told to you. I would like to hear them next week when we meet.” Hanna said shaking her hand.

“Thank you, Hanna, I’ll see you next week,” Trisha said walking out. When she had closed the door, the elevator dinged and a man on crutches walked out. He was missing his left leg below the knee but had a smile on his face as he quietly sang. She recognized the song as John Lee Hooker’s ‘Canal Street’. She smiled as she walked on. When she got to her car, she grabbed her phone and opened the Spotify app, and found that very song. She turned the volume up as far as it would go and drove off to meet up with Simone and Mike.

Warehouse, Mt Rainier MD

Angus, Mike, John, and Rodderick were listening to Simone and Trisha talk. She had stopped and gotten everyone a coffee after her appointment with Hanna Symanski.

“No, there wasn’t anyone else there, just the two of them. The tall woman was that Amelia Andrews chick.” Trisha told her.

“What’s your opinion of the job she did?” Simone asked her.

“Honestly, she was quick and efficient. She made notes to call the people she moved around and then put my name in the appointment book.” Trisha told her. “I did notice that her eyes brightened when Hanna came out and looked at her.”

“Typical submissive behavior...” Simone said making notes on her legal pad. She looked at Mike, “I think we can confirm that Amelia and Hanna moved their BDSM thing into a full-time lifestyle thing...”

“Really?” Angus asked. “Maybe I can get some tips from her. Joanne loves a firm hand every now and again.”

“It’s all about their hair, Angus. You have to grip and pull it just right and they’ll love you for it.” Rodderick told him. “Cheryl loves her hair pulled, so when I have her doggie style, she’s almost bent back enough to look at my face. She has the best orgasms from that.”

“Oh, JEEZ, TMI...” Mike told him as everyone started laughing.

“So, there’s no internet then?” Simone asked giving the men a raised eyebrow.

“My phone said no. The appointments are made by hand in a spiral-bound appointment book.” Trisha replied.

“It sounds like she’s old school,” Angus replied.

“At least with her scheduling,” Mike replied. “We haven’t been able to see what her condo has in it.”

“I was actually able to find out what security service she has and get a basic idea of how good it is...” Angus said grabbing his notebook. “Alder security service is one of the better services in the area. They’ve got a good rep for good customer service and technology. They have active monitoring and liaisons that work with law enforcement to track crime in whatever areas they have customers in.”

“Wow,” Rodderick said with a surprised look.

“BUT...” Angus said to the group. “Give me a little time and I’ll have their server cracked and I can isolate Symanski’s apartment so you can have a look round it.” He said as he started to type.

“How long can you give us?” Mike asked.

“It’ll depend on how their encryption and anti-intrusion people react, but no more than 10 minutes, tops,” Angus replied.

“It’ll have to do. Mike, you better start practicing your lock picking.” Simone said.

“No way...” he replied. “I’m so far out of practice it would take me a decade to get caught up.”

“I’ve got this,” Rodderick replied. He reached into the bag at his feet and pulled out a small pouch. Opening it, he started putting everything anyone would ever need to pick a door lock. “I built this when I joined the bureau, it’s got everything.”

Mike picked up some of the picks. “This looked custom made,” Mike said holding it up to the light.

“It is. I had it made from a titanium/carbon fiber mix by someone who owed me a favor. He also cut the shims a bit longer in case you need the extra reach on a door frame.” Rodderick replied.

“What’s that?” John asked pointing to what looked like a small butane torch.

“That’s a single-use, highly compressed air tank for punching through deadbolts that won’t be picked,” Rodderick replied.

“No Country for Old Men, right?” Simone asked.

“Great movie...” John replied as he put the tube back on the table. “What do you have for computer-controlled access?”

Rodderick pointed to Angus. “Him,” he said with a smile.

“Do we want to surveil the Amelia chick any?” Simone asked.

“She might be the one that drops reports and information to her handlers.” Rodderick pointed out.

“I doubt it...” Simone replied. “From what I’ve seen, Hanna would be the one that does the information drops. Amelia is ‘the help’ in the relationship. No, let’s stick to their trips for groceries and to the mall on Saturdays and see what turns up.”

Mike spoke up at that point. “Trisha, how did you feel after you finished your first session with her?”

“Honestly ... I actually DO feel better after talking with her.”

Simone sat down next to her and took her hand. “How so?” she asked Trisha.

“I hadn’t thought about Doyle, Johnson, and Rickmon in a positive way in a long while.”

“Do you still talk with Dave?” Mike asked.

“At least once a week,” Trisha replied. She looked over at Rodderick, John, and Angus. “Dave Taubin was my crew chief and only other survivor when we were shot down.”

“How’s he doing?” Mike asked her.

“He’s doing better. He and his wife just celebrated their twentieth anniversary. He took her to Europe for a month.” Trisha told them.

“Just out of curiosity, what did you fly?” Rodderick asked her.

“Rodderick, you’re looking at one of three primary test pilots that have flown every version of the MH and CH 47 series that’s been brought into service since 1998,” Mike said pointing to Trisha.

“She’s logged more flight time in a Chinook than 99% of the military pilots and ALL of the test pilots,” Simone told him.

“How much stick time do you have?” John asked.

Trisha smirked and looked at the floor. “I stopped counting after 1500 hours.” She told him.

Simone pretended to sneeze, “BULLSHIT!” She waved her hand in front of her face. “Excuse me, there’s a lot of dust in here.”

Rodderick raised his eyebrows in shock. “I know FIGHTER pilots that won’t have more than ONE thousand hours of flight time.”

Trisha held her hands up. “Commissioned pilots fly a desk. Warrants fly for real.” She said with a snicker.

BALTIMORE FARMER’S MARKET AND BAZAAR

John sat at the drink bar in the farmers market where he had followed Hanna and Amelia. He was taste-testing some of the various fruit juices that the local farmers had created. He could see them both across the fruits and vegetables as they shopped for food. He turned back around as the barista asked if he wanted to try something else.

“Could I try the grape/mango juice please?” he asked

“Sure...” She grabbed another paper cup, poured the juice, and set it in front of him. “It’s my favorite, and I think you’ll like it as well.”

John drank the whole thing in one swallow. “Wow, that’s excellent, what else is in this?”

“They put some cucumber in with it to balance out the flavor. Other than that, there’s nothing but the fruits and veggies.” She told him.