Chapter 69

"Chief Brewster ... Navy Chief Petty Officer ... he's been doing all our maintenance?"

"Never heard of him."

"Hmmm?" I gave a shrug. "How about calling the Survey?"

Mr. LMDP called, "They'll be right down."

"Ok," I replied. "Seen Grace?"

"Yeah, she's watching the radar reheat the burgers." He grinned, "You brought your cat ... and kitten ... oops ... kittens."

He was watching Piper show her kittens how to poop in dirt.

Success.

Piper was putting on a show. She started nosing in the grass around the tower ... she pounced ... a mouse. A quick shake to break it's back and she presented the paralyzed rodent to her fascinated offspring. It has been said that house-cats learn to hunt from their mothers and she was teaching 'fending for your self'. Not that Piper was a house-cat. Well ... she was ... but not. She was the eighth generation in captivity. And that's not right and I don't think I can explain. The experimentation done on her mother had changed her. Genetic engineering was in it's infancy and conservative science (Main-stream thinking) likened to to playing god.

Someone in Madison Wisconsin played god with Isabelle and that someone was dissatisfied with the result and disposed of it. The disposal didn't work. Isabelle was smarter than the disposer.

Whoops ... sorry, monologuing.

Mr. USGS appeared. Grace and David reported their completion. The staff repaired to the aircraft and tried to find the magnetometer ... and it was not ... it was at least two nots ... not the SNJ and not present in the not SNJ.

This was reported to the Boss, and he turned to David with a questioning look.

"Chief Brewster has it."

And the fun and games started. Not fun and not games. Getting a bit knotty.

No one seemed to know where or, for that matter, who Naval Reserve Chief Petty Officer Brewster was ... or ... for that matter ... what he was. I think that phrase is going to become very popular ... for that matter ... I am sure of it.

"He has been doing all our maintenance."

Fairly soon, David ran out of patience ... two seconds before Grace did. Grace out of patience is Grace out of control and NOBODY likes it when Grace has lost it.and she did.

When the tirade was complete and she was breathing again, she picked up the kittens, asked Piper politely if she would like to go home, grabbed me by my OW! ear and marched us all down the tower stairs.

Her parting shot ... before she tore my ear half off ... was, "Our Attorney will be in touch with your attorney."

Daddy was gong to raid my dollar jar ... again.

We stopped in Lansing. The SNJ was done. Odd looking but done. Not one replaceable metal part was the same color. Crazy Quilt.

"Bill the USGS, Ben." Grace was still fuming, "David ... you have the Minus Q, I shall fly the Crazy Quilt."

And that's what we did. Home again, home again, jiggity jig. No fat pig.

In the morning, we had visitors. Grace said, "We're minors ... we will not talk without a parent and our attorney present. Unless you have come with a warrant ... get out of my house."

"We have a warrant."

"Show it to me. David ... call your father."

They lied ... no warrant. Assholes.

"Daddy? Take a dollar out of the jar and come on down. The Federal Alphabet Soup is here."

How fair is it? Lying to a Fed is a crime ... but a Fed lying to you isn't.

Grace made tea and cookies and served the Soup in their cars. Even if they were not nice, We are not Barbarians.

Arnold had a booming business ... and his part of the house was not our part of the house ... so ... try as they might to exclude him ... Super Fly built bicycles. He was so into building bicycles for college students that he had used up all the bits that came with the Salvation Army bikes and needed more parts.

"David, I need to borrow the Deuce and a half ... can you call the Chief?"

"I don't have a number."

"Funny, he always seemed to be around when he was needed."

So ... while we watched and listened ... for that matter ... Arnold confessed to knowing the unknown entity ... Naval Reserve Chief Petty Officer Brewster. He gave a very good description. "He's about forty ... forty one. Five feet nine, maybe 175 ... but muscle ... not fat. Icy blue eyes ... oh ... and a tattoo. A dagger with a snake. Very small."

Daddy showed up ... the questioning began.

"What does Brewster look like?"

Daddy said, "Hell, that's easy."

"You met the man?"

"Right here ... more than once. He sorta hung out after work ... him and his airdales."

"Airdales?"

"Flight deck crew."

Uncle General Harry got in on the act..."Sure I met him ... he worked on the Lieutenants aircraft."

"What Lieutenants?"

We tootled our fingers.

"You're 15 years old ... you can't even join the service."

And the paperwork came out ... the Office of Naval Intelligence was onboard before you could shake a stick at it.