If he wanted to, Bill could push his souped-up black Ford Explorer to clock speeds that the Dakota County sheriff’s service could only hope to match.

He wanted to, and he did.

It wasn’t as if he were angry. The machine humming away beneath him, encompassing him in it’s steel shell brought him to a calm within himself, his mind focused on piloting the sleek vehicle instead of the questions that it would have been turning over and over.

Anger was secondary to the serenity. Serenity--not a good choice of words. Quiet. Empty. Cold. Machine-like.

Bill had made a decision. It was instant, and in itself locked away the only thing that would come closest to destroying Samuel Philip Gerard. If he had been another man, if it had been but two years prior, it might have been terribly different.

As always, when thinking of the man, Bill found two opinions, memories, and several distinct feelings inside of himself. Unchanged was the annoyance, the dislike, the rivalry that had always existed between them. The Punk said that he and same were more alike than not, and Bill had always fought this idea, but he was beginning to see the wisdom in her observations.

Sam Gerard was a neat-freak, a perfectionist, a winner who never let losing ever enter his perspective of life. Bill had given the man grief because of these qualities, bin in every way, Bill himself was every bit of a lunatic as Sam, but his methods differed. Clothing may be worn, ratty, casual--t-shirts and jeans, old boots and gloves with the fingers cut out of them. But, as Deb said, it was Strannix’ way or the highway, and one look at his basement office proved it. Everything was in its place, neatly labeled (or not labeled, as the case may be) and filed away, some under lock and key.

Sam Gerard was also his brother, long time compatriot and hero of his younger brother Eliot. It was a strange feeling that accompanied these thoughts and memories, on of longing and comfort of a world he hadn’t inhabited for thirty years, and more than likely would never again. Problem was, knowing this didn’t stop the nameless ache. Neither man could bring themselves to be so comfortable with each other again.

There were days that setting one of Ryan’s expert devices loose in the pentagon seemed like a satisfying plan.

The feelings that clashed inside him over his older brother were the ones that had banished the deadly knowledge to the back of Bill’s head, never to escape his lips, hidden with other bits of information and what most people would deem ‘secrets,’ but to him were mere annoyances.

It didn’t make it go away, though, only made him want to burn up the road, faster, farther.

He had not pondered leaving. At first, he had believed it to be a cruel joke. But the Punk wasn’t cruel. Mean, bitter, spiteful, insane, sarcastic, but not cruel, especially in such a worthless fashion.

He’d left her a note, just like in the old days, with a specific warning *not* to inform Gerard that he was gone. He figured he’d be gone and back in a few days, and it was never strange for him to disappear.

He fought with the idea, even then in his distant, focused state, that even those close to him had been involved in deception, and he even found himself feeling for Gerard. Bill knew how it felt to lose one so close to oneself, but the betrayal would break him. At least to have left in memory what good there was between them… Sometimes, its all you had.

He’d decided, three am, the Punk’s arms tucked around his abdomen and her body curled around his, that he needed space, to think and breathe. He’d taken leave of Deb’s warmth and slipped downstairs to the place she hated the most these days. He spent so much time down there, qui4et and thinking, sorting his life through and doing odd consulting jobs for various branches of the government and less legal, but just as worthy, organizations that had sought him out. She claimed that she saw him less now that he was home.

Downstairs, in the seclusion of his room, his office, he flipped through a few old photos of himself and Beth, Hawk, Deb, and others from a shoe box while he ran searches from his computer line.

Three new names. Histories. Birth certificates. One death certificate. Everything seemed to point to a Lilly McDougal in Utah.

He flipped through photos. Happiness and tears captured in time. Moments of life sealed forever onto paper. All that happy-crappy Kodak shit.

Bill lined up four photos of varying sizes and ages on his desk and studied them. He remained that way, in thought, for some time. A high school sweetheart, Sally Whatsername, Sam would know. His little Vietnamese girl, Cai Bian, the only physical remnant of her he owned. A recent picture of Deb, grinning madly as she was giving Travis Lehman rabbit ears during the Christmas party at the corner. And Beth, a sarcastic smirk on her face, ready to tell Strannix to go to hell.

That was when he left.

Bill wasn’t thinking, merely driving. Racing. He found himself heading South, out of Minnesota, into Iowa. After blowing past several highway patrol cars and losing every one of them, he slowed down to a moderate seventy miles per hour. He only stopped for gas and coffee, arriving in Utah a day and a half later.

Bill pulled up to a medium-size ranch-style home, moderately maintained, inconspicuous and quiet. An old blue pick-up truck sat parked in the gravel driveway. He drove slowly past the house, rounded the block, then stopped down the street, parked at the curb, watching the house. Now that he was there, he wasn’t sure what to do. Storm up to the door, hammer on it, and demand to be told the truth? Follow her somewhere, then let her ‘run into’ him? Or simply drive away, once he glimpsed her, just to cement the idea of her living and well in his mind, after having to sever ties not once, but three times. The first time for Beth, the second for the Punk, and the third for himself… was his presence proof that he had never truly let go?

He heard it before he saw it, the sound of a bi-plane’s engine above, coming closer. Bill craned his neck to look out the windshield to find the source, and grinned. Hawk was out scaring innocent people and giving thrill-seekers what they wanted--and then some.

Bill unfolded his map and followed the road farther, past the house and down a secondary road to what passed for an airport in the small town. He parked at the Mom and Pop general store that stood a few feet away from the ‘landing strip’ and bought a Coke and a sandwich. Sitting on the bench outside the store, he felt like a kid, watching the plane barrel roll and loop high into the air, nearly stalling in its ascension.

As the plane landed, he finished his sandwich and walked back to the strip, just another casual observer curious enough to think about daring Colonel Hawkins to take him up in his bird.

The passenger seemed to climb out warily, or so Bill thought. He hopped out of the plane and looked up to the pilot’s seat where Hawk was removing his helmet. His copilot removed his--ahem, *her*--own, and Bill froze to the spot, smile dropping from his lips like water being flash frozen to the spot. Instantly, he turned to leave.

“Eliot? That you, son?”

He slipped his sunglasses on and turned to face one of the few women he’d loved that had gotten out of a relationship with him alive. Hopefully, if at all possible, she wouldn’t know who he was, and with Hawk’s help, would stay that way.

“Eliot! What’re you doin down here, boy? Minnesota get too cold for ya?” Hawk advanced with his hand out, smiling in that easy, open way he had. Bill took it and both men shook heartily.

Beth smiled as well, obviously oblivious.

“And this is my girl, Lilly. Lilly, meet--”

Bill stuck his hand out. “Eliot Gerard. Nice at meet ya, ma’am.”

Hawk cocked an eyebrow at Bill’s adoption of his old name, but said nothing. Instead, he grinned wide again.

“You wanna go up in the bird, boy? She’s been looking for a greenie to take up.”

Bill shook his head.

“Now, General, just ‘cause I wasn’t in the Air Force--”

“The only way you can make a squid fly is to shoot it out of a cannon!”

Bill grinned again, watching ‘Lilly’ out of the corner of his eye. She was fiddling with her flight goggles, trying to look occupied. Bill knew better… did she recognize his voice? “I did recon with the leathernecks out in An Loc in ‘71. I met the Nailer.”

Hawk grunted and nodded, but had nothing further to say about the days in the Land of Bad Things.

“Well,” said Hawk, breaking the uneasy silence, “you wanna go over to Marlin’s with us? We were gonna get a drink and a bite to eat, then head back to the house…”

Beth finally looked up from her fiddling and he caught her eyes and held them. She knew, he could see it, even through the white hair and the sunglasses. She knew, and she gave him a desperate look. It asked him a simple question: Don’t tell a soul, okay?

Bill nodded slightly and she seemed to relax slightly. “No,” he said, addressing Hawk’s question, “I’m here on business. Thought I’d just drop by and say hey.”

He could also tell that Hawk knew something was up. Someday, he’d have some explaining to do to the older man, at the very least, out of respect. But not today.

“Good to see you again, boy. I’ll visit soon… gotta go up to that clinic again for my checkup. We’ll talk.”

“Yes, sir.” Bill nodded towards Beth again. “Ma’am.”

Hesitantly, Beth uncurled her fingers from her goggles and held up a goodbye hand. As Bill turned to go, he wondered if he’d ever see her again.

He’d make sure he would.

NEXT… A TRIP UP NORTH WITH BILL AND SAM… STAY TUNED…