Chapter 8 - Meet Me Halfway Up Jacob's Ladder

From the moment he opened his eyes, he'd noticed it - a distinct enamored feeling. It washed over him; flooded actually, like the light from the sunrise pouring in through the windows of his room.

His room. What was once considered a 'guest' room was now his - a place to rest, reflect and retreat to after a long shift at work; from either job now. It was exactly four walls, three fan blades, two windows, and one double sized bed. Here was a perfect place to hang his hat - which coincidentally was hanging on the back of his door along with his faded leather flight jacket. He stared intently into the eyes of the painted snarling tiger on the back and narrowed his own in retort, warning him to back off today. Because there was peace in this wondrous place, along with something special he couldn't quite put his finger on. It felt like something mystical, perhaps from the untold stories of the past of the family that was once sheltered here from decades ago.

Or just maybe, on a more crazier train of thought, it was from the unwritten stories of the future and what family it might house again someday. He held tight onto that thought, tucking it away deep in his conscience as he rolled over and buried his face in his co-pilot's neck.

Her eyes cracked open at his lips pressing the underside of her chin. "Wow, this sure beats an alarm clock any day of the week - good morning, Tiger!"

"G'mph-ning." His muffled voice followed, trailing his lips to her ear to whisper, "Gonna head up early today - looks like full CAVU out there."

"Oh, so you do know how to sweet talk - keep going..."

"Actually," he leaned back and looked her square in her sleepy eyes instead. "You, uh - feeling better yet? Because you sure didn't look so good yesterday after..." he trailed off, remembering yesterday's test-run hop in the Yak - where he'd discovered her unusual low tolerance for G-forces as her wobbly knees hit the dirt only seconds after her feet.

"Wowzers, Aquamaniac Junior, you're looking a few shades greener there than I've ever seen Hannibal... or B.A. even. C'mon, it wasn't 'that' crazy of a hop, I only looped her what, ten times?"

"It was more like thirteen... and just tell me I can still look you in the eyes after I, uh - oh-no..."

He couldn't help but bite his lower lip and grin wildly. "Yakety-yak!"

"I'm never going to live this down, am I?" She groaned in embarrassment at the very thought. "I don't know what happened."

"Well, you can get your shot at redemption this morning. C'mon, the sky's calling, can't ya hear it?" He excitedly hopped out of bed, ready to face the day in a pair of boxer shorts, designer style. "Let's get ready to rummmble! You comin'?" He pointed at the ceiling.

"Sure, wouldn't miss it..." She sat up to follow, then laid back hard after an all-too familiar flip of her innards. "Ugh, on second thought..." She rolled over and buried her face in her arm instead. "Don't think I can handle another wild hop right now. You'll have to go on without me."

"...what?" He felt a twinge of disappointment as he stepped into his khaki's. "Wild Ace Junior is turning down a chance to hit the 'ol blue yonder'? Call the President!"

"Hey, I wish I could. I'd tell him that I know a few guys who deserve a certain piece of paper already, especially after that Dickenson mission."

"Tell me about it," he muttered, then looked up from buttoning his flannel shirt and eyed her closely. "Say, Ace... are you sure you're not... uh, 'you know'?" He'd only asked because of the particular glow he noticed as she attempted to hide the green in her face.

"H.M., you know I'm on the 'daily-dose' safe right now," she reminded him, then looked up at him and mirrored the seriousness in his eyes. "It's that whole C.I.A. operative thing, remember?"

He felt his heart skip an almost painful beat - either answer would've done the same. "It's just - well, you know I've never exactly trusted those pharmaceutical companies. You know how many pills I've had to hide under my tongue in these last fifteen years?"

She nodded. "It's probably just the stomach flu... or my cooking." The excuses flowed easily as she pointed at him, teasing, "You could've brought something contagious back from South America - ever think of that? Seriously though, bet it's lack of sleep and not enough ground time these last few weeks and - stop looking at me like that, Tiger!"

"Lack of sleep, huh?" He sat down on the bed to tie his shoes, teasing back, "Just whose fault is it for staying up late playing that new Nintendo?"

"Hey, low blow!" She pretended to look shocked. "That was a housewarming gift, Mario. I don't see you complaining."

"I'm hardly in any position to complain, aren't I?" He grinned, then leaned over and kissed her. "You stay here, get some rest and I'll take your schedule today, deal?"

"You don't have to do that, really." Her grateful expression told him otherwise. "You sure?"

"I am 'raise your hands if you're Sure', sure - and I'm now going to give you a little reminder of what Hannibal told me when I told him I was moving closer to my new job." He raised a pretend cigar to his mouth, pretended to light it, then offered a toothy grin. "He said, 'Murdock, I know that whenever we need you, you'll be there. You're sane, forty-year old man who can make his own choices and follow his own path. ... so go live your best life, Captain'."

She giggled. "You do a perfect impression of Hannibal, except for one little thing."

"What's that?"

"You're forty-one today... Happy Birthday!"

Murdock lit up, suddenly remembering it was. "Aw, gee thanks - it is, isn't it? You know, I've been so wrapped up in rigging the plane these last few days, I totally forgot what day it was. Glad I have you to remind me during these occasional bouts of recurring intermittent memory loss." He knowingly winked and she smiled back, weakly. "Meet me at the hangar later?"

"Bet on it... promise."

Soon after, he was out the back door and off to a job he never dreamed possible. Sky business. H.M. Murdock... official private pilot. Not only his own boss, but the once-impossible ability to work around his other job, Stockwell and C.I.A. business.

Since ditching his apartment, sky business was also just down the road now; exactly three 'klicks' down the dirt runway called the 'P.T. Path' - in which he quickly learned that even the way to the hangar had its own back story as well...

"You don't drive to the hangar - why not?"

"Dad used to say, 'You've gotta make it all the way down the runway first before you hit the sky.' I didn't know it at the time, but he was preparing me for basic. Besides, how else do you think I keep this figure sitting around in a cockpit?"

Inspired by the thought, he walked past her car parked in the driveway, snickering at the bumper sticker that read, 'My other car is a helicopter', then took off in a jog as brisk as the cool Maryland air. Heck, a little P.T. never phased him and it was a welcome change - running towards something, rather than from. He'd spent too much of his life running away from things; bullets, Viet Cong missiles, M.P.'s, the V.A...

He pursed his lips at the thought of that place, leaving it behind too as he picked up the pace - sprinting full-speed to the hangar, which he quickly unlocked and pulled open, his heart racing wildly by the sight of...

"Good morning, sunshine!"

Just moments after kicking the tires and a quick pre-flight, he and the plane were out and up; ascending into the heavens above while singing at the top of his lungs, Steppenwolf style while his headphones blared.

"Get yo' birdie runnin', take off to the sky-wayyyy... yeeeeahooo!" He howled down to the ordinary world below him. Now immersed in learning his newly chosen down-time profession. The clear sky above was his paper, the plane at his command was his pen...

"Born to be wiiiiild!"

The 'oh-niner' alarm had gone off nearly an hour ago. Since then, after slapping the snooze button a few times, the clock finally wound up on the floor across the room after a skillful fling. Having taken full advantage of sleep, she was feeling somewhat normal again and it was time to join civilization on the ground - a day filled with pre-flight checklists, post-flight inspections and...

"Birthday!" She grinned at the thought as she headed to the closet. It was a special day - a civilian dress kind of day. It was a nice opportunity to abandon the flight suit for a change; that is, until she had to grit her teeth to meet the button hole on an old pair of jeans.

"Ugh, time to stop slacking in the P.T. department," she muttered to herself, just before the phone rang.

"Chateau Parker-Murdock residence... this is Parker."

"Hey, Pigeon - it's me."

Her eyes lit up. "Hey, Hannibal, it's great to hear from you! Wow, it sounds... really busy there. Wait a minute - are you having a party over there without inviting us?" she teased.

"Sorry, no party... there's just a lot of people around here at the moment."

"Oh, a mission briefing then? If it's duty calling, I'll radio Murdock right now and -"

"No, no mission... not yet. I was just checking in to see how the birthday boy's doing."

"Oh, he's great - he's already in the clouds this morning testing out his new skywriting rig and I'm getting ready to make lunch for him now."

"Don't burn anything, ha-ha! Hey, do me a favor and tell him 'Happy Birthday' from me, will ya?"

"You don't want to tell him yourself? I was hoping you'd like to stop by tonight and see the old place now that it's all fixed-up."

"That's going to be kinda tough since I'm in L.A. - but I'll take a rain check on that ASAP, okay?"

"I'll be holding you to that. Wow, you're back in L.A.?"

"Yeah, I took the red-eye yesterday outta Washington National, decided to audition for Aquamaniac VI after all, since Stockwell gave us the time off. He must think I'm nuts to hang out on the East Coast all winter. It's beautiful out here, kid... you should come out and see it sometime."

"Aw, would love to, but I've got a pretty full schedule in the books for the next couple weeks. Did Face and B.A. go along with you too?"

"No, B.A.'s still in Chicago and Face stayed out there, said something about heading to Florida to visit his sister... yeah, hold on - I'm coming! Kid, I gotta run, I'm up next. Take care of our Capt'n on his special day, okay?"

"Roger that... and break a leg, Uncle Smith! Over and out." She hung up the phone with a smile, then quickly finished packing lunches, then high-tailed it out the front door.

Her eyes instinctively turned to the sky the moment she cleared the front porch and a smile crept over her face at the sight above - lots of random letters in different phases of dissipation were scattered about against the clear blue sky.

As she looked down to the clay dirt, she followed in Murdock's fresh footprints, she also began the jog down the P.T. path - same as countless times before...

"Race ya, Dad! First one there gets the pilot seat, right?"

"You know you're really going to beat me someday, Junior... and one day you're really going to fly on your own. Are you going to be ready for that day?"

"It's just not fair, Daddy... why do I have to wait until I'm twelve for my first solo. I'm ready now!"

"I have no doubt, but there's a lesson to be learned here, Junior and it's called patience. Life isn't always fair but if you're patient, your day will be here soon enough... I promise."

It was so long ago, but the memory came back crystal clear - and for the first time in a long time, the memory of him didn't have her swallowing a lump in her throat, or bring that feeling of dread that coldly washed-over. Instead, she smiled at the familiar sound of a plane's engine as it flew over her, then seconds later, the sound of her radio crackling from her belt.

"Hey, pick up the pace, soldier! Move it, move it, move it!"

She snickered at his 'Police Academy' impression and keyed the mic. "I see you've been busy this morning. Hannibal called and said to tell you 'Happy Birthday'."

"Aw, that was real nice of the Colonel, I'll see him soon enough. So, how does everything look up here? I call it alphabet soup."

"Your 's' is backwards." She giggled. "You're going to have customers in no time. How did you learn to do this so fast?"

"It's all about the math, Ace. You have to count the seconds as you multiply the airspeed times the angle of degrees you're pitching or rolling and..."

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Lieutenant Parker," an unfamiliar voice suddenly called out.

She looked over in surprise at the addressing of her full rank to see two officers dressed in oxford blue service uniforms and a sleek black car - one that closely resembled General Stockwell's limo.

"...then after this rotation is complete - hey, you seeing this, Ace?"

"I'm Lieutenant Parker," she called back, then keyed her mic. "Stand-by, Empress Nine; we have a new visitor down here."

"Copy that - channel open."

"Ma'am," the men offered a crisp, snappy salute, then one held an envelope out to her. "It is my duty at this time as a representative of the United States Government to present to you this letter directly from the executive mansion."

"Executive...?" Her eyes were full of questions as she took the envelope from him, then returned his salute. "Consider it accepted - thank you."

After nodding in respect, he pivoted on his heels in an about-face, then hurried back to the awaiting car. He momentarily looked up and watched the plane arch into stunts of loops and rolls.

"Not bad," he commented before ducking back into his car.

As they drove away, A.J. stood, frozen - not by the weather, but by the etched presidential seal on the envelope.

"Hey, who's taking off down there in the black Lincoln - were they looking for me?"

She keyed her mic, then looked up. "No, just a delivery pigeon. But I think something is going on though, I was just hand-delivered a letter marked from the White House."

"From where...?! Nevermind, I heard ya - what's it say?"

"I don't know yet. I was going to wait to open it until you're back down here... hint-hint."

"Roger-dodger!"

He was back on the ground and taxied to the hangar in less than three minutes - it sure felt longer though, as she looked back and forth in anticipation from the envelope, to the plane and finally to him as he finally popped open the cockpit hatch.

"Nothing like a little morning air-time to get the ol' wheels turning and the adrenaline racing!" he called out as he slid from the wing onto the ground. He stretched his legs, turned to greet her, then dramatically clutched his chest in surprise when he saw her attire. "Geez, give a guy a heart attack, you're a different color today - where's the zoom bag?"

"Surprise!" She grinned, playfully retorting back, "And you are the last one that can ever tease me about wearing the same thing everyday. Here, special delivery." She offered him the lunch bag slung across her shoulder, then showed him the letter.

"Sure looks like serious business to me." He watched her tear into the letter, biting his thumbnail in anticipation, then soon traded his thumb for a bright, red apple instead. After the loud crunch of a bite, her reading aloud followed...

"From the desk of the White House, Washington... with the utmost pleasure... President of the United States is hereby awarding the Congressional Medal of Honor to General Allen Parker, formerly of the First-Fighter Wing's Ninety-Forth Fighter Squadron..."

Murdock steadied her now shaking hand, trying to read for himself. "A medal? Wait - the medal?"

"Wow, another one," she curiously mumbled back, then continued reading. "The posthumous award will be presented to his next of kin, United States Air Force, First-Lieutenant Acelynn Parker, whom we are requesting you and your family's presence for-"

"Wait-wait-wait... now hold everything for one second here. Acelynn?" His mouth dropped, revealing a mouthful of apple while he gaped at the true definition of metonymy. "That's your real name?"

"Yeah, I thought you knew - you call me Ace all the time." She grinned at how surprised he was at the revelation. "It never came up?"

"No, it never came up! All I knew is the story you told back at the house that first time; just Ace Junior, remember?" He stared bug-eyed at her, wondering what else he might not know yet. "Acelynn, hmm - you know, that's real nice - you wouldn't mind if I maybe started calling you that now, would you?"

She answered, eyes still reading, "You can call me anything you want, H.M., as long as you call me." Her grin suddenly faded. "Whoa, wait a second, check this out; the formal awards ceremony and reception to be held, is presented for Hagaru-ri, Korea, for performing actions of ultimate bravery in rescuing a ground battalion from enemy fire - Tiger, this is the rescue mission Hannibal told us about - the one that was classified." Now even more confused, she passed him the letter, wondering aloud, "How can they give out an award for something that supposedly never existed?"

"Seems pretty obvious that someone unsealed the records," he thoughtfully answered, then asked before polishing off the last bite. "I only know of one person capable of declassifying files like this... you wanna play 'Guess Who'?"

"Stockwell, of course."

"Bingo! We have a winner... now the million dollar question - why?"

"I don't know. Maybe we could ask?" She walked to her desk, picked up the phone and started dialing. "I can try to find out."

"Wait." He held down the receiver's hang-up button before she could finish. "On second thought, let's not ask 'why'. Perhaps the 'whys' are unimportant right now."

"Why?" she teased, then her voice grew solemn as she hung up the phone at his motion. "For what it's worth, I trust Stockwell. At least, I think I do." They exchanged a knowing glance, Murdock shaking his head in disagreement. "He did right by helping me... and you; your new license, remember?"

"It's just his methods; for all we know, he could be listening to us right now." He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration at the very thought. "And the way he goes about things, how he has to hold all the cards, all the information, all... his way. He's been promising these pardons for a year now and so far, nadda. Only Frankie got his and that was because his father..." he trailed off and shook his head, unwilling to finish. "You know."

"Tiger, does General Stockwell really strike you as the type of guy to just give things away?"

"No, of course not - you know what kind of hoops we had to jump through just to get suckered into this pardon agreement in the first place?" Murdock winced at the thought. "Where you goin' with this, Ace?"

She held up the letter. "Think about it; I'll be at the White House, with the President."

"Yeah, and...?"

"Well, I mean he's gotta know about Dickenson and the mission, right? That should be reason enough to bring up your pardons."

"Ace - are you saying that we just waltz in there and ask?" Murdock pondered the idea, then shook his head in disbelief at what she - they were saying. "You really want to try and go behind Stockwell's back?"

"If Stockwell really did declassify these files, then he's the one who's giving this opportunity, right? So, it's not behind his back, just... over his head. Hey, maybe he's waiting for you to find a way to get those pardons yourselves."

"That is..." his eyes widened in disbelief, "the most wild, 'off the padded wall' thing I have ever heard spoken from your pretty mouth, Ace... lynn," he quickly added without hesitation. "No, it's not just wild, it's crazy!"

"I blame you, you're contagious." She looked at Murdock and finally noticed her father's old aviators hanging around his neck. "My dad used to say, 'There's no points in a dogfight, it's only about the last move you make to get the win."

"But you could be right. We had to use our heads to get in to this Op. Maybe we've gotta use our heads to get out too."

"This could be your golden ticket, Charlie Bucket." She handed him the invitation, which he quickly immersed himself in. "What do you want to do - ignore an opportunity like this to get the truth out? Slipping a few request forms in the president's 'to do' pile should be easy... you in, birthday boy?

"A dogfight is only about the last move you make gettin' the win," Murdock repeated. He bit his lip in thought, then stared down at the paper. The idea was crazy - and he still knew crazy. It was Hannibal crazy too - which wasn't necessarily a bad thing...

"Okay, let's try to think this through. You know, I think this idea is going to take a little more than just me and you. What we need now... is a plan."

The next day...

It was his first official lead and the last phone number he'd be calling on what had been the start of a wobbly information trail that had taken almost all day to find. Biting his lip, he stared down at the number, then picked up the phone and dialed. As the first ring began, he nervously grabbed at the back of his neck and paced about.

"Relax, it's just a phone call," he muttered to himself. But who was he trying to kid? This wasn't just your ordinary, run of the mill phone call...

"L.A. Times, Allen speaking..."