Dylan sat in front of the gigantic mahogany desk and Ivan sat behind it when Clay came in.

Clay leaned to give Ivan a kiss and he moved one of the deck chairs next to Ivan.

"You going to ride over to the school with us?" Clay asked.

"I just might do that if Tag gets here in time. Don't want to leave the shop unmanned. Someone might need something," Ivan said.

"Taggart has been off all week. I don't think showing up at eight is a hardship," Clay said.

"He earns his time off. He doesn't take off enough," Ivan said.

"He loves his work," Clay said, and the tinkle of the bell had everyone looking at the door.

"McCoy, come in and meet my better half. Clayton Olson, this is Angus McCoy. Angus, this is Clay."

"The marine biologist," McCoy said.

"Someone's been talking," Clay said, shaking McCoy's hand.

"You wouldn't guess who in a thousand years," Ivan said, as Clay looked at him suspiciously."

"Kodak told me about you. Ivan runs the campgrounds and you are a senator's man in the Gulf. I don't remember which senator. He owns, or maybe he runs, the Sanibel Island something or other," McCoy said.

"Not bad," Clay said. "Kodak told you that."

"Snippets. I've picked up details since I've been here. I'm a snooper. I tend to keep my ears open," McCoy said.

"You do indeed," Clay said.

"He had something to do with getting the guy who shot Taz."

"You did? How'd that happen?" Clay asked.

"Get Ivan to tell you the story about how I met General Walker. Taz and Kodak were working at General Walker's Montana cattle ranch. They met during the war in Vietnam. Taz was a grunt and Kodak a photographer. Kodak ended up photographing Taz, and they've been together since about '69, I guess," McCoy said. "Taz got himself shot by some white supremacy folks. I was working in army investigations at the time. General Walker, being a general, asked for me to be assigned to him to investigate the shooting. I located the guy and we waited for him to come finish the job. Being paid to take Taz out, we moved Taz and waited for him to come to his room."

"Sounds like cops and robbers," Dylan said.

"I suppose it was cops and robbers. We got the bad guy and Taz is healthy and living large back on the general's ranch."

"That's an amazing story. You were like a cop?" Clay asked.

"Army investigations are cops for the army. I was an MP and General Walker had me sent to army investigations. Anyway, I met Taz and Kodak after Taz was shot and we've kept in touch."

"The general died," Clay said.

"The general died," McCoy said. "We were all at his funeral and Taz and Kodak had time on their hands while the general's wife and two sons fought over ownership of the ranch. Someone told them about this place, and they came here for a month or so. They told me, and I'm here for a while."

"Welcome to the cove, McCoy. I liked Taz and Kodak," Clay said. "I hope they come back one day."

"Me too," Dylan said. "Kodak anyway. He's smart."

"Interest you in a cup of coffee, McCoy?" Ivan asked.

"That's what I came for. I shaved my knuckles to come up here," McCoy said.

Ivan laughed.

"Am I interrupt something?" Tag said. "I can go back home for another hours sleep if you are having an important meeting."

"Come on in, Tag. This is Angus McCoy," Ivan said. "He's on 9. He came with his wife. From Chicago, isn't it?"

"Yes, Chicago." Angus stood to shake Tag's hand.

"Nice to meet you. I'm here when Ivan isn't. Anything I can do for you, let me know," Tag said.

"Can you entertain him while we take our kid to school?" Ivan asked.

"Sure thing, Boss," Tag said.

Clay, Ivan and Dylan headed for the door as it closed in on eight. Another day had begun at the cove.

Later in the week, while he left his wife collected shells along the Gulf of Mexico beach, McCoy wandered up to the shop for coffee and conversation. McCoy Often worked twelve hour shifts every day for weeks at a times. Having coffee with a friend wasn't something he got to do in his work-a-day life. Mildred stayed home to take care of the house and the girls.

"Slept in this morning, did we?" Ivan asked, as McCoy came in. He predictably looked over his shoulder at the bell before he moved one of the deck chairs in front of the gigantic mahogany desk.

"Why does that bell bother you, McCoy?"

"Not much of an alarm system," McCoy said.

"It's just to let me know someone is inside the shop. I don't need an alarm system. Nothing here to steal," Ivan said.

"I don't know about that. Where do you keep the money?"

Ivan pulled out the top drawer of the gigantic mahogany desk and picked up a handful of one dollar bills.

"This is my safe," Ivan said. "Must be twenty-five or thirty dollars here. In a few weeks we'll make two hundred a day with our boats. Bought our third boat last year for deep sea fishing. That's a day business. Some campers fish. Most stay close to the beach. People come from Orlando, even Miami to go fishing with us."

"It's a lovely spot. I once took a trip up the Mekong River on a patrol boat. Those boys fished and we pulled over to cook thirty and forty pound fish over a campfire. There were five in the crew. Argued and fought like cats and dogs. Once a shot was fired at them, they were as buttoned down as any soldiers I knew. They cruised that river like they owned, and Charlie hated those boats."

"Having a flashback, are we?" Ivan asked.

"Funny what a guy remembers when he has time on his hands. Haven't thought of that since I left Vietnam," McCoy said.

"You're getting used to having time on your hands."

"Yes, I am. Slept so sound I didn't hear the trash buggy. You were as quiet as the air. Mildred's off collecting more shells. We may have to get another tent to have a place to sleep."

"She really likes beach combing, doesn't she?" Ivan asked.

"She does. You'd be surprised how few shells wash up around Chicago, especially where we live."

Ivan handed McCoy a cup of coffee once the talk slowed down.

"Clay already left to take Dylan to school. Tag isn't due before ten, but he might wander in any time. Lucky for me, he likes it here."

"Seems like an intelligent young man. He is young, isn't he?"

"He's seven years older than Dylan. Dylan is fourteen," Ivan calculated as he spoke.

"Those two seem like peas in a pod," McCoy said. "He isn't that comfortable with me around, but he gets right into talking with Tag."

"I wasn't around when they were real young, but Tag's mother nursed Dylan after his mama died. Dylan is quite close to her and when Clay took him to Twila's for a visit, Tag started looking out for him. Like it was his responsibility. Tag is Dylan's best friend."

"You can see the way they relate to each other. More like brothers than friends," McCoy said. "Dylan's mama died. Who is the mama he mentions?"

"Clay's mother. Dylan refuses to be discriminated against. Everyone calls mama, Mama. Dylan calls Mama, Mama."

"He's an unusual kid," McCoy said. "Sharp as a tack. The few conversations I've had with him, mostly about Kodak, it isn't like talking to a teen. He's quite focused."

"That's the Olson influence. There were no kids around. When his Aunt Lucy spent time with him, and she became a teacher, she read to Dylan. She never read him children's books. Whatever she was reading, they'd read it together. She'd read and then hand him the book so he could read. He's an avid reader now. He gets into trouble at school, because when he gets bored, he reads in class."

"Lucy is the congresswoman?" McCoy asked.

"Yes. She was in the state legislature and she ran for Harry's seat, once she felt ready for that. Harry's a senator in DC. He started out in the seat Lucy holds now."

"Clay's a famous marine biologist. I saw him with some other people talking to senators on the evening news. He's quite passionate about his occupation," McCoy said.

"He certainly is and Dylan is like his shadow when they go diving. I don't have the time to go diving very often, but when I go, they instinctively know where the other one is at all times."

"Explains Dylan's maturity. He isn't really a kid," McCoy said.

"Don't tell his teachers that. They insist he's a child," Ivan said.

With the boats still in dry-dock and the campgrounds less than full, Ivan didn't have a lot to do during the day. Even the time he spent filling out order forms was greatly reduced.

Even the folks who were camping this time of year were more independent. They tended to bring the things they intended to eat and ate out less. More than half the campers in April came without kids. By May, most campers came with kids. It was a family affair.

"We'll get our tour boat back this week. When we do, I can offer you a boat ride on the Gulf," Ivan said. "This is when we have the boats in dry dock to get a good going over before the peak season starts. Once we fill up for the first time during the week, it won't slow down again until the end of November or sometimes December," Ivan explained. "It isn't so much the cold that keeps people away. We get a northwesterly wind in the winter. It can cut right through you. The East Coast is consistently warmer than here. The die hard vacationers want warmth above all other things. If they don't mind the cold they can stay in Chicago."

"You stay another week. We'll start getting our boats back. The ride out into the Gulf is not to be missed. Some people want to take the Gulf ride every day," Ivan said. "It's fun and Tag usually takes the tour boat out and he's not known to spare the horses."

"How much will that set me back?" McCoy asked.

"Five bucks," Ivan said.

"You could get twice that from most folks," McCoy said. "Why so cheap?"

"We want to entertain the people who visit us. I take some profit above the cost and upkeep on the boats and Tag's salary. We go out twice a day once the campgrounds fills up. We always turn away people who want to take the tour in the morning," Ivan said.

"People come from all over to take the tour of the Gulf. It's a day out for people not too far away. They come to eat at JK's and take the boat ride into the beautiful Gulf of Mexico."

"If it wasn't for the girls, Mildred would love to stay here. I do believe the things she cooks over the fire pit are better than her cooking at home. Of course, we don't have time to enjoy it at home."

"Sea air. Surprising how hungry you get just being next to the beach. Going to and coming back from the Gulf is a lot of exercise without thinking it's exercise," Ivan said.

Tag came in with a bag in hand. As soon as the bell tinkled, McCoy looked to see who it was.

"Tag," McCoy said. "I wondered if I'd be seeing you today."

"Yeah, I'm back on full time. Things will be picking up soon if it runs true to form this year."

Tag handed Ivan his two egg sandwiches and took his behind the counter with him.

"Here you go, McCoy. Eat one of these and you'll never want anyone else to make your egg sandwich," Ivan said, sliding one across to McCoy.

"What a pleasant surprise. Thank you, Ivan. Don't tell my wife. This is certainly a pleasant place," he said.

"We aims to please," Tag said, chewing on his sandwich.

"I was in Vietnam," Ivan said as he chewed.

"You mentioned you were well traveled," McCoy said. "Army, navy, or marines?"

"Tourista, more or less," Ivan said.

Tag laughed.

"Uh, that was like a war zone until 75 and you can't get a visa to get into Vietnam these days. You're too young to have gone before the war there," Angus calculated.

"Mostly I was in Cambodia," Ivan said.

"Not where I'd go for a tour. You've lived the life of danger, Ivan."

"Not on purpose. I was there when the Khmer Rouge took over. The most dangerous place in the world, while I was there. I left in 1979," Ivan said. "It wasn't my idea but it couldn't be avoided."

"I'd have avoided it. I saw no action in Vietnam but it wasn't my favorite place to be. I was a kid. What did I know? They send kids because they don't know anything. They haven't learned to say no."

"You told me about you and the general. I was over there. I knew what it was like. It was nice to come home."

"You never talk about it, Boss," Tag said.

"I wasn't there on tour. I was glad to get home," McCoy said. "Even knowing a general, I have no idea why we went over there. What the hell were you doing in that godforsaken place? I was there by invitation of my government, class of 1970-71."

"What's it like? Doing investigating for the army?" Ivan asked.

"The most dangerous thing I did was track down the drug smugglers. After that I trained to snoop around and sort out the not so bad guys from the criminals. Some guys could be saved. It was a case of them being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Lot of crime in the army, McCoy?"

"No, but you have guys in the army who joined to get out of some jam they found themselves in. Guys in the military who try to work the system. Get in the way of the flow of money. You always got guys looking for an angle. I needed to be a little more clever than they are. People looking for an angle always make a lot of mistakes. If you aren't looking for the kind of thing they're up to, you don't see it, once you do see it, you can nail their ass to the wall."

"You liked it?"

"A hell of a lot better than being shot at," McCoy said.

Ivan laughed.

"That general sounds like a regular guy," Ivan said.

"He invited guys he liked to work on his ranch in Montana, after they left the war zone. Some guys can go to war and go home. It doesn't bother them. Some men, war messes with your head. Not mine. I never saw anything worse than drug smuggling. It wasn't pleasant, but it was a job that I could put behind me. Some guys, being away from home is traumatic. You throw in the kinds of things kids were doing over there, it fucks them up. Anyway, the general gave guys a place to go to cool out for a while. Some of them stayed on his ranch. Taz was one of those. Kodak was with Taz and they're still living on the general's ranch. Taz runs it for the general's wife."

"Good man, that general," Tag said. "I got friends who went over there. I was too young. From my perspective, the guy who went, wasn't the guy who came back. They weren't totally screwed up, you know, but they weren't right. They had difficulty fitting in anywhere. I never knew what we were doing over there. I do know, a lot of good men never came home from over there."

"You're an interesting guy, McCoy," Ivan said.

"My story is straight out of Ripley's Believe it or don't. If I have a run-in with some hard nose general, I'm still in the stockade. I don't think they can shoot guys for sleeping on duty. I did it and I got away with it. General Walker saw a way to make me a good soldier. Any other general, I'd have been toast. He'd have ended me."

"Sounds like a real person," Tag said. "Some people are real. Those are the best folks. Power doesn't go to their head."

"Don't you know it," McCoy said. "The army is full of guys acting like they're in charge. General Walker was in charge. He knew how to treat people. Those guys on his ranch knew how real he was. Hard to say how many lives he salvaged because he cared about his men."

"Because they were his men. Not pawns on a chessboard to be played with," Ivan said. "Too bad there aren't more General Walkers."

"He knew that some men needed time to put the war behind them," McCoy said.

"Smart guy," Ivan said, drinking coffee and enjoying the conversation. "Why were we fighting those people over there?"

"Seemed like the thing to do at the time," McCoy said. "Countries seem to look for reasons to fight."

"Countries don't," Ivan said. "Leaders do, because they're too stupid to talk it out. Talking takes a lot of energy, you know."

"Why do the people go to war? I ain't going to no war," Tag said. "I don't hate anyone that much."

"They don't want to go to prison," McCoy said. "Your government invites you to a war, you better go."

"Nah. They can fight their war without me. I got better things to do, don't I, Boss?"

"Oh, don't worry, Tag. They'll give you an exemption to work for me. Someone's got to watch the shop when I'm not here," Ivan said. "They'll understand and give you a deferment."

McCoy laughed.

"We've been at war nearly half my lifetime," Ivan said.

"How old are you Ivan?" McCoy asked.

"Turned thirty-four in March," Ivan said.

"I feel old sometimes. You look about twenty. I'm thirty-three. You're older than I am," Angus said.

"It's all that clean living," Ivan said. "Keeps me young."

"Why were you over there? I mean, it's none of my business. You seem too smart to have been in the shit for that long."

"Write it off to youthful exuberance. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. Dumbest damn move I ever made."

McCoy laughed at Ivan's honesty.

It was beautiful outside and as quick as McCoy returned to the campsite, Mildred would be ready for lunch and then another walk. Since he had nothing better to do, he'd walk with her. It wasn't like he didn't need the exercise and the fresh air was intoxicating.

He could see the air where he was from. Because he could see it, he knew what he was breathing. He couldn't see what was in the air next to the Gulf of Mexico. It did have a clean smell to it.

Her husband held her hand while they walked. Mildred liked that.

He felt it before he heard it. There was a vibration that moved the gigantic mahogany desk. Ivan's hands were on the desk. He stretched out his arms to feel the motion.

His first thought was, earthquake.

Then, he heard the engine's sound. What he heard at first, was no sound at all. His desk had trembled. There was a distinctive pop. Silence, the engines cut back on before going off for good.

Ivan worked for a Cambodian air freight company. He recognized the sound of a twin engine airplane. This engine was in trouble. The engines came on, went off, came on. The hesitation in the motors alarmed Ivan. The second time the engines went silent told Ivan all he needed to know about what was about to happen, and it was going to happen close to the cove.

There was definitely something wrong with the sound of the engines. He wasn't sure what was wrong, but he was up and moving toward the door right after the gigantic mahogany desk shivered.

The sound of the plane's engines were there, and then, they weren't.

Ivan was certain now, the plane was coming down.

As he was crossing in front of the shop, he heard the second loud pop. The engines cut off and the pilot just tried to refire them. The silence after the pop said it all. It wasn't a big plane. It was bigger than the Apache but not bigger than Harry's Beechcraft.

That's when Ivan had a horrific thought,

It's Harry who is in trouble!

The shadow of the plane passed over Ivan and the shop. Ivan was in full gallop, passing the marina and running toward the Fish Warehouse, and it was a twin engine Beechcraft. Ivan wasn't sure if it would crash into the warehouse or directly behind it, but that's the direction the plane and Ivan were going in. There was a swishing sound of air passing over something large.

It wasn't the senator. It was a Beechcraft. It was older and didn't have the shine Harry's Beechcraft had.

The plane was flying south when it got into trouble. Harry would know to glide down onto his airfield behind the house. It wasn't Harry, He'd come in over the Gulf. This plane had been flying south. He was flying south along the coastline. He was having engine trouble and he spotted the cove. He was trying to ditch in the cove, but his angle was too shallow and he was too high. He was heading for the warehouse. If he'd known about Harry's airfield, he'd have been able to glide safely onto it.

Ivan continued to run toward the Fish Warehouse parking lot. Approaching the warehouse driveway, the plane hit the roof at the end of the warehouse where the boats unloaded their catch. It glanced off the roof and continued on.

Ivan ran toward the place in the trees where the plane came down. He lost sight of it while behind the warehouse. It hit the roof. An instant later he heard it crashing into the trees.

Ivan knew what he needed to do, and as he passed through the parking lot. People poured out of the exits and into the parking lot as Ivan ran toward the crash site.

Ivan could see the path the plane took into the trees. Something flashed and there were flames just igniting. Ivan was in the water up to his thighs as he forced himself forward. The trees stopped the plane a few hundred feet from the parking lot.

Ivan kept going forward. His lungs were on fire. He couldn't stop.

He heard people behind him. They were coming toward him. He couldn't stop but he'd need their help if there were people needing to be rescued. He reached dry land and when he tried to run, he tripped over a tree root, falling on his face.

There was no time to waste. The fire burned what was left of the pilot side wing. He had to run if he hoped to get there before everyone was consumed by the fire. He forced himself forward into the smoke and crackling fire.

Dense black smoke boiled up from the fire burning the brush as well as the plane. The fire had moved toward the fuselage. It was already at the pilot's seat. The right side of the plane broke open behind the passenger seat and the passenger's seat was visible with a woman strapped into it. She wasn't moving.

Ivan was on the wing beside and behind her seat. He could reach into the plane and he felt for her seat belt. Something burst into flames behind the pilot's seat. Startled, looking for the source, he found himself staring into the cold dead eyes of a middle age man.

Somehow he freed the girl and he had her in his arms out on the wing that was three feet off the ground. There was no time to calculate or make a graceful exit. He stepped into the smoke filled air, and he went down hard. He and the girl sprawled on the ground.

In a few seconds Ivan was up with the girl in his arms and he was certain there would be an explosion any second. That fire was about to reach the fuel tanks and when it did ...

The heat was intense and the smoke had him choking on each breath of air he took. That plane was going to blow up any second. He could stop moving forward. He needed to get as much distance from him and the plane as he could.

Trees crackled as they burned and it sounded like a blast furnace behind him. Ivan kept forcing himself forward. He could breathe later.

It was a matter of one foot at a time now. Ivan kept putting one foot i front of the other. He saw something ahead. He saw something in the smoke. People were standing on dry land but weren't coming closer. They saw Ivan, people held their arms out, trying to reach the girl. Trying to move fast enough to get them all out of harm's way.

The girl coughed.

She was alive. She was alive, Ivan realized for the first time.

Ivan coughed.

"Come on, Ivan," a woman yelled. "It's going to blow."

He felt intense heat on his back and he knew what was coming. Falling forward, he covered the girl's body with his. The explosion washed over them and almost immediately hands were pulling him and the girl into the water.

It was cool and the smoke wasn't as thick. He could almost breathe and he could cough, and cough, and cough some more. He let himself be moved back to the parking lot. People were standing around.

It was a woman who Ivan was leaning on. He couldn't see her face but he kept moving to a spot that didn't have people standing around. She walked him to safety.

Ivan didn't like leaning on anyone but he'd allow it this time. He'd have fallen down if she hadn't supported him.

"The girl?" Ivan asked.

"Don't worry, Baby. She's being taken care of. You worry about Ivan now. You a mess, Mr. Ivan," she said with laughter in her words.

"He saved that girl's life," a man said.

Ivan smiled. Yes, he had.

"Sit down," Ivan said, his throat as sore as it had ever been.

He coughed and coughed.

The entire area was hidden by the smoke and the smell of burning aviation fuel. There was little left of the plane as people watched the fire consuming everything nearby. No one was going to venture near the blaze. They'd come to get Ivan and the girl, and they'd let the fire take care of itself.

Ivan had trouble breathing. His lungs felt like they were on fire. His coughing didn't help much and his eyes burned like they were on fire. He was alive. That was something.

The woman who had guided Ivan down onto the asphalt stood close. It felt remarkably good to be off his feet. He leaned on his elbows, while having difficulty getting enough air into his lungs.

Ivan coughed hard into one hand. It came away from his mouth coated in black soot.

He coughed some more as he heard the murmur that came from the people who stood in a clutch to watch the fire burning.

That's when all hell broke loose. The areas two fire trucks turned into the parking lot along with the cove area's sheriff's deputies. They'd all come from the same spot three miles away.

Nothing like this has ever happened in the cove area before.

There was suddenly motion all around Ivan.

Men began rolling out hose. From the parking lot, across the water, onto the dry land on the other side. A dozen men readied themselves to attack the blaze.

Ivan watched the scene. It was like being at a movie. There were people in motion all around him. A dozen folks watched with him.

The firemen slowly moved forward, water shooting from the hoses, as they closed in on the crashed plane. More firemen came to move along beside the hoses. Wielding axes to cut down anything that burned in and around their path. The fire was soon under control and there was little of a plane to recognize, except for its engines.

Ivan slowly began to feel like he was in the parking lot beside the Fish Warehouse. His eyes burned. It burned to breathe, and he felt like he just ran a marathon, whatever that feels like. He was coughing. He coughed before he reached the plane, but it was the last thing that was on his mind. He had something important to do.

He could think of a lot of places he'd rather be. Since he was here and he didn't have the energy to move, he'd stay here.

The rescue squad stopped close to Ivan. He was black from being so close to the fire. They were immediately checking him for injuries. Ivan wanted to say, 'cut it out,' but he didn't have the energy to do that either.

"You in the crash, Buddy?" a medico asked, checking him.

His scratchy throat wouldn't yield up the no on his lips. He shook his head and pointed toward the girl.

"He rescued that girl over there. He's one of us. It's Ivan," the woman said. "She was in the plane crash. She's been coughing, but she was inside the plane that crashed."

"Oh, Ivan," the medico said. "It's me, Tommy on the rescue squad. You look like hell."

Ivan nodded. He knew who it was.

"Over here," the man who took the girl from Ivan yelled.

"Get him some water. Tea and honey will soothe his throat. Burns aren't serious. I'll give you some cream to put on them," Tommy said.

"The girl," Ivan croaked impatiently.

Ivan coughed and tried to breathe. The smoke still filled the air. His throat was scratchy and his lungs felt like someone used a cheese grater on them. He let his head down on the asphalt. He wanted to concentrate on his breathing.

A minute later Sheriff Gerald Davis strolled up, after slamming on his breaks to miss running over the Fish Warehouse employees.

"Don't you people have somewhere to be?" the sheriff quizzed.

"Nah, Gerald," a woman said. "We's just come out here to get us some of this fresh air."

The woman coughed. A dozen people laughed, and Sheriff Davis appeared above Ivan like an apparition coming out of the smoke,

"How'd I know you'd be in the middle of whatever was going on


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