From: "M. Cogburn" <twiggie2@earthlink.net>
Date: Fri, 4 Dec 1998 22:26:07 -0600
Subject: Portraits Of The Past, Part 5

                                Chapter Five
   
   Two and a half hours later, Al ambled back down the corridor to
   Ziggy's Central Control Room smoking his cigar. He was relaxed and in
   a very good humor. Tina had just the cure he hoped for and the grin on
   his face showed it. He had changed into black baggy pants and a bright
   pink long sleeved shirt. He had a star talisman around his neck and he
   grinned as he entered the room.
   
   Donna shook her head and grinned as he approached the large control
   grid that looked like a larger version of the handlink. "Feeling
   better?"
   
   "Much." Al picked up the handlink from the power grid and looked down
   the corridor that went to the Waiting Room. "How's the kid?"
   
   "Relaxed. He's been talking with Sammy Jo. He's pretty bright. I don't
   think that she has even left his side for a minute." Donna crossed
   over to Ziggy's motherboard and looked at the retrieval pad only to
   run her hand over it. She missed her husband and wanted him back home
   in her arms where he belonged.
   
   Al's eyebrows rose interestedly. Sammy Jo was a very intelligent
   person considering that Sam was her father. "That in itself is
   amazing." He turned and headed toward the Imaging Chamber knowing that
   Gooshie would get the Imaging Chamber on line the moment he stepped
   inside the room.
   
   "Dr. Alisi?" The computer questioned.
   
   "Yes, Ziggy."
   
   "Why do men find so much pleasure in having inter . . ."
   
   "Ziggy?" Donna replied quickly.
   
   "Yes?" She drawled.
   
   "Why don't you talk to Admiral Calavicci about that? He can probably
   explain it to you much better than I can." Donna didn't want to get
   into a sexual conversation with Ziggy. She'd just ask questions that
   she couldn't and wouldn't want to give the answers to.
   
   Al reached the ramp that went to the Imaging Chamber Door and turned
   to glare at Donna. "That was harsh and uncalled for. You'll pay for
   that." He pointed a long finger at her then used the same finger to
   push the button to open the Imaging Chamber Door. It slid open before
   him only to close behind him locking himself into the Imaging Chamber.
   
   He shook his head wondering how he could get out of the conversation
   gracefully without Ziggy hounding him. It took a moment for Ziggy to
   place a lock on Sam. As soon as they locked on, Al popped in time to
   see Sam about to ring a doorbell. Al cleared his throat trying not to
   scare his friend but did not succeed.
   
   Sam jumped. His head dropped then turned to see Al. "Can't you fade in
   or something?" He scorned quietly as he tried to put his heart back in
   his chest. "Could you wear a bell so I can hear you coming?"
   
   "Sorry, next time I'll knock." He couldn't understand why Sam was so
   edgy. No one was trying to kill him as in other leaps. He looked at
   his surroundings. It was a quaint little house. It reminded Al of
   something out of Better Homes and Gardens. There was a white picket
   fence around the property and flowers growing along the walkway to the
   door. "Is this Margaret's house?"
   
   Sam nodded. He looked at the ground then back to Al. "Al . . ."
   
   "Don't worry about it. We both had to blow off some steam." Al noticed
   that it was beginning to get dark out. Changing the subject, he asked,
   "Have you all ready gone to the meeting?"
   
   "I did. Margaret didn't show; probably my fault." Sam turned back to
   the door to ring the doorbell. He stood there patiently for a few
   moments then rang the doorbell again just in case she hadn't heard it
   because he could hear music from inside. He heard a voice calling from
   inside so he waited for her to open the door.
   
   The door opened to reveal Margaret dripping wet with a large towel
   wrapped around her body. She grinned at first but her face fell when
   she saw who it was. "What do you want, Jason?"
   
   Sam looked into her eyes trying not to look at her body knowing that
   it would embarrass her further. Al, however, openly gawked, and
   grinned as he leaned forward for a better look. "You weren't at the
   meeting. Naturally, I was worried about you. Mrs. Jacobs asked me to
   come by and check on you. She was worried that you weren't feeling
   well." Feeling self-conscious about standing in the doorway, he asked,
   "Could I come in?"
   
   She thought about it for a long moment. Would he be the gentleman that
   she had met at the therapy sessions, or would he be the irritating
   teenager that had decided to take a dare? She was taught to look for
   the good in people. Trusting her raising, she gave in. She held the
   towel closer as she opened the door wider to let him in. "I . . . I
   wasn't expecting company." She shut the door after he came in and
   watched in awe as Al stepped through the door. She let out a nervous
   moan then looked back at Jason. "Have a seat and I'll be right back."
   She started down the hall and Al began to go with her.
   
   "Al." Sam replied loudly.
   
   "What?" Margaret turned to face him.
   
   "A'll sit down right here." Sam pointed to the couch, catching his
   mistake of calling out to his holographic friend.
   
   "Okay." She looked at him in a weird way then started back down the
   hall.
   
   Al watched with a frown as she left their presence. "You know, Sam,
   you're a prude."
   
   Sam rolled his eyes at the comment. Before he sat down, he looked
   around the room. The living room held the normal furniture: a couch, a
   love seat, a television, a stereo, and two bookcases filled with
   books. The music that filled the room was that of 50's and 60's music.
   Music that he had grown up on. He swayed to the melody as he looked at
   the pictures that scattered over the walls. There were photographs of
   her family in a circle beside the door, a memorial of her loved ones.
   In the middle of the circle were two pictures, one was of a baby and
   one was of her Aunt Maggie. He closed his eyes, shook his head sadly
   then maneuvered back to the couch to sit down. Another song came on
   the radio and Sam found himself singing:
   
   I took my troubles down to Madam Rue, you know the gypsy with gold
   tattoo,
   
   She's got a little pad down on 34th and Vine, selling little bottles
   of
   
   Love Potion Number Nine.
   
   I told her that I was a flop with chics, I've been this way since
   1956,
   
   She looked at her palm and made a magic sign and said what you need is
   
   Love Potion Number Nine.
   
   She bent down, turned around, and gave me a wink.
   
   She said, I'm gonna mix it up right here in the sink.
   
   It smelled like turpentine and looked like Indian Ink.
   
   I held my nose, I closed my eyes - I took a drink.
   
   I didn't know if it was day or night, I started kissing' everything in
   sight
   
   But when I kissed that cop on 34th and Vine, he broke my little bottle
   of
   
   Love Potion Number Nine.
   
   "Maybe that's what was wrong with you this morning." Al remarked with
   a grin.
   
   "What?"
   
   "Love Potion Number Nine."
   
   Sam grinned with a humph. "Did Ziggy come up with anything else?" He
   asked as he kept looking at the pictures on the other walls. The other
   pictures, four in all, were portraits done by Margaret as he could
   make out her signature at the bottom. One was of a horse, one of three
   kittens curled together in sleep, another was a vase of elegant
   flowers, and the last was a woman looking out across the sea. Sam
   stood and walked over to the picture of the woman.
   
   "No. Ziggy is having some kind of difficulty in retrieving the data."
   Al hammered on the handlink only to have it squawk at him.
   
   The next song that came on the radio was When Smoke Gets In Your Eyes.
   Sam mouthed the words to the song as he gazed at the portrait of the
   woman thinking that he knew her from somewhere. She was in a white
   naval uniform. She was a nurse as far as he could tell. She had short
   brown hair and brown sad eyes. He racked his memory but he couldn't
   remember if he knew her or not. "Al, come look at this portrait. Does
   she look familiar to you?"
   
   Al meandered over and looked at the painting. He cocked his head and
   nodded. "That's really good, but her nose had a little lift at the
   end." Al turned away only to turn back in awe. His mouth fell open and
   his hand came to his mouth. "Oh my God." He whispered breathlessly.
   
   "What?"
   
   "That's . . ." Al started as he pointed a finger at the woman on the
   canvas before him.
   
   "Oh, so you've been admiring Beth."
   
   Sam and Al turned to Margaret in awe. "Beth?" Sam questioned. He
   looked back at the portrait and remembered. Her married name was Beth
   Calavicci. His mouth dropped open as he remembered the leap where he
   was able to meet Al's first wife. Sam looked at Al then back to
   Margaret to ask, "Is she a friend of yours?"
   
   "No." Now dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, Margaret went to the radio
   and turned it down then went to Sam and stood beside him to glance up
   at the portrait. "It's an image I saw in my head."
   
   Al's face dropped. He looked at the portrait then back to Margaret. He
   couldn't understand it. How could she paint such a vivid picture of a
   person she had never known or met?, he wondered.
   
   "It's odd. I was in Chemistry when this picture came into my mind. I
   pulled out a sheet of notebook paper and sketched it." She shrugged
   her shoulders nonchalantly indicating that it was nothing. She had
   what she called visions that came and went at whim, and since they had
   started, she had copied them down to paper. Her artistic hand and her
   photographic memory had helped her to capture the people she had seen.
   "It was just a vision, a sketch more or less. No big deal."
   
   "It is a big deal. It's good. Do you have more sketches?" Sam asked
   curiously as he glanced at Al who was making a rather large arc around
   Margaret.
   
   "Yeah, a notebook full. Why?"
   
   "May I see them?"
   
   "I . . . I don't know." Margaret became instantly nervous. Her
   sketches were precious to her and she didn't want anyone to laugh at
   them or her. She'd rather die first.
   
   "Please?" Sam's eyes pleaded and he frowned just a little.
   
   "Okay." Margaret shyly smiled as she easily gave in. "Let me go get
   them." She walked back down the hall to the bedroom and grabbed the
   notebook. She clutched it to her chest and started back toward the
   living room but stopped when she heard them talking. Frowning, she
   listened. Was he able to see her hallucination also?
   
   "How did she know about Beth?" Al looked back up at the woman
   lovingly. Beth had been his first wife. They were married for eight
   years, but spent less than two of those years together because their
   assignments conflicted. She had nearly divorced him when Al signed up
   for a second tour of Vietnam. After he had been missing in action for
   two years, Beth had the Navy declare Al dead and she remarried.
   
   Al remembered the conversation he had with Sam when Sam had leaped
   into Jake Rawlings, an undercover detective for the San Diego Police
   Department in April 1969.
   
   Sam had just come out of Beth's house and saw Al standing across the
   street as he hurried out. Al saw him coming out and decided that it
   was a good time to escape from this memory. He pressed the appropriate
   button to open the Imaging Chamber Door but Sam had called to him from
   across the street. "Al, don't go!" Sam raced towards him saying, "Al,
   if you close that door, don't ever open it again."
   
   Al sneered thinking of closing the door, but it only took him a second
   to realize he couldn't leave. He stepped back toward Sam and the
   Imaging Chamber Door slid shut behind him.
   
   "You know the rules Al. We can't change our own life's."
   
   Al fiddled with the handlink in his hands. "What are you talking
   about?" He was looking down at the handlink asking Ziggy questions
   about Beth.
   
   "Why didn't you tell me?" Sam asked wondering why his friend had not
   trusted him enough to tell him the truth with what was going on with
   this leap.
   
   "What?" AL closed his eyes and slightly shrugged.
   
   "Al," Sam turned away from him to look at the house he had just come
   from and took a few steps toward it. "As much as I'd like it to be, I
   don't think that I'm here to keep you and Beth together."
   
   "Oh, yes you are Sam, yeah." Al's eyes began to glisten as tears
   filled his eyes and he glanced down at the handlink acting as if he
   was getting data from Ziggy. "Ziggy says the odds are . . ." He waved
   his hands in the air for emphasis. ". . . they're real good."
   
   Sam turned back around and looked at his friend holding back the
   emotions that he wanted to let out. He wanted to help, but he just
   didn't believe that was the reason that he was here. "Real good?"
   
   "Yeah." Al looked back at the handlink.
   
   "How good?" He took a few steps back toward Al.
   
   Al scratched his ear as he looked at the handlink in his hand. "Oh,
   yea, you know, they're way up there." Al waved his hands again to
   emphasize how high they were.
   
   "Show me."
   
   Al realized he couldn't play this game anymore. It hurt him too much.
   "Ah, Sam . . . God . . . I love her. Beth is the only one I've ever
   loved. She is the only one that I ever wanted to grow old with. That's
   why all my marriages never worked after that." Al's shoulders dropped
   at what he was telling Sam. "Sam, if you're lucky, life is gonna give
   you one " Al raised his finger to Sam's face. "shot at true love and,"
   Al pointed toward the house. "Beth was mine. I lost it and you can get
   it back for me."
   
   "God, Al, I wish I could. But I can't and no one knows that better
   than you."
   
   "No, I don't know it!" Al closed his eyes defiantly not wanting to
   listen to him.
   
   "In your heart you do." Sam reasoned.
   
   "No, no." Al shook his head. He looked at the handlink in his hands
   then glanced back up at Sam. "You leaped here to get Beth and me back
   together."
   
   "What if it was something more important?"
   
   "More important?"
   
   Sam had nodded. And Sam was right. He was there to save Jake's
   partner, Robert Skabbs from being murdered by drug dealers. He arrived
   just in time to stop them and save his partner.
   
   Al had spent the rest of the leap looking at his wife as she listened
   to Ray Charles singing Georgia. He was able to "dance" one last dance
   with Beth as she shadow-danced to the song.
   
   Tears welled up in Al's eyes as he looked back at the portrait on the
   wall. "How?"
   
   "Maybe it's a coincidence, Al."
   
   "Al." Margaret replied under her breath, but she quickly quieted to
   try to hear more.
   
   "I'm getting an eerie feeling about this. Really eerie." He looked
   away from the portrait as he ran his hand over his face. He then
   looked at the handlink ready to pull up the door. "Sam, I'm gonna go
   and . . ."
   
   "No. I want you to look at these sketches. Maybe they'll give a reason
   to how she knows about Beth." Sam reasoned.
   
   Al nodded reluctantly. "Okay."
   
   "Here we are." She stated acting as if she hadn't been listening. They
   both moved to the couch with Al following behind. "The first ones
   aren't really good." She reluctantly handed the notebook over to him
   as they sat down.
   
   "I'll be the judge of that." Sam smiled as he opened the notebook. As
   she had told, the first sketches were amateurish but improved
   dramatically. In the middle of the sketches, Sam began to have the
   feeling that the faces drawn on the pages were familiar to him. "It's
   weird, I feel as if I know these people."
   
   Page after page Al's frown deepened. He continued to push the handlink
   buttons, asking questions and getting information from Ziggy. "You
   do."
   
   Sam looked up at Al quickly then back to the sketches. His brow
   creased wonderingly as he came to the sketch of Beth.
   
   "Sam, these sketches are of people that you have either leaped into,
   or they are people who's lives you've affected." Al responded to the
   unasked question that he knew Sam would have asked if she weren't
   present.
   
   Sam's mouth opened as he took a deep breath. "These are really good."
   He said as he handed back the notebook. He frowned wondering exactly
   how she was able to get these visions. Perhaps, she's close to my
   mesons and neurons -then possibly she could see those people - maybe.
   
   Margaret relaxed. He hadn't laughed -- he was actually complementing
   her on them. She glanced toward the older man out of the corner of her
   eye wondering why he kept calling Jason, Sam. She thought about what
   he had just said, 'These sketches are of people that you've either
   leapt into, or they are people who's lives you've affected.' What had
   he meant by that? She grinned shyly to his compliment. "Thank you."
   She clasped the notebook to her chest as if she was trying to protect
   it. "Well, as you can tell, I'm fine. I just didn't want to go tonight
   to the meeting. So, is there any other reason why you're here?"
   
   Sam told her what Mrs. Stacey told him after school. "So, we could get
   started memorizing the parts."
   
   She nodded suspiciously as one eyebrow arched up. "Hmmm." She replied
   debating on the issue of believing him or not. She was leery of him
   now, not knowing if this was another dare that she would fall victim
   to.
   
   "Honest Injun." Sam responded as he raised his hand up in the air
   knowing that she didn't trust his motives. She grinned a response,
   then set her notebook on the coffee table.
   
   "Would you like something to drink?" She questioned standing as she
   moved toward the kitchen.
   
   "Sure, anything." Sam said as he shrugged.
   
   "Scotch and water." Al responded as he placed his hand on his
   forehead. He needed something to calm his nerves. This thing with Beth
   had upset him tremendously.
   
   "Can I use your bathroom?" Sam questioned as he looked at Al with
   scorn.
   
   "Sure." She pointed down the hall. "Second door on your left." She
   then turned to open the refrigerator door to pull out two cans of
   cokes.
   
   "It's always the bathroom. We never meet in a decent place." Al said
   disgustedly as he followed Sam. "You know, if people could see me,
   they'd think something was up."
   
   Margaret stifled a giggle and began to think about what she had heard
   since they arrived. So, her hallucination had a name, Al, that at
   least confirmed her beliefs in two areas. He wasn't a hallucination.
   People don't share hallucinations -- she reasoned to herself. So, I'm
   not crazy. She nodded to herself as if confirming the diagnoses. I'm
   not crazy.
   
   Margaret set the cokes down on the countertop and went to her bedroom.
   She looked up at the portrait she had painted three years ago. It was
   one that she had been particularly proud of. Not only had her aunt
   taken the picture, she had died trying to win the Pulitzer Prize. She
   had succeeded.
   
   Margaret was under a magic spell when a naval officer dressed in
   whites delivered a package to the house when she was just five years
   old. She remembered the day as if it was yesterday.
   
   She had been sitting on the floor drawing a picture for her father
   when the officer arrived. She heard the rap on the door and ran to it.
   She opened the door and her mouth fell open. "Is this the Dawson
   residence?"
   
   "Yes, can I help you?" Awe filled her eyes as she looked up into the
   face of the handsome man in white.
   
   "Is your mother or father in?" Margaret's father showed up behind her
   and the young man held out a package to her father over her head. "I'm
   sorry sir, that these haven't been given to you before today, but I
   found these in my footlocker after I came home. They are the last
   pictures that Maggie Dawson took while she was in Vietnam."
   
   "Aunt Maggie?" She had asked wonderingly.
   
   "Would you like to come in, Lieutenant . . . " Her father had said as
   he took the package.
   
   "Beckett, sir. Thomas Beckett." Thomas turned his white hat in his
   hands nervously as he stood
   
   outside the door.
   
   "Would you like to come in Lieutenant Beckett?"
   
   "No, sir. Thank you though. Have to be getting back. I'm very sorry
   sir. She was a fine journalist and photographer. My apology's sir."
   Thomas Beckett held out his hand to her father. He shook hands and
   turned to leave.
   
   Margaret watched as her father went back into the house with tears
   brimming his eyes and clutching the package to his chest. She then
   turned back to watch the Lieutenant walk away. She quickly ran out to
   him and tugged at the back of his white jacket. Lieutenant Beckett
   turned and gazed down at her with a grin. "Yes?"
   
   "You knew my Aunt Maggie?"
   
   He bent down to get on her level. "Yes, I did."
   
   Without warning, she flung arms around his neck almost making them
   tumble over. She gave him a long hug and a soft kiss on his cheek.
   "Thank you." She released her hold on him and stood back her hands
   behind her back.
   
   "Why the thank you?" He asked amused.
   
   "You gave my daddy the one thing that he really needed." Margaret
   looked into his blue eyes and smiled sweetly at him. Seeing the
   confused look on his face, she added, "You gave my daddy a way to say
   goodbye. Thank you."
   
   Amazed by the intelligence of the little girl before him, he smiled
   warmly at her. "Your welcome." He stood and placed his hat back on. He
   looked back at the house seeing her father standing back at the door.
   He nodded curtly to Mr. Dawson then looked back down at Margaret. He
   could see her aunt in the little girls face. He saluted her then
   abruptly turned.
   
   Margaret watched in awe as he walked back to his car and left.
   
   Ever since then, Margaret decided that she would paint Aunt Maggie's
   last picture if it took her the rest of her life. It was the picture
   which had won the Pulitzer Prize -- three POW's being hustled down a
   road by three Vietnamese men. One man had looked back to see the
   photographer as she took the picture. Margaret had researched for
   three years to find out who the man was and finally she had gotten his
   name and engraved it on the plaque that was now on the bottom of the
   portrait.
   
   Margaret smiled. She had visited different Naval Bases during her
   summer vacations to find out who that young man was her aunt had
   photographed. It had been her third summer searching when she traveled
   to Pensacola thinking that if she didn't find out who he was this
   year, she'd probably have to give up.
   
   She stood outside the Officers Club and sighed. She had to find out
   the name of that man. She just couldn't put MIA on the bottom. She had
   to find it for Aunt Maggie's sake. She squared her shoulders and
   swallowed hard then opened the door.
   
   The bar was loud, smoky, and smelled of stale beer. She softly cleared
   her throat as she glanced around the room. Men dressed in
   flight-suits, casuals, and in naval uniforms were talking, laughing
   and generally making a lot of noise. An old jukebox stood in the
   center of the room lit up, but not playing. She sighed once more as
   she went toward the bar.
   
   Her movement in the room make some conversations pause as they turned
   their heads to focus their gaze on her. She had decided to wear a
   mini-skirt with a low cut blouse that morning and she hadn't thought
   about men's attitudes when she'd put it on. She pulled back a stool
   and sat waiting until the barkeep came to her as he was drying a
   glass. He smiled crookedly and glanced at the men down at the other
   end of the bar. "Can I help you, little lady?"
   
   Margaret being so set to find out the young man's name, blurted, " I'm
   here to meet somebody." The barkeep laughed long and loudly getting
   everyone's attention in the bar. Margaret grimaced. "No, you don't
   understand." She reached down into her purse and pulled out the copy
   of the picture her aunt had took. "I'm looking for someone who might
   know this man. He was in Vietnam." Margaret's voice seemed to echo in
   the room. She had everyone's attention whether she wanted it or not.
   She closed her eyes embarrassed and shook her head softly. "Excuse me.
   I'm . . . I'm very sorry to intrude, but I'm looking for someone who
   knew this man. He maybe dead by now, I . . . I don't know. My aunt,
   Maggie Dawson," She noticed as she said her aunt's name that a few of
   the older men in the bar turned to look at each other, "took this
   picture in Vietnam in 1970. He was being led down a path by some of
   the Vietnamese." She waved her picture in the air. Her hand dropped to
   her side flustered. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. "I'm sorry
   to intrude. Excuse me." Margaret headed back toward the door.
   
   "Wait." A tenor older voice called to her. Margaret turned her head
   and slowly turned around. "Can my friends and I take a look at that
   picture?" Margaret looked at him through the haze of the room and
   shrugged. She was embarrassed for being the center of attention in the
   bar. She drew in a deep breath and walked to the table where he was
   standing. He pulled out a chair for her and she graciously took a
   seat.
   
   She glanced around at the men at the table. They were all over the age
   of fifty by their looks, and all of them were quite handsome. The
   picture was passed around the table and then was given back to her.
   She placed the picture back into her purse and looked at he group of
   men before her. They all seemed to look at her in at different light.
   "Well?"
   
   "Little lady, that is one hell of a picture."
   
   Margaret looked at the man who had called to her. "Sir?"
   
   "Let me introduce us. I'm Admiral Maxwell Hillyard," the Admiral then
   went around the table to introduce the other two men with him.
   "Admiral Daniel McCannak, Admiral Michael Danielson. And you are?"
   
   "Margaret, sir. Margaret Dawson." She looked back at the three of them
   then back to Admiral Hillyard. "Admiral, Hillyard, do . . ."
   
   "Call me Striker, call McCannak; Max and call Danielson; RumDum." He
   interrupted.
   
   "Sir?" She questioned.
   
   Striker pointed to each person once more with his finger. "Striker,
   Max, RumDum. Those were our flying handles and we still go by them.
   Makes us feel like we aren't as old as we are." The three of them
   smiled.
   
   Margaret didn't want to be rude, but she had to find out. "Do you know
   the man in the photo?"
   
   "That's Bingo." RumDum replied as he elbowed Max beside him. "Albert
   Calavicci, oh, excuse
   
   me, Admiral Albert Calavicci. The boy who said anyone above the rank
   of a lieutenant was a horses ass. Oh, uh, excuse me."
   
   Margaret smiled. "Albert Calavicci." She pulled out the picture once
   more along with a pen. "Is that his full name?"
   
   "His full name is Albert Ernesto Giovanni Baptista Calavicci. It's
   name that sticks with you." Striker said with a grin. "He's an Admiral
   now, but in that picture, he was just a lieutenant, a naval fighter
   pilot and his A-4 went down over the highlands."
   
   Margaret wrote down the information on the photograph as a single
   solitary tear ran down her cheek. She had finally found out who it
   was. "When was he repatriated?" She quickly wiped her cheek.
   
   "1973. Bingo's a strong man." Max said then took a gulp of his beer.
   
   "Bingo?" Margaret asked wonderingly. She noticed that they'd used that
   name twice.
   
   "Yeah Bingo. There's a story that goes behind that name." Striker said
   with a grin.
   
   "Really?" Margaret asked interestedly leaning forward.
   
   "Well," Striker began. "Stack and Al were out across country to
   Pensacola from Ole Cal, when Al sprung an oil leak about thirty
   minutes out. Well, he did a couple of spins and he lands wheels up in
   a pasture banging his head on the gunner. When he came to, he sees
   three sets of casabas," he looked at Margaret embarrassed. "Oh, excuse
   me. And he thinks he has a concussion. But it's triplets. Well, they
   found him the next morning laying under the wing. When asked how he
   spent the night, Al said, "Bingo Bango Bongo."
   
   Margaret shook her head clearing the memory away. She read the plaque
   on the portrait: Lieutenant Alberto Ernesto Giovanni-Baptista
   Calavicci, a naval pilot for the United States Navy.
   
   She leaned in at the picture and stared at the young mans face.
   Coincidental? His features matched the older mans, and his name
   matched too - Albert -- Al. She closed her eyes tightly. Was this the
   same man who was in her bathroom with Jason? She looked up at the
   ceiling as if looking up toward heaven. 'I have to find out or I'll go
   crazy. Please, help me find the words to ask.'