Although Connor has no intention of ever punching Lev-out again, he does not respond well to ultimatums.
"I'll hit you," says Connor, "if you deserve it."
Silence from behind the flashlight. Then Lev says, "Fair enough. But you better make sure that I do."
The light goes off. Lev leaves, but Connor can't sleep. Every Unwind has a story you don't want to know. He supposes that Lev now has his.
* * *
The Admiral calls for Connor two days later. Apparently he has something in need of repair. His residence is an old 747 that was used as Air Force One years before any of the kids here were born. The engines had been removed and the presidential seal painted over, but you could still see a shadow of the emblem beneath the paint.
Connor climbs the stairs with a bag of tools, hoping that whatever it is, he can get in and out quickly. Like everyone else, he has a morbid curiosity about the man, and he wonders what an old presidential jet looks like on the inside. But being under the Admiral's scrutiny scares the hell out of him.
He steps through the hatch to find a couple of kids tidying up. They're younger kids that Connor doesn't know; he thought the Goldens might be in here, but they're nowhere to be seen. As for the jet, it's not nearly as luxurious as Connor had expected. The leather seats have tears, the carpet is almost worn through. It looks more like an old motor home than Air Force One.
"Where's the Admiral?"
The Admiral steps out from the deeper recesses of the jet. Although Connor's eyes are still adjusting to the light, he can see the Admiral is holding a weapon. "Connor! I'm glad you could make it." Connor winces at the sight of the gun—and at the realization the Admiral knows him by name.
"What do you need that for?" Connor asks, pointing at the gun.
"Just cleaning it," says the Admiral. Connor wonders why he would still have a clip in a gun he was cleaning, but decides it's best not to ask. The Admiral puts the gun into a drawer and locks it. Then he sends the two kids off and seals the hatch behind them. This is exactly the kind of situation Connor feared most, and he can feel a rush of adrenaline begin to tingle in his fingers and toes. His awareness becomes heightened.
"You need me to fix something sir?"
"Yes, I do. My coffeemaker."
"Why don't you just take one from the other planes?"
"Because," says the Admiral calmly, "I prefer to have this one repaired."
He leads Connor through the jet, which seems even larger on the inside than out, filled with cabins, conference rooms, and studies.
"You know, your name comes up quite often," the Admiral says.
This is news to him, and not welcome news, either. "Why?"
"First, for the things you repair. Then for the fighting."
Connor senses a reprimand on the way. Yes, he's had fewer fights here than usual, but the Admiral is a man of zero tolerance. "Sorry about the fighting."
"Don't be. Oh, there's no question that you're a loose cannon, but more often than not you're aimed in the right direction."
"I don't know what you mean, sir."
"From what I can see, each fight you've engaged in has resolved one problem or another. Even the fights you lose. So, even then, you're fixing things." He offers Connor that white-toothed smile. Connor shudders. He tries to hide it, but he's sure the Admiral sees it.
They come to a small dining room and galley. "Here we are," says the Admiral. The old coffeemaker sits on a counter. It's a simple device. Connor's about to pull out a screwdriver to open up the back when he notices that it's not plugged in. When he plugs it in, the light comes on, and it starts to gurgle out coffee into the little glass pot.
"Well, how about that," says the Admiral, with another of his terrible grins.
"I'm not here for the coffeemaker, am I?"
"Have a seat," the Admiral says.
"I'd rather not."
"Have one anyway."