Whirlwind 01 Finish Line Pt 05 1

PROLOG

This is the fifth part (of five) of the first story in my WHIRLWIND series. The WHIRLWIND series are unrelated stories (6 so far) with a common theme; each one is based on a short, slightly unusual courtship, with a primary female character who believes that she cannot find love for some reason -- and a primary male character determined to prove her wrong.

I visited Ireland once, for 13 marvelous days, and was enchanted by the lilting Irish speech. I have attempted to reproduce that in the dialogue of the Irish characters. WORD's Spelling and Grammar Checker hated it. I hope the reader doesn't find it too tedious. If so, please note that in the comments and I will use less of it in the remainder of the story. So far there haven't been too many complaints.

In previous writings, I don't think I handled 'flashbacks' well, so I wrote this one which has a number of flashbacks as its core. Be warned. There is also no sex.

I can tolerate few 'Reality' Shows. The AMAZING RACE is a notable exception. There are a dozen different spinoffs of the AMAZING RACE, each featuring contestants from a different country (i.e., Fantastic Race Canada, Fantastic Race Australia, etc., though the original AMAZING RACE is out of America with American citizens as contestants). This story hypothesizes the FANTASTIC RACE with international teams and slightly different rules.

FINISH LINE Part 5

Major Characters:

Lead Singers of the Celtic/Irish singing group 'The Madri-Gals':

Ariana Collins

Marie Kavanaugh

Linnae Jameson

Lavender Renaud

Cassie O'Hara

President and Web Administrator of the Ariana Collins Fan Forum:

Nathan Moore

The Teams for FANTASTIC RACE

(1) German national soccer champion and her husband

(2) Canadian hockey player and his wife

(3) French singer and her son

(4) Japanese pop star and her sister

(5) Captain of New Zealand rugby team and a young man (fan)

(6) American basketball star and young man (fan w/ Down's Syndrome)

(7) Gold medal Chinese gymnast and her brother

(8) Italian Gran Prix driver and his mistress

(9) Russian ballerina and her daughter

(10) American rock star and young man (fan)

(11) Ariana (Irish) and Nathan (American)

Nathan and Ariana have won the race, but not each other. Will they get a second chance for love?:

CHAPTER 17 -- "If ever you should need me ..."

It was a quaint little bistro next to the theater the troupe had performed in only a couple of hours before, and it catered to visiting artistes and troupes, and had excellent and unobtrusive security to make certain persistently obnoxious fans were promptly and discretely ejected.

Ariana perched on the corner stool at the bar, staring glumly at the last swallow of beer in her glass. Normally she had one, nursed it as long as she could, and then had ginger ale. Not tonight. Tonight she was seriously considering a second ... possibly a third.

It had been two months since the last episode had aired. At each performance on the tour, she had even gotten standing ovations from simply walking on stage, earning some envy and grumbling from her co-stars, but any satisfaction she might have garnered from the applause was offset by the number of chants of, 'Team Number One.' And whether it was her imagination or not, she sensed the audience being disappointed that Nathan wasn't there. Though it was probably not her imagination. She had gotten quite short with her agent just an hour ago. There were lots of endorsements and offers out there - for Team Number One. And her agent, with images of 10% dancing in her head, had not been sympathetic about her insisting that Nathan and she wouldn't be together even for an afternoon shooting lucrative commercials. Her agent's recitation of the million dollar opportunities for Team Number One were weighing heavily on her mind. She had also just checked her e-mail. Nathan's weekly fan forum summary had been there. There were only two differences between the weekly reports from before the end of the Race and those after the end of the Race; the subject line said 'Fan Forum Business' rather than just 'Fan Forum,' and instead of signing the e-mail 'Sincerely, Nathan,' they were signed 'Love, Nathan.' Nathan's last 'Love' signoff weighing heavily on her heart, she was morosely admitting to herself that Nathan's applause for her after a challenge had been more thrilling and satisfying than an entire audience after a routine performance.

Then Cassie, three stools down, answered her phone, blanched, and covered her left ear with her hand and started talking urgently. Grateful for any distraction from her glum reverie, she watched curiously, but couldn't read Cassie's lips. Suddenly, Cassie lunged over the bar, snagging the bartender's sleeve and gesturing at the television. Curiosity was rapidly being overthrown by concern, as Ariana watched the bartender punch up CNN Headline News on the big LCD screens strung over the length of the bar. An image of collapsing buildings and stampeding people thrust itself at the crowd, and the scrolling banner across the bottom proclaimed: "Massive Earthquake from Unknown Fault Devastates Dublin. Wintery Weather compounds Response Problems."

A wave of silence spread through the bistro as more and more heads turned toward the screen and more and more jaws dropped in horror.

Ears clanging and head fuzzy and light, Ariana thought of Colleen and Matthew in their tiny, basement flat in Dublin. Her mom and dad, and relations almost beyond count had lived in Dublin for generations. Estranged or not, they were still family.

With almost a single gesture, so simultaneous as to have pleased the group's choreographer, nearly everyone pulled out their cell phones and attempted to call home.

Ten minutes and two broken phones later, not a single call had gotten through and the nerves of many members were overheated and still on 'broil.' Linnae and Cassie and several of the musicians were arguing with the producer about cutting the tour short and hurrying home.

With a sudden inspiration, Ariana took a deep breath and looked up a cell number on her 'Contacts' list, her hands shaking.

"Any luck at all?" Marie asked, her eyes red and hollow with worry. Ariana shook her head resolutely. "Who are ya callin?"

"Nathan," she replied hoarsely, "He told me his number before the race, and I put it in me phone.".

"Your race partner? Why him?" Marie asked, incredulously.

"Because he can do anything. He can help our folks. I know it."

Lavender stared at her. "The man you turned down a marriage proposal from and sent away? Why would he help?"

"Because he's Nathan. Because the last thing he said to me was that if I ever needed something, ta call him, no matter wha."

"Do ya think you can get through to him? It must be two in tha mornin where he is." Marie asked.

Ariana picked the cell number and pushed SEND. "This cell phone will never be more than arm's length away fra him. If ever I call this number the ringtone will be me singing, 'Me Heart Will Gae On," and no matter how deeply asleep, he'll never take more than three rings to answer."

Linnae goggled at her. "How do ya know tha?"

Ariana glared back fiercely. "Because I know Nathan"

All of her co-stars were now around her, straining to hear. There was one ring. There was a second ring. And then, "Ariana? Are you okay?"

Ariana took two deep breaths. "I'm okay, but we just got news tha Dublin was hit by an earthquake. None of us can get through by phone. We are terribly worried about oor families, and we're six thousand miles away with three weeks left to go in tha tour."

She could hear Nathan take two deep breaths. "Get the names, addresses and phone numbers of everyone you need to hear from and e-mail them to me. You still have my e-mail address?"

"Yes, yes, I do." She didn't add that she had fought a regretful urge every day for the last two months to send him an e-mail.

"Stay on tour, I'll take care of everything. At every performance put out that donations to help can be sent to this site," and he gave her an address. "And get someone to put that on the official website."

"There is such a site?" Ariana asked, incredulously.

"There will be in less than an hour; I have connections. I'll take care of it." There was a pause, and then he said, "I promise, I won't let you fall."

Somehow Ariana managed to reply, "I Know," but before she could add anything else, Nathan hung up. She looked up and saw four faces made unfamiliar by the anxiety darkening their features. She thought, "If this were happening in the race, what would Nathan expect me to do?" With resolute certainty, she stepped up on her stool and stood on the bar and whistled for attention, sharp and shrill enough to wake the dead. The instant center of attention, she waved her phone and said, reading from the script writing itself in her head as she spoke, "I hae gotten through ta Nathan, and he will get ta our folks back home. Things will no be helped by droppin the tour and trying ta rush back home, but we can put oot an appeal fer funds at every show and get tha ta them easy enough. Now line up and gie me the names, addresses and phone numbers of yer relations in Dublin, and I'll be sendin them on ta Nathan."

"And how do we know he kin do anythin?" shouted a frustrated voice from the other end of the bar.

Fifty pairs of eyes looked at her. Deep inside herself, Ariana had always been certain God meant her to perform. And she had always been certain that, however clueless her mother was, she loved her. And she was certain that, wherever and whatever Nathan had been doing five minutes ago, he would die rather than let her down now. She said, calmly and distinctly, "Anyone else here want ta place any bets agin Team Number One?" In the shuffling of feet and clearing of throats that emphasized the awkward silence, Ariana felt a sudden surge of confidence.

There was a tugging on her slacks, and looked down to see Marie, impatient, below her. "I hae names, numbers and addresses for ya, if yer don arguin wit idiots."

Ariana sat down on the bar and opened the phone's keyboard.

Time zones away, Nathan pulled out his phone and hit '57' and waited impatiently until; "Bob, its Nathan. I need a website up, like now. It is," and he repeated the address he had made up on the fly and told Ariana. "That web page needs to be up and running in 30 minutes. When it's up, I need you to call Tracy, and Dillion, and Shane and make it go viral. Yes, everywhere. Of course I called you, who else can do three impossible things before breakfast? Thanks, I really appreciate this; twenty-nine minutes now."

He pulled up his portfolio at the investment company he dealt with and checked his financial status. He had put a million dollars each into trust funds for the kids which they would get when they reached thirty. Carolyn had inherited a million and a half from her parents, and she had had a million and a half in her accounts when she had passed away. He couldn't morally spend that on this particular project, so he made a note to transfer that money into the trust funds. With his earnings, investments, insurance settlement, and what he had inherited from his parents, he had, yes, more than enough. Since he was self-employed, self-insured, self-social securitied, self-medicared, and self-retired, he would keep back a million dollars, typical interest rates being what they were today. That left about eight and a half million dollars left to play with.

He paused to think. His father had been a contractor, doing lots of work at Pearl Harbor. His father had raised him on heroic tales of World War II, when his father's father had been a sailor on a fleet submarine which had sunk a hundred thousand tons of Japanese shipping. The sub had gotten six battle stars and a Presidential Unit Citation, and the commanding officer had gotten the Congressional Medal of Honor. One of the stories Nathan's father had loved to tell him was of the American aircraft carrier which had been battered so badly in the Battle of the Coral Sea that when it limped back into Pearl Harbor the shipyard reckoned it would take three months of repairs to patch her up enough for her to make it back to a stateside shipyard for permanent repairs. Then came word that the codebreakers had figured out that the Japanese would be attacking Midway Island any day. Every available worker had swarmed upon the ship, and, laboring non-stop, sent the ship out 72 hours later in good enough shape to help sink four Japanese aircraft carriers. From his father, Nathan had learned how to manage big projects on the fly.

And that there were no such things as 'obstacles;' there was only, 'making it happen.'

Nathan called a special number at the company. Any depositor with assets over five million dollars had access to that special number 24 hours a day, 365 days a year.

A cheerful voice picked up immediately. "Good morning, Mr. Moore, this is Kelly Ulrich. How can I help you today?"

Nathan wracked his memory. "Ah, Kelly, wonderful that you are there. Just got back from your honeymoon, didn't you?" As he spoke, he was working the Internet connection of his laptop fit to bring down half the network.

"Why, yes I am. Hawaii was soooo wonderful. You should know, you are from there, aren't you? Oh, and congratulations on winning the Fantastic Race, though that is a little belated."

"Thank you, very much."

"What can I do?"

"I need you to set up and administer an account for relief efforts for the Dublin earthquake. Yes, they just had one, check CNN Headline News. Transfer four million from my lowest interest assets into the account to start. Legal staff needs to do the tax exempt, non-profit, charitable, yada-yada admin ASAP. I also know you have access to contact numbers for lots of companies and organizations, and I need you to place some orders while I'm on route."

"Which companies?"

"I am in Kings Bay, Georgia, right now. There's a charter company at Atlanta Airport. They have four ex-military C-130 cargo planes with rough landing capability. I will need two of them on an open charter with flight crews with passports. Destination is Dublin, Ireland with stops in Virginia Beach, New York, Portsmouth, and Newfoundland. They take off as soon as I get there, which will be about an hour and a half. There is a helicopter charter company in Virginia Beach. I need one of their OH-6 helicopters on an open charter with a pilot and mechanic with passports. Helicopter to be ready for air transport by C-130. I will also need them to provide 2000 gallons of fuel in 200 gallon transport-certified bladders. Tell them to expect a couple of trucks with deliveries for me. Reasonable premium charges for speed and quality are okay; I'll respect your judgement on any negotiations."

"I'm pretty junior here, Mr. Moore. I could contact one of the more senior... ."

"Then running this little operation will be quite a feather in your cap. If you don't mind, I will insist."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Moore. Don't worry about anything."

"No, thank YOU Kelly. I'll be back in touch soon." He cut the connection as he walked down the hall. At one closed door, he pounded, and called out, "Lance, any naval aviators owe you any favors? I need to get to Atlanta airport ASAP."

"Hey, Jasper, how are you doing?"

"Okay. Nathan, do you know what time it is?"

"Time is irrelevant. I need you to get your team together, men and dogs, and hop a charter flight to Dublin. Bill me."

"Dublin? As in Ireland, Dublin?"

"One in the same."

"Why?"

"They just got hit with an earthquake. A big one. You told me once that the New Zealand's search and rescue team was the best in the world. At least you mumbled that before you slid under the table. I hope that wasn't the beer talking."

"Cripes you have a memory. Anyway, us being deployed is supposed to be a government to government thing."

"Jasper, I am a member of Team Number One, in case you missed any of the episodes. And my teammate is a member of the Madri-Gals, internationally known as the unofficial AMBASSADORS of Irish culture. She asked for my help, and now I'm asking for yours, so get your arse in gear. The paperwork will catch up. Besides, I never thought you would need any excuse to do what you are best at in the place which makes some of the best beer in the world."

"Well, ..."

"And as a personal thank you, I'll send you home with a barrel, each, of that beer. And a gallon each for the dogs."

"The plane will be waiting, you said?"

As the planes clawed for altitude, Nathan plugged into the network and woke more people, placed more orders and arranged more deliveries. At each stop the planes took on fuel and loaded more crates -- tools, medical supplies, satellite phones, emergency generators, food rations and more. And every hour he checked the funds in the fund -- apparently the world loved the Irish. He wished he could have afforded a jet transport with rough landing capability, but the military had a lock on those and were quite stingy.

Hours later, the huge plane, its 130 foot wide wings casting a fleeting shadow across the rumpled concrete runway, and the sixteen thousand horsepower of its engines shaking the ground, flew along parallel to the runway, as low and slow as the tired pilot dared, inspecting the heaved and fractured surface as closely as possible. At the end, the plane lifted higher into the sky, wheeled around, and flew into the wind as is descended to the runway as anxiously cautious as an elderly matron probing for the pool bottom with a stretching toe. The smooth flight became a wild ride which severely tested the seat belts of the passengers, the lashings of the cargo, and the shock absorbers of the landing gear. Finally the plane coasted to a stop and everyone on board started to breathe again. The plane lurched onto a taxiway and slowed to a stop. A second plane lined up on the runway to land, slightly more confidence.

The underside of the back end of the plane lowered slowly to the ground with a whine, becoming a ramp. Nathan, shedding a flight jacket, walked down the ramp and surveyed the desolate, damaged facilities. He turned and called up into the interior, "Helicopter out first and start assembly. Then get the portable shelter set up and the emergency generator going. Make sure the flight crew is checking for damage, and see if the pilot has enough fuel to hop over to the UK and get the second load of supplies." He strode back up the ramp, grabbed one of the dolly handles and helped guide the small helicopter out of the plane, into which it had fit with just inches to spare.

Ariana's sister, Colleen, was just despairing. Her husband was trapped in the building, stuck in the bathtub as the floor above collapsed on top of him. She can't get anyone to help; they all hurried by looking for help of their own.

A helicopter swooped in before her unbelieving eyes, dropped off two large boxes, and a man get out. The helicopter took off again. She stared at the man, fingers dancing on some kind of electronic tablet as he walked toward her.

"Colleen O'Malley?"

"Aye, I am. Kin ya help me? Me husband is trapped, and I kin no get him oot. He isna hurt, but he kin no move." She squinted at the man, and her eyes widened. "You! You ar ..."

"Yes, that's me. Ariana asked me to make sure you and the rest of the family were alright." He handed her what looked like one of those portable radios the police carried, except larger and heavier. "This is a satellite phone. While I get the equipment set up, you call Ariana and talk to her. She's been worried sick."

The man dragged the two cases closer to the building and pried open the lids. He took one machine out, pulled some kind of cord, and the machine came to life with a stuttering roar. He pulled another item out with a heavy handle, plugged the cord in, and squeezed a trigger. The machine emitted a high-pitched rattle, and the short, straight blade with teeth like a shark's jaw, moved back and forth so fast it blurred. The man nodded in satisfaction, and began carving his way through the collapsed structure.