There was no one to meet him at the airport. Michael had not expected anyone to be there, yet he knew that sometimes The Organization took care of things like that. He almost expected to see a black limo or a car with a driver waiting for him on the tarmac. But, there again, he wasn't surprised to find that there was no one at all.
When the Beechcraft King Air 350 powered down its Pratt & Whitney PT6 turboprops, Stone exited, thanking the cabin steward and flight officers for a smooth ride. He walked out onto the asphalt flight line and into the bright Indiana sun. The airport Stone had landed out was non-commercial, and only had two runways and a refueling station. Michael casually noticed the refueling truck approaching the King Air to deliver a load of Jet-A aviation fuel. He made his way across the tarmac to the door of the customer lounge.
The air inside was cool. Michael saw one attendant at the service counter, who quickly took his Visa card and set him up with a rental car. Michael watched as the King Air was finished with its refuel. He saw the props begin to turn and heard the whine of the turbines through the glass windows of the lounge. When the King Air had started it's taxi to the runway, Michael left and went to his waiting car. There were important packages aboard the King Air, weapons that he had brought back from Japan with him. He wanted to make sure that the plane was on its way to Italy before he left the airport.
Stone drove the rented Camry away from the airport, through town, and headed towards the countryside. It wasn't long before he saw the old mailbox sitting atop a rotting post. The black mailbox had faded white letters that read "Stone". He turned down the dirt road and drove until he came to the house.
The two story house was white-washed with wood siding. Michael's father had built it upon the old foundation of the home that had burned so long ago. Michael parked the car behind his dad's 4x4 and walked to the front door.
Several knocks and doorbell rings later, Michael realized that his father was not inside. He made his way around the house to the large metal building out back. Michael was almost beside the horse stables when a large, black Labrador walked up to him.
It had been a long time since he had seen Joe. The dog now had a touch of white at his muzzle. The old dog wandered up to Stone, his tail wagging. Michael stooped and patted the dog on his head, then scratched behind his ears.
"You remember me, boy?" Michael asked. Old Joe continued to wag his tail as he licked Michael's hand. Stone began to walk to the metal building, and Joe took up pace beside him. As Michael neared the structure, he could hear the sound of an old country song playing. It sounded a lot like Merle Haggard's "The Good Times Ain't Over For Good". Stone smiled. It was just like his dad to be listening to that, he thought.
Michael stepped in through the open door. The interior of the garage/work shop hadn't changed much. He saw the old Massey-Ferguson tractor was still seeping oil onto the concrete floor. There was a Jeep there, too, a yellow one, it's top off and windshield folded down. That was new. Something else was new as well. Michael looked at the shiny black color of the Plymouth Barracuda. It was lifted into the air about two feet with a floor jack. Stone saw the brown work boots and jean covered legs protruding from under it.
"When did you get this?" Michael asked. The legs came out from underneath the car as John Stone slid out on a mechanic's creeper.
John stood. He was as tall as Michael, and although a good bit older, he still carried a well-muscled frame. His broad shoulders were clothed in a red and black flannel shirt. His hair was cut short and almost pure white. He had the same eyes as his son. Cold, gray eyes that looked through a person, not at them.
John looked at his son for a moment. He wasn't sure Michael was really there. Then he broke into a grin, and in one movement, had his arms around his boy.
"Wish you had called," John said in Michael's ear. "I would've had something cooked."
"Then it wouldn't have been a surprise," Michael stated.
John held him at arm's length for a minute. He looked him over, and satisfied that Michael was really real, let him go. The greetings over, they turned to the shiny black car.
"Got it last week. Needs some work. Exhaust system has to be re-done. Other than that," John said, "she's in damn good shape."
Michael smiled. He looked past the car, into the far and dimly lighted corner. There was a tan colored car cover there. The shape of a vehicle underneath could just be made out.
"Yeah," John said, seeing where his son was looking, "its still here."
Michael went over to the covered vehicle. He slowly, almost reverently, began to pull the cover off the front. Lights came on over his head as John flipped the switch for them. The shiny red fiber body came into view. The pop-up headlight covers, then the yellow medallion with the black prancing horse came next. Michael uncovered the rest of the car. Then he stepped back and smiled.
The Stone's were well taken care of by The Organization. His father had invested most of his earnings, and chose to live simply. Michael had invested a little, but he had spent quite a bit. The car he now looked at was a bit of that spending. It was, he thought, quite possibly the best $200,000 he had ever spent. Yes, he thought, the Ferrari F355 was definitely worth every penny.
"I start it up every so often," John said. "To make sure it still works and all."
Michael smiled. "Does it?"
"Oh yeah."
They made their way into the house, where John got to work in the kitchen. Michael helped set out a few things, but was soon pushed out of the kitchen by his father. While the elder Stone cooked, Michael walked into the study.
The walls were covered with pictures, plaques, and display cases. There were photos of John's unit in Vietnam. Michael saw the patches and ribbons in the display cases. One of the cases held the beret flash for the 5th Special Forces group. There was also a patch of the Military Assistance Command/Studies and Observations Group. Another case contained a Silver Star, along with its ribbon. His father had been a Green Beret serving under General Westmoreland during the Vietnam conflict. Michael had been a very small child, but he still remembered his dad coming home on a big airplane. He remembered waiting on the tarmac at Ft. Bragg with his mother.
Her picture was on the desk in the corner. She was a beautiful woman, with kind and caring eyes. Stone fought back the tears for a minute.
After Vietnam, John Stone was recruited into the CIA. Shortly thereafter, The Organization recruited him further.
"You ready to eat?"
His father's voice startled Michael from his reflections. He followed John into the kitchen, where they sat at a small table and ate. After dinner, they both went into the den, where John poured them a glass of Glenmorangie.
"What's on your mind, son?" John asked.
Michael took a sip of the Scotch. He then looked into his father's eyes and told him about Anita and the events that had taken place since he met her.
After Michael was finished, John just stared at him for a moment. He shook his head, took a sip of Scotch, and said, "You're in love."
Michael nodded, draining his glass.
