Survivors – A Novel of the Coming Collapse

Before he could answer, Blanca smiled, gave a little wave, and dashed away.

Ian sat dumbfounded at what he had just heard. Then he said a long, silent prayer and ate his lunch.

To meet Blanca’s father, Ian decided to wear a suit, instead of his service dress uniform. But borrowing a suit that would fit him well took some scrambling, as did finding cuff links and dress shoes. This turned into an evening- long scavenger hunt for many of the junior officers and GS-9s who lived on his floor of Rick’s Place. Knocking on doors up and down the hall, Bryson Pitcher led Doyle and a parade of suit beggars. This turned into a movable party, with plenty of alcohol served. Doyle heard repeatedly, “This deserves a toast!” The lovely Blanca Araneta was a legendarily unreachable enigma for anyone who worked in flight operations, so the reactions were a mix of envy and awe. The envy came mostly from the officers who were there on PCS assignments. They were miffed that a newly arrived TDY O-2 could break the ice with Blanca, and so quickly.

Blanca drove over from her apartment and picked Ian up at just after three p.m., for the hour-long drive to her family’s ninety-hectare estancia, which was about three miles outside of Talanga. Blanca wore a simple black dress with a very modest neckline and hemmed below the knee. She wore very little makeup. Her hair was combed out and worn loosely. This was the first time that Ian had seen it in anything but a simple ponytail. The only adornment she wore was a single large teardrop-shaped pearl on a gold chain. Ian thought she looked gorgeous. She definitely had the Grace Kelly vibe going. Understated, but stunning.

The drive north from Tegucigalpa was fairly quiet and revealed the nervousness they both felt. There were just a few comments on the scenery and a bit of travelogue from Blanca on the local history and age of certain buildings. Ian felt a new level of anxiety as she turned the car into the estancia’s long driveway. Even from a distance, Doyle could see that the house was huge and that it had stables off to one side.

Just before they stepped out of the Mercedes, Ian straightened his borrowed silk tie. Blanca whispered, “Bring your video camera. My papa will want to see pictures.” After the maid ushered them in, they met Blanca’s father on the screened patio.

As was customary, Blanca began the introductions: “Papa, este es mi amigo, Ian.”

Ian carried on haltingly, “Mucho gusto, Senor Araneta, su hija habla de usted con mucha admiracion, es un honor y un placer de conocer a usted.” (“I’m pleased to meet you sir, your daughter speaks with great admiration about you, it is an honor and a pleasure to meet you.”) Ian did this fairly well, since he had practiced it with Consuelo, but he was obviously nervous.

After shaking hands, Arturo Araneta asked, “So, Lieutenant Doyle, my daughter tells me you are a pilot of F- 16 fighting planes.”

“That’s right, sir.” Pointing to the rucksack on his shoulder, he said, “I brought my camcorder with some movies of myself and some of my squadron mates flying F-16s, if you are interested.”

“Of, course, of course. Let’s go to the library.”

Arturo Araneta asked as they walked, “You have this movie in your video camera?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s watch it on my big screen. It is the latest from Japan.”

The dimly lit library was quite a contrast to the brightness of the patio. It took a while for Doyle’s eyes to adjust to the lighting.

As they were getting the camera’s cable hooked up to the television input jack, Arturo Araneta asked Ian, “So, where did you go to college?”

Without looking up, Ian said, “The University of Chicago.”

Arturo pointed to the jacks on the front of the television and said, “You may attach the cables here. And what did you study?”

“Engineering.”

Arturo looked at him and said, “There are many types of engineers.”

“I did a double major, in aeronautical engineering and industrial engineering. I also got minor degrees in English literature and military history.”

The elder gentleman looked impressed. “Engineering, engineering. Excellent! I am surprised that so many other young people waste their time in other trifling fields.” He again looked at Ian intently and asked, “That much work must have been difficult. How were your grades?”

Ian smiled. “It was a lot of work, but I enjoyed the material. I graduated cum laude.”

Arturo stood up, smiled slightly while nodding his head, and said, “Very good. Very, very good.” With a wave of his hand, the maid brought iced tea and they sipped it as they watched Ian’s videotape.

Doyle introduced it by just saying, “These clips you’ll see were all shot by me from the backseat of a D-model F-16-that’s the version with two seats.”

The first clip showed some tight-formation flying. The second showed takeoffs, landings, and touch-and- goes.

Just before the third segment, Ian voiced the caveat, “Now, this part coming up, it wasn’t me at the controls, and I had no warning that my friend was going to do this. I was just along for the ride and to preserve the events for posterity.” The video then showed the plane doing slow rolls high over San Francisco, passing through patchy clouds, and then diving to line up west of the city. It then flew under the Golden Gate Bridge and then under the San Francisco Bay Bridge with the pilot twice exclaiming “Yeee-haaaaaaw!”

Both of the Aranetas gasped and laughed. Ian then commented: “I found out later that Fred had the crew chief disable the plane’s transponder so there’d be no comebacks.”

Arturo chuckled and said, “Very clever. And I’m glad this was not you flying so illegally.”

The last segment of the video was several minutes of aerobatics shot over the pilot’s shoulder. In one corner of the screen, the plane’s altimeter could be seen winding down from thirty thousand feet, at an alarming rate. The significance of some of the maneuvers was lost on her father, but Blanca was clearly impressed. She kept saying “Wow” and “Double wow!”

As Ian disconnected his camcorder, Arturo exclaimed, “That was fantastic. Simply fantastic.”

Next the subject of tennis came up, as Blanca had warned it always did with her father. He started by saying, “You know, seeing San Francisco in that videotape reminds me . . .” He spent the next half hour in an animated description of how he had toured the United States playing tennis tournaments in the 1980s and how he had learned to disco dance. He ended by mentioning: “You know, when I was there, I became so fascinated with your basketball. Other than tennis, that is now the sport I watch the most, on the satellite television.”

“Really?” Ian asked. “What is your favorite American team?”

The Honduran replied, “Oh, the Detroit Pistons. Most definitely.”

Ian laughed. “Did Blanca mention that I was raised near Detroit?”

Arturo Araneta put on a huge grin.

Ian put in hesitantly, “Although I’ve gotta say, I’m just as much a Lakers fan as I am a fan of the Pistons.”

“The Lakers, they are a fine team, too, but sometimes, with all their physicality, they lack the, ah, finesse and control of the Pistons.”

Just when Doyle thought that he could not have hit it off more perfectly, Arturo asked: “So, what does a fighter jockey like you do, for hobbies?”

“I like to run, swim, and I do a lot of target shooting.”

Araneta chortled. “You are a shooter? Come with me, my boy, and I will show you my modest gun collection!”

As the three of them walked together toward the other wing of the house, Blanca laughed and whispered, “The lost-long son returns!”

As they walked, Ian glanced over his shoulder and noticed the maid following five paces back, dutifully carrying a tray with their drinks. He realized that this sort of life would take some getting used to.

They spent the next half hour chitchatting and admiring guns pulled out of a climate-controlled walk-in vault. Araneta had a huge collection of perhaps two hundred guns and fifty swords and sabers. Sitting on a large wooden stand in the center of the vault room was an exquisitely ornamented saddle with a saber and a pair of holstered horse pistols. The saddle was clearly the centerpiece of his collection. Arturo explained, “This saddle belonged to a lieutenant of Simon Bolivar. I bought it by private treaty from a collector before it could go to auction.”