LITMIR.BIZ

      4

       Welcome to Huntsville

      “One of you killed my father. I’m going to find out who and see that you pay.”

      That’s how Stephen A. Warrensburg greeted the Space Cadets as they were gathered for dinner on Monday night—their first night together in Huntsville. And, yeah, I was there too, so I guess I was one of his suspects.

      Up until that point the day had been uneventful. Angie Warrensburg drove Dad and me from the airport to our cabin at the Monte Sano State Park. Along the way we passed the Space and Rocket Center. Looking up at the replica of the Saturn V, it seemed even taller than it had from the plane. I hoped I would get a chance to see the real deal. The Saturn V was the powerful rocket that propelled mankind all the way to the moon.

      “That large building to the right of the replica is the Davidson Center where the real Saturn V is housed,” said Angie Warrensburg. “And there are models of the Ares I and Ares V rockets.”

      “I’d love to see them,” I said.

      “I’ll get Stephen to bring you,” she said.

      Maybe I’ll call a cab, I thought to myself.

      At the foot of Monte Sano Mountain, we stopped at a place called the Star Market to pick up food for the week. Then we headed up the winding road to Monte Sano State Park. About halfway up I first saw the Man in the Red Flannel Shirt. I doubt I would have noticed him if not for the shirt. It was half buttoned and not tucked in, which made it work more as a jacket. June in Alabama, it’s already hot and humid. Monte Sano is about 1,600 feet above sea level—not that high as mountains go—and the temperatures wouldn’t be much, if any, lower than down in the valley. Why would anyone wear flannel, red or otherwise, in this heat? He was standing next to a black Dodge Durango that was parked at a scenic overlook. With binoculars, he looked out over the city of Huntsville. As we passed he seemed to catch sight of us out of the corner of his eye and lowered the binoculars. I was in the seat at the rear of the van, and when I turned to look out the back window the Man in the Red Flannel Shirt was staring right at me. He twisted around in a hurry and raised his binoculars.

      All of the Space Cadets including Angie Warrensburg were staying in cabins at Monte Sano State Park.

      “You could stay in your own home, couldn’t you?” I asked her.

      “It wouldn’t be much of a Space Cadet expedition if I stayed in my own house, and the cabins are just a few hundred meters from the observatory,” she told me.

      My dad said, “And this mountain road can be treacherous at night.”

      “Yes,” agreed Angie Warrensburg. “Yes, it can.”

      “Will Stephen be staying up here?” I asked.

      “Some of the time,” she answered. “In fact, he specifically asked me to let him greet the Space Cadets when we all get together for dinner tonight.”

      The Monte Sano cabins were . . . I guess the best word to describe them would be “interesting.” They were made of large stones, and other than the stones, there was nothing large about them. Behind each cabin was a large, concrete picnic table that made the cabin look even smaller. From the outside you would have thought there was no room inside for a bathroom. You wouldn’t be far from wrong. Inside was one room with a closet; the closet contained a toilet and a shower. Everything else—sink, stove, refrigerator, table, chairs, sofa, and bed—were in the one room.

      “I’ll take the couch if you want the bed,” said my dad. “After all, I got you into this.”

      “I don’t know,” I replied. “The couch looks more comfortable.”

      “Thanks,” said my dad.

      It was late in the day when we got settled in, so I didn’t have time to check out the view from the mountaintop or the woods around the cabin. We unpacked, and then I went with my dad to look up the rest of the Cadets.

      We were in the cabin closest to the entrance of the park. Herman Yao was in the cabin next to us. Two doors down was Dexter Humboldt. Across the street was Ivana Prokopov who was next door to Sam Trivedi. And last down the line was the cabin that would later be occupied by Angie Warrensburg without, I hoped, her son.

      Dexter Humboldt had driven down from his home in Nashville, and Ivana Prokopov had a rental car. The rest of us loaded up in their cars and headed down the mountain to Huntsville. We met the Warrensburgs at Gibson’s Barbeque, and everything, it appeared to me, was going along pretty well. The restaurant set us up in a room to ourselves with one long table. Four of us on one side, four on the other. Everyone was enjoying getting reacquainted. Everyone except, you guessed it, Stephen A. Warrensburg. It’s not that everyone ignored Stephen; he ignored them. He sat in his wheelchair at one end of the table and seemed to make a point of ignoring both people and his food. He took an occasional sip of iced tea.

      After dinner Angie Warrensburg stood and welcomed everyone to Huntsville. “The Von Braun Astronomical Society has given us unlimited access to their facilities for the week,” she told us. “That includes the observatory, the solar observatory, and the planetarium. It’s hot, it’s humid, the city lights are bright, and the moon is waning gibbous, but, hey, other than the fact that we may not see a star other than the sun, we can have a great time together.”

      From his perch at the back of the room, Stephen snorted. Everyone else joined in polite laughter.

      “Now,” Angie Warrensburg continued, “Stephen has asked if he could offer his own welcome to all of you for this, our twentieth reunion of the Space Cadets.”

      I’ll give him an A+ for dramatic effect. Stephen backed his new, battery-operated wheelchair straight away from the table, made a sharp left turn toward the front of the room, traveled the length of the table, and made a sharp right, then another, and he was facing his audience.

      “My father was working with the FBI,” he said. “The FBI knows that one of you is stealing United States government secrets and selling them to foreign governments. My father was working with the FBI to set a trap for you.”

      He paused and glared with unblinking focus down the length of the table. He seemed to be staring at none of us and all of us at the same time.

      Then he said, “One of you killed my father. I’m going to find out who and see that you pay.”

      Okay then, welcome to Huntsville.