was and paid little attention to him. They understood his desire to be left alone.
Lavancia was expected to report to the flight surgeon while the details of the flight were still fresh in his mind. Afterward he would attend a debrief to go over the sequence of events leading to the fatal crash. But that wasn't what the tormented pilot wanted to do, not by any stretch of the imagination.
All Tony Lavancia wanted to do was have a very stiff drink and purge his emotions. Still in his rain-soaked flight suit, he sat down on the perimeter of the deep crater and stared blankly into the scorched hole where his friend had perished less than an hour before.
Fifteen minutes later, Lavancia's commanding officer, accompanied by the base chaplain and the flight surgeon, walked to his side and helped him to his feet.
Chapter 7.
UNITED FLIGHT 187
When the dessert dishes were cleared and the movie began, Steve gave Susan Nakamura a fleeting look. She was sitting by herself across the aisle, reading reports from a stack of papers she had retrieved from her briefcase. The three of them would wait to discuss the incident at Pearl Harbor until they had complete privacy.
Susan looked at Wickham and subtly motioned to the seat beside her, then neatly stacked her reading material on the foldaway tray. Her soft brown eyes narrowed and sparkled.
He secured his tray and moved into the seat next to Susan. "He went to sleep," Steve said in a low voice, "like he'd turned off a switch."
She leaned around him and glanced at Callaway. "He's the only person I know who could sleep through an earthquake."
"He doesn't waste any time," Wickham observed and fastened his safety belt. Ensconced in his seat, Steve turned to the alluring young woman. "So, you promised to tell me all about yourself."
She gave him a questioning look. "What would you like to know about me?"
There was an awkward moment before Steve made the adjustment to her straightforward style of conversation. "Actually, at the risk of sounding too forward, I'd like to know everything about you. It's not every day that I meet a Japanese-American who happens to be an FBI agent."
"You mean a Japanese-American FBI agent," Susan said patiently, "who happens to be a woman."
He swallowed and looked her straight in the eyes. "You're right, but you'll have to admit that's not something people in my line of work see every day."
"I suppose that's true."
"What made you decide on a career in the FBI?" Steve inquired innocently.
She turned slightly sideways to face him. "It's a long and boring story."
Steve could see that she was masking something that was very painful. "I didn't mean to upset you."
Susan relaxed her facial muscles and gave him a wide smile. "It's okay, believe me. I don't normally talk about it, but if you're really interested . . ."
"I'm really interested."
"When Pearl Harbor was attacked," she began without any sign of emotion, "my parents were newlyweds. They didn't have much money, so they were living with my mother's parents in East Los Angeles. Shortly after the war started, the FBI took my parents and grandparents right out of their home and placed them in a temporary war-relocation center."
Tilting her head, she stared absently out the window at the puffy white clouds, then pulled the shade to block the bright sunlight. "The relocation center was a section of converted stables at the Santa Anita racetrack."
Steve closed his eyes for a second and slowly let his breath out. He could only imagine the terror and degradation the innocent Japanese-Americans had felt.
"The saddest part about the internment," she continued, turning her head to look into Steve's eyes, "was that no one tried to sort out who was spying for Japan and who wasn't. If you were of Japanese extraction, you were guilty, period."
Maintaining eye contact, Steve gave her a soothing nod. "I know, and it wasn't fair, but we--"
"Many of the Japanese-Americans were kindhearted," she quietly interrupted,