by S. L. Menear
“Don’t tell him what happened. Let me handle it, okay?” I spotted Duxford up ahead.
“Fine, just get me the hell outta here!” she yelled. “My nerves are shot.”
“I asked him to have a stiff drink ready for you when we land.”
“That and a stiff man and I’ll be good to go.”
“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of men waiting for you on the tarmac.”
We landed a few minutes later.
“See? Loads of men.” I pointed at a large group of guys wearing military uniforms as we taxied to the ramp. “Remember, I’ll do the talking.”
I scanned the men. “Oh no, there’s a Special Air Service team waiting for us. I hope their leader isn’t a hard ass. I’m counting on you to charm the hell out of them.”
“How’re you so sure they’re Special Forces?”
“Have you forgotten my boyfriend Ross is an SAS captain? Believe me, I can spot them a mile away.” I sighed. “Geez, I hope they don’t tell him about your emergency text.”
“Relax, we didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”
“Hold that thought.” I shut down the engine. “When you take off your helmet, leave it on the seat. Maybe Major Ferguson will forget about the video recorder. I don’t want to be embarrassed in front of all those fighter pilots.”
Earlier at Duxford
The major stood on the ramp and scanned the sky. “Where are they?” he said to no one in particular.
His cell chimed. He pulled it out of a zippered pocket in his flight suit and read Carlene’s text: Emergency! Enemy aircraft attacking! Send help!
“Bugger!” He glanced around, spotted the Special Air Service team, and waved them over.
The team leader, a broad-shouldered lieutenant with short brown hair and a square jaw, trotted up. “What can I do for you, Major?”
“I’m glad your team happened to be here, Lieutenant. We may have a situation.”
“We’re here on orders to guard Sir Lady Samantha when she arrives. Trouble seems to follow that woman wherever she goes.”
“Apparently, that hasn’t changed. This just came in from her passenger.” The major showed him the text.
The lieutenant keyed his radio mike and called the helicopter pilot assigned to his team. “Fire up the Lynx. Are the cannons loaded?”
“Always. Wheels up in five. What’s the mission?” the pilot asked.
“Intercept and rescue. An aircraft is attacking Sir Lady Samantha in the Bearcat.”
“How far away is she?”
“Uh, standby.” The lieutenant turned to Major Ferguson. “Where is she?”
“Probably somewhere between here and the RAF base at Oxfordshire. She was supposed to follow me, but her takeoff was delayed a few minutes.”
“Think they’ll have her on radar, Major?”
“Maybe not. She planned to fly low and admire the castles and whatnot. I’ll go with you and point out her planned flight path to your pilot.”
Just as the Lynx taxied up to them, the major felt his cell vibrate. He read the text from Sam and made a slashing motion across his neck, giving the cut-engines signal to the Lynx pilot.
The lieutenant turned to him. “What happened?”
He showed him the text.
“How do you know which one to believe?”
“The emergency text came from an excitable actress, and the stand-down message came from an airline pilot. Who would you believe?”
“Right.” The lieutenant stuck his head in the Lynx and gave his men the stand-down order. “But be ready when she lands, just in case.”
The SAS team stood beside a group of fighter pilots waiting to greet Sam and Carlene. It wasn’t long before the major spotted the Bearcat on final approach.
“Anybody have a flask?” he asked. “The lady passenger had a bit of a fright and could use a strong drink.”
Two men in civilian clothes reached into their jackets and pulled out silver flasks.
One said, “Scotch,” and the other said, “Rum.”
“Perfect, I’ll mix the rum with a large cola from the concession stand.” The major sent a soldier to buy the soft drink.
When the man returned, Ferguson poured out half the cola and replaced it with rum from the flask. “This should calm her down.”
He held the drink as he watched the Bearcat taxi to the ramp.
I opened the canopy and climbed out so I could help Carlene. She dropped the video helmet on the rear seat and stepped onto the wing.
Major Ferguson stood beside the airplane with the drink in his hand. “One strong drink, as requested.” He handed it up to her.
“Thanks! Good thing there’s a straw. My hands are still shaking like crazy.” Carlene took a big gulp. “Ooh, rum and Coke, yummy!”
He looked up at me. “Well, Sam, what happened?”
“Uh, no big deal. A guy in a Focke-Wulf buzzed us a few times.” I glanced at the row of fighter pilots standing ramrod straight.
She took another big gulp and turned to me. “Whaddaya mean, buzzed us? He almost killed us.”
The major crossed his arms. “Really?”
Carlene hiccupped and took a long drink. “Yeah—lucky for me, Sam’s a real good fighter pilot. She shot him down twice.”
“Shot him down?” he asked.
“Yeah, he forced us into one of them doggie fights,” Carlene said.
He looked up at me. “You don’t know how to dogfight.”
“True, but my opponent knew even less, and we had the better airplane.” I poked Carlene. “I am not a fighter pilot.” I glanced sideways at the real fighter pilots.
She cocked her head. “But you told me this here’s a World War Two fighter plane.”
“It is.”
“Well, you piloted this fighter, so that makes you a fighter pilot. Right?”
“Wrong!” I pointed at the row of men. “Those men are fighter pilots, not me. I wouldn’t last five seconds in aerial combat with one of them.”
“Why not?” She looked confused. “You shot down that Fuck-Wolf pilot.”
“These pilots are professional predators of the sky. I’m just an airline pilot with a little aerobatic training.”
Carlene stood on the wing, looking down at them. “Well, how do ya even know these guys are fighter pilots?”
“Gentlemen.” I waved them forward and said to her, “Look at their eyes. Don’t you see it?”
She crouched on the wing and squinted. “See what?”
“The ultra-high intensity. You’ll see it in the eyes of every fighter pilot who’s ever lived, and it’s still there long after they retire.” I elbowed her. “You must’ve seen it in Lance’s eyes. God knows you spent plenty of time close to his face.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, that!”
“Right, see it now?”
She looked down into the nearest man’s intense eyes. “Ooh, yeah, that’s real sexy.”
The major cleared his throat. “Best hand over the video helmet so I can see what happened.”
I grabbed her drink and took a long pull. The alcohol burned my throat, and I gasped, not accustomed to hard liquor. Wine was my drink of choice—especially red.
“Uh, you don’t need to see the video.” I smiled. “Everything turned out okay.”
“It’s no trouble. I have a laptop right here. We’ll plug in the camera’s memory drive and watch it together.” He opened the laptop on the wing.
I helped myself to another gulp.
The SAS lieutenant stepped forward. “I’ll need to see that for my report.”
Just then, Carlene squealed and pointed up. “He’s gonna attack us again! Quick, we have to hide!”
The Focke-Wulf flew over us.
I grabbed her arm. “Calm down. He’ll never recognize us.”
“Why the hell not?”
“We were wearing helmets. And if he comes over here looking for the Bearcat’s pilots, I guarantee you he won’t be looking for two blond bimbos.” I poin
ted at the fighter pilots. “He’ll assume it was two of them.”
“Good.” She grabbed the drink and took another swig.
I glanced down at the major. “Please tell me that FW190 doesn’t belong to the museum.”
He glanced in its direction as it wobbled around the landing pattern. “Nope, not an authentic paint scheme. Must be privately owned.”
“Thank God for small favors.” I wondered if the Focke-Wulf would survive the unstable-looking approach.
The major’s voice hardened. “Hand over the video, Sam.”
I sighed and handed him the helmet cam. “Would one of you handsome gents please help me down?” Anything to distract them from the embarrassing video.
Several men reached for me, but the SAS officer elbowed them aside. “You’re the pilot. Can’t you get down without help?”
“I could, but what would be the fun in that?” I grinned, trying to soften his stiff attitude.
I failed.
A total hard ass, he looked peeved when he lifted me down from the wing.
The major helped Carlene down, and then he plugged the memory drive into the laptop. The video began playing, and I wished I could disappear as the fighter pilots crowded around us.
There were collective gasps the first time the Focke-Wulf buzzed us. But as the dogfight progressed, the snickers grew louder. Soon, raucous laughter drowned out the Focke-Wulf’s engine as it taxied closer to us.
The major leaned in to me and said, “Eat lead, kraut heimer?”
“I got caught up in the moment,” I said, blushing.
By then, the men were laughing so hard I was almost worried they might hurt themselves. They barely noticed when the FW190 parked beside the Bearcat.
Carlene elbowed me. “What do ya think he’ll look like?”
I shrugged. “He’s probably a typical civilian warbird pilot with way more money than flying skills. He’ll be short, bald, and wearing a fancy flight suit with lots of important-looking patches. He’ll have it unzipped halfway down his chest, revealing a heavy gold chain or two around his neck, and he’ll have a big gold watch and a diamond pinky ring.”
A few minutes later, a man matching my description stomped over to our group and scanned the men. “I demand to know who was flying that Bearcat!”
Carlene’s jaw dropped. “Whoa, Sam, you nailed it right down to the pinky ring! How’d you know?”
I glanced at the major and Lt. Hard Ass. “She’s new to aviation.” I turned to her. “If you spend enough time at aviation events, you’ll see that some things are quite predictable.”
The slightly paunchy little bald guy glared at me, annoyed I’d interrupted him. “Well, who flew this airplane?” He thrust his hands onto his broad hips.
The fighter pilots grinned and pointed at Carlene and me.
One of them said, “The blondes flew it in. What’s your problem?”
The major put Carlene behind him, and the lieutenant did the same with me. He gave me a stern look and said, “I’ll handle this.”
I knew better than to argue with an alpha male. I said, “Okay,” and peeked out from behind him.
The Focke-Wulf pilot said, “I want those women arrested. They’re a danger to the public.”
The major crossed his arms. “Really? What did they do?”
“They tried to kill me with that airplane.” He jutted out his chin. “And they made me late for this event. They should be locked up.”
“Are you sure about that? We have the entire encounter on video.” He smirked and hit the PLAY button.
Oh God, not a replay!
When the video finished amidst more loud snickers, the bald guy said, “Those bitches must’ve turned off the camera during the part when they forced me into a dogfight.”
Carlene and I shoved our protectors aside and dived at the nasty little jerk, our claws extended. Strong hands grabbed my waist and yanked me back, my long legs kicking at air.
Carlene managed to get in one good slash before the major pulled her off.
Just then, a stretch Rolls-Royce limousine pulled up, and a man in a tuxedo stepped out and grinned. “Ladies and gents, the Bollinger is chilled. Everyone ready for the opening ceremony?”
The lieutenant released me. I gasped when another man exited the limo. Short and balding, my nemesis, Lord Edgar Sweetwater, looked enough like the Focke-Wulf pilot to be a relative.
His cold, dark eyes were riveted on me. “Lovely to see you again, Sir Lady Samantha.” He cocked his head. “Interesting contacts—makes your eyes look mysterious.”
I didn’t correct him; I was pretty sure he didn’t know I’d been in the enclave.
Sweetwater glanced from me to Carlene. “Please introduce me to your beautiful friend.”
Carlene had heard about Sweetwater’s evil exploits, but she’d never met him.
When I made the introduction, she said, “Wait a minute!” and yanked her hand away as he was about to kiss it. “Aren’t you the guy who kidnapped Sam—twice?”
“Allegedly.” Sweetwater smirked at me. “That has never been proven.”
I nudged the hard ass. “Now would be a good time to shoot him.”
Major Ferguson stepped forward. “That would be ill advised. Lord Sweetwater is the primary donor for the new wing of the museum.”
Sweetwater and I locked eyes.
Oh God, what fresh hell does he have planned for me this time?
Two
The chauffeur held the limo door open. “Ladies, may we give you a lift to the festivities?”
The distance across the broad concrete ramp to the new hangar was about the length of a football field.
I glared at Sweetwater. “No, thank you, we’ll walk with the Special Forces team.”
Sweetwater disappeared inside the gleaming silver Rolls-Royce.
Carlene latched onto a tall sergeant with a body like an Australian Thunder from Down Under dancer. (Not that I’ve seen them dance in Vegas more than a few dozen times.)
“You’ll escort me, won’t you darlin’?” she said.
He smiled and flexed his biceps. “Of course, Miss Jensen.”
“I’ll meet you in the new hangar,” the major said as he slipped inside the limo.
The Focke-Wulf pilot followed him and slammed the door.
I grabbed Lt. Hard Ass’s arm. “Hang back until they leave. We need to call Captain Sinclair.”
He raised a brow. “What for? I’m in charge here. Don’t you think my team can protect you?”
“Maybe, if you understood the situation.” I watched Sweetwater’s fancy limo glide away.
“You’re afraid of a chubby little bald guy?” He crossed his arms. “Seriously?”
I pulled out my cell and called my boyfriend. When he answered, I hit SPEAKER.
“Sam? Is everything all right?” His deep voice had an edge.
“Ross, I have you on speaker. Sorry to bother you in the middle of maneuvers, but this is an emergency. Sweetwater is here. He’s the primary donor for the new wing of the aviation museum at Duxford.” I tried to sound calm.
“Has he seen you?”
“He took great pleasure in taunting me. By the way, Carlene Jensen is with me.”
“I hope to hell you’re with the London team.”
“Yep, the team leader is standing next to me, but he doesn’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation.”
“What’s his name?”
I held my phone in front of the lieutenant, who’d never told me his name.
“This is Lieutenant Bryce Manning, Captain Sinclair. Your girlfriend is upset that Sweetwater is here, but I assured her…”
“Call for reinforcements now,” Ross interrupted. “There’s a high probability the event you’re attending will be attacked by mercenaries. Their primary objective will be to capture or kill Sam, and they won’t care how many people die in the process.”
“You’re sure of this?” Bryce asked.
“Aye, Lord Sweetwater is
a billionaire arms dealer who considers Sam his number-one enemy. He employs a small army, and his attendance there is no coincidence. Watch him closely. If he leaves, that means an attack is imminent,” Ross said.
“Captain, how will I explain calling for reinforcements without any hard intel?”
“Just keep your team tight around Sam and Carlene. I’ll call our DSF in Credenhill and ask him to send more teams. Sam, stick close to him and be ready for the assault.”
“But Ross, I don’t have a weapon.”
“Manning, give her a pistol. I’m vouching for her. I’ll call General Barnes now.” Ross ended the call.
Bryce’s eyes bored into me. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Plenty, but we don’t have time for a full recap. Suffice it to say Sweetwater doesn’t like to lose, and I’ve cost him millions. I also foiled a plot that had taken him years to set up. Revenge is his favorite activity.” I touched his arm. “This could get deadly real fast.”
He sighed and pulled a Glock 26 out of his boot and handed it to me. “It has ten in the magazine and one in the chamber.” He handed me an extra magazine. “Ever killed anyone?”
“More than I care to admit, but most of them weren’t killed with bullets.” I ejected the magazine, checked that it was full, reinserted it, and eased the slide back far enough to verify there was a round in the chamber.
His eyes widened. “Really? How many?”
“Too many to count, but all were in self-defense and the defense of others. I’m sure you understand.”
He looked at me like I’d suddenly transformed into a stranger. “All right then, stick close to me.”
I called to Carlene, “Stay close to the soldiers. We might be in for a rough time.”
She nodded at my Glock. “I assume you don’t mean the fun kind?”
“Nope. Sorry.”
She held out her hand. “I want one too.”
I nudged Bryce. “Carlene was the East Texas Pistol Champion. You can trust her with a weapon.”
She grinned. “Don’t worry, sugar, I can shoot flies off a watermelon at twenty paces.”
He crossed his arms. “Not after all the rum you drank. Besides, shooting people is quite different from shooting flies or paper targets.”
