Off Guard: A clean action adventure book

by Glen Robins

  “Yes. Call Tom Sanders.”

  The phone began to ring. On the fourth ring a deep, gravelly voice answered, “This had better be good, Reggie.”

  Reggie stared at the phone, twisting his face. He decided to push through the ambiguous greeting. “I’m fine, Tom. How are you?”

  There was a throaty chuckle, then a throat being cleared, then a happy-sounding, “How the hell are you, man? It’s been too long since I’ve heard from you.”

  Reggie, his eyes wide open and eyebrows drawn together, shot a look of confusion and surprise toward Spinner, who shrugged back.

  “I’m doing great, Tom,” said Reggie, trying to match the enthusiasm in Tom’s voice. “It has been a while. I apologize for not doing a better job of staying in touch, but you know how it is sometimes? Work gets crazy and the family keeps you busy. Throw a vacation or two in there, next thing you know, it’s been a couple years since we’ve talked.”

  “I hear you, brother. I get the sense, though, that this isn’t a social call. You’re not just calling to shoot the bull, are you?”

  “I’m afraid not. I need some help on a tough case that has had us baffled for a month and a half now.”

  “Oh, another one of those, huh?” Tom’s husky laugh seemed to echo in the car. He cleared his throat again. “What’ve you got?”

  “I’ve got a guy on the run. Been on the run for seven months. This started as a missing persons case, then escalated into a criminal investigation. Turns out our boy has been hanging with some enemies of the United States and is now implicated in a number of cyberattacks on a handful of banks and major corporations. Tens of millions of dollars are missing and we think he might have some answers for us.”

  “I’m with you, Reggie. Just not sure how I can help. That’s not really my field, you know.”

  “I know. I’m getting to that. Our guy has eluded us for the past six weeks. Every time we get close, he disappears again. We could never figure out how he was doing it until just now. Through some contacts at Interpol, we discovered that our man has been getting help from someone in the NSA.”

  “NSA? Your guy has connections at the NSA? Is he an agent or something?”

  “Not as far as we know. He’s just an everyday guy. Or so we thought until photos and other evidence started popping up. We were hoping you could find out somehow what his connection is.”

  “So let me see if I understand this correctly. You think this guy is a criminal, but you just learned that the NSA is helping him. Now you want me to dig around to figure out the connection. Has it occurred to you that he’s not what you thought? Maybe there’s a reason the NSA has been helping him.”

  “Exactly. We feel like we’ve been on a bit of a goose chase, like we’re being played. I want to know why and by whom.”

  Tom’s voice suddenly grew sober and serious. “A few months ago, I was asked to be on a newly-formed committee within the national intelligence group. Our goal is to foster intelligence-sharing and cooperation so we don’t waste valuable resources and miss potential warning signs and things like that. We’re trying to avoid situations like the one you’re in.”

  “That’s why I called you. I was hoping you might have some valuable insights that we don’t have and desperately need.”

  “What’s your target’s name? I’ll look into it for you.”

  “His name is Collin Cook. He has been linked with a cybercriminal operating out of Southeast Asia named Pho Nam Penh. Penh and his group has been targeting mostly international banks so far. Penh has a growing list of cyberattacks to his credit and we’ve been working on the suspicion that Cook has been involved to some extent in recent attacks. If that’s not the case, we’ve been made to look like fools wasting our time. I’d rather be part of the solution than the problem. I’m not looking to play into some sort of interagency rivalry, know what I mean? But I made a promise to this guy’s parents and I intend to keep that promise.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The call ended and Spinner smiled. “I’d say that went pretty well, Reg. Wasn’t that hard to swallow your pride now, was it?”

  “Shut up and wipe that stupid grin off your face.”

  Chapter Eleven

  In the air above Southeastern Mexico

  June 17, 1:28 p.m. Local Time, 11:28 a.m. Pacific Time

  A barrage of rounds pinged off the fuselage, spiking the adrenaline rush through his veins. An image of the plane bursting into flames and crashing into the hills below flashed through Collin’s mind. Instinctively, Collin banked hard left to try to get out of the line of fire. As he did, a bullet ripped through the pilot’s side window and lodged in the ceiling of the cockpit, narrowly missing the pilot’s lolling head. Another one hit the windshield with a pop, leaving a web-like design in the glass. That was too close for comfort. Collin didn’t realize it, but his sudden turn slowed the plane and caused him to lose altitude. He risked another glance at the ground, where he saw the muzzle flashes from multiple guns in elongated bursts. Semiautomatic rifles, he thought.

  He guessed there were half a dozen or more men spread out in defensive positions around a red-tile-roofed building that spread out along a flat spot on the mountain below him. From their hilltop location, they were close enough to hit the plane, but far enough away to not cause much damage. At least, that’s what Collin hoped.

  Following Miriam’s urgent instructions, Collin pushed the throttle forward as far as it would go to pick up speed while pulling back on the yoke to climb beyond the reach of the bullets. She had him bank hard right, then left as evasive maneuvers. Once he reached an altitude of twelve hundred feet, she told him to pull back on the throttle. One more set of pings ricocheted off the tail as he climbed out of range and maneuvered to avoid being hit, then nothing more.

  “Collin, are you hit?” asked Lukas, more concerned than Collin had heard him in years.

  “I’m fine, I think.” Collin quickly checked himself with one hand and surveyed the plane, the pilot, and the instrument panel before he spoke again. He was breathing fast, his heart was galloping, and he was sweating even more profusely in the oven-like cockpit, but there was no pain and no blood. “Yeah, I seem to be OK, and so is the pilot, as far as I can tell, but the plane has a few holes in it.”

  “Can you assess the damage?”

  “I heard popping sounds on the metal, but the only things I can really see are the two windows they hit—the pilot’s side window and the windshield.”

  Lukas groaned audibly. “How bad is the windshield?”

  “There’s a spot in the middle of it where the bullet hit and a bunch of cracks spreading out from there.”

  “How’s your visibility?” Miriam asked, sounding somewhat nervous for the first time.

  “Well,” said Collin, trying to sound upbeat. “I can still see. I just have to move my head around to get a complete view.”

  Things went silent on the other end for a minute. It was as if someone had hit the mute button or put him on hold.

  With a steadied voice, Miriam came back on. “Any difficulty controlling the aircraft? Any loss of altitude?”

  “None that I can tell.”

  “Good. Now, check your heading,” she counseled through the headset. “Let’s make sure you’re still on course. We’ve got to get you on the ground as soon as possible.”

  “Heading is three fifty-five point two,” said Collin.

  “What’s your airspeed?”

  “I’m at about one hundred twenty-one knots.”

  Lukas broke in. “Collin, we’ve alerted the team on the ground of the shots fired at you. They’ll be on high alert and will secure the area to make sure nothing happens to you once you’re on the ground.”

  “That’s reassuring. Thank you,” said Collin, feeling somewhat dazed.

  “You seem to be out of harm’s way now,” said Miriam. “We need to reduce your speed, Collin.”

  There was silence for a moment. When Collin spoke, his voice wa
s still shaky. “Right. Reduce speed. Roger that.”

  “Push in the throttle and bring your speed down to one hundred knots.”

  Collin did as instructed and let her know when he had accomplished this task. Slowly, his confidence returned.

  “Can you see the air strip yet? It should be about two miles ahead of you. From this altitude, you should see it.”

  Collin squinted ahead through the damaged windshield. He saw what looked like a grass field with a long dirt driveway next to a tin-roofed barn, somewhat distorted through the wiggly lines running every which way through the glass. After he described it for Miriam, Lukas butted in and said, “That’s your runway, buddy. The tin roof should have some white markings on it saying, ‘Morales Aperos y Semillas.’”

  Collin snorted. “You’re pretending to be a tool and seed shop?”

  Indignant, Lukas retorted, “Why not? It works. And no one else was using it.”

  “Can we discuss this later, boys? We need to stay focused here. Collin, you need to adjust your heading so that you’re coming at that air strip at a ninety-degree angle. Can you do that?”

  Collin turned sharply to his left, then adjusted to the right, lining up the nose of the plane with the long side of the barn and the runway in the distance. “Roger that. I’m coming in perpendicular.”

  “Good. What’s your altitude and airspeed now?”

  “Looks like I dropped to about nine hundred seventy-five feet and my speed is down to about one hundred five knots.”

  “That’s just about perfect. Stay at that altitude and speed for the time being.”

  “Roger that,” said Collin, unsure how to respond.

  “OK, you’ll want to turn ninety-degrees to your right until you are running parallel to the runway with it out your left-hand window. The runway should be just off the tip of your wing as you do this.”

  Collin banked to his right and made the necessary adjustments to straighten out. “Done.”

  “Good. Now you’re going to go out about two miles or so, then you’re going to make a ninety degree turn so that the end of the runway is now just beyond the tip of your left wing.”

  The steady purr of the Cessna’s engine filled the headphones. “I think I’m about there.”

  After a minute of silence, Miriam continued. “OK. The runway should be about two miles behind you now. Turn ninety degrees so that you’re running perpendicular to the direction of the runway again.”

  “OK. Got it,” Collin said, his throat feeling tight with the building tension. His voice was not only strained, it was dry. Extremely dry. Dangerously dry. Collin realized that the strain was making him light-headed, which reminded him of his need for water. Shaking his head, he told himself it would be all over, and he and the pilot would both be dead in three minutes or less, if he didn’t hold things together. He said a silent prayer.

  “Good,” said Miriam, maintaining her reassuring tone. “Now, another ninety-degree turn so that your nose is pointing at the end of the runway and reduce your speed to about eighty knots. Got it?”

  “Roger.” Again, Collin did as he was told. “OK. I’m pointing at the end of the runway now. Airspeed is ninety-two knots.”

  “That’s too fast. Push in your throttle a little bit, then straighten it out and get yourself lined up for approach. Pick a spot on your windscreen and point it at an object at the far end of the runway.”

  “OK. There’s a boulder out there to focus on, but these damn cracks are making it hard to stay focused. Things keep jumping up and down a little bit.”

  Miriam audibly sucked in a breath. “Just do the best you can to keep that boulder lined up with a spot on the windscreen. Now nose down about five degrees. OK?

  “Uhh . . . Not sure how to tell if it’s five degrees.”

  “Just keep that boulder centered on the spot you chose.”

  Collin felt a bit of panic well up inside. With all the lines and cracks on the windshield, it was hard to determine a spot and stay focused on it. Everything ahead of him looked wavy and jumpy when he did that. “I’m trying, but not having much luck.”

  “Check your altimeter. Are you dropping in altitude?”

  Hardly daring to take his eyes off the little bug on the windshield that pointed at the boulder, Collin scanned the instrument panel. Sweat dripped into his eyes from the sopping strands of hair matted against his forehead. He brushed his face against the shoulders of his already-soaked T-shirt.

  “Collin? You still there?” Miriam sounded concerned.

  In that moment, an image flashed through Collin’s mind that boosted his faith and confidence. It must have been in high school, or maybe middle school. The family was gathered around the dinner table. Everyone except Richard, the oldest. Richard was flying home from Arizona with a friend and his parents after touring ASU’s campus. The weather was nasty. A major storm had besieged the West Coast and was spreading eastward. Richard would be flying right into it. Collin’s mom, in her familiar role as a concerned mother, suggested that they remember Richard in their dinner prayer and ask the Lord to keep him safe. That memory sparked hope. Surely his family would be praying for his safety like they did for Richard’s, way back when. Knowing this calmed his nerves so he could concentrate, despite the differences in the two situations. Richard had been a passenger on a commercial flight and Collin was flying a single-engine plane for the first time. But the confidence was there, nonetheless.

  “Yeah, what am I looking for?”

  “Altitude.”

  “Yeah, let’s see . . .”

  “It should be a big dial to your left, center of the instrument panel.”

  “Right. We’re at eight hundred feet.”

  “Airspeed?”

  “Ninety-three knots.”

  “That’s too fast. Reduce your speed by pushing in the throttle. You want to keep your airspeed above sixty-five knots, so don’t go too far.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “I’m going to help you. Just keep following my instructions. Have you pushed in the throttle one notch?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is the boulder still lined up on the spot you selected on the windshield?”

  “I think so. Hard to tell. There are too many spots on the windshield.”

  “Pick one and stay focused on it. You should be gradually losing altitude if you keep that spot centered on the boulder.”

  “OK. How low do you want me?”

  “Get to five hundred feet and pull the blue knob one notch to engage your flaps.”

  Collin did as instructed, then reported it to Miriam. “Got it, but my airspeed is still eighty-seven knots. Is that bad?”

  “Get it to seventy, if you can, but keep your rate of descent,” Miriam said, explaining how to read the instruments.

  “I’m still at six hundred fifty feet and seventy-nine knots and I can see the beginning of the air strip coming up.” Collin looked out the window and saw what he thought was a double-track mountain bike trail in the middle of a grassy field that was surrounded by a barbed wire fence, similar to a cow pasture in the States. The tracks had patches of clumpy grass not only between them but along them. Dirt, grass, dirt, grass. This was anything but a smooth runway. Collin attempted to wipe the sweat out of his eyes again. When he faced forward, he tried to find the one spot among the cracks that he had chosen. In his ears, his pulse thumped like a wind-up toy drummer.

  “Keep bringing it down. What’s your flap setting? You should move it to the second notch now.”

  “Second notch? I think it’s there.” He pulled on the blue knob again and felt a sudden increase in the drag and the plane slowing rapidly. “Second notch from where? How do I know?” His voice was higher and tighter than ever.

  “Stay calm, Collin. Tell me what’s happening.”

  “I pulled on the flaps again and started slowing down—a lot. And dropping faster.”

  “Don’t panic. What’s your speed?”

  Collin glance
d down, trying to check the speed at the same time he tried to remember which spot he was supposed to be focused on.

  “I’m trying. My airspeed is now sixty-eight.”

  “Just be sure to keep it above sixty-five or you’ll be flying a rock.”

  “Flying a rock?”

  “You’ll drop out of the sky.”

  “I don’t want that,” Collin said sarcastically. “Problem is, the runway is coming up really fast.”

  “How fast?”

  “I don’t know. Fast.” The words were racing out of his mouth. He felt like he was talking faster than he was traveling. “A few hundred yards maybe. I’m still coming down fast, maybe fifty feet above it.”

  “Make sure your wings are level.”

  “OK,” Collin grunted. He had to force himself to breathe. That’s when he realized that he had been holding his breath as he guided the plane toward the runway. Whichever spot it was on, the windshield didn’t seem to be lined up with the boulder at the end of the runway anymore. None of the three that he thought it was were on or near the boulder. Collin remained silent as he tried to focus on everything that he was supposed to be doing. He heard Miriam’s voice, but not the words.

  “Collin . . . Collin. Come in, Collin,” she was saying.

  “It feels too fast,” he barked.

  “How high are you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe twenty feet.”

  Miriam’s voice was stern but steady. “You’re doing fine, Collin. Don’t panic. Keep the wings level and pull the flaps all the way out now.”

  “Flaps all the way,” he repeated absentmindedly as he pulled the blue-handled knob all the way out. As he did so, the plane dropped and his stomach flipped as he saw the ground rushing up. The grass and rocks and fence posts that lined the runway whizzed past him in a blur. Then he felt the big wide tires the pilot was so proud of hit the ground and the plane bounced upward.

  “What’s happening?” Miriam’s voice was urgent.

  “We bounced off the runway,” Collin said between gasps.