Shake the Trees

by Rod Helmers

  The man’s t-shirt had a likeness of Benjamin Franklin on the front, and displayed a quotation underneath. ‘Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to prosper.’ Tillis considered the premise as he reached into his worn calfskin jacket. His hand reappeared with a matte black nine millimeter, which he laid on the desk. His fingertips tapped lightly on the dull metal. “G - L - O - C - K.”

  “That’s the one,” the man replied with alacrity as he stabbed a button and the door to the tower area began to buzz.

  As Tillis pushed the buzzing door open, he turned back to the man at the front desk. “My partner will be here in a minute. She has the password too.”

  The term ‘tower’ was a misnomer. Or at least overly generous. It was a square three-story concrete block structure attached to one end of the low-slung terminal building. The middle floor contained four small offices - two on either side of a short hall. The top floor was one big room with large windows on all four sides. It had seating for two and ancient electronic and radio equipment stacked everywhere, including military surplus 1950s vintage radar equipment.

  Tillis rushed up the stairs and burst into the big room; he found a lone man studying an electronic display that illuminated his features with a weird greenish light.

  “My name is Tillis. I’m a Special Agent with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.”

  The man didn’t turn around and continued to focus on the glowing screen. “This is New Mexico.”

  “I know. That Citation X taxing to the active is being hijacked.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?” Tillis asked with surprise.

  “It started squawking 7500 a few minutes ago.”

  Tillis admired Bubba’s cool head. Before he could reply, the controller began again.

  “The transponder on an airplane transmits or squawks an assigned code number so the controller can identify its blip on radar. Certain numbers, however, have very specific meanings - 7500 is the code for a hijacking, while 7700 indicates a general emergency.”

  “I know,” Tillis answered impatiently.

  The controller continued on with his nervous recitation. “I thought the pilot might have squawked 7500 by mistake and really meant to squawk 7700. A general emergency. Center advised him to make an emergency landing here, but we don’t know why. But then I figured he would have stayed on the ground if there was a general emergency.”

  The controller paused long enough to take a deep breath and continued. “I didn’t want to take any chances, so I called the FBI. We just completed a Homeland Security mandated joint training exercise this afternoon, and two agents were still in town having dinner at the Pizza Hut. They’re en route.”

  “Oh, great.” Tillis moaned.

  “What?”

  “Hold on.” Tillis punched up Commissioner Alcorn on his cell.

  “I just talked to Sally. Go.” Alcorn answered.

  “I’m in the tower, but I have a problem. The controller here called the FBI. Fric and Frac are on their way as we speak. Call Chuck. I need these guys to stand down. I don’t have time for their bureaucratic bullshit.”

  “On it.” Alcorn answered and ended the call.

  Sally entered the terminal and glanced over at the young man behind the desk without braking stride. “Tower?”

  “You have a gun?”

  Sally stopped. “Yeah,” she answered questioningly.

  The man nodded toward the door to the tower as it began to buzz. At the same instant, two men with identical close-cropped haircuts burst through the front door of the terminal. Each wore a dark suit, white shirt, conservative rep tie, and black wingtips. Sally’s brow furrowed and she veered toward them while searching for her ID.

  “Sally Cummings. Florida Department of Law Enforcement.”

  “This is New Mexico,” the younger of the two men observed authoritatively as they both flipped open FBI identification in unison.

  “I was a passenger on the hijacked jet. En route to a joint operation with New Mexican authorities.” Sally explained.

  “What’s the status here?” The older man asked.

  Sally turned toward the windows fronting the tarmac as the Citation X climbed out. “The plane’s in the air. This place is a dead end. I’m on my way to a Motel Six up the road. I just heard Roswell PD found four witnesses that the hijacker left there. Bound and gagged.” Sally leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I hope the locals don’t destroy all the evidence before I get there.”

  The two men studied each other. Then both turned back to Sally and spoke in unison. “We’ll take the Motel Six.”

  “But this is where the primary crime occurred,” Sally whined. “Shouldn’t you conduct a thorough investigation here and works backwards? Follow the evidence?”

  The older man smiled. “Is that what they taught you at your academy?” The other man smirked, and the older one spoke again. “Hijacking is a federal crime. If you want to help, just preserve the scene here. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Sally answered dejectedly as the men spun on their heels and began to walk away. “What about the plane?” She called after them.

  The older man stopped at the door, looked back at Sally for a moment, and judged her worthy. “Regional headquarters will link up with the closest En Route Center and monitor the situation on radar. We’ll coordinate with Homeland Security and scramble a military intercept if necessary.”

  “Military intercept?”

  The man nodded. “If critical assets are threatened, Washington may order a shoot down.”

  “A shoot down?” Sally asked in stunned disbelief.

  The men continued to hold serious expressions as they nodded in unison. Then both turned and left in a perfectly choreographed moment.

  Sally turned as well. And rolled her eyes. The young man behind the desk caught her attention. “Nice work, Columbo.”

  “Was I obvious?”

  The man shrugged and scratched his unshaven face. “A little.”

  CHAPTER 55

  The Citation was rapidly gaining altitude as it disappeared into the night sky. Ellen carried Bubba’s snub nose .38 as she pulled herself up the aisle and into the cockpit. Bubba was strapped into the left seat and Sam the right. Sandi’s moans could be heard from the passenger compartment as her still twitching body reacted to the forces of gravity.

  “Climb above the jet routes and head due west,” Ellen ordered.

  “Awright,” Bubba answered in a tone suggesting reluctant recognition of her knowledge of aviation. “You’re the boss.”

  “Apparently that slipped your mind a couple of days ago,” she snapped.

  “I did the best I could.”

  “Half? Half was the best you could do?” Ellen spit the words at Bubba.

  “It’s still a lot of money,” Bubba pleaded.

  “That’s not the point, you ignorant jackass.”

  “What is the point?”

  “The point? The point is that you only paid half, Jethro. Which I credited entirely to your alleged associate, by the way. Your account is still outstanding. Due and owing.”

  Bubba and Sam briefly exchanged glances, and Ellen continued. “Sam can tell you all about unpaid bills. Can’t you Sam?”

  Sam didn’t respond. He was stunned to learn that Bubba was somehow involved in the looting of American Senior Security.

  “What’s our destination?” Bubba inquired, seeking to change the subject.

  Ellen handed Bubba a wrinkled sheet of paper on which detailed longitude and latitude coordinates had been scribbled. “Program these coordinates into the computer navigation system. Then give me an estimated time of arrival.”

  “Yeah. No problem. Is this an airport?”

  “Just shut up and enter the coordinates, Jethro.”

  Bubba began to peck at the onboard computer navigation system, and then put the Citation on autopilot. “At max cruise and after adjusting for winds aloft, we should be over these coordinates in an hour twenty-fiv
e.”

  Ellen stared out the window of the Citation in a trance-like state for a few moments, and then turned away.

  Bubba twisted his head around and spoke to her as she passed through the open door to the passenger compartment. “So are we gonna land?”

  “Circle the coordinates. Right-hand turn. Low and slow.”

  Bubba looked at the moving map on the computer navigation system. The destination appeared to be near the California coast - south of LA in northern Orange County. “This is pretty congested airspace. How am I supposed to get permission to do that?”

  “Don’t ask. Tell.” Ellen shouted derisively as she took a seat in the passenger area.

  Sam looked at Bubba with wounded anger. Bubba continued staring straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the questioning gaze he could feel boring into the side of his head. Finally he glanced at Sam and immediately turned away again. “Just drop it.”

  “What about Dr. Bob? He was a friend of mine.”

  “Why are you so worried about that Cuban piece of shit?”

  “You once told me that all racists are truly full of shit.” Sam responded sarcastically.

  “I got no problems with the blacks. We grew up together. We all just wanted to get ahead. But those Cubans don’t belong. They came and changed everything. It wasn’t right.”

  “What happened to Dr. Bob?” Sam demanded.

  “Dr. Bob got what he had comin’ to him. So did the Judge, but I didn’t have nuthin’ to do with that.”

  “Does that mean you had something to do with what happened to Dr. Bob?”

  Bubba turned to face Sam and lashed out. “Why do you keep talkin’ about him? I heard even the gators spit that greasy sonuvabitch out. It’s Marc you should be thinking about. Marc was the victim.”

  Just then Ellen barked out another order from the passenger compartment. “Sam, get your ass back here. We need to talk.”

  Sam unbuckled and made his way to the passenger compartment; he wanted to check on Sandi anyway. He sat down next to her, and insisted that she take a drink of water.

  Ellen pointed two fingers at Sam and then at her own eyes. “Pay attention, Sam. She’ll be fine.”

  Sam placed a pillow behind Sandi’s head and met Ellen’s gaze.

  “Do you understand why? Have you thought about what you’ve done? About the greed that brought you here?”

  “I know about your father,” Sam replied in a monotone.

  “Elizabeth’s father. And you don’t. You don’t know anything about him.” Ellen shot back angrily.

  “That’s not what I meant. I meant I know what happened.” Sam answered timorously.

  “I know you’ll regret your fate - you’ll have time enough for that. But do you regret the choices you made? The pain you caused?”

  “I’m sorry about what happened.” Sam answered sincerely.

  Ellen studied Sam for a long time before she spoke again. “You were well-educated and well-trained. Diversification is the cornerstone of any financial plan. How did it happen?”

  “Those were different times. Tech was the Holy Grail. Those were the only securities your father - Elizabeth’s father - would consider owning. That’s why he sought me out.”

  Ellen’s eyes revealed her anger. “Don’t give me that shit. You were the professional. You were well paid for your supposed financial expertise. But you ignored the basics. It was greed - pure and simple. Your greed destroyed dreams. Destroyed people. People that were depending on you.”

  Sam nodded. “I made mistakes. I know I made mistakes.”

  “You did much more than that. When the shit hit the fan, you ran. When your clients needed you the most, you weren’t there. You had obligations. Your client’s futures were crumbling all around them, and you weren’t there. Regardless of the rest, that’s inexcusable.”

  “My mother was dying,” Sam answered earnestly.

  “And your father was dying when times were good. But you didn’t have time for him. There was too much money to be made. Your mother’s illness was - still is - an excuse. Just an excuse to avoid facing the consequences of your greed.”

  “That was different. I didn’t know he was going to die.” Sam spoke with fading certitude.

  “Bullshit. How many heart attacks did you think he was going to have, Sam? How many before he finally died. Greed blinded you. You still haven’t faced up to what you’ve done. Time’s up.”

  “I didn’t kill your father.” Sam stated more forcefully than he’d intended.

  Ellen stood and screamed shrill words that filled the cabin. “You did. You killed him just the same as if you’d pulled the trigger.” Her face was bright crimson, and her chest heaved with each breath that rapidly followed the last.

  Sam looked stricken and Ellen turned away. Her eyes closed and she breathed deeply for several seconds. Taut muscles relaxed and the tense lines around her eyes and mouth eased. An eerie calm descended over her, and she walked to the cockpit door before turning back to face him. “It’s time to pay the bill, Sam.”

  Ellen sat in the copilot’s seat mesmerized by the placid glow of the streetlights nearly 2,500 feet below. As the plane rotated on the wing outside her window, her eyes locked onto the red tiled roof of a modest stucco home trapped in the shadows of an older but well-maintained residential neighborhood.

  The roof reflected the glow of artificial light. A blanket of artificial light that reached out from the coast as far inland as she could see. She knew that the inky square behind the home concealed a lushly landscaped backyard. And a small kidney-shaped pool. A pool that sparkled brilliant blue in the sunshine.

  It wasn’t the new home Charles Hayes purchased less than two years before he died. After he had made his first big score in the booming stock market of the late nineties. This was the home Charles and Eileen Hayes returned to with their newborn child. Their only child. The home of childhood birthday parties, of artwork on the refrigerator, and pencil marks climbing the kitchen wall.

  It was a safe place of warmth and joy, but one Elizabeth hadn’t visited in a very long time. Even in her mind. The contrast with the pain that came later was too great. The heartache that followed the mental visits was too much to bear.

  “What’s down there?” Bubba asked.

  “A house. Someone I know lived there once. She was happy there.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Elizabeth. Her name is Elizabeth. Was Elizabeth.”

  “What happened?”

  Ellen ignored the question, averted her gaze from the scene below, and looked straight ahead at the shimmering waters of the Pacific and the dark void beyond. “That’s it. Head due west and climb to fifty thousand feet.”

  Bubba’s own bitter gaze was also fixed on some distant but unseen place. “Okay. But that’s pretty much the ceiling for this bird.”

  “I know that, Jethro.”

  The two flew in dark silence until the plane leveled off far above the ocean. Then Ellen nodded down at the levers Bubba held in his hands. “Most efficient power settings,” she ordered.

  Bubba made several slight adjustments and looked over.

  “Set the autopilot for this altitude and heading and give me the fuel status.”

  After engaging the autopilot, Bubba pecked at the flight management computer. “Three hours and eighteen minutes at the current altitude and power settings. Which will put us in the middle of a watery nowhere on our current heading.”

  “I know,” Ellen answered as she looked at the watch on her wrist and stood.

  In one swift movement, she pulled the snub nose .38 from the grip of her waistband, pointed the weapon straight down at the top of Bubba’s skull, and fired. The bullet sliced through his brain, flattened as it bounced off bone, and then shredded flesh and tissue before finally coming to a rest somewhere deep within his wrecked body.

  Bubba’s arms dropped to his sides as he slumped over the yoke. The jet began a shallow descent as the autopilot fought against the
pressure of his lifeless body. “Paid in full,” Ellen announced to no one as she left the cockpit.

  The single gunshot had brought Sam and Sandi to rigid attention. Ellen entered the cabin with an airy nonchalance and pulled the intercom phone from its cradle.

  “This is your in-flight hostess. I don’t regret to inform you that the captain is dead.”

  Ellen slammed the intercom phone back into the cradle, and began to rummage through a large bag she’d carried onto the plane slung over one shoulder. She removed a pearl-handled revolver from the bag. It was even smaller than Bubba’s snub nose .38. The gun had been salvaged at the last minute from a black garbage bag nearly seven years earlier. She brought the firearm toward her head, hesitated, and smiled.

  “I almost forgot,” she stage whispered to Sam and Sandi before she again grabbed the intercom phone.

  “I hope you don’t enjoy the remainder of your flight,” she announced pleasantly.

  Ellen dropped the phone and it bounced several times by its coiled cord before she once again whispered theatrically. “I would have invited you to fly with us again, but I don’t think that’s very realistic.”

  Once more Ellen raised the small pearl-handled revolver to her head. But not to her temple, where the center of higher thought resides. Instead she aimed the gun at the base of her skull. The area of the brain governing the very basic and instinctual functions of life. She looked at her watch, and then at Sam. No longer was she a model of logic, planning, and discipline. She held his eyes with a stare rooted in hatred and wild irrationality.

  “I’ll see you in hell, Sam. I’ll see you in hell in exactly three hours and eleven minutes.”

  Sandi reflexively turned away as Ellen pulled the trigger and the explosion filled the cabin. Sam, however, cleared her collapsing body even before it fully came to rest on the floor of the aisle.

  CHAPTER 56

  “I can’t believe I‘m saying this, but basically you’re in charge on this one. Everybody’s reporting to you. FBI and FAA. Even the military - within limits.”