“Evansville Tower to unidentified traffic thirty-three miles west of the airport, please respond.” Nothing.
To Jack’s continued astonishment and horror, the airplane continued to encroach on his position. The yellow light on the radar screen now blinked more rapidly, indicating the other aircraft was within eight miles as the distance between them diminished fast. The yellow blip soon became orange on the screen, signifying increasing danger of collision. A beep now emanated from the unit, adding auditory warning to the visual alert. Jack tensed up in his pilot’s seat. He tried to tighten the seat belt, but it was already snug. He sat up straight and held the controlling yoke tightly, ready to make changes to the airplane’s flight direction and altitude as might become necessary.
“This guy is coming right at me,” he whispered to no one without keying the mike. “It has to be Lagrange.” The warning symbol on his screen suddenly turned red, loudly proclaiming that the bogey was dangerously close to his airplane and now within four miles off his nose at the same altitude.
“Golf-Kilo, take evasive maneuvers,” yelled the controller into Jack’s ears.
A bead of sweat appeared on the young doctor’s forehead. Then another. Jack took steadying and calming breaths.
“Have you been able to communicate with traffic, Evansville?” asked Jack.
“Negative. No communication at all, Golf-Kilo. Fly at your discretion. I recommend a quick change in altitude and heading.”
One thing is for sure, thought Jack, you’re faster than I am; I have to be smarter.
“Taking evasive action,” said Jack, purposely being vague in case malevolent ears were monitoring the transmissions. Is this my last flight? he mused, sickened by the prospect. Is this son of a bitch crashing into me? Horrified, he could barely glimpse the approaching airplane through the dense clouds less than half a mile outside his windshield, flying at his altitude. Am I ever going to see Claire and Nick? he brooded, nearly suffocating with terror. The other plane was coming fast, and it was right there. Right outside his cockpit. Oh my God! We’re going to crash. In a last act of desperation, Jack turned and pushed hard on the yoke to quickly direct the nose of his aircraft to the right and earthbound at two thousand feet per minute, hoping this last-ditch effort would avoid a midair collision. As the Bonanza sunk hurriedly, Jack glimpsed the other plane flying rapidly in the opposite direction and only a few feet away. The proximity to this near kamikaze caused Jack to tremble horribly and feel an emptiness in the pit of his stomach, adrenaline pouring into his veins. Sweat beads cascaded down his eyebrows onto his face.
Jack’s airplane had acquiesced to his commands, and soon it hurled toward the ground. This generated a new warning buzzer, loudly competing with the proximity alarm already in progress. The racket increased the tension of the moment. Red warning lights flashed wildly from the instrument panel. Jack pulled back on the yoke to resume leveled flight. The bogey slowed down, turned around, and was now again speedily chasing the Bonanza from behind and at the same altitude.
He didn’t want to collide with me. He would have done it, if that were his intention. He just wants to play chicken up here, the crazy son of a bitch, sensed Jack, following the other aircraft’s moves on the screen. He’s chasing me again. There’s more to come. Oh great! The throttle was at maximum, but the other faster airplane would soon catch up.
“Niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, he went by you fast, but he’s back on your tail. He’s closing in fast.” The controller’s voice boomed through the headphones. “We’ve alerted Homeland Security, but it’ll be—”
“Hello, Dr. Norris.” These words, barely heard and coming out of nowhere, interrupted Jack’s concentration. Though the whisper-like sound was delivered in a mellow and calm tone, it roared above all other noises in the cockpit. “Hello, there. Dr. Norris, are you there?” reiterated the soft voice.
Where is this coming from? thought Jack apprehensively, his head turning side to side, hoping to locate its source. The words were strange. Out of place. Unanticipated. As such, they continued to capture Jack’s full attention, above and beyond the background of loud cacophony of warning clamor and the much-louder air traffic controller’s agitated voice. Jack looked all around the cockpit. He was alone.
“Golf-Kilo, fly one-one-zero, descend to—” said the excited, persistent controller. Jack took off his headphones, trying to hone in on the barely audible eerie voice in the distance.
“Hello. Are you there, Jack?” the quiet, serene words murmured again.
It has to be him. It has to be Lagrange, reflected Jack. He placed the headphones on the right passenger seat. Doing so allowed Jack to realize the remote sound arose from that direction.
“Can you hear me, Jack?” the man’s voice continued calmly, a hint of rancor barely discernible. “Hello, Jack!”
One thousand five hundred feet had come and gone as the Bonanza hurriedly approached flight level of seven thousand. Jack pulled back on the yoke to continue leveled flight at that altitude. He reengaged the autopilot, ascertaining that the present speed and heading would be maintained. He spied the bogey on the screen. He was now a half mile behind and fifteen hundred feet over him, descending and closing in on him fast. Jack’s body trembled, and his heart hammered in response to the massive outpouring of adrenaline.
“I know you can hear me, Jack. Check under the right seat,” said the mysterious hushed voice.
Jack released his seat belt and reached under the passenger seat. Despite his uncontrollable hand tremors, Jack found a solid object and carefully retrieved it from its resting place. It was a walkie-talkie. He placed the device on the seat as he buckled back up. Jack looked outside the cockpit but realized his vision was useless as the approaching aircraft was behind and over him.
“I wish I could see your face right now, Jack, but I have to settle for your voice. If you’d be kind enough to use the walkie-talkie,” said the unruffled voice.
“What do you want, Lagrange?” said Jack, fuming.
“Come, come, Jack. What do I want? I want revenge. Payback. I had it all, glory and fame. You saw fit to take it all away. For that, you will pay.”
“You are a sick man, Lagrange. You need help. Let’s land the airplanes and talk about this. I will get you all the help you need.”
“What will help me is to see you squirm.”
“You want to kill me? OK! Let’s land the airplanes, and you can have me. People on the ground don’t have to get hurt. Land, and I’m all yours,” Jack said into the walkie-talkie, a mixture of dread and fury in his voice. Rivulets of sweat dripped down his forehead. He gripped the yoke with deathly white knuckles.
“Kill you, I will,” emphasized the rogue airman, rage now accentuating every syllable of his words. “I will get my revenge.”
The faster airplane was now parallel with the Bonanza. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack briefly studied the aircraft. He tried but remained unable to identify the pilot, who maneuvered his plane to match their speeds perfectly.
“Speaking of revenge, look behind you,” said the scoundrel, endeavoring to get a glimpse of the struggling doctor whose cockpit suddenly flooded with dense smoke after a small explosion arose from behind and underneath the pilot’s seat.
Several moments later, the Bonanza stalled, forcing the aircraft to dip downward. The airplane entered a spiral, plunging earthbound at six thousand feet per minute. The aircraft’s structure shuddered uncontrollably as it sped to its inevitable doom; dense smoke emanated from the small cockpit window located to the left of the pilot. The plane sank rapidly, striking an opaque cloud layer at around five thousand feet. The strong arm of gravity yanked the aircraft downward, now out of sight, spinning faster and faster out of control.
• • •
The tension at the Evansville Tower had become palpable, filling the air and the hearts of all witnessing the events unfolding on the radar sc
reen. All personnel on duty had joined Jason, all eyes fixated on the computer display. The blinking dots representing the two airplanes they had been following were too close to make a clear determination as to whether a collision had occurred over the last several seconds. The two blips had merged on the screen and from them continued to emanate a blinking red circle labeled Imminent Danger of Collision. An earsplitting beep proclaimed the urgency of the message.
“Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, Evansville Approach, over,” said Jason nervously into his microphone, praying for an answer. “Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, please respond,” he said after what seemed to be an eternity but was, in fact, several seconds of radio silence. Jason noticed his right hand was shaking, creating miniwaves of ripples through his coffee. He put the mug down on the table. Gloomily and slowly, he scanned all those present in the room. Their faces and demeanor spoke volumes. All eyes were poignant, overwhelmed, and devastated, all hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.
The radar screen and its accompanying deafening blare persisted with the loud declaration “Imminent Danger of Collision.”
“I can’t take it anymore,” said Tiffany, sitting down. “I’m going to get sick to my stomach.”
“Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, Evansville Approach, over,” radioed Jason again, gloomily looking into Tiffany’s eyes in understanding. He, too, felt waves of nausea. Several seconds later, he keyed the microphone again. “Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, Evansville Approach, please respond.” Nothing. “Bonanza Golf-Kilo, over.” Zilch. No reply. “Bonanza Golf-Kilo, please respond.”
CHAPTER 3
Two Months Earlier
“It was three years ago that the harrowing events took place,” said Mr. Paul Adams, Newton Memorial Hospital’s chief administrator. “These events left us in turmoil and robbed us of our innocence. We lost friends. We lost family. But through our loss, we have gained strength, and so we’ve endured. We survived. We are stronger now. Tonight we gather here to celebrate just that. Our facility is now one hundred percent back to full functioning. We are on course to continue our healing, and we look forward to a bright, thriving future once again. All this was possible only with the guidance and hard work of many. These people can only be considered one thing—heroes. Heroes here tonight among us. Most prominent among them is Dr. Jack Norris. Today’s ceremony, besides allowing us to give remembrance to those we lost in the past atrocities, helps us look ahead to our bright future. Today we congratulate Dr. Jack Norris, as he is our newly appointed chief of cardiology and electrophysiology. Jack, will you please come up here?” Wearing a full-sized smile, the administrator gestured, enticing Jack to approach the podium on the stage.
Jack got up and ambled up the stairs to the platform, while all rose and applauded. Like all the other men at the event, he sported a black tuxedo with a bow tie, making him look elegantly debonair. Claire, sitting at his side, was wearing a beautiful long gray gown, accentuating all her stunning features. Her blond hair was stylishly pulled up in a bun, adding to her spectacular appearance. He manipulated the microphone resting on the stand, establishing its proper distance from his mouth.
“Thank you, Mr. Adams.” The applause simmered down after a long moment and then, little by little, stopped completely. “Thank you.”
By now, all in the audience had retaken their seats.
He proceeded. “Three years ago, we were assaulted. Newton Memorial Hospital was assaulted. Evansville was assaulted. Money-hungry thugs dared to carry out research on innocent men, killing many of them. With the help of the Evansville Police Department and the FBI, the assassins were stopped.” As he spoke these words, Jack winked in Susan’s direction. Detective Sergeant Susan Quentin wore a blue sparkly evening gown that accentuated beautifully her long, curly blond hair. She was in her midthirties. She was pregnant, highlighting a radiant, glowing face that told it all. With a smile, she acknowledged the remark. She and Jack had been most instrumental in bringing to a halt the carnage of three years earlier. Sitting next to Susan was her husband, Dave Hamilton, who gently squeezed her hand, resting in his.
Jack’s touching and inspirational speech lasted but a few more minutes. As he stopped speaking, all got up, applauding. Mr. Adams returned to the podium to introduce the next speaker.
“Thanks, Jack. I would now like to recognize a gentleman you have known for the last several months. Soon after the heinous crimes, we realized it was of paramount importance for us to have the best security system money could buy. Newton Memorial has spent a great deal of time, money, and effort to do just that. We need our patients and our employees, staff, and visitors to feel as secure and comfortable as possible. A thorough search led us to Mr. Nai Trepur. He needs no introduction to most of you. Nai came to us with the best of recommendations. He is a retired officer of the French Secret Service with many years of experience. In a relatively short time, he has put into place numerous procedures and policies that have significantly increased the level of security at Newton Memorial. For that, I am immensely grateful. Nai, please come up here.”
Nai Trepur was an older but well-built man with graying temples. His physique surely demanded constant trips to the gym. He appeared to be in his midforties but was probably closer to sixty than fifty. In his tux, he looked exceptionally elegant and youthful.
“Merci. Thank you. Merci,” said the distinguished man with a thick French accent and a hint of embarrassment. “It has been my preevilege and honor to provide security services for Newton Memorial Hospital,” he said shyly. “I’m sorry for my Engleesh is not too good,” he smiled. As he continued to struggle through his speech, all listened intently, trying to decipher the meaning of his words. “It ees my opinion that the eennocint lives lost are the real heroes we ceelebrate tanight.”
The address was difficult to follow precisely but touched many hearts and inspired many souls nonetheless. Once finished, the head of security confidently and unhurriedly sauntered back to his seat, while the room stood and applauded.
Several other speakers took turns at the podium. Afterward, all the guests in the great hall mingled, as drinks and hors d’oeuvres were offered. In the background, soothing live chamber music added style and elegance to the ambience.
“It’s always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Trepur,” said Detective Susan Quentin, smiling. She approached, accompanied by Jack and Claire.
“The pleazoore is all mine, Madame,” declared the Frenchman, taking her hand and gently kissing it. “Bonsoir, Dr. Jack. Good eveening to you, too, Dr. Claire.” She curtsied, smiling. She, too, had her hand kissed ceremoniously. “I have to call her Dr. Claire and him Dr. Jack,” he explained for Susan’s benefit. “They have the same last name, no?” Nai took an hors d’oeuvre from a passing tray as he spoke, nodding at the waiter. Smiles all around.
“We appreciate all you’ve done for the security here at the hospital,” declared Jack.
“Yes, I have heard about your security measures. Very impressive,” agreed Susan.
“Merci. I beleeve we must put into place procezures to evoid the problemes of the past, huh?” said Nai. “We can never be one hondreed percent safe, but we should get as close as posseebel to that, no?”
The four conversed for several minutes with pleasant exchanges. Jack felt much safer since Nai Trepur took the job. He had seen the security force increase and new phones strategically placed on campus to allow access to a security guard at a moment’s notice. Security officers escorted the night-shift nurses to their cars. Staff, visitors, and patients were searched through metal detectors as they entered the facility. The whole place seemed more secure. It felt good.
Only one minor detail bothered Jack about Nai Trepur. He had icterus, a slight yellowish discoloration of his scleras, the whites of the eyes. It can be a sign of liver dysfunction, alcohol abuse, or possibly hemolytic anemia, a condition where the red blood cells in the circulation are destroyed.
Rarely, the condition can be associated with severe cardiac problems, such as valvular heart disease. Or maybe it can be a normal thing for the French. It’s faint, barely noticeable, thought Jack.
“The man is brilliant. He’s done so much in so little time,” said Claire as they settled into the Lexus, interrupting Jack’s musings. It was time to go home.
“Yes, he’s done a lot. I know I feel better. Safer,” said Jack, starting up the car. I hope it’s not alcohol, he thought. These Frenchmen do like their alcohol and liver pâté. That could lead to a fatty liver and icterus. They drove on.
“So, how do you feel, honey? Today was your big day. Your promotion was finally announced. You are now the new chief of cardiology at Newton Memorial Hospital. Can I say I knew you when?” asked Claire after a long moment of silence.
Jack smiled. “You can even say you slept with him when.”
Claire slapped his knee. “You men, is that all you think about?”
“The species must live on and on.”
“So how does it feel to be the chief of the department?”
“Great, but nothing in comparison to the day I met you,” said Jack. A grin.
“Ohhh! That’s sweet, honey.”
“Or the day Nick was born.”
“Ohhh…that’s even sweeter!”
“Or the day I found out I was alive. Alive after getting poisoned.” The mood in the car changed. Silence reigned. The couple locked eyes for a moment.
“Yes, those were much-more significant days in both our lives,” said Claire, breaking the hush and squeezing Jack’s right hand.
“I can still remember when I first woke up and saw your face. You had tears in your eyes. I so wanted to wipe them, but I was still paralyzed. I couldn’t move. All I could do was lie there,” said Jack.
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