The Bermuda Connection (A Nick Randall Novel Book 2)

by Robert Rapoza

  Instead of extending his hand, Michael Thompson drew a gun from his jacket.

  “Sorry, Randall, but I’ll be taking Ms. Edmunds from you.”

  “What? Why?” Randall asked.

  “Orders. Ms. Edmunds’s blood contains all sorts of goodies that my employers want and they need to extract them as soon as possible. The more time we waste the more the chemicals will dissipate. We believe we only have a few hours to extract the mind control compound.”

  Having seen the exchange, the others had exited the hovercraft and stood watching from the distance. John, Rob, and Gabby formed a human shield around Jamie, their body language implying that they wouldn’t relinquish her without a fight.

  “You can’t have her,” Randall replied.

  “I don’t think you have much of a choice. Even if I wanted to, the blokes back there wouldn’t let me come back empty-handed. Sorry, Randall, but we need the young lady.”

  “What if I give you something better?”

  “Such as?”

  Randall produced the small vial of clear fluid he had taken from the base.

  “This is the substance that was pumped into Jamie to keep her drugged while she was held captive. I’m sure your employers would be happy with this,” he said, passing the vial to Michael.

  Michael studied the container and then looked at Randall.

  “You wouldn’t be trying to pull a fast one on your old friend, would you?” Michael said, cocking his head to the side and smiling.

  “No, I’m not, and I think that’s more than fair. The mind-control substance in pure form for Jamie’s life,” Randall said. He could see the wheels in Michael’s head turning as he mulled the offer.

  “It’s a deal. But remember, if it’s not what you say it is, I know where you live,” Michael said, his smile broadening as he tucked the vial into his coat.

  Randall sighed in relief.

  “You know, under different circumstances, we would have been mates,” Michael said, lowering his weapon.

  Randall nodded, turning to walk away.

  “You’re a good man, Randall, just like she said you were.”

  Randall stopped in his tracks and turned to the side, not facing Michael. “Who said I was a good man?”

  “Someone who knows you better than anyone else. In fact, probably knows you better than you know yourself.”

  Randall’s blood ran cold and he spun to face Michael. “Who are you talking about?”

  “I think you know.”

  “Ann? Is she still alive? Randall took a step toward Michael.

  Michael simply smiled. “Remember, things aren’t always as they appear.” He turned and walked back to the waiting chopper.

  “I don’t understand! What happens next?” Randall called out to Michael, who stopped before climbing into the open door.

  “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

  The door closed and the black helicopter lifted, banked, and slowly disappeared from view, leaving Randall to consider the puzzle that had just been presented to him.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Randall stood motionless, his breath forming a cloudy vapor each time he exhaled. He stared at the earth, eyes blinking as he tried to decipher the riddle he had just received.

  John walked up to his father, unaware of the exchange. “You traded the substance from the base for Jamie’s life didn’t you?”

  Randall didn’t respond.

  “We better get going, Dad, we have a little over an hour before the missile hits and we need to put some distance between us and the detonation.”

  Randall remained in a catatonic state, unsure of Michael’s message.

  “Dad, we have to go!” John said, snapping his father out of his dreamlike state.

  Randall blinked his eyes. “Do you think we can get the hovercraft working again?”

  “I doubt it, but I’ll try,” John said, walking over to the stricken vehicle. He hit the ignition switch but failed to get the motor running.

  “Great, what do we do now?” Rob asked.

  John smiled. “Well, it looks like we’re walking … to the helicopter.”

  “What helicopter? I don’t think Michael is coming back,” Randall replied.

  “When we scouted Dumond’s camp, we didn’t just find a hovercraft,” John quipped.

  Randall smiled, placing a hand on John’s shoulder. “Judging by the circumstances, I guess he wouldn’t mind if we borrowed it.”

  The group jogged the remaining distance back to the camp, following John and Gabby who led them to a large white tent, which blended into the snowy backdrop. John drew back one side of the cover, revealing the helicopter.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Rob commented.

  Having removed the remaining sides and top of the tent, John conducted a pre-flight check and loaded everyone into the chopper. He tried starting the engine. It wouldn’t catch.

  “Is there a problem?” Jamie asked.

  “I’m not sure,” John replied, walking through the startup process again. He tried to start the engine two additional times, but was still unsuccessful.

  “Probably a frozen fuel line. Even with these jet engines, water gets into the line and forms ice crystals that cause the fuel to gel,” Rob said.

  They exited the chopper and John checked the fuel. Rob was right, it had gelled.

  “This isn’t good. If I kill the battery trying to start it, we’re stuck. Any ideas?” John asked.

  “Can you unfreeze the line?” Gabby asked.

  “We would need a heat source to do that, like a space heater. We’d also need an enclosed space to trap the heat. Unfortunately, we don’t have either.” John replied.

  “With all of the gear Dumond brought here, he must have had spare parts to make repairs. Maybe we can find something that can help us fix the hovercraft,” Rob answered.

  “I guess it’s worth a try. Let’s see if we can find anything.”

  The team split up and slogged through the camp, searching for anything that might help. A short time later, they reconvened.

  “Any luck?” Randall asked.

  “Nope. If there was a motor pool, the Dragons thoroughly wiped it out. Unless there’s a parts store and a good mechanic around here, we’re not going to get that hovercraft running again. Did you guys find anything else that would help?” Rob replied.

  John shook his head. “We rechecked the area thoroughly and the only operational items we could find were this helicopter and the orange flash over there. That leaves us with one option. We need to build a fire to unfreeze the line, and we need to do it now. We’re running out of time.”

  Gabby frowned. “Do you really think starting a fire around jet fuel is a good idea?”

  “I know what you mean, but I don’t think we have a choice,” John replied.

  Gabby nodded. “I guess you’re right, but how do we start it and trap the heat?”

  “What I wouldn’t give for my old Webber grill right now,” Rob said, scratching his head.

  John snapped his fingers. “I have an idea. We need to get the tent set up again. Gabby, Rob, and Jamie, get the sides and top put up to make a windscreen. Dad, you and I need to find something to start a fire. Someone out there must have matches or a lighter.”

  Gabby and her crew struggled against the wind to assemble the tent, but twenty minutes later, they had created an enclosed space to trap heat. All they needed now was a fire.

  Randall and John returned carrying paper scavenged from the various vehicles, along with bits of wood from smashed crates. They used the scraps to create the base for the fire. John produced a lighter retrieved from the body of one of Dumond’s men.

  “Thank God he was a smoker,” Rob joked.

  Using the lighter, John lit the fire. The cover produced the desired effect, shielding the would-be fire from the wind. He checked his watch.

  “We have thirty-eight minutes until the missile hits … if the captain’s timeframe was accurate,” John said.<
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  No one responded. Their silence implied an understanding that the cruise missile could strike at any moment and they were too close to survive the blast. They could only wait now and hope that the captain’s estimate wasn’t overly generous.

  The minutes dragged by slowly. Each noise from outside the tent resulted in panicked stares as everyone’s imagination ran wild. The sound of the slightest breeze was interpreted as the arrival of their impending destruction. John checked his watch again and then touched the fuel tank. The warmth was noticeable. Under normal circumstances, the thought of lighting a fire near a tank of combustible liquid would be considered madness, but today, it was the lesser of two evils.

  “Do you think we should try now?” Gabby asked, looking at her watch.

  “A couple more minutes,” John replied, feigning indifference. Inside he was screaming, each heartbeat amplified. Finally, with eighteen minutes remaining, John decided it was time to try. He extinguished the fire.

  “Once I get the motor started, I’ll need you all to pull the tent away quickly so it doesn’t get wrapped up in the rotors.”

  The group nodded in unison, each person getting into position. The top of the tent coming off first.

  John climbed into the helicopter, flipped the requisite switches, said a quiet prayer, and hit the ignition. The motor coughed but didn’t catch. He tried again with the same results. He looked through the windshield at the faces watching him; a mixture of anticipation and fear stared back at him.

  John took a deep breath. He looked down at his watch. Fifteen minutes remained.

  He hit the ignition switch again. The starter whined, but didn’t catch.

  John jumped down from the cockpit and slammed the door. He lifted the panel covering the fuel line and followed the line to the fuel control valve.

  “I need something heavy!”

  Gabby handed him her service revolver.

  John tapped the control valve repeatedly. Next, he followed the fuel line to the fuel filter and tapped it as well. “Get ready!” he shouted, climbing back into the chopper.

  John hit the ignition and the engine roared to life.

  “Get the rest of the tent down!” he screamed over the din.

  The crew tore down the structure, then climbed aboard the craft.

  John checked his watch. Eleven minutes to impact. He jammed the throttles to full and lifted the Bell helicopter off of the snow. He banked it hard, following the same flight path that Michael had taken earlier. He climbed slowly, more concerned with putting distance between them and the base than gaining altitude.

  It was now a race against time. Randall glanced back at the camp as it fell away into the distance. He checked his watch. Eight minutes to impact. He looked around at the others in the chopper. There was complete silence, everyone staring vacantly into space.

  Randall walked to John’s side and knelt by him.

  “Do you think we’ll clear the blast zone?” he asked quietly.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Regardless of what happens, I want you to know I’m proud of you,” Randall said, squeezing John’s shoulder. He walked back to his seat and sat down next to Jamie.

  “How much longer until the missile hits?” Jamie asked.

  Randall checked his watch. “Five minutes if Sergeant Howard’s estimate was right, but it could be any time.”

  “I want you to know how much I appreciate what you’ve all done for me. I felt completely alone until I met all of you,” Jamie said.

  Dumond’s camp was nothing more than a dirty speck on an otherwise pristine blanket of snow and ice as the helicopter surged forward. Jamie reached for Randall’s hand and gripped it, squeezing hard. Randall reached out and hugged her for assurance.

  Three additional minutes dragged by. Still no detonation. Under ideal conditions, the helicopter’s top speed was 120 knots. These were not ideal conditions. Unsure of the size of the nuclear warhead, Randall had no way of knowing if they would survive the intense heat waves that would follow the detonation.

  One minute remained. Randall watched the second hand sweep across the dial of his watch as Jamie tightened her grip on his hand. His heart raced.

  “Ten seconds.”

  A quiet countdown began in everyone’s mind. The time for detonation came but no explosion occurred.

  Everyone turned to look at each other.

  “What happened?” Rob asked.

  “It was only an estimate. I don’t think we’re out of the woods yet,” Randall replied.

  An additional minute and a half passed, then a brilliant flash of light streaked across the sky followed by a thunderous noise from the direction of the base. An enormous cloud erupted above the horizon, its tail trailing down to the surface of the white earth. The helicopter shook as the concussive sound wave passed through the air, rattling the windows and tossing the helicopter about.

  For a moment, it seemed that the chopper would be shaken apart by the rumbling, but John deftly managed the controls and eased the craft back into a normal cruise pattern. Flying safely again, the danger having passed, Randall unbuckled his safety restraint and walked to the back of the helicopter. He stared out the rear window and one thought crossed his mind:

  Francis Dumond will never threaten my family again.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  John brought the helicopter down for a soft landing just outside McMurdo. Having radioed ahead for permission to land, the group wasn’t surprised to find a cadre of soldiers dressed in military fatigues along with several armored vehicles waiting for them at the landing pad.

  “Looks like we have company,” John said.

  Randall exited the helicopter first, followed by the others. As he did so, a young sergeant walked over to speak with him.

  “Dr. Randall, the general sent me to bring you back to Dulce. Please grab your equipment and come with us. We have a plane waiting for all of you on the runway,” the sergeant said, gesturing to the C-130 transport plane already stationed on the tarmac, its engines running.

  “We don’t have any equipment, just people,” Randall replied wearily. “Before we take off, we’d like to use the restroom and get something to eat.”

  “We have restrooms and food on the plane. General Flores was very specific. He wants you all back at the base ASAP.”

  The sergeant held out his arm directing them to the plane. Tired, Randall and the group complied.

  The trip from McMurdo to New Mexico was uneventful, if not exceedingly long. Exhausted, most of the group slept for a good portion of the ride on cots provided by the military. Randall, although exhausted, found it exceptionally difficult to sleep. Michael’s comments haunted him as he tried to decipher the cryptic message repeatedly in his fitful dreams.

  As the plane touched down, Randall saw that they had a military escort waiting for them once again. The troops whisked them away as they debarked from the transport in the blazing mid-day sun. A short time later, they arrived at the base. Rob and Gabby grabbed a bite to eat while Randall and John found themselves in General Flores’s office waiting for him to arrive.

  “Dr. Randall, good to see you all again. When Captain Valverde radioed about the Chinese attack, I was concerned you might not make it,” Flores said, extending his hand to Randall.

  “Why, because the Red Dragons had taken us captive or because you launched a nuclear missile at us?” Randall replied, ignoring the general’s gesture.

  Flores lowered his hand.

  “You have to understand the gravity of this situation. I needed to ensure that the Red Dragons didn’t achieve their goal … even if that meant losing a few good people. The safety of many outweighs the survival of a few,” Flores said, walking over to his desk.

  “A convenient response when the ‘few good people’ aren’t your own. Where’s my daughter?”

  “She went home once we found out you’d survived.”

  “And Jacob, my son’s research partner. What have you done with him?�
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  “Dr. Taylor has been returned home as well. We offered him a considerable payment as gratitude for his work.”

  “You mean you paid him off to keep him quiet.”

  “Were you able to retrieve the mind-control substance?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Flores said, genuinely surprised. “Do you have it with you?”

  “No. I gave it to someone else.”

  Flores blinked at the response, turning to John, then back to Randall. His mouth hung open, a series of unintelligible sounds all he could manage.

  “What do you mean? Do you realize what you’ve done? You’ve placed the entire free world in danger with your irresponsible act!” Flores came out of his seat, his palms pressed against the desk as he glared at Randall.

  “Do you know a man named Michael Thompson?” Randall asked.

  Flores flinched at the name, but quickly recovered. “I have no idea who that is. Why?”

  “He said that the people he worked for wanted Jamie so they could take her blood to withdraw the mind-control compound. He didn’t say exactly how much blood they would need to take, but I suspect they were going to have to kill her to get it and I wasn’t about to let that happen. I traded the vial for Jamie’s life and I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

  Flores face contorted into a frown and he dropped into his chair. His gaze no longer on Randall, he stared blankly at the wall.

  “I get the feeling there’s much more going on here than you’ve let on. Is there something you’d like to tell me?” Randall asked.

  Flores rubbed his palms into his eyes, sighing deeply. He didn’t look up at Randall.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about and I certainly don’t know this Thompson character. All I know is that you’ve put me in a very difficult situation,” Flores said quietly.

  “We’re finished here. Randall stood.

  “One of my men will take you where you want to go.”

  “Take us to the airport.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Randall sat in the passenger seat of the rented Jeep Grand Cherokee as John conversed with Jamie at her front door. He had already said goodbye to Gabby, who’d returned to Nassau on a flight earlier that day. Rob had also returned to his facility, leaving only Jamie, John, and Randall to say their farewells.