Targets of Opportunity (1993)

by Joe Weber

  The MiG's nose dropped precariously low as Brad twisted with all his might. The valve snapped closed, and he frantically grabbed the stick. A moment later, the cockpit became deathly quiet as the Klimov turbojet spooled down.

  "You okay?" Stanfield asked, breathing rapidly as he watched the MiG plummet toward the runway.

  "Think so," Brad managed while he banked steeply toward the runway. He aimed for the first third of the airstrip. The lone crash truck came into view as he passed the ninety-degree position from the end of the runway.

  A seat-of-the-pants aviator, Austin kept the airspeed above 150 knots, but realized he was not going to stretch the glide to the runway by completing the sweeping turn.

  Brad sharply banked the MiG, angling toward the airstrip. The aircraft was sinking at a frightening rate when Brad approached the extended centerline of the runway.

  Racking the MiG into a steep bank, Brad centered the aircraft in line with the pavement. Rolling wings level a moment before touchdown, Brad fought the stick as the MiG quit flying and thudded onto the runway.

  Chapter NINE

  Brad Austin sank into a chair in the briefing room and rested the back of his head against the wall. He could see the technicians and Hank Murray swarming over the MiG. Some of the men were removing access panels from the fuselage of the fighter, while others congregated around the cockpit.

  The shrill whine of the Crusader's turbojet grew louder as Stanfield approached the hangar ramp. A minute later the engine spun to a stop, allowing Brad to hear the voices in the hangar.

  Spencer entered the quiet room and laughed nervously. "How are you feeling?"

  Brad gave him a blank look and shook his head.

  "That good," Spencer said as he sat down across from the spent pilot. The project officer had made a decision, at least in his mind, that Brad Austin should be the primary pilot if Operation Achilles was allowed to run its course. The young aviator was a natural. "You certainly bring another dimension to the world of naval aviation."

  "Not by design, sir," Brad replied just before Palmer and Blackwell entered the small room. *

  "What do you plan," Nick laughed sarcastically, "for your next show?"

  Brad closed his eyes. "If I had the energy, I'd get up and kick your navy ass."

  "We drove out in the jeep," Lex said. "You've gotta be the luckiest son of a bitch on this planet, bar none. Your tires touched down forty-four feet from the end of the runway."

  "In all seriousness," Spencer said with unusual gravity, "we're going to have to concentrate on safety. We'll wait until Grady gets here, but I'm convinced that it is time to slow down . . . before someone gets killed."

  Hank Murray and Grady Stanfield entered the room. The navy captain had a frown on his face.

  "Find anything?" Spencer asked.

  "We sure did," Murray replied, holding up a broken piece of throttle linkage. "It snapped just behind the throttle quadrant."

  "I think," Brad mustered his energy, "that we should forget about flying the MiG, and let the navy use that shitbox for an anchor."

  Brad relaxed slightly after the COD rose from the runway and the landing gear retracted. He did not enjoy riding in the back of planes being flown by other pilots. Especially people he did not know.

  Hollis Spencer had decided to ground the MiG until a suitable throttle linkage could be machined. He had ordered Hank Murray to thoroughly examine the MiG for any other possible discrepancies. Flight testing would resume after Murray was confident that all of the MiG's components and systems were airworthy. Grady Stanfield had remained at the hangar to flight-check the fighter after the repairs had been made.

  "Is it true," Palmer asked Blackwell, "that you guys from one-sixtytwo used Sidewinders to knock out locomotives?" He was referring to the VF-162 squadron on board the carrier Oriskany. The Sidewinder was designed to be a heat-seeking air-to-air missile.

  "That's right." Lex chuckled. "Those steam engines draw the little mothers like buzzards to a carcass. At the time I was shanghaied by the spooks, we had four engines to our credit."

  Nick looked at Brad. "Tell him what you did with a Sidewinder." "I'd just as soon forget it."

  "Brad," Palmer proudly beamed, "who was an exchange pilot in our squadron, saved two of our guys who were in the drink. He used a 'Winder to take out a North Vietnamese patrol boat that was almost on top of the crew."

  "No shit?" Blackwell exclaimed, glancing at Austin.

  Brad nodded his head, feeling a tinge of embarrassment. He wished Palmer would drop the subject.

  "I'm not kidding," Palmer continued. "He did a split-S, circled the boat, and attacked from the rear."

  "What were you," Nick looked at Austin, "fifty to seventy-five feet above the water?"

  Brad leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Give it a rest, please."

  "Anyway," Nick laughed, "he was down in the soup, steaming along at about four hundred fifty knots, when they opened fire with two machine guns. The jarhead just pressed on and cranked off a 'Winder."

  Lex laughed, obviously enjoying the tale.

  "That beauty tracked directly to their engine and blew the bastards straight out of the water." Palmer grinned with delight. "Trust me, it was a piece of work."

  Palmer and Blackwell continued to swap sea stories and flying tales. Brad thought about what he would say to Leigh Ann on Saturday. He napped serenely until the Trader landed at Miramar.

  Friday morning, Brad prepared breakfast while Palmer showered and dressed. After they had eaten their omelets, Brad got ready while Nick washed the dishes and read the paper.

  "Spencer just called," Palmer said when Brad stepped out of the bathroom. "Grady flew the MiG this morning, and we're going to resume operations early Monday."

  "When do we have to go back?"

  Nick folded the paper and tossed it onto the kitchen counter. "He said the COD will be wheels in the wells at three A. M. Monday morning."

  "That's great." Brad wrinkled his brow in displeasure. "We might as well stay up all night."

  "I gather, from what he said, that we're going to be making up time." Palmer looked out the window, searching the ocean for ships. "He sounded pressured, sort of anxious."

  Opening the refrigerator and small pantry, Brad made a brief note of the items they needed for the party that evening. "You sure you don't want to go with me?"

  "No, thanks," Palmer replied, spying an aircraft carrier in the distance. "Lex and I will get the grill and charcoal. He wants to buy the meat at some place in Chula Vista."

  Brad laughed. "If I know Lex, he probably found a barbecue joint, so all he has to do is warm the meat on the grill."

  The phone rang as Austin reached for his keys and wallet. He snatched the receiver and was surprised to hear Allison van Ingen's soft, resonant voice.

  "Hello, there."

  He darted a look at Palmer. "Good morning, Allison."

  "I didn't know if you would be back yet," she said, "but I wanted to confirm the cookout this evening . . . before I invited my friends. Actually," Allison continued before Brad could reply, "they're the two women who are redecorating Bellwether"

  "Sure." Brad hesitated for a moment. "We're looking forward to seeing you this evening." He saw Nick hold up four fingers. "Would around four o'clock be all right?"

  "That will be fine," Allison replied soothingly. "Is there anything we can help with, or bring?"

  "Thanks, but we've got it under control," he chuckled lightly, "as soon as I go to the grocery store, and the other guys locate a grill."

  "Under control, huh?" She laughed suspiciously. "I had better go to the supermarket with you."

  Brad wondered what Leigh Ann would think about that. "That's okay . . . he said awkwardly. "I was just on my way out the door, but I appreciate the offer."

  "Brad, I don't have a thing to do," Allison replied in her most convincing manner, "so I'll pick you up in thirty minutes, if you'll give me directions."

  Brad's instincts t
old him this was not a good idea, but what could he say? He acquiesced and gave her the directions to the apartment complex. "I'll be out in front."

  "I'll be looking for you," she said with a touch of excitement in her voice. "See you in half an hour."

  He said good-bye and thought about asking Nick to go shopping with Allison. Rejecting the impulse as cowardly, he decided to handle the situation as best he could.

  "She's got you nailed." Palmer laughed devilishly. "You had better check your six."

  tell you something." Brad was serious, and it showed. "This whole deal--Achilles, keeping secrets, Allison and Leigh. Ann coming--is getting out of hand."

  "Not if we're careful," Palmer said cautiously.

  "Allison, as she said she was going to do, is inviting two other friends over." Brad swore to himself and sat down. "She's bringing the women who are working on her father's yacht, so we've got to tell more lies."

  They remained silent, realizing how careful they had to be not to reveal anything about their background or their jobs.

  Palmer gave Brad a wry, fleeting smile. "Do you think we should cancel the shindig?"

  "Logic tells me that we should," Brad replied, staring at Nick. "We're suppose to be low-key and out of sight . . . remember?"

  "Well, maybe we should call it off," Nick said with more than a hint of frustration, "before something happens that puts us in a bind."

  Brad thought for a minute. None of them knew what the future held. The stress of flying the MiG was taking a toll on their nerves. They deserved some fun and relaxation.

  "To hell with it," Brad declared, thinking the party would be a good diversion. "Let's just go through with it, but not make any more commitments. And listen, Nick, don't let anybody get close to the truth. The consequences might be greater than we can imagine."

  Palmer nodded thoughtfully.

  "So," Brad said firmly, "on with it."

  "Why not," Palmer was all too ready to agree. "I'm tired of this horseshit. It's time to enjoy life--live a little--with no serious commitments."

  Chapter TEN

  The white roadster curved down the entrance ramp to the freeway while Brad gazed at the distant shoreline. With the wind tousling her blond hair, Allison threaded her way through the late-morning traffic like a native Californian.

  Overhead, the sky was clear and blue. The sun warmed Brad as the wind whipped around the convertible. He tried not to look at Allison's smooth, suntanned legs. She was wearing yellow short-shorts with a matching halter top that revealed a lot of cleavage. Brad was certain the halter could pass for a bikini top.

  Allison glanced at Austin. "You haven't told me what you and your friends do for a living."

  He had been waiting for the question. "We work on various government programs."

  She smiled warmly. "I know you're with the government, but what is it that you actually do?" The accent on "actually" was pronounced.

  Brad was clearly uncomfortable. "We test things," he answered, then immediately changed the subject. "When will your father's yacht be completed?"

  "I'm not sure at this point." She slowed for the offramp leading to the supermarket. "Brad, there's something about you that intrigues me."

  "What's that?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Was she prying, or just making conversation?

  "You look like a military person." She laughed. "Like a pilot, with your short hair and aviator-style sunglasses."

  "I've always worn aviator sunglasses," Brad replied truthfully. He was beginning to feel like an insect under a microscope, and he did not like the sensation.

  "This is really a beautiful car," he declared in another attempt to divert the conversation.

  "Why, thank you." She smiled. "My father knows how attached I am to it, so he had it driven out here for me."

  Brad had noticed the Pennsylvania license plate. "That must be nice . . . to have your car delivered to you."

  "It certainly is," she agreed without a trace of arrogance.

  Allison parked the gleaming Mercedes and they got out. Brad had taken only a few steps when he almost panicked. The wife of a close friend from Annapolis was walking out of a store adjacent to the supermarket. Brad turned his head and stared across the parking lot, praying that she would not recognize him and call out his name. His heart was racing when the woman and her toddler passed by.

  Safely inside the supermarket, Brad grabbed a shopping cart and opened his grocery list. Allison was very helpful during their stroll through the store, but she was definitely a showstopper. Brad felt an occasional twinge of embarrassment when people stared at the voluptuous blonde. After the leisurely shopping spree, Brad finally agreed to allow Allison to pay for half of the groceries.

  On their return trip to the apartment, Allison mercifully did not ask Brad any further personal questions. They just exchanged small talk.

  After arriving at the apartment, Allison helped Brad carry the sacks into the kitchen, then stepped out to the balcony.

  "This is a beautiful view," she commented, scanning the blue ocean. After a moment, Allison gazed at the pool area. "What a gorgeous pool."

  "It is, isn't it," Brad said while he stocked a cabinet. "We really enjoy it, when we have the time."

  "When will Nick, and your other friend--I've forgotten his name--be here?"

  Brad glanced at her. "Lex is our cowboy friend, and they should be back any time. Lex wanted to get some special meat and ribs."

  "That sounds wonderful," Allison stated emphatically. She noticed the single lounge chair next to the railing. "Who's the sun worshiper?" Brad laughed and looked at the lounge. "Nick likes to maintain his tennis tan at an even level."

  "Would you mind if I work on my tan?" Allison asked with a sensuous smile. "I'll be happy to help you prepare everything when you're ready."

  "Sure," he replied with a degree of trepidation. "Make yourself comfortable."

  "Thanks." She slipped off her sandals and sat on the lounge. "I just can't get over this view. It's really incredible."

  Brad agreed, and finished storing the groceries. He opened a cold beer and walked to the balcony door to see if Allison would like something to drink. Brad was unprepared for what he saw. Allison was lying on her stomach with her halter top resting on one of the lawn chairs. He noticed the conspicuous absence of white lines on her tanned back.

  "Would you care for something to drink?" He couldn't take his eyes off Allison. She is beautiful.

  "Oh, no thanks." Allison turned her head to see Brad. "Would you mind if I used one of your towels to lie on?"

  Brad envisioned her lying nude on a bearskin rug in front of a crackling fireplace. "No, not at all . . . I'll get a fresh one out of the closet."

  "You're a darling."

  Smiling to himself, Brad walked to the linen cabinet. "Holy shit, what a body," he said to himself as he grabbed a large beach towel. He went out to the balcony and handed the thick towel to Allison.

  "Thank you," she said, unfolding the navy-blue towel in front of her. She paused to look at the unique design. Brad cringed when he noticed the gold naval aviator wings adorning the center of Palmer's towel. His mind raced while he waited for the inevitable question.

  Allison smoothly slid the beach towel under her breasts. She turned her head, searching his eyes. "Brad, you are a pilot, aren't you? A navy pilot.

  Austin hesitated, tired of the ruse. "Well, I've been told to pile it here and pile it there," he answered lamely. "I've always been interested in aviation, so I collect flying paraphernalia."

  She eyed Brad suspiciously and gave him a seductive smile. "Brad, I don't think you're telling me the truth. All three of you guys have an air about you. "

  Brad laughed and shook his head. "Hey, we're just normal people . . . who work for a paycheck."

  She stared at him with a skeptical look.

  "Allison," Brad said uncomfortably, "I work for the government, and that's it."

  "I'm sure that you do," she smiled politely,
"but what you do is. Hushhush, isn't it?"

  A grin spread across his face. "I think you've been watching too many movies."

  "Right." She winked knowingly. "Would you mind putting some oil on my back?"

  "I'd be happy to," he replied, relieved that she was apparently dropping the subject.

  "I put it on the cabinet," Allison said, placing her hands under her chin, "next to the oven."

  Taking a swig of his beer, Brad went to the kitchen and opened the Coppertone oil that Allison had purchased at the supermarket. He second-guessed the decision to go through with the cookout when he walked out on the balcony. After today, Brad reasoned, they would have to sever their ties to Allison van Ingen.

  "Let me warm this," Brad offered, dropping to his knees, "before I spread it on your back."

  "How thoughtful," she responded in a subdued voice.

  Brad rubbed the Coppertone between his palms until it was body temperature, then applied the oil in long, smooth strokes. It would be easy to fall for Allison.

  "Would you like some oil on your legs?"

  "If you don't mind," she purred, totally relaxed by Brad's soothing hands. "That feels wonderful."

  "Good."

  When he had finished coating her legs, Brad started to rise.

  "Have you got a couple of minutes," she softly asked, "to talk with me?"

  Brad swallowed hard. "Sure. What's on your mind?"

  Allison startled Brad when she abruptly turned over to face him. She held the beach towel over her breasts with one hand while she grasped Brad's arm with the other. "I was wondering if we could pack a picnic basket and--"

  The doorbell rang, interrupting her in midsentence.

  "It's open!" Brad shouted, thinking that it might be Lex at the door. Brad remembered that he had left the main door open, but he was unsure if he had locked the screen door.

  "What were you going to say?" Brad asked, mesmerized by the beautiful, half-naked body.

  "We'll discuss it later," Allison murmured as she turned on her stomach, "when we're alone."

  Hearing the sound of footsteps behind him, Brad turned to see Leigh Ann staring at him with burning anger. Her luggage was next to the refrigerator.