Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  COVER ART

  WINGS of STEELE

  DESTINATION UNKNOWN

  A NOVEL BY

  JEFFREY J BURGER

  Coming in 2013 - WINGS of STEELE - Flight of Freedom

  www.wingsofsteele.com

  E-Book Edition 1.05 - September 2012

  Published in the United States by Templar Press. Templar Press and the mounted Templar Knight colophon are registered trademarks and may not be reproduced.

  Copyright © 2012 Jeffrey J Burger

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever, without the expressed written consent of the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book and contents are a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to events, places, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Registered with the Library of Congress

  ISBN-13: 978-0615692883 (Templar Press)

  ISBN-10: 0615692885

  Cover artwork, copyright © 2012 Jeffrey J Burger

  WINGS of STEELE logo, copyright © 2012 Jeffrey J Burger

  www.wingsofsteele.com

  DEDICATION

  I want to offer my thanks to all those who helped, offered their support, sat to listen to my story and ideas - and in some form or fashion helped make this, my first novel, a reality. And thanks to my parents for convincing me as a youngster that anything I put my mind to, I could do... even more so when someone told me it couldn't be done.

  A big thank you to the folks at DAW Publishing - the only publisher that not only took the time to actually read the entire manuscript, but also took the time to review and positively critique it, encouraging me to move forward with it as well as a follow-up book.

  I am most grateful to Fran Milsop... for her dear friendship and copious amounts of encouragement. The hours and effort she put into reading, and reviewing my work, her advice, technical and professional expertise, went well above and beyond the call of duty. Thank you Fran, for helping me to pursue my dream and move forward to completion - even though it took a little longer than we thought.

  Convention seems to dictate that I should select one person to dedicate this novel to, however this is proving difficult, because he did not have a great deal to do with the physical process of writing, editing, or completing this book. But his influence in my life affected not only the production of the book, but the very story itself... my German Shepherd, Fritz. And yes, you're right, he isn't a person... but then again, you couldn't convince him of that. His companionship, friendship, comic personality and devotion were key to keeping me grounded while I worked on this project. Thank you buddy.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  COVER ART1

  Copyright © 2012 Jeffrey J Burger3

  DEDICATION 4

  PROLOGUE6

  CHAPTER ONE9

  CHAPTER TWO20

  CHAPTER THREE33

  CHAPTER FOUR60

  CHAPTER FIVE64

  CHAPTER SIX70

  CHAPTER SEVEN82

  CHAPTER EIGHT86

  CHAPTER NINE121

  CHAPTER TEN156

  CHAPTER ELEVEN165

  CHAPTER TWELVE171

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN181

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN201

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN218

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN238

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN267

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN281

  CHAPTER NINETEEN312

  CHAPTER TWENTY326

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE354

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO376

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE402

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR416

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE427

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX464

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN471

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT476

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE496

  CHAPTER THIRTY516

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE523

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO540

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE556

  EPILOGUE570

  PROLOGUE

  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS - SUMMER

  The young boy, eleven years old, laid back in the lawn chair on the grass in his yard, staring up at the star-flecked night sky. Even the city lights did not diminish the brightly twinkling specks of light visible in the patch of deep, inky-blackness exposed between the neighboring houses and overhanging maple trees. The yard smelled of warm, freshly cut grass and sweet lilac from the neighbor's bushes. There was a soft, even breeze that rustled the leaves of the trees adding a quiet hush to the darkness. Crickets chirped incessantly. His mother would have a fit if she knew he was out there. It was well past midnight and he was in his pajamas... supposed to be fast asleep in bed. Who cared? Besides, he was on summer vacation, there was no school to worry about. But the dreams, let's not forget the dreams. Unsettling... but strangely exciting.

  He reached down and felt for the huge Rottweiler sleeping on the grass beside him. Luke. Good old Luke... a hundred pounds of pure muscle and willing to use it. They were the best of friends, inseparable. As black as the sky above, the dog was invisible to young Jack Steele, blending in with the shifting shadows around him. Luke huffed softly, reassuringly, feeling the small hand of his young friend running through his smooth coat. Jack felt better for it.

  A police siren wailed mournfully in the distance, heading farther away, fading. Someday he would be a policeman... just like his dad. Maybe that was the siren on his dad's patrol car, he was on duty tonight. Jack wasn't worried, his dad was a big guy. The biggest. And a good shot too, he was on the police department's pistol competition team.

  He listened intently until the siren was gone, then leaned back and stared up at the night sky again. He sighed, the stars winked at him. Someday he would be out there too... after he was a policeman. He didn't know how he knew that, but he did. And not like Neil Armstrong the astronaut, walking on the moon, but out there... really out there. Maybe as far as Andromeda... he learned about that one in astronomy this year. It really didn't seem that far, it was like he could almost reach out and touch those stars.

  Maybe it was the dreams, those weird dreams... and the Dream People. Well, at least that's what he called them. Cool, smooth, featureless gray-green skin, overly large ebony eyes... and their silent voices that talked in his head. He was afraid the first time, terribly afraid. But they never hurt him, or Luke. Besides, like his dad said, “A real man isn't afraid of the dark or the boogeyman. That the only thing to fear, is fear itself.” Well, maybe... maybe not.

  Jack decided he pretty much had it figured out... he was sure, well, reasonably sure, that despite their dreamlike appearance, the Dream People weren't really in his dreams at all... but real. But how could you explain that to your parents? You couldn't. It wasn't going to happen. At least not with his parents. They'd either patronize him and admire his vivid imagination, or put him in a rubber room somewhere. He heard Tommy Brooker's mom went to a shrink and ended up in a crazy ward for a while. Tommy said she didn't like it. Jack figured he wouldn't like it either. Eleven was too young for a straight-jacket.

  The stars blinked and sparkled, Jack's eyelids grew heavy. The crickets grew quiet, the breeze shifted and Luke huffed, his nose pointing into the wind. Jack suddenly grew more aware, paying closer attention. Luke moved his bulk to a sitting position and whined inquisitively, pens
ively. Jack squinted and could see the vague silhouette of the dog's massive head and shoulders just a foot away in the inky darkness. The Rottweiler made strange little mewling noises, more insistent than before. Jack felt it now too...

  Along with the tart, electric smell in the air, enough to make your mouth water, was the buzzing of his skin, like pins and needles all over his body. His eyes grew heavy again, heavier than before. Luke laid back down again, his head on Jack's thigh, quiet now, breathing easy.

  The eleven-year-old knew the feeling. They were coming... somehow he had known they would come tonight. The Dream People. They would speak silently to him in his head and take him out there, but just for a little while... he was always home before it got light.

  WINGS of STEELE - DESTINATION UNKNOWN

  CHAPTER ONE

  FT. MYERS, FLORIDA: CAN'T TOUCH THIS

  Beside the massive four-poster bed, soft jazz emanated quietly from the small clock radio on the nightstand. The heavy antique oak bed was a work of art, at least a hundred years old. On the wall above the headboard, hung a large black, Medieval battle shield, emblazoned with a golden silhouette of a winged horse against a red rising sun. At an angle and to the right hung a gleaming two-handed functional replica of an English broadsword. It was obviously a man’s room, filled with dark wood and strong furniture… but everything was in its place and the room was meticulously clean. The wafting Sunday morning jazz began to reach the lone sleeping occupant of the great bed. Jack Steele was becoming vaguely aware of the music invading his sleep and struggled to maintain that last, final bit of dream as it dissolved and faded away into waking awareness. He could also feel the warm Florida coastal breeze drifting through his open window and smell the fresh tang of salt in the air. For a moment, he hoped the music was coming from outside and not the clock.

  Jack propped himself up on his left elbow to look at the clock. The cursed thing confirmed his worst fears. It was indeed... morning, 7am. And worst of all, time to get up. "Crap." Jack had never, ever, been a morning person, not by the wildest stretch of the imagination. “How bakers do it I'll never know...” He let himself flop back to the mattress, perturbed at the early arrival of morning. Gazing absentmindedly at the dancing patterns of sunlight playing on the ceiling that filtered through the vertical blinds, he gradually cleared the morning cobwebs from his mind and began reviewing the day's checklist of things to do.

  However, before Jack could finish his review, he caught movement in the shadows out of the corner of his vision and suddenly was acutely aware of everything around him. The low, dark figure, which had entered the room so silently, sprang without warning over the foot of the bed. The two combatants wrestled on the bed, entangling themselves in the linens and blankets, fighting for whatever advantage they could purchase. Abruptly, the tussle stopped, the two lay panting, side by side. Jack poked the obscured form he had successfully wrapped in the sheets like a mummy. The figure squirmed violently. With implied ferocity, it emitted a muffled snarl, then sneezed. "Give up?" Jack inquired. He carefully peeled back the sheets. Out popped a black, shiny nose, drawing deep huffing breaths, patiently awaiting another onslaught.

  Since none came, the long-legged German Shepherd tossed his head, throwing off the sheets and revealed a handsome, expressive face, with deep brown twinkling eyes. His name was Fritz. Not a particularly imaginative name, but it was given to him as a pup and Jack felt it somehow seemed to fit the dog's curious intelligence and personality. Fritz gazed up into the eyes of his human partner. Giving a defiant harumph, the dog half crawled, half wiggled, out of his cocoon of sheets to reveal a beautifully lithe body. His coat was long like a Collie but mostly chestnut in color with a small black saddle, an ivory bib and a narrow, tapered black mask across his shining brown eyes. Fritz shook himself to settle his coat and bounded off the now thoroughly messed bed. He barked a taunt as he trotted through the house, his nails clicking on the polished maple floors.

  Jack swung his feet over the side of the bed and pulled on a pair of beach shorts. He stared at the bed for a moment, the maid was going to hate this... she always did. Strolling through the house barefoot and shirtless, he stopped to pick up a dog lead off the kitchen counter which he knew he wouldn't need. Pausing at the refrigerator he snatched out a carton of orange juice and took a swallow, drinking straight from the container. He smiled, remembering how his mother disliked that. But Jack was a single man and he allowed himself a few bad habits.

  The duo stepped through the sliding glass doors and onto the warm planks of the sundeck that lead to the fine golden sand of the beach facing the Gulf of Mexico. As Fritz dashed across the fifty yards of sand to meet the incoming surf, Jack took pause to survey the expanse of scenery spread before him. The sky was already a turquoise blue without a trace of cloud and the breeze shushed through the palm trees and played with someone's wind chimes up the beach. Planting his feet firmly, he stretched his six-foot-two frame, arms extended towards the hot Florida sun and reveled in the glorious weather.

  While he was not overly muscular, his body was extremely well-defined. Choosing speed and flexibility over sheer mass, a lifetime of sports and selective martial arts left his physique lean and hard. While Jack proceeded through the stretching routines he did almost every morning, Fritz ran belly deep through the breaking waves. The Shepherd stopped momentarily to spy a jogger passing by, examining her to be sure there was no threat. Jack noticed her too and admired her trim bouncing form as she passed by, waving a friendly hello. "Yep, yep, yep, this is the life," Jack said aloud to himself, smirking crookedly. He waved back then leaned on the railing with his elbows to watch the dog slosh in the gentle blue-green waves breaking on the golden sand. A squadron of four pelicans flying single-file along the shore glided easily past, an occasional stroke of their wings to maintain formation as they played with the breeze.

  Shuttling new and used airplanes for delivery had become quite profitable. And for the first time since his painful divorce four years back, Jack was doing well. Buying and renovating the beach house was his reward to himself after the long, hard road of financial and emotional rebuilding. The house wasn't big, like so many of the others along that area of the shore, but it was very comfortable. Another buyer probably would have knocked it down and built some multilevel monstrosity... but Jack had genuinely liked it for what it was. The three bedroom, two bathroom house, was solidly built, a throwback to the late fifties and early sixties where quality and durability came before the excesses of bigger is better... and then later when it became huge is better than bigger.

  Hell began a year before his divorce, back when he was still a cop in Chicago. While recovering from the emotional scars of losing a close friend on the police department during a shootout with gang members, Jack took up flying. He found it profoundly exhilarating and relaxing at the same time. Unfortunately, his wife did not. She didn't like him being a cop either. She said one made him hard the other made him distant, and at a time when he was forced to completely re-evaluate his life, she left him and took with her almost everything he owned... everything except the '66 Shelby Cobra he'd built. He was convinced the only reason she didn't pursue the car was the fact that she hated the thing. She liked luxury cars, and the Cobra was not ladylike enough for her. She considered it brutish with all its power and noise, while Jack considered the sound of the naturally aspirated 427 big block, music to his ears. On reflection, there were a lot of things they didn't have in common, it was a wonder the marriage lasted as long as it did. Shortly thereafter, he realized the only things that made him truly happy, were the Cobra, flying and Fritz. So after pulling a few strings and calling in a few favors owed him, he got a job flying and left the department. He and Fritz spent the next three years living like nomads, flying anywhere a job would take them. The freedom was spectacular and welcom
ed, but he finally realized the need for roots once again. Jack was good with his hands and thoroughly enjoyed refurbishing the beach house. Now self-employed, his time was his own, allowing him to tinker on the house whenever he had the inclination. But the house was pretty much finished now, and it was time to go back to work, in earnest.

  Jack glanced at his watch then checked on the antics of his waterlogged canine, "Hey fuzzball..! Let's go, we got a plane to deliver!" Tongue lolling, kicking up sand as he ran, the dog raced from the surf, looking like an overgrown, half-drowned rat. Steele figured the crazy animal loved to fly almost as much as he did.

  They paused on the deck and Jack thoroughly rinsed the dog with the fresh water shower attached to the house. Fritz shook himself violently, dispersing droplets over the deck like a lawn sprinkler. Jack was always amazed how much moisture he could shake from his coat. He smiled to himself and finished the carton of orange juice as they entered the beach house. Toweling Fritz off in the kitchen, Jack began to think ahead, taking to the dog, "This is gonna be a sweet run, know what I mean?" Fritz cocked his head quizzically. Sometimes he paid such close attention, Jack could swear the animal actually understood every word. In the middle of drying him, the phone rang and Jack snatched the receiver out of the charger. “Steele...”

  "What time do we take off?" asked the voice on the other end. It was his copilot, Brian Carter.

  "We should be at the strip at about nine, I guess. I would think we'd be wheels-up by about a quarter to ten, doncha' think?"

  "Yeah, I'd think so. How long did you say we were staying out there?"