Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  "I'm not positive, but we should be back in about four weeks," replied Jack.

  "Ok cool, I'll pack a few extra things then. See you at the plane."

  “Roger.” Jack dropped the phone into the charger, gave the waiting canine one last rub with the towel, then headed back into his bedroom to continue to pack the bag he'd started the night before. Though he had never been and could never be confused with a Boy Scout, he preferred to be well prepared... probably part of having an Alpha personality. In his clothing bag, he included his favorite protection; a satin stainless Kimber 1911 .45acp semi-automatic pistol. Since the magazines only held eight rounds, he tossed five extra mags into the bag, along with a couple boxes of fresh 230 grain +P ammunition, a shoulder holster and a right hand, leather thigh holster that had a quick thumb release. He zipped the bag shut and on his way to the kitchen, dropped the bags in the entry hall by the front door. Though it was legal in the state of Florida to carry a concealed weapon, it was not terribly legal to carry it when leaving the country... in fact, it was highly illegal. But Jack tended to be a somewhat of a survivor. His opinion was that he’d rather be standing in front of a judge explaining why someone else was dead than standing in front of Saint Peter explaining why he was dead. That’s not to say that he was a violent person, he wasn’t... unless he had to be. In which case you didn't want to be playing on the wrong team.

  He picked up a pen and notepad to leave a quick message on the fridge for his maid Nina, apologizing once again, for the destruction of the bedroom. "Sometimes I think she just likes to complain," he said to the Shepherd. Fritz barked a short confirmation and Jack hung the note with pizza parlor magnets.

  The phone rang again, and he snatched up the cordless off the kitchen counter, "What'd you forget buddy?"

  "Hi, it's mom..."

  "Oh. Hi, mom! What's up?"

  "Your dad and I are planning to come down around the end of next week..."

  "Really? Crap... I'm leaving to deliver that plane today..." Jack had hoped to spend some time with them this summer.

  "Oh...” her voice dropped in disappointment. “Well, how long will you be gone?" she asked, sounding brighter.

  "About four weeks I think. They need someone to fly the plane during filming, so we need to stay till they're done with the plane. I can try calling before we head back... but I'm really not sure what the service will be like."

  "Oh, Ok. Well then, we'll postpone for a couple of weeks..."

  "Sounds good," interrupted Jack, "but if you get here and we're not back yet, don't worry, Ok? Just call Nina and she'll come and give you a key... she's only about ten minutes away."

  Moms have incredible intuition. "Are you in a hurry Jack?"

  Jack glanced at his watch. "Well yeah, sort of..." Mothers also have the capability to make a grown man feel like an eleven-year-old kid again. "Uh, can I bring you or dad back any kind of souvenir or something?"

  "How about a new daughter-in-law?" she joked.

  "Mooomm!" he groaned, palming his face “let’s not go there, Ok..?”

  "Ok, Ok. I'm just kidding. You be careful, Ok?"

  "I will..."

  "Promise?" she prodded.

  "I promise, honest." Like the dutiful son he was, he told her he loved her and they said their goodbyes. He looked forward to seeing his parents when he got back, he didn't get to spend as much time with them as he'd like to.

  "Lets go buddy!" Fritz followed obediently and eagerly to the front door. Jack paused at the mirror in the foyer, checking his image. His dark hair was neatly cut, combed back with a loose curl hanging on his forehead, his mustache was full but trimmed. Steele's sharp features came from his father; tanned skin courtesy of the Florida sun, and blemish-free skin from his mother. Long dimples on each side of his mouth deepened when he smiled, but his most striking feature were his eyes, dark and piercing. He decided he looked pretty decent for thirty-something. "You my friend," he told his reflection, "loook marvelous." Fritz danced impatiently in circles in the foyer his nails clicking on the foyer's floor tile. "Oooh my friend, you look marvelous too!" He told the dog.

  The gregarious Shepherd was as excited for the car ride as Jack was about this trip. Before Steele made it to the back of the Cobra sitting in the driveway, the dog was through the convertible's open passenger window and sitting in the front seat. With a wild roll of his eyes, Jack tossed the bags into the trunk and closed the lid. When he got to the driver's door, he was confronted by an unlikely motorist. "Get outta my seat you clown, unless you think you can drive..." Fritz happily relinquished the seat, jumping back to the passenger side. Jack opened the door and entered the car the normal way, releasing the clips for the convertible top and folding it back, one-handed. Strapping the dog into his harness and pulling on his own 5-point harness, Jack started the Cobra which shuddered to life with an aggressive growl. It loped at idle, the side-pipes burbling, the engine producing a distinct vibration in the wheel and stick shift. Jack backed out onto the street but didn't bother with the stereo. Shifting into gear, he rolled down the short side street to Estero Boulevard, the main road running down the beach.

  Jack made a left on Estero and headed toward the bridge. It wasn't exactly clogged with cars, but beach traffic always seemed to move slower than anywhere else - maybe it had something to do with the beach lifestyle frame of mind. It always seemed that by the time you had crossed the bridge to the mainland, things started moving faster. He couldn't really hot dog on Estero, the traffic was too close with too many sightseers, he'd have to wait till he hit Summerlin Road. Jack had learned to just be patient and enjoy the view on the beach. The dark sedan a few cars back never caught Steele's eye, it rolled on anonymously with the flow. As they crossed the bridge, boats scooted past on the water below, their owners enjoying the glassy emerald water of the Intercoastal waterway. As always, when the bridge fell away in the rear-view mirror, traffic picked up the pace. There still wasn't a lot of room, he'd just have to be patient.

  Jack could see the intersection ahead and the steady flow of traffic. Finally, a place to hustle. Glancing at his watch, he turned right to go South on Summerlin, and accelerated hard to jump into the flow. Fritz leaned into the turn and against his harness for balance. The pipes snarled viciously and the meaty rear tires broke loose, the Cobra squirreling sideways. Jack felt the shudder in the seat of his pants with the slack in the wheel almost before it happened and instinctively steered the wheel into the break, feathering the accelerator to give the tires a chance to bite. In a split second, the tires hooked up and the car launched, snapping straight. A blink later, shifting through the gears and accelerated hard again, the pipes singing their big-block combustion engine harmony, he looked for openings and a place to let the Cobra run. Flipping on the radar detector and laser jammer, a nice hole opened up in the traffic and he shot through, running free. Fritz sat quietly, watching the world go by in a blur.

  ■ ■ ■

  “C'mon, c'mon! Step on it! Don't lose him...”

  The driver checked his blind spot as he hammered the accelerator on the Crown Vic and swerved into the next lane. “He couldn't have seen us... could he?”

  “I don't know, but he's sure driving like he did.”

  “I wonder what triggered him...” The driver checked his mirror and changed back, weaving his way through the slower cars. “Jesus Christ, that thing is fast...”

  “Next time I drive, grandpa...”

  “Yeah, like I'm putting my life in your hands... that'll be the day.” He hammered the pedal and the police interceptor engine launched the heavy sedan ahead. “Holy crap, we're coming up on ninety and he's pulling away like we're standing still...”

  The other agent was pulling out a map, “he should, that thing's got like almost six-
hundred horsepower...”

  “Holy shit - really...?” The driver let off on the accelerator, “Dammit I can't even see him anymore... he must've been doing a hundred-twenty at least. I'm not sure how we're going to explain how we lost a bright blue car with white rally stripes on it...”

  “The guy is driving a car that's bullet-fast, we're driving a sled. No real mystery there.” The passenger looked up, “You can't tell me you've never seen a guy drive fast before.”

  “Yeah, but that was more than just fast, I've never seen anyone drive like that before - makes me wonder if he's a pro.”

  “I suppose it's not impossible - but you've read the file, what do we know about him?”

  The driver shook his head, “Apparently not enough. I'm still not sure how to report this...”

  “We might not have to...”

  The driver glanced over at the other man, “Watcha mean?”

  “I'm pretty sure he's headed to the municipal airport,” he said, pointing at the map, “Just stay on this, I'll tell you when to exit...”

  CHAPTER TWO

  FLORIDA, WHEYLAND MUNICIPAL AIRPORT: WILD BLUE YONDER

  The powerful roadster made the drive easy and fun... even though he did break a few laws. Steele pulled into the gravel service road at only nine-o-five, minus his sedan shadow and followed the service drive around the back of the airport toward the private hangars. Slowing his speed to reduce the dust off the road, he listened to the steady crunch of gravel beneath the car's tires. A twin-engine Cessna taxied past the fence to his right on its way to the main runway. He thought to stop and watch the takeoff, but continued rolling. As the roadster rumbled toward the far side of the airport near the private hangars, Jack began to look for Brian's pickup truck. He smiled to himself, the truck was not to be seen, he had beaten him there. Jack turned through the gate and pulled up onto the tarmac.

  Driving past the first two hangars, he slowed at the third, a well-kept aluminum building, larger than the others in the row. The doors had been rolled open all the way to allow full access. Jack let the Cobra roll to a stop and the duo peered into the hangar. Inside sat a beautifully restored B25-D Mitchell bomber from World War II. She looked stunning sitting in the shade of the hangar, mission-ready.

  Brian strolled out from under the left wing grinning from ear to ear. "Where ya been Skipper?" Five-foot-ten and solidly built, Brian was a man with a ready smile and healthy sense of humor. His wavy, sandy brown hair, although a bit longer than Jack's, was neat and trimmed.

  Miffed, Jack ignored the question. "I didn't see your truck, where'd you park?"

  Brian was still grinning but not wishing to press the issue... “All the way in the back,” he replied, pointing to the back of the hangar. “With the security system, they'll be safer inside.”

  Jack put the roadster in gear and rolled past his amused copilot without saying a word. Brian knew Steele's competitive spirit - he hated to lose at anything. As the Cobra rumbled slowly under the wing of the B25, the echo of the car's low burble danced around the inside of the expansive hangar. Jack scanned the left side of the fuselage, his eyes pausing on the artwork of the reclining blonde pin-up girl who had been expertly repainted, her colors bright and crisp. As he passed under the tail and pulled up next to Brian's pickup truck at the rear of the building, Jack unlatched the dog's harness one-handed, Fritz disappeared out over the passenger door and hit the ground at a run before Jack had the Cobra at a complete stop. Jack stepped out of the car just in time to see Fritz crash into the waiting, open arms of Brian.

  "Hey you big overgrown hamster, ready to go flying?" Barking an affirmation, the Shepherd bounded around the inside of the hangar his voice ringing off the metal walls.

  Jack marveled at how perfectly the old plane had been restored. As he lovingly tucked-in his prized roadster with its cover for its four-week nap, he thought about the first time he saw the plane... if you could call it that. Jack had met Stephen Miles, the owner, a year ago through the shuttle service when he delivered a replacement plane to Stephen's commercial seaplane business on short notice. Stephen took an immediate liking to the charismatic young pilot and was eager to share his most impressive project to date... the Sweet Susie. At that time, the B25-D had only been in the hangar about three months. The engines had been removed, the fuselage looked like hell, and the control surfaces were simply worthless. Jack couldn't imagine her surviving a stiff wind much less ever becoming airborne.

  The B25 "D" model was one of the later versions of the Mitchell Bomber series. A formidable aircraft, she incorporated some improvements with the combat proven standards. While retaining the twin 50 cal. turret on top of the fuselage, four 50 cal. guns were mounted facing forward. These four guns were fix-mounted forward below the cockpit on the fuselage, two on either side, in single mount pods. Two 50 cal. guns in the tail, one in the nose for the bombardier, and one on each side of her waist capped off the B25-D's armament. All the good it'll do her, Steele thought, the only battle this plane is likely to fight is with the rust creeping across her airframe. Jack figured Stephen probably wasn't rowing with both oars in the water but decided to humor him anyway. He thought, what the heck, when you work with unlimited funds, you can accomplish almost anything. And they did. Stephen's enthusiasm was severely contagious, and the next twelve months transformed the old wreck into a masterpiece.

  Jack found out the reason for Stephen's desire; his father who had passed away prior to Susie's purchase was the plane's pilot during World War II. Stephen had paid Jack well for all the time devoted to the project and even gave him shuttles to do during times when they waited for parts. The young pilot became very fond of the B25, as if it were his own and was excited beyond description, when the Sweet Susie rolled out of the hangar for her first flight in over forty years. All her systems had been completely finished, but the paint work had not yet begun. The B25 was a mishmash of colors; red primer, zinc green and new, shiny silver wing and fuselage panels, not to mention remnants of her original camouflage scheme. Both Stephen and Jack flew her on the rebirth run, to test the systems and try out her new power plants. The hardest thing was to get used to the layout of avionics that had been added to supplement the original and updated gauges. As oddly as she looked on the outside, the Sweet Susie flew like a dream, lighter and faster than she had been when originally built. The engines were completely rebuilt and tweaked, to wring out every last horse the power plants could provide, thanks to Stephen's master mechanics and engineers. If Jack hadn't seen the remarkable transformation step by step, he wouldn't have believed it was the same plane he saw the first time he had walked into the hangar. The finishing touch was the paint, and that had been completed about a week ago.

  Jack, bags in hand, strode towards the waiting copilot. "Damn, this place looks so empty."

  "I was thinking the same thing," replied Brian, thinking back. "It looked so much smaller when all that equipment was in here." Only a few months ago, scaffolding surrounding the plane, the engineer's office was filled with blueprints and plans, the machine shop, welding equipment... and of course, all the people filled every corner of the hangar. Crews worked independently on their own assignments, but together as a collective with the common goal to totally restore the historic B25 to new condition.

  "Is Susie ready to go?" Jack's voice snapped Brian back to present reality.

  "Yeah, for the most part. She's fueled but I'm waiting for our weather report, and George is going to check all her fluid levels."

  "Ok, great, let's get George to move her out onto the tarmac skirt and we'll warm up the engines." Brian trotted off to find George.

  "Where's the cooler?!" Jack shouted, as the copilot departed.

  "I put it in the plane already!" Brian shouted back, as he disappeared into the hangar
.

  Can't afford to forget sodas and sandwiches, Jack thought. While he waited, he tossed his bags up into the belly hatch, then began a general inspection of the aircraft. Just as he finished, Brian returned with George. The mechanic climbed into the seat of the tow tractor and started its engine. Jack called Fritz to his side and Brian handed his Skipper a copy of the weather report. The two airmen studied their paperwork while George towed the Sweet Susie out into the warm Florida sun. The B25 and her crew were going all the way to Brazil and getting a good handle on the weather was an important part of a safe flight. Sweet Susie and several other existing B25s, all from the US., were headed to Rio De Janeiro for the filming of a new movie. The planes would rendezvous in Rio then move further South near Sao Paolo to begin filming.

  Jack motioned his copilot to the chart table. "I think we ought to skirt this weather here," said Jack, pointing to the tip of the Florida Keys. "We'll head east, pass Miami, and halfway to the Bahamas we'll swing back south. We'll stop in Puerto Rico to fuel up the tanks and take off in the morning."

  Brian pulled on his lower lip, deep in thought. "Could we..."

  "Stay an extra day? " interrupted Jack. "No, sorry..." Brian frowned. "Besides," added Jack, "the scenery, both geological and female is to die for, where we're headed."

  The copilot's expression brightened quite noticeably, "No kiddin?"

  "Scout's Honor," said Jack, crossing his heart and giving the Boy Scout salute. Jack knew, because he'd been there the year before to deliver a plane and was simply inundated with women. He wasn't sure if it was him that attracted the women, or the simple fact that he was an American. Being the kind of man who found it difficult to turn down a beautiful woman, he didn't think about it much.

  “I gotta call bullshit on that one...” challenged Brian, “you were never a Boy Scout.” Jack gave him a dirty look. "Ok, Ok, I believe you, so where do we go from Puerto Rico?"