"Take me with you..." said Maria, taking Jack's hand.
"What!? Hell no... Look, I don't have time to discuss this, I can't take you with us, end of conversation..."
"There's no reason for me to stay, no family, no job after today, and it won't be safe for me here anymore...
"Not safe, why?"
"They'll think I helped you... they know who I am - they'll kill me..."
"Who... why..." Jack rubbed his forehead, this was becoming more complicated by the second.
"The police. Look, just take me with you... please..." Her voice was filled with urgency and the sound of sirens in the far distance hastened the situation.
"The police? Oh for the love of G... Ok. Ok," said Jack, holding up his hands, "whatever, just get your stuff and let's go!"
"No one is leaving!" A man in dirty pants and torn shirt emerged from the office holding an old, large caliber revolver. He took the trio completely by surprise, a twisted smile on his face.
"Who the hell is this?" asked Jack through clenched teeth.
"Paulo!" hissed Maria, "what are you doing here?!" She turned to Jack, "He is an ex-friend of my brother who thinks he loves me. But he is estupido, I HATE him!" she snarled, her voice filled with venom. "It's because of him that my brother is dead."
"But I do love you!" The man stepped closer. "And your brother died because of his foolishness - I had nothing to do with it.” He stood taller, more erect, “I am saving you from the fate these American pigs will share..." The man's voice was filled with hate and contempt. His wicked smile had turned to a fierce show of teeth resembling a snarl. Stepping closer, he menaced Jack with the revolver.
Jack grit his teeth, "What next? We don't have time for this bullshit!"
"It was I who reported you to the police," gloated Paulo. "I told them you had drugs on your plane." The wicked smile returned. "They don't like people who don't pay their transport taxes... They will take everything you have and imprison you for life..." He stepped closer still, gloating, self involved with his impending victory, looking smug. "Maybe they'll even kill you."
"Jiminy Christmas..." whispered Brian.
"Really?” whispered Jack, shooting him a glance, “we're back to that one...?”
“Sorry...” Shrugged the copilot. “That explains our first visitor,” he added, changing the subject. "And I'll bet that's him on his way back, with friends...”
"Probably..." replied Jack.
"Shut up, you!” The man waved the revolver and advanced for effect.
Jack's mind was racing, he glanced over at the cot, his Kimber was in the flight bag. Too far, never work he thought. He began calculating the distance to the man standing before them... Maria spoke and Jack grabbed her sleeve, keeping her from moving forward or getting in the way. He needed to draw the man closer. "Paulo, how could you do this to me? They will put me in prison too! They might even kill me!" Maria's voice did not waver, but tears of anger rolled down her cheeks.
"NO!" he objected, "they promised me you would not be involved!" Sirens wailing in the distance, grew louder, closer. Brian fidgeted. Jack needed Paulo closer, so he tried baiting him...
"Fucking brilliant... and you believed them?” He waved his arm dismissively, “Are you that stupid? Of course you are...” he waved again, “you've got to be the biggest dumbass on the planet! Your mother must have fucked the village idiot to produce a person as shit-stupid as you...."
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Paulo drew closer, his common sense, if there was any to begin with, was gone. There were bits of foam at the corners of his mouth and his eyes were wild with rage. He pulled courage from the impending arrival of the police. The sirens were close now, too close. Paulo waved the revolver inches from Jack's face. "I should kill you myself..." he pulled the hammer back with his thumb.
Brian had never seen anyone move so fast in all his life. Jack's reaction was a complete blur as the pilot's left hand, open, swept the gun high and to the left where his hand closed around the cylinder to prevent the gun's function. To his dismay, Paulo never got the hammer all the way back. He struggled to pull the hammer or the trigger, but Jack had total control. His right fist shot into Paulo's solar plexus with the speed and intensity of a pile driver. Paulo crumpled to his knees, instantly releasing his grip on the gun, his hands clutching his chest. Close to unconsciousness and gasping for air, Paulo's tortured face registered a look of complete and total disbelief... then the lights went out, induced by a brutal strike in the face with the handle of his own gun.
"Get to the plane! NOW!" Jack pulled his Kimber from his flight bag and slung the holster over his shoulder, sliding extra loaded mags into his pockets. He checked the one in the pistol and checked to be sure the chamber had a round in it.
"What are you gonna do?" asked Brian, grabbing his bag.
"Give these clowns something to do, while you warm up the plane."
"We're not leaving without you," cried Maria.
"I've got no time to argue. Now get going! Brian, you know what to do, she's gotta be ready to take off fast! Here, take my bag..." Brian caught the nylon bag and took off at a dead run with Maria in tow.
Jack ran to the back of the hangar and looked out the rear door and down the airport's dirt access road. What he saw was not reassuring. Several police jeeps loaded with officers were racing up the road to the old hangar. The dust rising from the road prevented Jack from counting the vehicles. He checked over his shoulder to be sure Paulo was still laying on the floor in a crumpled heap.
Brian slid to a stop under the belly of the B25, almost losing his footing. He threw the bags up into the hatch. Fritz peered down through the opening to see who or what was coming up next. Brian pulled the parking chocks from the landing gear and tossing them clear into the grass, then hoisted himself up into the belly.
Standing at the back door of the old hangar, Jack could easily see the B25. When he glanced over his shoulder, it was just in time to see Brian disappear into the fuselage. Knowing they were safe, Jack drew the 1911 from its holster, "Ok baby, I guess it's just you and me." Trying to stay concealed, he peered out of the doorway - the lead vehicle was so close he could see the faces of the policemen, their uniform shirts were white. "Nice target," he said aloud to himself.
Jack needed to stall for time, no matter what it would take. The vehicles did not look like police cars – more like whatever they had at hand. Captured or arrested was not an option as he was certain these were not real policemen... more likely drug cartel dressed as police. Jack stepped from the doorway and leveled the .45 at the first vehicle. The first two shots took the men dressed as police totally by surprise. The hood of the lead vehicle blew open as the bullets from the .45 ripped through the grill and destroyed the radiator. The startled driver swerved and crashed the steaming jeep into the mesh airport fence, the officers spilling out and scrambling for cover behind the wrecked vehicle.
Jack ducked back inside. Behind him, he heard the B25's port engine sputter, then roar to life. He ventured a quick glance out of the door. A second jeep roared past the first and turned between the buildings to head for the Sweet Susie. He knew he couldn't allow them to reach the plane. He jumped out of the doorway in a crouch, having to expose himself to get a shot at the jeep as it rounded the corner of the hangar. Slamming his shoulder into the building as he scampered the few feet to the corner he snapped off two shots, the muzzle flame reaching out briefly and the empty shell casings pinging as they dropped to the gravel. The driver died instantly, his head disappearing in a furious splash of red, covering the passenger with bloody gobbets of flesh and bone. The jeep, uncontrolled, careened into the east side of the old hangar, smashing the vehicle and killing the other man, who, thrown from the jeep, bounced off the side of the buil
ding like a rag doll. The three men in the back seat survived only by bailing out before the crash. Jack scrambled across the ground on hands and knees to reach the safety of the doorway as the police returned fire from the cover of the first jeep. Bullets spattered and ricocheted off the metal building around him like angry bees. Once inside the doorway, he took a quick account of his body, astounded that he had not been hit. He took another quick peek. Two other jeeps had arrived and slid up abreast with the first near the fence, creating an effective staggered cover for the white-clad police. They fired a volley again and he drew back inside as the bullets clattered like hail against the metal building.
Steele spun around as he heard the B25's starboard engine roar to life. From their vantage point, the police had a field of fire that extended to the plane... it was a no-man's-land run he was not likely to survive without help. He was going to need a distraction... Paulo stirred on the floor... Jack stared at him for a moment, hmmm... it might work. Holstering the Kimber, Jack picked up the man by the shirt, shaking him viciously and dragged him to the doorway. "Wakie wakie Paulo, time for some exercise."
Paulo came around, vaguely aware of his surroundings. "You might be of some use after all..." Jack snarled, holding him up. Jack used Paulo's gun and fired through the doorway at the police until it was empty, hitting one man. He pushed the gun in Paulo's hand and shoved him out into the chaos. "RUN... RUN!" Still holding the revolver in his hand, Paulo, confused, stumbled, ran, then stumbled again, waving his arms to surrender. His body twitched, jerked and spun uncontrollably, violently, as the angry police gunned him down without hesitation.
Jack had not stayed to watch the results but was reasonably sure of the outcome. He was running for the open great-door at the opposite end of the hangar, taking advantage of the confusion outside. He slid the .45 out of its holster as he ran. The Sweet Susie was rolling slowly... "What the hell is he doing?" Hissed Jack through clenched teeth. He was facing the possibility that maybe things looked even more impossible from Brian's vantage point. Jack was almost to the door when two white shirted men, stepped around the corner of the doorway and blocked his escape.
Surprised by their presence, Jack tried to stop and lost his footing on the smooth concrete floor. The officers fired as he slid to the floor, their bullets passing over his head. Jack fired by instinct as he fell. One officer dove head first for cover, the other crumpled in a heap with a gaping hole in his chest, an obscene crimson stain creeping across his white uniform shirt. Steele scrambled behind assorted crates and barrels for cover as automatic gunfire splashed about the inside of the hangar, from both sides. Police had stormed the rear of the hangar. Things were looking grim and Jack decided if he was going to die, he was going to take as many of them with him as he could. He fired between the crates at the men in the rear of the hangar, one man fell to the floor, bleeding profusely. The familiar clack of the slide locking open on an empty mag sounded loud even among the staccato of gunfire. The fire from automatic weapons chewed at the crates around the pilot, showering him with splinters of wood and lead.
Jack was pressed against the wall of the hangar, fairly well protected by the crates and barrels. He popped the empty mag from his pistol and replaced it with another one, tucking the empty in his pocket. He thumbed the slide release, dropping the slide. Time was running out, they would overrun him soon. He peered between the crates towards the front of the hangar and was surprised to see the B25 was still there, sitting motionless on the runway, with the engines running. He could no longer hear the engines over the gunfire. Jack pulled back as gunfire ripped into the crate next to him. He fired blind over the top of the crate in response. He found himself wishing Brian would take off, not wanting to do all this for nothing, he couldn't understand what...
The cool, almost cold, moisture creeping across the concrete under his left hand interrupted his train of thought. He smelled it. Paint thinner..? He turned and read the label on the leaking fifty gallon drum with the skull and crossbones on it: Methyl ethyl ketone. Jesus, MEK! A paint thinner yes, but also one of the main ingredients in refining cocaine. And beyond flammable, explosive was a much better description. The unmistakable thumping sound of twin .50 caliber machine gun fire snapped his train of thought. Jesus Christ! That’s all I need!
.50 caliber rounds ripped through the hangar, punching holes through the corrugated steel walls like paper. Jack curled himself in a ball on the floor in an attempt to avoid the destruction tearing through the building, praying none of the hot rounds would hit the drum behind him. Laying on the floor, peeking between the shredded crates, he discovered the source. The twin .50 cal. guns in the upper turret on the Sweet Susie was giving the police a glimpse of Hell. The white uniformed officers at the mouth of the hangar, lay sprawled on the concrete in pools of blood, their bodies literally cut in half and twisted in grotesque shapes. The wrecked jeep against the building exploded, throwing sheets of corrugated metal into the building as a large section of the wall disappeared. In fear of extermination, the men dressed like police withdrew from the rear of the hangar, dropping their weapons as they ran. They were greedy, yes. Corrupt, yes. Stupid, not so much... They were simply outgunned. Used to getting what they wanted through intimidation and terrorism, they had no stomach or training for the fierce armed resistance they had just experienced. The Police Lieutenant had lost about half his men, some real cops and some loaned to him by the local cartel... he would most likely lose his commission, but right now he was more concerned about losing his life. So he ran with his men, what was left of them, and they fled past their vehicles leaving them abandoned. Unfortunately for the Lieutenant, his failure might mean death anyway.
The .50 cal. guns fell silent and Jack extracted himself from his cover, his Kimber still clutched in his hand. He felt weak, shaken. Maria dropped to the runway from the open belly hatch, followed by Fritz. The duo ran toward the hangar, fearing the worst, unable to see Jack in the shadows of the interior. Jack ran into the sunlight, his legs feeling a little like lead. Maria covered her mouth to stifle a cry of glee and Fritz bounded happily to his friend. The pilot dropped to one knee as he shoved the .45 back into its holster. The Shepherd jumped into Jack's outstretched arms almost knocking him to the ground. Jack hugged the dog as he licked his face. Maria reached out to him, crying. "Hurry, they'll come back!" The pilot glanced over his shoulder at the carnage, as Maria helped him to his feet. The exploding jeep had started a fire which was quickly consuming the whole East side of the old hangar fed by the containers and crates inside. The fire was so hot, the corrugated steel on the outside of the building began melting.
The leaking drum of Methyl ethyl ketone exploded in an eye-searing fireball, tearing out almost the entire east wall, sending sheets of flames into the air and flaming debris onto the next hangar. The concussion sent Jack, Maria and Fritz sprawling onto the asphalt. An oily black column of dense smoke billowed and rose from the open mouth of the hangar while hot, angry orange flames leapt through the roof. The three rose and Maria covered his face with kisses while hustling to the plane. "Hurry sweetheart," she said, urging him along.
Standing below the fuselage, the prop wash felt refreshing. Maria boosted Fritz through the hatch before climbing up herself. After one last look around, Jack pulled his weary body up into the plane, helped by the hands reaching down to help pull him up.
"Go! Go! Go! Get us out of here!" Maria reached down and pulled the hatch shut with a metallic clang and latched it tight.
"Ok, I'll call for clearance and we're outta here!" replied the copilot, releasing the brakes.
"NO!" she screamed, "they will try to stall you, or block the runway, just Go! GO! Get us up in the air!" She felt the surge of power as Brian throttled slowly up, and was relieved.
Brian surveyed the gauges, adjusted the flaps and s
wung onto the runway, right across the grass from the taxiway, knocking down a runway marker. "Hold on!" He yelled. He cut in front of other planes waiting for take off and hammered the throttles wide open. The radio came alive with frantic calls from the tower and startled pilots alike. Brian ignored their calls and turned down the volume. With the engines roaring at full power, the props hungrily devoured the air. Brian eased the yoke back and the B25 lifted easily off the runway, leaving an airport in complete chaos. He retracted the landing gear and flaps, keeping her at low altitude and full power to get maximum speed. Brian flew her on the deck, just barely above treetop level for almost fifteen minutes, frequently changing headings to avoid tracking or pursuit. Having dutifully filed their flight plans first thing in the morning, Brian chose an alternate flight path not listed on their submission. Instead of flying straight South-Southwest across the Caribbean Sea, to either Maracaibo or Caracas, Brian decided they would fly a half moon, following the British and French islands that created a dotted line from Puerto Rico to the coast of Venezuela. Avoiding cities they logged, he figured they could land and refuel in Bogota, then fly on from there.
Jack lay on the floor of the plane across Maria's lap, his eyes closed as she wiped the dirt and blood from his face. Maria wept as she spoke. "I can't tell where all this blood came from."
He opened his eyes and looked into hers, "Don't worry, it's not mine... at least I don't think so." He smiled, and she half giggled, half cried, releasing a mixture of emotions all at once. Jack reached up and touched her face. "I'm Ok, really, everything'll be just fine. Well, I guess I better get up to the cockpit and see where we're headed, see what Bri is up to..." He looked down at his torn and soiled shirt, covered with blood and grime. "Dammit, ruined a perfectly good shirt..." He sat up. "Aaaauuugh!" the pain in his left side was deep and took his breath away.
Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1) Page 5
