Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  Whether measured by Earth standards or by the similar but elongated ship's version, time passed quickly. In comparison, travel in deep space or the noticeable progress of such, was negligible in perception. This created the illusion of taking forever to go nowhere. According to Jack's log, the group of pilots had been on the ship for well over a month already and had it not been for the rigorous combat flight training they had imposed upon themselves, days would have drifted from one to another without apparent hesitation. Their efforts were not without rewards. With Pappy's expert tutelage, they had become excellent fighter pilots.

  Thanks to the amiable assistance of CABL 5 and the use of the CHAIR suites, the pilots were able to practice formation flight and improve their organized flight teamwork. Using computer software copied from the combat flight simulator, CABL 5 linked several suites together to allow the pilots to fly as a unit. Each pilot could see a fully dimensional laser hologram of the other pilot's ships around him. This proved to be a highly effective way of learning and created a tremendous amount of cohesion between the pilots.

  Not only did they practice flight combat, Pappy ran them through a series of exercises involving ground and anti-shipping strikes. Jack was amazed at how close the pilots had become, almost like real family. Their affinity for each other was obvious in the way they flew; viciously protecting each other in combat, even when it meant putting themselves at greater risk. Along with the physical application of practice was the studying... of ships and weapons types... provided by research from CABL 5. The technical specifications, uses, advantages and disadvantages, ranges, power, durability and ammunition, when applicable. It was complex but important and useful information.

  Though they spent much of their time working on their study and fighter tactics, shuttle practice did not suffer. In fact, a couple days ago, they all did live flights to a beautiful snow planet called Trelus 2 in the Lan System. While the Princess Hedonist did lazy orbits, the shuttles ran for almost forty-eight hours straight, taking sightseers to and from the surface of the sparkling planet.

  Working in shifts, the pilots flew over two thousand sightseers to the planet's surface and back. After the last shuttle had finally been recovered and secured by the maintenance crew, Gantarro had called the pilots to the bridge.

  "Well..." said Gantarro, standing with his hands clasped neatly behind him, "gentlemen... and lady," he added, nodding toward Maria, "I want to congratulate you all, on a fine orchestration of flights and a superb effort. Everyone was extremely satisfied." A smile lit up his face as he began to clap, which started a round of applause from the crew on the bridge. The worn pilots smiled weakly and shifted uneasily, unaccustomed to grandiose attention. Gantarro continued after the applause died down, "You people did in two days, what it normally takes us six or seven to accomplish. If you continue to operate with such efficiency, you may actually get us back on schedule!" The pilots wanted to say something, anything... but no one could think of exactly what.

  "I had a feeling you would be good pilots, but then I saw the logs from the train-sim in bay eleven..." He paused briefly and watched the pilots' uneasy glances, "Mmmm, yes," he said, nodding, watching their faces, "I knew, I knew right away... why do you think Tee disappeared? I didn't want him interfering. That’s why!" The Captain wore a devilish grin, "He's an anal retentive, but he really is a good instructor... for beginners though, you were obviously light-years past that. I knew that the moment I saw your logs and tapes..." He slammed his hand down on an instrument console, making everyone on the bridge jump, even the group of pilots. "Dammit, if your records reflect your real abilities in combat, you are some of the best damn fighter pilots I have ever seen!"

  Gantarro took a small engraved steel box handed to him by an Ensign of the bridge crew. "I forwarded your flight files to a close friend of mine in UFW's (United Federation of Worlds) Space Academy..." as he held the shining box forward, the top slid open with a hiss to reveal six sets of solid gold wings surrounded by royal blue velvet. The pilots stared in silence at the gleaming wings. "I am honored to have been authorized by the United Federation of Worlds Space Academy, to present you with the Wings of Honor." The presentation was officious, but the Captain could not prevent smiling like a proud father. "Y'know, only Academy graduate fighter pilots get Wings of Honor and they are the only gold wings you will ever see."

  Jack had the sneaking suspicion he was wearing one of those struck-dumb kind of smiles. He looked at his friends, they all had it so it must mean he was wearing it too. He hated that. Ah, but what the hell, it was gratifying to have some occasional recognition. He accepted the wings handed to him with a handshake. "Wherever you go, you will be recognized as being part of a very special group," said Gantarro, as he handed the pilots their wing, "and should you choose to remain out here as part of a space faring society, you are offered permanent positions with the United Federation of Worlds with the following ranks," he pulled out a small piece of paper and read from it. "Effective as of today; Paul Smiley - Commander, Jack Steele - Commander, Derrik Brighton - Lieutenant Commander, Mike Warren - Lieutenant, Brian Carter – Lieutenant, Maria Arroyo - Lieutenant JG." The pilots proudly pinned their wings on their tunics as they left the bridge and headed for the Ecosphere Lounge to celebrate.

  Gant had explained that the UFW was not only created to improve interplanetary trade but for protection as well. Protection against hostile action from unexplored systems or marauding pirates. The latter was becoming more common and increasingly more successful. The UFW deployed scout patrol craft, cruisers and fighter carriers to create a Network or Net as it was more commonly called. The problem was, the pirates were either finding or creating more holes in the Net than the UFW could cover.

  The UFW needed more people, good people, pilots mostly, with combat savvy. The pirates were vicious and ruthless when dealing with the UFW Net and more often than not appeared in numbers sufficient to overwhelm inexperienced UFW forces. Then in true pirate fashion, steal, pillage, or salvage, anything they could get their hands on. They got stronger, the Net got weaker.

  The UFW had experienced limited success with ambushes and raids on pirate hot spots. The idea being to keep the raiders off balance, out of the trade routes and away from the Genesis Gates until their bases could be discovered. Though the operations had merit, the UFW had yet to yield the capture or destruction of a single pirate stronghold. The UFW was simply spread too thin to effect the needed results.

  Jack was not surprised to find pirates often dealt in illicit cargo, after all, greed was a universal motivator, and in any culture, there were plenty of vices to exploit. And, with interstellar travel so prevalent, there was an abundance of cultures accessible for the sale of any cargo or booty the pirates could obtain.

  Jack got those old familiar save the world feelings he used to get when he joined the Chicago Police Department. The cravings for action, the desire to make a difference, improve the world. Some people called men like him excitement junkies. He wondered how close that was to the real truth.

  Compared to most of the planets in the UFW, Earth was considered a savage, warring world, its occupants cunning and dangerous. Jack decided this could work to the UFW's advantage if the Federation could be convinced to use Pappy's superior combat tactics. This might be enough to give them an edge against the pirates and smugglers. He also felt that with his knowledge of special police tactics, and Maria's covert operations experience, they could help uncover some of those elusive pirate bases.

  His thoughts suddenly turned to home and Mother Earth; parents, friends... and unfinished business with Stephen Miles. Mr. Miles... yes, he mustn't forget that bastard. Jack had to go home first, he couldn't forget that. That was to come before all else. It was obvious though, life out here had a lot to offer, maybe... just maybe, he... n
o, they, as a team, could make a difference...

  ■ ■ ■

  "Jack, sweetheart... are you asleep?" Her voice was soft and rich.

  Jack opened his eyes to see Maria gazing down at his face. "Hmm," he said yawning, "I guess I was..." He propped himself up on one elbow, "Where's Fritz?"

  "He went for a walk with Brian and Mike, they should be back pretty soon." Jack nodded and sat up, amazed at how comfortable the grass was and slightly embarrassed that he had dozed off. Maria stretched and made growling cat noises, making Jack smile. Maria tousled her hair, "Want to go dancing after dinner tonight?"

  Jack nodded again, "Sure why not? Sounds great." They laid back on the grass and kissed, oblivious of the curious stares of puzzled offworlders.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WASHINGTON DC, CIA OFFICE: ALPHABET SOUP

  Stephen Miles sifted through the piles of reports scattered across his desk. "Dammit Cummins, it's been almost two months and not a sign!" The steady rain pattered across the window of his Washington office. "How does somebody just vanish with a plane like that? And with a plane like that, how could you possibly escape two F18s? I mean even if they were being flown by two complete morons, there's no way..." His mind drifted off as he looked out the rain washed window upon a gray and soggy city. Lightning flashed in the distance, momentarily illuminating the Washington monument.

  It was a long silence as the two men sat listening to the rain. Bob Cummins shifted uneasily in his seat before he spoke. "The Bureau has been watching Steele's house for some time." The Director's eyes did not leave the window, Cummins continued. "Both his phone and his parent's phone in Chicago have been tapped. I guess the boys are hoping to catch him if he tries to contact his folks. "

  Miles continued to stare out the window. "Those Bureau slobs couldn't catch a cold... but keep a team on them in case they get lucky."

  Cummins nodded. "Have been, twenty-four hours a day."

  "Good..."

  The National Security Act of 1947 was very specific about the CIA's endeavors; that they could have no role inside the US. Internal operations were to be left to the FBI. There was definitely no love lost between the two agencies and the Bureau had a nasty habit when it found the Agency infringing on its territory. Publicity. A royal nightmare. But Stephen needed to find Jack and the B25 before the FBI or the military. It would be the only way he could protect him and prevent the operation from being compromised. Jack was a wanted man. Sought by the FBI who were co-operating with the Puerto Rican government and by the US military, who wanted to know where their F18s were.

  If it came to it, Stephen hoped he could keep his people protected by the fact that the operation was actually running outside the US. If not, what the hell, he wasn't beyond a little dirty pool.

  Cummins cleared his throat before he spoke again, he knew this was a sore subject. "Are we going to make new arrangements to send equipment to the team in Sao Palo?"

  Stephen leaned back in the leather chair and closed his eyes. "No." He pinched the bridge of his nose, "We lost our window of opportunity on Vasquez, he's already left the country with his shipment."

  "Isn't there any way we can intercept him?"

  Stephen shook his head, "No, not at this point. Someone tipped him off and we lost contact with our informant in that region a week ago. We have no idea where his port of entry will be. Or even if he's transporting by air or water for that matter."

  "You're not thinking Steele tipped him off are you?"

  "I thought of it, but no. Besides, it wouldn't explain two missing jet fighters." Stephen Miles had decided that possibility read too much like cheap fiction.

  Cummins stared down at his shoes. "How big is the shipment?"

  "Two tons."

  Bob's eyes shot from the floor to the Director who had resumed staring out the window. "Two tons! Jesus...!" He'd need a calculator to figure out the street value of two tons of cocaine.

  "Oh, it's not the coke that’s bothering me," interrupted Miles, "I'd give that to the DEA boys anyway. I want Vasquez and Restonovich."

  "Colonel Restonovich?" Cummins had heard the name a couple of times before, but he had no idea what the man had to do with the Vasquez cartel. "He's Russian military, right?"

  His feet up on the desk, Miles rolled his head back and forth on the chair's headrest. He seemed to be transfixed by the rain hitting the office window. "No. Not military... KGB."

  Bob's eyes widened, "KGB? I don't understand sir, what would KGB want with a drug dealer? And I thought the KGB was pretty much dismantled, defunct..."

  The CIA Director of South American Operations swung his feet off the desk and spun his chair around to look the young agent in the eye. "Don't let all this Glasnost crap fool you, Cummins." He pulled a cigar out of a small mahogany box on the desk and bit the tip off, "The KGB isn't dead, just hiding." He searched for and found his lighter under a pile of reports. "This Glasnost, buddy-buddy bullshit, was a perfect veil for them to slip underground. They're actually more dangerous now than they were before."

  "And their connection to Vasquez?"

  Stephen puffed on the cigar as he lit it, expelling clouds of foul, gray smoke. "Bankroll a drug dealer. Help him move his shipment. Eliminate him when you know the ropes and take over. It's a perfect opportunity to funnel mass amounts of funds to their cause, and aid in the destruction of the fabric that binds our country." Agent Cummins nodded, he was beginning to understand the big picture. "But," continued Stephen, "we need to find that plane and that kid. Anybody else gets him, and they'll blab all over the place. If Restonovich gets wind of it, he'll go completely underground... I'll never get another shot at him."

  Stephen's aide buzzed him on the intercom. "Yes, Maggie?"

  "The field team assigned to the Steele's is reporting in," replied his aide, "it looks like the federal boys are going to make an initial contact. Wilson is still on the line if you want to speak with him."

  "Yes!" He picked up on the line that flashed on his phone. "Wilson, what's going on?"

  The agent's voice was distant, he was on a cellular phone. "We intercepted a communiqué this morning, sir. The Bureau boys have received orders from their regional; interview in addition to observation. And get them to talk, was an exact quote."

  "Bozos!" growled Miles, "never know when to keep their noses out of our business... Head them off if you can, let them know in no uncertain terms, their investigation stops now! Quote national security, but no details. Understand?"

  "Yes sir. Pressure?"

  "Modest. Heavy only if you have to. If they've already made contact, go in and see the Steeles and do damage control. We don't want them warning Jack away, we need to bring him in. I'll be on the next flight out."

  "Right, sir." The connection ended and the Director cradled the receiver.

  "Cummins," Bob Cummins looked up from his empty coffee cup. "Go pack. Kevin and I will be by to pick you up shortly. We're going to Florida." With a nod, agent Cummins was up and out the door. Stephen Miles rose from his desk, "Maggie! Get Kevin, we're going to Florida!"

  ■ ■ ■

  Lynnette Steele stood in the kitchen of her son's home and prepared dinner. As promised, she and Kyle had traveled down to see Jack. And as expected, he had not yet returned so they called Nina for a key. But now he was long overdue and they were both becoming concerned. There had been no mention of the missing planes on either television or radio so they had no knowledge of any of the bizarre occurrences which had unfolded before their arrival. They enjoyed the weather, the attractions and the beach, basically trying to remain positive about his delayed return.

  In the interest of keeping busy, Kyle had decided to fix a leaky faucet and went to the hardware store for some parts. Lis
a, Jack's younger sister, was walking the family dog on the beach and Nina, who came once a week to tidy up, was in the living room running the vacuum cleaner across the area rug.

  Lynnette looked up from the vegetables she was slicing when the doorbell chimed. "Nina, would you get that? My hands are all wet!"

  "Sure, Mrs. Steele!" She thumbed off the switch and leaving the machine, headed for the door. Padding barefoot across the rug and the tiled foyer, she opened the door to find two men in dark sunglasses and dark suits waiting patiently. "Can I help you?" She asked.

  "Mrs. Steele, please." They knew Mr. Steele had left the house but not for how long. They hoped to play on Mrs. Steele's concern for her son and get her to expose any information she might have knowledge of, before her husband returned.

  "And who could I say is calling?"

  The taller of the two men stepped forward to look into the house, but Nina moved the door to block his view. He pushed on the door and brushed by her. "FBI," was all he said, as he quickly flashed his ID.

  "Hey," she objected, "wait a minute..." but he was already in the house.

  The second man followed the first. He looked the girl up and down, "Don't want any trouble, Missy, do we? Is your green card all up to date?"

  Nina had an even tan and dark reddish-brown hair, but her only ethnic claim was that she was half Seminole Indian. "I'm a born citizen, you jerk!" she snapped, indignant.

  Lynnette Steele turned the corner from the kitchen, holding a towel, drying her hands. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

  "FBI, Mrs. Steele," he flashed his ID again, as fast as before. "Need to ask you a few questions."