Spectre Rising

by C. W. Lemoine

  “I’ve read the initial reports, Agent Baxter, get to the point,” the SECDEF interjected.

  Baxter nodded and advanced to the next slide and hit play. It was the radar feed from the Key West site.

  “This is the radar feed from the Key West approach radar,” he said, starting the video playback. “As you can see, we lose contact at approximately 21:02:15, around the time Lt Col Pitre lost radio and datalink with Captain Moss. At 21:02:22, however, we see another track south of that position headed due south at low altitude. Based on the speed and relative position, we think that is Captain Moss’ jet.”

  “So where did she go?” the SECDEF interrupted again.

  Without missing a beat, Baxter again advanced to the next slide. It was a satellite photo of an airfield.

  “This is Castro Field. It is a non-operational military airfield built by the Russians during their push to build up their presence in the Western Hemisphere a few years back. The project was completed in 2009, but when Castro died, the Russians abandoned the project. Foreign intelligence agencies, as well as the DGI have used it as a staging area for South American operations since then.”

  Baxter advanced to the next slide, showing a map of the area and a plot from Moss’ last known position to the airfield in Cuba.

  “Based on her last known heading and ties with Cuban Intelligence operative Victor Alvarez, we believe that it is most likely that she landed at this base.”

  “Let me stop you for a second, before we continue down into this rabbit hole,” Secretary Johnson began. “Colonel Louhan.”

  “Sir?” Coach stood. He was wearing neatly pressed Air Force blues.

  “What is the latest on the search and recovery efforts?”

  Coach shifted for a moment and picked up his notes. “As of noon today, we have searched a fifty square mile area around the last known position of the aircraft. Due to high winds and rough seas hampering search efforts, we have been unable to locate a debris field of any kind.”

  “Is it possible the aircraft crashed outside your search area?”

  “Without a beacon, survivor communications, or a mark from one of the overhead aircraft witnessing the crash, it is almost impossible to know for sure where the crash actually happened. We have done a grid search with the Coast Guard and Navy, but have so far come up empty handed.”

  “Do you think the scenario Agent Baxter has briefed is plausible?”

  “Sir, I’m not sure I’m qualified to comment on that,” Coach responded.

  “Sure you are,” the SECDEF replied. “Don’t you know your own pilots? Do you think one of them would steal a fighter jet?”

  Coach looked away, trying to hide his embarrassment. Finally, he said, “The lack of a crash site definitely makes it possible. However, the environment has not been conducive to search and recovery, and we are essentially looking for a needle in a haystack. Captain Moss was an exemplary officer and pilot. Bottom line, no sir, I do not think one of my pilots would do this.”

  Spectre rolled his eyes. Coach was standing in front of the Secretary of Defense in denial of the evidence and outright lying about his opinion of Chloe. Spectre remembered Chloe coming home crying one day after Coach outright told her during a flight debrief that she was a below average pilot who shouldn’t be flying anything in the military. “You would probably be better off working in a USO,” he had told her.

  But yet, after Spectre’s strafing incident, Coach was the first to e-mail a three star general, outright lying about the events of that night to make Spectre look guilty of fratricide. He had even said that one of the friendlies had died of bullet fragmentation wounds during the strafing run, implying that Spectre’s bullets had killed him, while neglecting to mention that those bullets were from an enemy AK-47 and that countless others would have died if Spectre hadn’t acted. Spectre wondered what the answer would have been had he been the one flying the jet instead of Chloe.

  Secretary Johnson turned his attention back to Baxter and nodded for Coach to take his seat. “Agent Baxter, right now what you have amounts to circumstantial evidence. I understand the radar image, but I’ve spoken to the Secretary of State and the Director of Central Intelligence, and we have no credible information that the Cubans have our aircraft or pilot. What is this Alvarez connection?”

  Baxter advanced to his next slide with the profile of Victor Alvarez. He was getting a bit frustrated. He had heard that the SECDEF had a habit of interrupting speakers and going off on tangents, but he didn’t think it would be this bad. If the man would just let him finish, his questions would be answered.

  “Victor Alvarez is a known Cuban Intelligence operative in the Miami area. During our investigation, we interviewed Mr. Martin, who is with us to answer any questions. He gave us copies of correspondence between Moss and Alvarez indicating a meeting on the night of the crash. Mr. Martin was living with Captain Moss at the time of the incident.”

  Secretary Johnson turned around to look at Spectre who was sitting directly behind him. He looked him over for a second, and then said, “You’re the guy she dumped right? And you were still living together?”

  Spectre nodded without saying a word. He didn’t like the guy already, but he knew he would need him to authorize a rescue effort for Chloe. It was probably better just to say nothing.

  “How did you get this alleged correspondence, son?” the statesman asked condescendingly.

  “It’s complicated,” Spectre replied flatly.

  “It’s complicated? So let me get this straight. Jealous ex-lover comes up with an e-mail and this is your proof that one of our own airmen stole an F-16?” Johnson scoffed.

  “She was forced to do it,” Spectre replied.

  “Forced? Someone put a gun to her head and made her come up with this elaborate way to fake her own death and fly a fighter jet into a shitty third world country? Are you people seriously wasting my time with this?” the SECDEF replied indignantly.

  Spectre shifted in his seat. He ran through a few scenarios involving punching the smug bastard right in his aristocratic nose, but none allowed him to escape without having to take down a few friendlies in the process. This whole briefing was starting to become a huge waste of his time.

  “Sir, if I may,” Baxter interjected. The SECDEF turned around and nodded for Baxter to continue.

  “Thank you, sir. As you may know, Representative Ridley and her family were kidnapped a few nights ago by Abdul Aalee. Ridley is Captain Moss’ mother. On the night of the mishap, Mr. Martin and a chaplain drove to the Congresswoman’s home to notify her of the incident. At that time, Mr. Martin discovered two of the three hostage takers, and after a shootout, was able to secure one of the suspects. After questioning, the suspect gave us the name ‘Victor’ as Aalee’s handler.”

  Baxter paused, took a sip of water, and then continued, “Mr. Martin has played a key role in this investigation, not only in saving the Congresswoman and securing a key witness, but he also led us to the radar information and a possible location where Captain Moss may have gone.”

  Agent Decker flashed a smile at Spectre and poked him in the side. Spectre was too focused on punching the old man in the throat to notice the attractive blonde flirting with him.

  “Ok, let’s say someone did coerce her into doing it. Are you sure it’s this Alvarez guy?” Johnson replied.

  “Sir, based on the correspondence given to us by Mr. Martin and the statement by Abdul Aalee’s man, as well as his status as a Cuban Intelligence operative, we believe so.”

  “So the jilted ex-lover gives you this information, as well as magically shows up to save the day, and points you to an elaborate scheme in which the first female fighter pilot in this squadron, and Air Force Academy graduate, is forced into stealing an F-16 and flying it to Cuba?” he asked incredulously.

  Decker grabbed Spectre’s arm. His jaw was clenched and his face reddened. It was clear to Decker he was about to do something he would later regret.

  “Sir, ar
e you suggesting Mr. Martin is a suspect?” Baxter was beside himself.

  Secretary Johnson snapped his fingers and motioned for Coach to hand him a file. He put his reading glasses on and opened the file folder.

  “Captain Cal ‘Spectre’ Martin, reassigned to non-flying status after a friendly fire incident, given a letter of reprimand and honorably discharged from the Air Force Reserve six months later. Listed as next of kin to Captain Chloe Moss, who we now know dumped him a few weeks ago,” the man looked up from his folder. “Is this information correct, Colonel Louhan?”

  “Yes, sir, that is accurate,” Coach replied with a smug grin.

  “I’m not telling you how to do your job, Special Agent Baxter, but before I’d risk alerting the press and starting a media frenzy that one of our own servicewomen has gone off the reservation by stealing a jet, I would at least consider the source. Do you know what kind of black eye that would give this administration?”

  “Then where is the jet, asshole?”

  There was a collective gasp as the room fell silent and every head turned to Spectre. He was now standing, his knuckles white from his clenched fists. Decker tried to grab him to make him sit back down, but he shrugged off her attempts.

  “Excuse me?” Johnson asked.

  “You’re so worried about how the media will spin this that you can’t see what’s going on here,” he said. He made no attempts to hide the contempt and anger in his voice.

  “Mr. Martin, you’ve wasted enough of our time in the last couple of days. If you don’t sit down and shut up so the adults can talk, I will have you removed. Do you understand?” Johnson looked at his security detail. The two men were slowly approaching Spectre from either side.

  Spectre contemplated his next move. He calculated that he could probably deal with the approaching security detail, but the long-term ramifications would be more than a little unpleasant. He didn’t need jail time right now. He put his hands up.

  “Ok, just hear me out, sir,” Spectre said in a disarming tone.

  Johnson waved the two guards off and motioned for Spectre to proceed. “You have thirty seconds, the floor is yours.”

  “I didn’t believe it either, but when I freed Chloe’s stepdad, he was worried that something had happened to Chloe before I had even told him anything. He had overheard the men who kidnapped him mentioning her name. These assholes knew her. They were doing this to get to her. And Victor Alvarez was orchestrating the whole thing. Now you have an F-16 on foreign soil being exploited by God knows what country. Probably the Chinese, given their track record. And an American Airman being held captive. What kind of media frenzy do you think that will cause for your precious administration?”

  “Mr. Martin, your time is up, this is all very circumstantial. As I mentioned before, we have no credible intelligence suggesting anything beyond a simple crash,” Johnson dismissed, motioning for his security detail to remove Spectre.

  “So you’re ok with the idea that an American Air Force Officer is potentially in enemy hands right now, being interrogated by foreign intelligence agents?” Spectre asked disgustedly.

  “If that is, in fact, the case, then we will work it through the State Department, but she knew the risks when she signed up. Thank you for your time, Mr. Martin, good day.”

  Spectre turned to walk out. The guard in front of him tried to grab his arm as the other guard approached from the rear. Spectre rotated his arm out of the guard’s grip and pushed him away as he continued past him to the door.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Mr. Martin,” the SECDEF warned as Spectre stormed to the door.

  Spectre stopped at the door and paused for a minute as he reached the door. “The only thing stupid I’ve done is waste my time with you incompetent assholes,” he said as he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Cal, wait!”

  Spectre stopped and turned to face the female voice behind him. He had barely made it out the door past the SECDEF’s security detail to the parking lot. It was Agent Decker.

  “What?” Spectre said tersely as she caught up to him. He was still fuming from the confrontation with the SECDEF, but her deep blue eyes were disarming. He was sure people had fallen victim to her attractiveness many times before and had probably fallen over themselves to give her whatever she wanted. It was hard to resist.

  “Listen, I know you’re upset, but there’s really nothing we can do right now,” she pleaded.

  “You stopped me to regurgitate the talking points from the dipshit in there? Seriously? I don’t have time for this.” Spectre turned back to his truck.

  Decker grabbed his arm gently as he tried to walk off. “Cal, please, just stop for a second. You’ve been through a lot in the last couple of days. You and Baxter both. But you have to let the system work. If she’s alive, State will negotiate her release.”

  Spectre turned back and shrugged off her grip. Disarming or not, she represented the establishment. She was part of the system that had destroyed his flying career and was now doing nothing to save the woman he loved. Or had once loved. He still wasn’t sure what to believe.

  “Were you just in the same meeting I was in? They don’t even believe the jet is still in one piece. They’re not going to negotiate anything. If she’s alive, she’ll rot in some prison and no one will ever know it. I can’t just sit back and wait, knowing that something could have been done.”

  “You’re not planning on going to the press with this are you?” she replied with a look of concern.

  “Rule number one, never talk to the media,” Spectre shot back.

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  “Special Agent Decker, I appreciate your concern, but I really don’t have time for this. If I think of anything else that may be beneficial to your investigation, I’ll give you a call.” Spectre pulled his sunglasses from the top of his head and put them on. He didn’t wait for a response before getting into his truck.

  Spectre replayed the day’s meetings over and over in his head on the drive back to the store. The store was the only place that made sense to him. He didn’t want to go home and he needed to talk to Marcus about what the government’s official position was. He still didn’t know what he was going to do.

  The Secretary of Defense, although a total asshole, had been partially right. There was no concrete evidence or proof of life. But the thought of her sitting in a holding cell, scared and alone, was just too much.

  Spectre didn’t believe in coincidences. It was pretty clear that the kidnappings and e-mails were related. Alvarez had orchestrated the whole thing. It was a pretty smart plan from his perspective. He made her defect by using her family as leverage. But there were still questions hanging in Spectre’s mind. Why didn’t she tell him? Did she break up with him to make the pain easier? What about those e-mails she sent to Alvarez?

  The more Spectre thought about it, the more the situation bugged him. The questions were muted by the overarching reality. He had to do something to at least try to get her back. He would never be able to live with himself knowing he did nothing when he could have done something.

  Spectre arrived at the store to find Marcus in his office. He was surprised to see Joe Carpenter sitting on the couch chatting with Marcus as he walked in without knocking. Carpenter was wearing faded blue jeans, flip-flops and a Superman t-shirt.

  “Joe?” Spectre asked, cocking his head to the side. “What are you doing here?”

  “Spectre! Dude, I’ve been trying to call you,” Carpenter said, standing to greet Spectre. “As soon as I heard what happened to your woman, I drove down. Marcus has filled me in. Are you ok man?”

  Spectre shot Marcus an inquisitive look. “What did he tell you?”

  “He told me about the crash,” Carpenter said using air quotes, “and the shootout with the tangos.”

  “I told him everything I knew, Cal,” Marcus finally said.

  Spectre shrugged and sat down in the
big leather chair across from Marcus. “Then I guess I won’t have to repeat anything. You’ll never guess who I just met.”

  “Kate Upton?” Marcus replied with a grin. It was the kind of perverted old man grin that made Spectre cringe.

  “No, but close,” Spectre replied, turning to Carpenter. “I met your boss.”

  “Lt Col Samson?” Carpenter asked.

  “Much higher. Kerry Johnson was on base today. And I got to sit in on their conference.”

  “You met the SECDEF? Wow, this must be pretty serious for him to show up in person,” Carpenter replied.

  “That fucking Democrat? Did you punch him in his crooked nose?” Marcus replied. Spectre wondered what Marcus would have done in that conference room. He was glad he didn’t get to find out, although the entertainment value might have made it completely worth the wasted afternoon.

  “The one and only. And no, I didn’t punch him, although the urge was definitely there.”

  Spectre related all the events of the day. From the debate with Baxter and Decker to the conference with the Homestead brass and eventually storming out, Marcus and Carpenter absorbed every detail.

  Before Spectre could get to the part with Agent Decker in the parking lot, Carpenter interrupted abruptly, “I’m in.”

  “You’re in for what?” Spectre asked.

  “Whatever it is you’re planning. I’m in. Fuck those guys,” Carpenter replied without missing a beat.

  “Me too,” said Marcus.

  “I’m not planning anything. This isn’t the movies. I’m not even sure what we could do or how to even get to Cuba.”

  “Just head south. You’ll get there eventually,” Marcus replied sarcastically.

  “No shit, but that’s a pretty big operation for three people,” said Spectre. His mind had been racing through scenarios all day. It sounded like a great idea – to do what the government wouldn’t and rescue her, and it was what Spectre wanted to do. But it was a logistical nightmare. Even for a trained team, getting in undetected and getting her out would be a challenge. For three lightly armed civilians with no three-letter agency support, it would be impossible. They would all end up captured or killed.