by Ed Kovacs
She turned around to face him and slowly buttoned her blouse. Somehow Kit pulled his eyes from her and fished a tablet computer from his backpack. He logged into a GPS software program.
“The key is K-I-T-1,” she said.
He smiled. “If I can’t remember that one, then I’m hopeless.” He entered the key, and the signal popped up on the screen. His eyes narrowed and mouth tightened into a frown.
“The bomb is on the move. And I mean it’s moving; it must be on a plane, probably a small jet.”
He looked up at her. So at least his instincts regarding Yulana were correct; she was on his side after all. The GPS tracking was working perfectly. He felt guilty for having suspected her after all she had done. It was the sole positive thing he could latch onto on a day that had seen radical swings of momentum.
“What a rotten piece of luck. Popov has the e-bomb! We barely got out of Sandia before the bastard grabbed it. It’s like winning a gold medal, but it gets snatched before you make it to the reviewing stand.”
How would he explain this to Padilla? To anyone?
“No, it’s worse than that,” he went on. “I’ve lost my bargaining chip to get Staci back. And I’ve got no one to blame but myself.”
As he watched the device continuing to head west on the tablet screen, his eyes grew heavy. He hadn’t slept in days and couldn’t think clearly. Blood loss was minimal, but he felt woozy, anyway. A thousand thoughts were rushing through his brain, when Yulana leaned in and gently stroked his cheek. He snapped out of his hyperactive thought process and was suddenly calmed as he lost himself in the sweet depths of her eyes.
She tenderly touched his hand. Bennings felt a powerful desire to take Yulana Petkova right there in the backseat of the Chevy. He let that desire wash over him for about two seconds before forcing his cerebral nature to take over again. Stay focused on the mission, was a concept drilled into his brain, so he pulled his hand away from hers.
“You know what I want to do with you right now?” he asked.
“I can guess.”
“I want to go steal a plane.”
She showed slight surprise, then broke into a smile. “Yes. That’s what I was thinking, too.”
CHAPTER 31
Kit Bennings flew VFR, visual flight rules, under the stars in a Beechcraft Baron stolen from Double Eagle II Airport on the west side of Albuquerque. Yulana had watched in amazement as Kit used a simple screwdriver to get them past the door lock and into the cockpit. As with most planes, the pilot’s operating handbook was conveniently left in the aircraft. She and Bennings had quickly reviewed it and then engaged the master switch, magneto switches, fuel selector, boost pump, and starter switch and were in business, no keys needed, thank you very much. Within minutes they’d become airborne. She’d smiled when she thought of how many laws she’d broken since she met Kit Bennings.
After getting the feel of the plane, Kit programmed in the rest of the flight and engaged the autopilot. The cockpit of a Beechcraft Baron was quiet enough that they didn’t need to wear headphones in order to communicate. He looked tired; Yulana wasn’t sure whether she should let him sleep or keep him talking.
“Do you trust the autopilot?”
“I’d trust it more if I had used it before. So I think I’ll skip taking a nap.”
Okay, so keep him talking, she thought. “Do all American defense attachés know how to steal airplanes?” she asked.
“This one does,” he cracked. He looked over to her, as if formulating a question. “Can all Russian female scientists manipulate men so easily?”
“All women know how to fake it with men. You must know that.”
He laughed. “Sorry, I’d forgotten.”
She paused, then, “So there is no real Mrs. Bennings?”
“There was, a long time ago. The marriage lasted five years. I can’t blame her, because I was deployed so much. So she found comfort in the arms of—”
“Another man?”
“My best friend.”
“Ouch.” She hesitated, then, “Did you love her?”
“Yes, ouch, and yes, I loved her. Deeply. So I lost my two best friends.”
She thought about that. “How sad for you. It was different for me because I never loved my husband and never thought of him as a best friend. I was dating him for intellectual, rational reasons. He seemed like a good Russian man, and I thought he might perhaps make a proper life mate and father. You see, I’m an engineer—I don’t care about money, I care about stability, I care about things working properly. My friends kept pushing me to marry, but I resisted since I wasn’t at least ninety percent convinced.
“But then he refused to use a condom one night. We’d both been drinking. He forced the issue and hit me. It was the first time, but not the last. I should have ended it then, but I got pregnant and we married. He gifted me with a beautiful daughter and taught me a bitter lesson about self-respect, so I choose to only feel sorry for him and not to hate him.
“But I’ve never been in romantic love, like you have. So I’m jealous. I’d very much like to experience that kind of love. Unless…” She hesitated, unsure if she should say the words. “Unless I’m not capable of feeling such a thing.”
“In my experience, Russians are a passionate people.”
She shrugged. “It’s a stereotype. But I do cry when I listen to sad songs. There are many black American singers I like, who sing with such strong feelings. When Luthor Vandross sings ‘Dance with My Father,’ I always…” Almost on cue, a tear formed and rolled down her cheek. She looked at Kit and smiled. “Can you see the Russian tears?”
She looked at him through teary eyes and saw his demeanor soften.
“There were no other men for you?” he asked.
“Men have always shown interest in me. And the interest of course is for sex. They don’t care about what’s inside, about my personality, about what I like or don’t like. And when they find out I’m smarter than they are and that I’m not interested in casual sex, they fade away quickly.”
“My mom used to say that there was somebody out there for every person, and I believe that. Don’t worry, you’ll meet somebody good,” said Kit, as they exchanged a look.
“Your mom raised quite a son. Even if you are a spy.”
Kit smiled. “When I was twelve years old I wanted two things: to play blues guitar and to be a spy. So I took music lessons and read espionage novels, watched James Bond movies. I wanted to visit all of the old Asian colonial capitals and be involved in danger and intrigue. I mean, how many twelve-year-olds have posters of Singapore and Rangoon and Jakarta and Hong Kong on their bedroom walls? So I joined the army to see the world. Now, at age thirty-five, I’ve been to all of those capitals—as a spy—and have learned to play guitar.”
“You got what you wanted.”
“But what I learned, is that the most important thing in life is your family. Everything else is just details.”
She looked at him, shocked by the notion that she was developing strong feelings for this man Bennings.
* * *
Angel Perez snored as he lay sprawled on the sofa in a suite at the Venetian on the Las Vegas Strip. Across the room, Buzz Van Wyke slept soundly on bedding placed on the floor. The door to the bedroom was closed.
Angel’s sterile cell phone rang. Both men woke quickly, but Angel fumbled around in the dark, trying to find the ringing phone. He picked up after four rings and sounded as if he’d been in deep sleep.
“Hey boss man, good to hear from you,” said Angel, putting the phone on speaker as he tried not to sound groggy.
“Well I’m glad somebody’s getting some sleep,” joked Kit. “I’m on speaker with Yulana in the cockpit of a Beechcraft Baron I just boosted in Albuquerque.”
“No fair you get to have all the fun. Hey, don’t be jealous, but we’re living large here. It’s been at least an hour since we racked out,” said Angel, checking his watch.
“‘We’ doesn’t mean
you’re all still together, does it?” asked Kit, surprised.
“Indeed we are, in beautiful Las Vegas,” called out Buzz loudly so he could be heard on the speakerphone. He then rapped on the closed bedroom door. “Jen, get in here!”
“Vegas? You were all supposed to go home. I don’t need to remind you that it’s way too risky to be involved with me. Especially after what just happened.”
“Don’t worry about us,” said Buzz. “Now what just happened?”
“Calls in the middle of the night usually don’t bring good news,” said Jen as she shuffled into the room.
“You’re right about that, Jen.” Kit then filled them in on all of the recent developments.
“Yulana and I have been monitoring the bomb’s location with GPS,” added Kit.
“The device was on a jet that landed at North Las Vegas Airport a few minutes ago,” said Yulana, checking Kit’s tablet computer. “Unfortunately, the signal was just terminated.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get the signal back,” said Angel.
“I think you’re right. But when we do, we might not have much time to act,” said Kit. “By the way, why did you all go to Las Vegas?”
“Let’s save the good news till last,” said Buzz, winking at Angel and Jen.
“Kit, unless Popov’s bomb expert is working in a shielded room, we should get the signal back when he checks out the device to confirm it’s operational,” said Angel. “Yulana, do you have any idea how long that will take?”
“Not more than an hour,” said Yulana. “My concern is that Popov’s people have already inspected the device on the flight to Las Vegas. If they have switched off the GPS targeting signal, they don’t need to turn it back on until just before dropping the bomb. Perhaps as little as three or four minutes.”
Buzz, Angel, and Jen looked at one another with great concern at this sobering consideration. “Let’s hope that’s not the case,” said Buzz.
“Since the bomb requires an airborne delivery system, North Las Vegas Airport could be where Popov’s HQ is located,” said Kit.
“I can look into that. And it will be easy to find out which private jets landed there tonight,” said Jen.
“Kit, since you’re in a hot plane, there’s a small airstrip next to the casino in Jean, Nevada, near the California border on Interstate Fifteen. I’ll drive there now to bring you guys into town,” said Buzz.
“Good idea. Now what’s this good news you mentioned? And why are you all in Vegas?” asked Kit.
“Staci’s here,” said Buzz. “She was somehow able to send a text message to your old cell phone that you gave to Jen. We have a general idea of where she’s being held, apparently by a couple of Russians. I hired a half-dozen private investigators who will resume knocking on doors looking for her as soon as it’s daylight.”
Kit visibly perked up like a bankrupt man who’d just won the lottery. It was exactly what he needed to hear to help him keep going in spite of all the recent developments. “That’s fantastic news!” he said excitedly. “Awesome!” Smiling, he looked to Yulana and reached out and squeezed her hand. “Buzz … how did … what … I mean how…?” Kit was so happy he couldn’t get words out.
“I’ll give you all the details when you land. Hopefully, we’ll have her back in the next twelve hours,” said Buzz.
“Buzz, Jen, Angel, you guys are—”
“Are forgiven for disobeying your orders?” joked Jen.
“Listen, since we learned Staci was being held here, I started thinking that Popov’s target was here,” said Buzz.
“Makes sense,” said Kit. “Las Vegas is a target-rich environment, of both a civilian and military nature.”
“Is he hitting casinos?” asked Angel. “That’s where the big money is.”
“Buzz, rent us a hangar and helicopter at McCarran Airport. We’ll set up an HQ there.”
“Great minds think alike. I did all of that as soon as we touched down yesterday.”
“That’s why you make the big money,” joked Kit. “Hey, if it doesn’t look like Popov is using North Las Vegas, call the fueling operations at all of the other area airports. Maybe even talk to the gas jockeys in person. Ask if they’re fueling any airplanes belonging to Russians.”
“Got it.”
“Just to clarify, it sounds like Popov could use the bomb today,” said Jen.
“I expect he’ll use it as soon as he can. Which means I’d like to have more than six people looking for Staci.”
“I’ll make it happen,” said Buzz.
* * *
Sheriff Jim McCain called Detective Bobby Chan into his office for a 5:00 A.M. meeting about the government spying on his officers. After listening to Chan’s version of events, McCain didn’t speak for a full ten minutes. He paced behind his desk, looked out his office window, and jotted some notes onto a yellow legal pad. He made one phone call that Chan couldn’t hear, even though he tried to eavesdrop. Luckily, the big Chinese American detective had some snack crackers stashed in his sport coat, and he munched on them as he watched the sheriff.
Jim McCain was a smart former lawyer, but Chan wasn’t sure how the sheriff would play this to maximize any potential benefit—not to the department, but to McCain’s reelection prospects. He’d surprised Chan by ordering the CID agents to be charged with assaulting an officer and resisting arrest. Other charges were “pending.” Chan was shocked McCain had even gone that far.
The sheriff finished his call and waved Chan over to sit in front of his large desk.
“My brother-in-law, Harry Davenport, is a hotshot Phoenix lawyer and a former federal prosecutor. He’s setting up a conference call with General Duffy, who’s the top guy at the army’s Criminal Investigation Command back on the East Coast, where it’s…” McCain checked his watch. “… eight twenty-two in the morning.”
“So he’s the boss of our perps,” said Chan.
“Yes.”
The desk phone rang. “This is the call.” McCain picked it up and put it on speaker. “Sheriff McCain here.”
“Jim, it’s Harry. We have General Duffy on the line.”
“Sheriff, Mr. Davenport has apprised me of the situation there in great detail,” said General Duffy, whose voice sounded thin and strained, possibly from ill health. “Your department is making some very serious allegations, and I promise I’ll look into it immediately.”
“You’ll look into it immediately?”
“Of course,” said General Duffy.
“And what else, General?”
There was a pause, then, “What exactly are you getting at, Sheriff?”
“What do you need to look into? You have incontrovertibly damning evidence on your desk in front of you of a federal crime committed by your CID officers. I want something done right now. Today.”
“These things take time, and you know that, Sheriff.” Duffy managed to muster a bit more substance to his voice with the remark.
“Sorry, but I’m short on time. So I want to know everything you have on this investigation. I want to know all about Major Kitman Bennings. I want to know why the Russian mob killed two people in his family home, and probably his mother too. And I want any names connected with your investigation. I want your associates at the FBI to give us everything they have on Staci Bennings’s kidnapping, because, like you, they have frozen us out. If you don’t cut me in on the action, you will experience repercussions.”
“Sheriff, I think I’ll have to have some people come and talk to you.” This time, Duffy’s voice had strengthened to the point that he sounded threatening.
“Why don’t you try talking to me in a meaningful way. Did I forget to mention that we have arrested your two agents who committed the federal crime?”
“I believe I forgot to mention that to the general,” said Harry Davenport.
“I have to ask you to please release them at once,” said General Duffy.
“Actually, I was thinking about using them in the press conference.
”
“What press conference?” asked Duffy, sounding angry.
“The one I have scheduled for two o’clock this afternoon, about eight hours from now, in time to make the evening news nationwide. The one that will explain how the U.S. Army illegally used the NSA to spy on police detectives conducting a murder investigation.”
“That would be very unwise of you,” said Duffy.
“How so? I’m in a tight reelection race, and the army and FBI are actively, willfully hampering my department’s ability to solve multiple homicides.”
“There are issues here, that you are simply not cleared to be privy to. I’d suggest exercising some patience and self-control until we can resolve them.”
“Or you will do what?”
“I’m not going to do anything,” said Duffy, modulating his tone. “But you’re going to be getting some visitors. And if the NSA has taken liberty with your officers’ personal and work communications, and I’m not saying they have, then they could probably do the same to you. Everyone has skeletons,” said General Duffy matter-of-factly. “And you certainly wouldn’t want any of yours surfacing right now, during an election. So I’m asking you to exercise good judgment until we can—”
“You know what the problem is with the federal government? No one ever gets held accountable anymore. The IRS scandal, Benghazi, the trumped-up WMD excuse President Bush used to justify invading Iraq, no-bid government contracts awarded to companies owned by big campaign contributors … Whether it’s a Democrat in the White House, or a Republican, everything just gets papered over and no one gets fired.
“The only way to get some ‘justice’ is to have leverage. And my leverage is going public with you, General Duffy, threatening to smear me by illegally using the NSA to dig up dirt from my past.”
“I did no such thing!”
“I’ve got it on tape.”
“If you are recording this conversation, that would be illegal and will get you into very serious trouble if you try to—”
“The sheriff isn’t recording you, General. I’m recording you,” said Harry Davenport. “In Arizona and in Virginia, where you are now, one-party consent to recording a conversation makes it perfectly legal.”
