Primeval egt-5

by David L. Golemon

  "Oh, effective in," Jack again looked at his watch, "exactly five minutes, the director has ordered us detained."

  "Do you agree with the wording Corporal?" Jack asked his gate security officer.

  The marine looked around from watching Everett removed three nine-millimeter automatic pistols and their holsters from the arms locker, along with three clips of ammunition apiece. He also looked at his watch.

  "Yes, sir. In five minutes, I am to detain you," the lance corporal said, still watching Everett.

  Everett handed Jack a holstered weapon along with Ryan. "Let's not hang around for that five minutes so our young friend here doesn't have to do his duty."

  The three men left the back storage area and into the back office of the pawnshop.

  "Sir, Air Police, and what looks like the FBI is crawling all over Nellis looking for you guys," the corporal said as he buzzed them through the secured office and past the armed army private that had his finger close to the trigger of a submachine gun clipped underneath his desk.

  "I would be worried if that was where we were going, Corporal." Jack stopped and turned to face his men. "Watch the place for us. If you can't find Lieutenant Mendenhall after we leave, you're in charge of security. I imagine you'll have orders to lock down the complex."

  "Yes, sir. Good luck Colonel."

  Jack didn't answer, but Everett slapped the young marine on the back as they left the back office and then a minute later the Gold City Pawnshop.

  * * *

  They didn't use one of the three department vehicles sitting in the alley beside the pawnshop; instead, Ryan used his irritatingly loud whistle to flag a cab. With temperatures hovering around 108 degrees, they quickly climbed in and Collins ordered the driver to take them to McLaren Airport where there was a C-21, a U.S. air force variant of the Learjet 35, stashed in a hangar on the military side of McLaren, a hangar complex the gamblers and vacationers never knew existed.

  The cab pulled into the far drive that led out onto the taxing tarmac after Jack had shown his fake Los Angeles Police Department ID. As the cab approached the aluminum hangar, the hackles rose on the colonel's neck.

  "The agency and the FBI may have outthought me on this one."

  "I feel it, too, they're here," Everett said.

  "Jesus, we can't shoot it out with our own people, Colonel," Ryan said, pulling the Hawaiian shirt from his chest, having been stuck there with the sweat that was pouring from his body.

  "Stop here," Jack said as he tossed the driver two twenties as he climbed from the backseat.

  He removed the nine-millimeter from his holster and made sure the safety was on. He looked at Everett and Ryan, making them do the same.

  "No accidents — no one gets hurt, if it comes to them stopping us, give me time to do what I have to do, then you two surrender. Am I clear on this?"

  Everett looked into Jack's blue eyes and nodded once. Then he looked at Ryan.

  "Hell, Colonel, I want to give up now. I'm allergic to the Feds."

  "Good boy, Lieutenant."

  Carl and Ryan fell into step behind Collins as he made his way to a line of employee cars parked outside of the private hangars that flanked the two military enclosures on the north side of the airport. As they moved, they kept their heads down. Ryan almost let loose a scream as they passed one of the private hangar doors that started rising with a loud whine. They hurried past before the opening could reveal them sneaking by.

  Behind them from the hangar they heard a loud piston engine fire up, then a second, but they kept moving as quickly as they could toward the military doors now only ten feet away. Once they got to the personnel door of the first hangar, Jack reached out and took the handle. To their rear, the loud engine noise continued as the aircraft slowly taxied out from the privately leased hangar. Jack ignored the plane behind him and pulled open the personnel door of the military hangar and quickly stepped inside.

  Collins, though very tempted, refused to pull his gun. He gestured for Everett to make his way to the far side of the C-21. The plane sat there gleaming in the bright sunlight streaming through two overhead skylights far above. There was no guard on duty and no mechanics evident. Collins shook his head as he saw Everett disappear around the rear-mounted engines just under the tail.

  Ryan was the first to the door just forward of the wing. He looked back at Collins and grimaced, shaking his head. Jack nodded once as Everett came back around the front of the plane and shook his head from side to side.

  "No one, Jack," he said, barely above a whisper.

  "Okay, Lieutenant, open it up."

  Ryan popped the stainless-steel guard and the handle popped free and the folding steps deployed as he stepped to the side. As he did, Collins went up the staircase in two steps, Everett followed and then Ryan. Once inside the small aircraft, Jack allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the interior.

  "Okay, Ryan, get to your preflight and let's get the hell out of here," Everett said.

  Just as Ryan started to move, Jack took him by the shoulder and shook his head.

  "Forget it, we have company."

  Just then, the cockpit door opened and first one agent, then another came through, and unlike Collins and his two men, they had their handguns drawn. As they watched the agents come toward them, the aft restroom door opened and another two agents came out.

  "Goddamn sneaky little bastards," Everett said, even though he knew through his SEAL training he could take at least the two from the back, because against all of the FBI training the two agents went through, they were too close to their targets. When he conveyed this to Jack with his eyes, Collins shook his head.

  "Colonel Collins, you and your men are to be detained on a national security matter. Please remove your weapons and place them on the floor of the aircraft."

  Jack, Ryan, and Everett did as they were ordered just as the loud aircraft leaving its hangar outside became close to unbearable. The two agents at the front of the aisle slowly came on as Jack watched for some kind of an opening, one that would ensure no one got hurt — well, not too hurt anyway. As the first FBI agent reached down and collected the handguns, he remained low so the three men could still be covered by the man to their front and the two behind. One of the latter slipped past and went down the stairs.

  "Okay, Colonel, we want no trouble. We'll take you into our field office and from there, your people, whoever they are, can have you back. No booking, no cuffs, okay? We'll call it a professional courtesy, and that comes from the highest source," the lead agent said, his gun never wavering from the three men. "Now, Agent Williams is waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. Please, let's be nice," the first man said loudly, trying to be heard over the idling engine noise of the plane just outside the hangar.

  Jack could see no way out of this without using deadly force and these men didn't deserve anything close to that. They were fellow Americans doing their job. Collins nodded for Everett and Ryan to start down.

  Finally, as Jack made his way down the steps backward, he was suddenly and harshly pulled down and onto his back, knocking the wind from him. On his way down he saw Ryan and then Everett hop over the small cable that was used as a handhold on the stairs, he never saw them hit the concrete. Around him all was a blur as someone shot forward and pushed the stairs back up into the aircraft's fuselage. He heard shots, then he was being pulled to his feet. Another single shot rang out.

  As Jack regained his breath and his senses, he saw the man who had taken the single shot was Will Mendenhall. He watched as the black army lieutenant reached up and pulled on the door's handle; when he was satisfied that the handle had been damaged enough to jam the door for a good while, he turned and smiled.

  "I think we better go," Will hurriedly said over his shoulder as he ran for the door, jumping over FBI Agent Williams who was writhing on the floor with plastic wire-ties on his hands and ankles. His weapon lay beside him with the slide back and the ammunition clip removed. Collins shook off th
e hands that helped him to his feet and then noticed who it was. Sarah smiled up at him.

  "Compliments of Director Compton. He said you didn't stand a chance getting out of the desert."

  Sarah pursed her lips in a pretend kiss and then ruthlessly shoved Jack toward the door and then through it and into the sunlight and the unbearable noise of the desert airport. When he looked up, he couldn't believe his eyes. Sitting there only a few feet away, with a blue-and-white shining paint scheme, had to be the oldest seaplane he had ever seen. It was a Grumman G-21A Goose, a twin-engine plane that predated World War II. It was loud and noisy and with its twin landing gear sticking out of its boat-shaped hull, it looked like the most ungainly aircraft he had ever seen. The Grumman was beautiful and was well maintained. The Goose was designed during the heyday of the flying boats in the late 1930s and a good number of them were still active at air shows around the world. This was the aircraft that had started up inside the hangar they had passed by on the way in.

  "Jesus, Colonel, look at this," Ryan said as he pointed to the glassed-in cockpit.

  "Unbelievable," was all Collins could say as he saw the small arm of a woman hanging out of the side cockpit window, waving them forward, insisting they hurry.

  "Is that Alice?" Everett said as he took off toward the cabin door.

  "It belongs to Alice and Senator Lee. Niles thought it was the only thing we could use to get out of here; after all, the FBI and CIA would be waiting for us at any airport we wanted to land, but they can't cover every waterfront in L.A.," Sarah shouted as they bounded up and into the ancient seaplane.

  Once inside, the old Grumman's engines were goosed and she started to roll. Alice Hamilton, all eighty-seven years young, complete with leather helmet, headset, and flying gloves, threw the two throttles forward and the plywood and aluminum-framed flying boat sped toward the runway as Jack came into the small cockpit and sat next to Alice, and shook his head.

  "You didn't think Earhart was the only aviatrix this country turned out, did you?" Alice said when she saw the disbelief on the colonel's face.

  "What in the hell are you doing?" Jack yelled over the sound of the screaming props.

  "Evidently rescuing you," Alice answered with a smile as she reached down and started pumping the handle that brought the old Grumman's flaps to the down position. When she looked over and saw Collins frowning, she smiled as the huge wheels left the airport runaway.

  "Okay, Niles knew you would be caught if you tried to use a Group aircraft, then he knew even if you did, you would have to land at an airfield where any number of federal people would be waiting for you, so, he knew Garrison bought me this little toy back in 1955 for my birthday, thus, here we are — now hang on!"

  Jack was thrown back in his seat as the Grumman shot into the sky at an angle Collins never thought a plane that old could achieve.

  As he buckled himself in, he heard the shouts and grunts from the passenger area of the seaplane.

  "This isn't good!" Ryan screamed as eighty-seven-year-old Alice Hamilton threw the plane into a steep banking maneuver, heading for Los Angeles.

  Director Niles Compton of Department 5656—the Event Group — was rarely, if ever, outthought by anyone in the world.

  4

  The chartered Boeing 737 was above the state of Colorado heading north. Leased through a third party, the federal authorities had no idea their murderous quarry was heading out of the country.

  Sagli leaned forward in his chair and placed his glass of water on the table. Deonovich looked around at the thirty-five men seated around the aircraft.

  "I am curious as to why we cannot dispose of our guest — she is too dangerous to keep around," Deonovich asked Sagli, taking a large swallow of water from an iced glass; he then turned and eyed his partner.

  "I asked the same question and was told she may be an asset later when we arrive at our destination. She is to be kept healthy at all costs."

  "Have you thought that maybe we have placed too much confidence in our new ally?" Deonovich asked, raising the glass vodka and draining it.

  Sagli frowned. "That is enough drinking; we have very serious days ahead. I do not need you half comatose."

  Deonovich raised his brows and eyed his partner.

  "You have not answered my question."

  Sagli hated talking about the plan to Deonovich as the large man had a hard time grasping the intricacies of the plan. He could tolerate his small peccadilloes such as his penchant for inflicting pain upon others, but when he tried to question their new partner, it made them both look foolish. After all, the intelligence information this man had delivered to them over the last five years had all been dead-on accurate. The man had proven his reliability and his plan was almost foolproof.

  "Look, old friend, when he came to us, I myself was suspicious, but since I have come to know him, I find that his penchant for planning and his eye for detail far exceed the people who trained us in the old days. He is a cold warrior, and we are committed to his plan." He eyed Deonovich closely. "Now, no more drinking."

  * * *

  Lynn Simpson looked up from her seat, handcuffs on her ankles and wrists. The duct tape was itching beyond all belief as she looked up and into the dark eyes of Sagli. She never even flinched when he raised the silenced pistol and pointed it at her right eye. Lynn had figured a long time ago she had been living on borrowed time, so she had mentally prepared herself. She closed her eyes and then said a silent good-bye to her mother and then to Jack.

  "I just want to ask you a question," Sagli said as he reached out and gently pulled the duct tape from her mouth. Then, placing the silenced weapon on the seat beside Lynn, he undid her handcuffs.

  Lynn opened her eyes at the question and the relief she felt when the cuffs were removed. She glanced at the silenced handgun beside her on the seat, and then she looked from it to Sagli, who was actually smiling, daring her to take it. Instead of taking up the challenge, Lynn rubbed her wrists, taking care not to strike her injured hand.

  "The Canadian agent, this Alexander fellow — in your opinion, what are his capabilities?" Sagli asked, finally picking up the handgun and removing temptation from her thoughts.

  "Go to hell," Lynn said with a hint of her own smile touching her lips. "You mean what were his capabilities."

  "No, I mean, what are his capabilities. It seems our Canadian spy survived the assault. Now what can you tell me?"

  Lynn remained silent as the thought of Punchy Alexander flashed through her mind. She could hardly believe he lived after her witnessing him getting executed by Sagli.

  "I suggest you look down at your hands, Miss Simpson, count your fingers and then in five minutes I will ask you to do it again. I guarantee you will not come up with the same number as before. The only reason you are alive is for the fact that this Alexander just may get lucky and get a track on us," Sagli bluffed as he just wanted more information on Alexander. "I am skeptical at best, but if he does I believe you may still be a handsome bargaining chip."

  Lynn was down to seven fingers and two thumbs. Her older brother would have said she was still way ahead in the game, but she wasn't her brother and she wasn't as brave as Jack.

  "If Punchy Alexander is after you, I hope you're going to a very deep hole in the earth and pull the dirt in after you, because he can be relentless — the second most relentless man I have ever known."

  Sagli smiled broadly. "As a matter of fact, we are going someplace much better, Miss Simpson, a place where the most recent maps were made over a quarter of a century ago; a forgotten place right in your own backyard." He gave a slight nod of his head. "And yes, we will pull the dirt in after us, and also over you."

  LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

  The twin-engine Grumman Goose was flying as low as Alice felt comfortable with in the growing darkness. She manipulated the throttles that she could barely reach on the upper console, firewalling the engines to raise the agile seaplane over hills, and then cutting power to slide th
e aircraft nimbly into a valley. Jack really didn't know how she could see anything.

  "Colonel, it's time you went into the cabin with the others. When you get back there, ask Lieutenant Ryan to come up here, please."

  Jack was hesitant about unsnapping his seatbelt, but finally managed enough courage when Alice brought the seaplane into level flight.

  Nervous eyes watched Jack as he stumbled his way from the cockpit and into the passenger area. Everett was sitting next to Sarah, and Ryan was sitting across from them. Mendenhall was nowhere to be seen.

  "Where's Will?" Collins asked as he slammed into the seat in front of Ryan.

  Jason Ryan pointed to the back of the plane with an outstretched thumb, then he grabbed for the life vest he had found under his seat when Alice sent the Grumman down into a shallow dive.

  "He's… he's in that little closet back there. I think it's the head, but I think it's too small to have a toilet," Ryan finally said. "He doesn't feel too good."

  "Can't say as I blame him," Jack said as he snapped his seatbelt. "Ryan, report to Alice up front."

  The small naval officer looked taken back for the briefest moment.

  "Go on, Lieutenant, she's waiting."

  "Yes, sir," Jason said as he nervously popped his own belt loose. At that moment the door to the restroom opened just as Alice pulled up to avoid a small hill just outside of Riverside, California. Before anyone could see Mendenhall clearly, he ducked back inside and slammed the door.

  Ryan made his way up front and pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the small cockpit. He hurriedly slammed down into the copilot's seat and fumbled with the seatbelt until he finally managed to get it locked.

  "Not like flying F-14 Tomcats is it, Mr. Ryan?" Alice asked with a smirk, managing a quick glance over to her right.

  "No, ma'am, not at all."

  "Listen, I need you to watch what I'm doing, because you're going to have to take the controls in a minute. I suspect we may have to do some evading."