by T I WADE
He panned the coordinates forward a hundred miles and saw heat emissions a few seconds before SB-III was to head over the horizon, now three thousand miles in front of the target. He sent them to Allen Saunders, who punched in the coordinates and since they could track the aircraft as well, the computers just followed a scenario course at the imputed speed. The same happened with Michael Pitt and, ninety minutes later Jonesy came back over the other horizon, 80 miles lower, and at a much slower forward speed.
By this time the America Airlines 737 was beginning its descent into Miami; the pilot crew had seen the unidentified shape on its radar all the way and this time more accurate coordinates where punched into Jonesy’s camera computers.
He found the same emissions he had seen on the first pass. Jonesy quickly switched over to visual sight and suddenly a Gulfstream V with its pretty, sharp outline could be seen. He got all the laser aiming computers and the shuttles radar system to lock onto the shape, the size of a pinhead. The visual was accurate enough for Jonesy to recognize the aircraft type, and he radioed Ryan on the private intercom telling him what he had found.
“Gulfstream IV or V?” Ryan asked Jonesy.
“Definitely a Gulfstream 500; its light blue in color. I would bet my retirement pay it’s a Gulfstream 500, or 550, and very new.”
“Mr. Jones, you don’t have any retirement pay, you are not retired, and the aircraft I was thrown into at the airfield had a light blue coloring on its roof,” Ryan replied.
“Sounds like General Mortimer sent his own jet to pick up his friends and get them out of the country. I’m sure he would do that only to use the extended range his aircraft would have. Can I shoot it down?”
“Negative, Mr. Jones, get your lock sent over to SB-II. It seems that the jet hasn’t changed speed, altitude, or course since the American Airlines jet picked it up. I will report to Washington. Make sure your computers can remember the heat emissions for your next pass. If it is going to Europe, this jet has a long way to go. Do you know its range, Mr. Jones? Mortimer did tell me that it had extended range capabilities.”
“I’m not positive, but the last time I read up on this aircraft type, the longest range one of these had flown was just over 7,000 miles. Let’s say that it took off from LAX in Los Angeles. The furthest range from there is Athens, Greece, or in that area. If it took off from Dallas, Texas, its range will be at least another 1,000 miles. Also, when it gets closer to the eastern Mediterranean, you can ask the Israelis to track it.”
Ryan spoke to the president, telling him that the jet was thirty minutes from leaving U.S. airspace, descending, and changing direction to pass a hundred miles north of Miami. It certainly looked like the pilot was trying to stay under the radar, and away from large airfields with powerful tracking capabilities.
For the next six hours, the three shuttles tracked the unfortunate pilot that could have his aircraft blown up around him at any time. It would be a pretty stiff sentence for not filing a flight plan. The astronauts, now used to long periods behind the wheel, relaxed, ate meals, drank water, and passed over the small jet 200 miles below them at regular intervals. They changed their orbit to not fly over China, but the orbit needed to be close to the border when Jonesy’s radio woke up with the familiar Chinese voice of General Ming.
“Unidentified spacecraft, this is General Ming, head of the Chinese Space Authority. You are flying over Chinese airspace. Please state your country of origin, and the reason you are flying in our private area before we fire on you.”
“General Ming, Colonel Jones flying one of our laser-defended shuttles from our mother ship in space. We belong to no Earth country. We are the only permanent operating space agency up here and consider 100 miles above your country to be outside your private air space. International law dictates a country’s airspace to end at the outer atmospheric level, which we believe to mean the Kàrmán Line, which is 60 miles, or 100 kilometers above Earth, not 100 miles. Outside Earth’s atmospheric conditions, space is international territory, and belongs to no person, group or nation. That is why we did not state that it was ‘an act of war’ when your space station first fired on us, and we had the right to defend ourselves. It is nobody’s space up here. If you fire on us, we have been ordered to terminate any missiles you send up once they leave your airspace, not before. And General, don’t waste your missiles, they cannot touch us,” stated Jonesy following Ryan’s instructions of what to say.
They did not hear from the Chinese again.
Slowly the Gulfstream headed towards Europe passing over the Straits of Gibraltar. Over the Atlantic, the long-range jet had risen to normal altitudes, 48,000 feet. At this altitude, the range would be far better than at 12,000 feet. Also the president told Ryan that Bishop’s old jet had been found abandoned at an airfield just outside Fort Worth, Texas.
Jonesy worked hard trying to figure out the Gulfstream’s reduced range at low altitudes; once it climbed up to long-range heights shortly after passing over the East Coast, he reckoned that with its shorter flight over the U.S., the aircraft could still reach western Europe and Greece.
Thirty minutes before it reached the outer areas of Europe, Allen Saunders recorded that the pilot descended to 5,000 feet to pass through the narrow sea corridor; once the waters of the Mediterranean opened up, it flew closer to the African shoreline, and climbed to 51,000 feet, its highest cruising altitude.
Jonesy was amused that this was the same altitude the Dead Chicken had released its dozens of loads, and very few aircraft in the world could cruise so high. He now knew that his description of the aircraft was right.
Michael Pitt was over the Mediterranean when the jet approached to within 200 miles of Greek territorial waters. He mentioned to Jonesy that the aircraft was a bit too far south to be heading into Athens, and that he thought it was maybe heading into the Middle East or one of the Greek islands.
Jonesy took over as the aircraft began losing altitude 50 miles south of Crete, turned slightly northwards, and pointed its nose for the Greek island of Rhodes. By this time Maggie had reduced the shuttle’s speed to its minimum to stay in such a low orbit. Jonesy studied the aircraft and could nearly see the numbers on its tail. As soon as it looked like they had the destination he informed Ryan, who informed the president. Jonesy thought that the aircraft was already running on fumes to get so far, and fifteen minutes later the aircraft landed on the island of Rhodes.
U.S. forces out of Italy were already getting airborne and asking Greece for permission to fly into the island. They could be there by the time the jet was being refueled. Jonesy suggested that he blow the tail off the aircraft.
Ryan said that he might be able to on the next fly over, as the aircraft would need to be refueled. The U.S. president asked his Greek counterpart if the single Greek Air Force Puma helicopter on the island could check out the Gulfstream as it did not file an official flight plan into Rhodes.
Continuing his conversation with Jonesy, Ryan said, “Based on the information you were giving us the president was on the phone to Greece several hours ago, as well as to several other countries. He already has permission for a C-17 out of the U.S. base in Italy to land on Rhodes on a friendly, fact-finding visit. It has taken off and should be there in two hours. It is dark there, as I’m sure you noticed, and a Puma helicopter from the island will make its presence known to the pilots, to ask why they flew in unannounced. They have an Air Force team of a dozen armed soldiers that are entering the airport from the air force base a few miles away, and will stop the aircraft from taking off. Also, a couple of Greek naval vessels will take up patrols around the island within a few hours. Hopefully our targets think that they got away and are safe from our attentions, and not in a hurry. The island police have been put on alert and are also looking for any suspicious vehicles. If Mortimer has a residence there, I’m sure he has a few exit strategies.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m not putting a hole in that Gulfstream,” Jonesy confessed to Maggie. “She’
s just too pretty to destroy.”
“I agree, and it must still belong to the government. Those Vs are $50 million aircraft,” she replied. “I’m sure that our old friends, the U.S. Air Force, will go in, take the aircraft over and fly it straight back to the States. Jonesy, I’m feeling a little yucky. Can you take over? I need to lie down? This pregnancy is getting to me.”
“Yes, of course! I was thinking, you are due in a couple of months, so if we time it right the baby might be born on Earth; he or she would be an Earthling, and I could show our baby off to my parents.” Maggie smiled at the new dad-to-be. He was thinking straight for the first time since she had known him.
Six hours later, Jonesy was still at a 100-mile altitude when he received word that he might be needed after all. The other two shuttles were returning to the mother ship when the radio message came in from the president himself, patched through from America One. Maggie was out, asleep on her now flat co-pilot chair.
“Colonel Jones, the president here. I know we have never met. I have reinstated your discharge from the U.S. Air Force to be honorable, at the rank of Full Colonel, and with full retirement benefits, backdated to the time you were discharged. I did send your father in Colorado a letter a couple of days ago stating how you have done such a great job for your country, and I’m sure he will be happy to receive it.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Jonesy replied happily shaking Maggie awake.
“Congrats Full Colonel Jones, I heard every word. Just don’t ask me to salute you. You are still discharged my friend,” smiled a sleepy Maggie back at him.
“Mr. President, please could you send any monies owed to me to my parents. There’s not much use for it up here; there isn’t even a gas station up here to buy a coke.”
“Certainly, Colonel, I will get it done for you. It’s a pretty sizeable sum. On another note, I hear you would like a shot at the guy who gave you the dishonorable discharge, Joe Bishop?” Higher up, Ryan smiled, knowing what Jonesy would say.
“Yes sir, Mr. President! Just show me where I can point my weapon. She’s ready and loaded. We will be over the Med in twenty minutes.”
“Excellent. Here are the co-ordinates. They are accurate up to 15 minutes ago. The target is a luxury, fast speed boat heading at 40 knots towards Turkey. There is a Greek Frigate 25 miles behind her and out of range. For heaven’s sake, don’t hit the wrong ship. The weather between Rhodes and the Turkish coast is clear with good visibility; it will be dawn in 10 minutes. Your job, Mr. Jones, is to find this boat, get a daylight visual on it, and I will give you orders to halt its progress. Understand?”
“Yes, sir, we have enough time to get a visual. We have 40 minutes before we will disappear over the horizon!” replied Jonesy excitedly.
***
As dawn approached, the sleek $10 million dollar speed boat Mortimer had purchased less than a year ago in Italy with government funds, easily ploughed through the waters of the Mediterranean Sea. The ex-general himself, dressed in civilian attire, was calm as the boat pitched them slightly over the swells at 40 knots. He looked out of the Bridge area at the brightening sea around them. Joe Bishop and Hal McNealy were with him watching as the waters around them slowly turned, gold, and then silver as the sun rose directly in front of them.
They were 40 miles east of Rhodes, and 25 miles ahead of the Greek Frigate they knew was following them.
Having misappropriated indescribable amounts of money, the price of escape was insignificant to Mortimer. He, the now dead Tom Ward, and Joe Bishop had spent government money on themselves for a decade. Nothing was out of their reach. Even their $250 million dollar private island southwest of the Turkish town of Kas had been paid for in cash, with American dollars. The money was part of the 2013 U.S. Defense Budget allocated to the Turkish government directly from U.S. funds.
Mortimer had a beautiful house, the Kastellorizo Hotel, and he had built a full runway on the former Turkish island, away from its small coastal town called Port Kastellorizo.
He had constructed a hangar for the Gulfstream, the aircraft’s new home. The Gulfstream even had Greek letters and numbers on its tail, depicting Greek ownership. Mortimer wanted the jet carrying Bishop and McNealy to land on Rhodes. His island didn’t have refueling capabilities yet, they were being built, and he needed full tanks in case he needed to escape once again, to his second secret home, somewhere in the Middle East.
The pilot was to get the jet refueled and then fly the short hop to his island. Only half-full tanks would be then needed to fly to Iran.
Unfortunately, an hour after Mortimer picked up his friends at the airport, his flight crew had been surprised by Greek soldiers and were held until the C-17 arrived two hours later.
It was a simple affair. Several miles away while the three criminals were enjoying a late dinner in a restaurant, an America pilot crew hopped into the refueled jet while the captured crew—pilot, co-pilot and the three very pretty young cabin attendants—were walked into the C-17 which took off for Italy.
The noise of the takeoffs could be heard by the three men laughing and having a jolly time, but the noise was from the airport, they were west of the airport and it sounded just like civilian aircraft taking off.
Three hours later, two hours before dawn, the three jolly men entered a small fishing village on the eastern side of the balmy, dry island and boarded a very pretty 75-foot Italian-made fast cruiser. Released from its moorings, it slowly moved out of the fishing harbor towards Turkey.
“See Joe, Hal, good planning, and unlimited funds make for easy escapes from the dead U.S. eyes everywhere. I’m glad I’m not in control of the States anymore. Our ex-boss did what he had to do, got rid of himself and there isn’t much left for that other old goat to take over!” He laughed as he brought the boat easily onto plane, but kept the speed low so as not to make too much noise.
“How much do we have in Switzerland?” Joe Bishop asked the ex-general.
“More than we could ever spend,” laughed Mortimer turning on the elaborate radar system.
“Hal, we stuck away a quarter of your whole NASA salary budget for 2013,” laughed Joe. McNealy looked shocked at the information; he had not been told.
“I had a budget of four billion dollars for wages, that’s why I couldn’t pay my staff in the last quarter of last year. Even I had no pay for three months.” Hal looked at the two smiling men. “That’s a billion bucks!” he looked at his friends with a shocked face.
“And that stupid idiot Richmond thought he was rich; he never even came close to us,” replied Mortimer seeing a blip on his radar screen for the first time.
“That’s just a small part of our last ten years of dealings, Hal. Now you can have Tom Ward’s part. He won’t need it,” added Joe Bishop sensing a sudden change in Mortimer’s nature.
“Crap!” shouted Mortimer his temper rising to the surface. “That looks like a Greek military vessel, pretty big, a frigate or minesweeper, 21 miles north of us. It is turning and heading on a tangent to us. Stupid Greeks, we can outrun anything they have. I’m not that stupid.”
“Could they be looking for us?” asked Hal, not used to this cloak and dagger stuff.
“How could they be, nobody could follow us. They lost you guys at Fort Worth. They never knew where or when I left the country. It’s a big world out here, and there are dozens of fast boats around the Greek islands.”
“Yeah! Let’s see what this baby can do,” laughed Joe Bishop as the sky around them began to lighten, and Mortimer floored the two powerful, modified jet engines below.
The boat shot away from Rhodes at 45 knots.
“Hey! What have you got under the hood?” Hal asked, holding on tight.
“Two beauties running on jet fuel. A simple bit of air force property since Hal and I have 1,000,000 gallons of jet fuel coming over to fill up our new jet fuel tanks on the island,” laughed Joe Bishop.
“Yeah, Hal, we even have our own U.S. navy supply ship, now in fake E
thiopian colors, and she will arrive in a few weeks. We are rich in jet fuel, thanks to the air force, so the Gulfstream and this boat run on the same thing. We have 2,000 gallons below blowing us through the water at 45 knots,” added Mortimer smiling.
“We also have enough weapons on board our supply ship to defend our island from both the Greek and Turkish military, if they don’t like us,” laughed Joe Bishop. “Even an extra one of those nukes we threw at those asteroids!” Hal looked at them, his face draining of color.
They sped westwards at 45 knots. The frigate behind them was at full speed, managing only 32 knots. The two men went to the rear of the boat to see if they could spot the Greek frigate.
They couldn’t see any other shipping, the speed boat was really moving fast, but a small glint of sunlight on something shiny did catch McNealy’s eye. It was far higher than where a boat would be, the glint was in the sky.
***
Jonesy got a visual of the boat he was tracking and whistled.
“That nice?” Maggie asked.
“Something I could retire with,” replied Jonesy. At 97 miles, he could see the hull of the boat churning through the grey water 600 miles ahead of his position. He pulled the view out from the boat with the camera and saw that the nearest land was about 10 miles away. He had about fifteen minutes.
“I have the craft visual. It looks sleek and fancy, and is 30 miles ahead of the Greek naval vessel, and ten miles from land. I have three minutes of perfect shooting, and then it goes downhill from there. We are 400 miles behind, 180 miles south and 97 miles above the boat,” said Jonesy over the recently changed radio frequency; he was reporting to Ryan, the president, and whoever else was listening. As he spoke over his headset, he zoomed the camera in as close as he could; the speeding boat was going in the same direction as he was, now filling half his lenses. “I have the boat locked on, and I am aiming for the rear engine compartment. Hold on! Someone….a man…a short fat man has just walked to the open rear area of the boat. Yes! Yes! It’s the fat slob Joe Bishop. I can recognize his short little fat body anywhere, woohoo!” whooped Jonesy as the shuttle quickly closed over the boat’s location. “He has been joined by a second man, McNealy. They are staring up in my direction. McNealy is pointing straight at me. Gee! I hope they can see us, Maggie. We must be a tiny shiny dot up here. The sun must be glinting off the shuttle. Mortimer must be driving the boat. Request permission to fire.”
