Warrior Class

by Dale Brown

  they're in and the punishment awaiting them if they're found guilty."

  Martindale looked at Thorn for what seemed like a long time, then shrugged his shoulders. "It was nice talking with you, Thorn," he said, as he extended his hand to the President. "Your n5ivet6 is exceeded only by your dedication to your convictions. Maybe you really are the reincarnation of Thomas Jefferson, like all the weirdos claim you are."

  Thorn looked disappointed, but he shook hands with Martindale nonetheless. "It was nice talking to you, too, sir," he said. "I don't envy the path you've chosen for yourself and your misguided followers. I predict it will be long and difficult."

  "Sure," Martindale said, as he headed for the door. "Bum some incense for me when you're done communing with nature. Meanwhile, I've got work to do."

  North Las Vegas, Nevada That evening

  Duane Deverill popped open the bottle of Duckhom Merlot and poured, finishing with a flourish. "There you go," he said proudly. "A pretty good '95. Should go well with dinner tonight."

  Annie Dewey had arrived a few minutes earlier, still in her flight suit. She plopped her briefcase down on the sofa table. "Sounds great," she said distractedly, unzipping the flight suit to her waist. "What are you fixing?"

  "Fixing? Me? Sorry, babe, but I called Pizza Hut. Hope you don't mind."

  "Heck no," she said. "Red wine and pizza are my favorites." He came over to her with a glass of wine, touched rims, then gave her a kiss before they drank. "Here's to you," he said. After he took a sip, he added rakishly, "Hey, that was nice."

  She smiled enticingly, but pushed him away. "Sorry. I need

  a shower first. I smell like I just got done with a week in the cockpit instead of just three hours."

  16 Allow me." He sat her down on the couch, removed her fly ing boots and socks, then helped her slip out of the flight suit. She wore a white T-shirt atop an athletic bra, and cotton panties. Smiling mischievously, he then started at her toes, kissing and sucking them, then moved up her leg to her waist, then her belly, then back down to her waist.

  She gently but firmly lifted his head. "Shower first, okay?" He smiled back at her, but his eyes registered his concern. "Sure." He let her up off the couch, then watched as she collected her flying gear. "Everything okay?"

  She half turned toward him and nodded. "Everything's fine. I guess I'm just tired. Long day today." She turned to face him and smiled wearily. "You're wonderful, you know that?"

  .11 That's what I've been saying!" Dev said happily. He took a sip of wine and watched Annie as she headed off toward his bathroom, shedding the rest of her underwear. "Well, wine can definitely wait." He kicked off his sandals and pulled his T-shirt off with one hand. "I'll join you." But at that exact moment, the doorbell rang. Dev made a big, demonstrative pantomime of disappointment, punching and kicking the air in mock animal frustration. "We'll reheat it. Don't worry. You go ahead and start, and I'll be right there." He collected cash from his wallet and went to the door, mentally calculating the amount and the tip and getting the cash ready in his hand to hurry things up as he opened the door ...

  *. .and saw Colonel David Luger standing there. He shook off the confusion and embarrassment quickly. "Hello, sir." "Dev." Luger noticed that Deverill was definitely blocking

  not just his way but his view of his apartment, so he didn't try to look around him. "Could you ask Annie to come out to the patio and have a few words with me?"

  :'Maybe," Dev said. 'Maybe?" Dev eyed Luger suspiciously. "We heard that you were de-

  certified, sir," he said. "The last we heard, you were being evaluated at Brooks for delayed stress syndrome."

  "Something like that."

  "You on medication?" "None of your business."

  "That's where you're wrong, sir," Deverill said. "You're at my house, we're not in uniform, and Annie's a friend and my aircraft commander. It is my business." He looked carefully into Luger's eyes. He couldn't tell if Luger was on antidepressants or sedatives-he looked perfectly normal-but he knew he was no expert. "Were you discharged from Brooks? Are you coming back to the Lake?"

  "Ask her to come out here, please," Luger said.

  "When were you released from Brooks, Colonel?" Dev asked. "Or ... were you released from Brooks?"

  "None of your_fucking business."

  "Hostile, Colonel, very hostile," Deverill. said. "Could it be possible you broke out of the hospital? Maybe I should call the sky cops and ask them."

  "Do what you want. Just ask Annie to come out here."

  "I don't think so," Deverill said. "If you're okay and you've been released from Brooks, you can see Annie at the Lake tomorrow. But if not ... you might be dangerous."

  "Dangerous? What the hell do you mean? What do you think you're doing?" He saw Luger's face and neck muscles tense up.

  He went on full alert, eyes narrowed, measuring Luger up. They were of equal height; Luger was younger, but Dev had at least forty pounds on him. "I don't think I like your tone of voice, sir. I'm asking you to leave."

  "I asked you to ask Annie to come out and talk with me," David said evenly, controlling his temper. Dev stood his ground. He knew he had absolutely nothing to stand on-if Dev said no, that was it, unless Annie herself knew he was here. He raised his voice and peered over Dev's left shoulder, "Annie, it's David. Would you come talk to me?"

  Dev put his hands on Luger's chest and tried to push him away from the door. "I asked you to leave, Luger. Now I'm telling you-get out."

  Luger swept Deverill's hands away from his chest with a speed that surprised him. "Don't push me, Deverill."

  "Don't raise your voice at me in my own house, Luger," Deverill snapped.

  "David?" Annie was standing behind Dev in the doorway, wearing one of Dev's tank tops, which barely covered her bikini bathing suit bottoms. "What are you doing here?"

  "Annie, I want to-"

  "I told you to leave, sir," Deverill said, quickly restoring his polite but firm, protective voice. It was too late to try to keep them apart. He turned to Annie. "The colonel is being loud and rude, and he's not being very straightforward about his mental condition."

  "His mental condition?" Annie charged to the front door and tried to push Dev away. "Dev, move aside. . ."

  "This is not a good idea, Heels," Dev said. He had one more chance to break the bond that still existed between these two, and he decided in that instant to go for it. "I think he broke out of whatever medical mental exam program he was going through. I think he's AWOL. Look at his eyes-I think he's on drugs. He came up here looking for you and itching for a fight."

  "Screw you, Deverill."

  "Tell her, Colonel," Deverill goaded him. "Tell her. Are you supposed to be here? Or are you AWOLT'

  "Fuck you, Deverill!"

  Deverill couldn't believe it-maybe he had happened on the real reason for how Luger was here. Could it be that Luger really had escaped from Brooks? Had they had him in the loony bin, or almost there, and he'd escaped? "Which is it, sir? Are you on drugs? Did you break out of custody somewhere?"

  "Dev, stop it!" Annie shouted. "What are you doing?" "You want to take me out now, don't you, Colonel?" Dev shouted. "You gonna take a shot at me?"

  He did. It came out of nowhere, with a snap that surprised Deverill again, even though he was on full alert and he had already seen Luger move once tonight. The blow landed on the left side of Dev's face, staggering him.

  "David!" Annie cried. She helped Dev into the living room, holding his face. There was a drop of blood coming out of the

  corner of his left eye. "David, are you crazy?" David Luger's face went blank, and his mouth dropped open in surprise. Her face registered surprise when she realized what she'd said. "I ... I didn't mean that. . ." she stammered. "David. . ."

  "I'm leaving, Annie," he said in a low, solemn voice. The sight of her in his shirt, fresh out of the shower, from his shower, holding his face, was almost too much for him to bear. "I won't be back."

  "D-David? Where
are you going?" "Away. 11

  "Where? I don't understand."

  "There's nothing to understand, Annie," Luger said. "I just came here to say good-bye."

  "What's going on?"

  "I can't tell you, Annie," he replied, the hurt obvious in his eyes. "But I'll be okay. Everything's going to be okay." "David, you're scaring me. Tell me what's going on. Please."

  "Good-bye, Annie," he said. Annie wanted to get up and follow him, but Dev grasped her wrist, and it froze her. Luger didn't seem like he was on any kind of drugs, not agitated or wild at all-in fact, he seemed very calm. Too calm. What in hell was going on?

  "Will I ever see you again, David?" she asked. But he said nothing, only turned and walked down the stairs and out to the parking lot until he was out of sight.

  Sky Wasters Inc. Corporate Headquarters, Arkansas International Jetport, Blytheville, Arkansas

  Several days later

  Little Bradley J. McLanahan couldn't take his eyes off the big Sky Masters Inc. DC- 10, brightly illuminated by banks of ballpark lights, as the last forklifts moved away and the big portside cargo doors motored closed. He pulled on his mother's blue jeans. "Are we going flying, Mommy?"

  "Not tonight, honey," Wendy replied. "Daddy's going flying tonight."

  "I need to go flying," he protested. The big cargo plane/tanker/command aircraft started up its fuselage engine. He turned to Patrick, realized he had not made his request politely, and pleaded, "Please, can I go flying with you, Daddy?"

  "Not tonight, big guy," Patrick replied. "When I get home, we'll go fly the 210, okay?" But his son's attention was fully riveted on the DC-10, saving Patrick's heartstrings from his son's earnest pleading.

  "Stealing away in the middle of the night," Wendy said to Patrick. "This can't be right if we have to sneak away like this."

  "President Martindale said go, so we're going," Patrick said. "I just wish you were coming along."

  "Jon's still got a business to run," Wendy said. "Helen and I are it."

  "Just until things cool down."

  "Then I think you'll be gone an awful long time," Wendy said, "because I think things have barely begun to warni up." She sighed, then asked, "Any idea where you'll be?"

  "Turkey or Ukraine," Patrick replied. "We won't make the final decision until we depart our refueling stop, either in Spain or Belgium."

  "I feel like we're being pursued harder than the guy we're trying to stop."

  "We are-for now," Patrick said. "Something will happen soon. My guess is that we'll get a sanction from the White House. Kevin will eventually make President Thorn realize we're not a threat to him or his administration." They heard the port engine on the DC- 10 spool up, which was a signal to board. "I'd better go." He kissed his son on the cheek, then gave Wendy a hug and a kiss.

  "I wish I was coming along," Wendy said. "No, actually, I wish we weren't doing this. For some reason, it seems wrong." "I don't know if it's wrong or not," Patrick said as he hugged her tightly. "I wish I knew."

  "Just be safe, then."

  "I will." He kissed her one last time, then pulled away and

  headed for the airstairs. He took a seat near David Luger, Jon Masters, Hal Briggs, Chris Wohl, and Marcia Preston. Moments later, the starboard engine fired up, and they began taxiing for takeoff.

  Patrick was just settling into his palletized passenger seat when he heard

  via his subcutaneous transceiver: "Patrick, this is Wendy. I see three helicopters in formation coming in low over the airport. No marking that we can see."

  At that same moment, Patrick heard on the cabin intercom: "General McLanahan, you'd better get up here."

  Patrick raced for the cockpit. Through the windscreen he saw the helicopters as they raced in at treetop level from the southwest. They broke formation, so Patrick could see only one of them.

  "Who are they?" the DC- I O's copilot asked-then blanched as he heard an announcement on the emergency UHF frequency. "Oh, shit. . ."

  The flight engineer handed Patrick a headset. "You'd better listen to this, sir," he said.

  "Attention Sky Masters DC-10 taxiing for takeoff, this is the FBI," Patrick heard. "You are hereby ordered to stop immediately and shut down your engines. Repeat, stop and shut down immediately."

  "What do we do, sir?" the pilot asked.

  "Keep going," Patrick replied. "Take the next taxiway onto the runway, get airborne as soon as you can."

  "We're pretty close to gross weight, sir," the engineer said. "An intersection takeoff won't give us enough accelerate-stop distance."

  "Just do it," Patrick said. "If those choppers get any closer and block our path, we'll all be in jail before you know it." The pilot made a sudden turn onto the intersecting taxiway, and while the copilot and flight engineer frantically completed the pretakeoff checks, the pilot swung right on the runway, lining up for takeoff.

  "General McLanahan, this is Earthmover." Patrick heard Lieutenant-General Terrill Samson's voice in his head through

  the implanted transceiver. "Better shut* it down. The FBI is going to block the runway."

  "Terrill, what did you do?" Patrick asked.

  "Yes, I told them you might be here-hard to believe, but the FBI didn't know about Sky Masters or this facility," Samson said.

  "So you told them."

  "I cooperated with a federal investigation," Samson retorted. "They have a warrant to search the facility and all the aircraft. You need to cooperate with them. Shut it down. Don't continue the takeoff. You'll kill everyone on board that plane."

  "Then I wish you were on board with me, Samson," Patrick said bitterly. He shouted to the pilots, "Get this thing in the air!" The last thing he saw over on the parking ramp was a large group of armed FBI agents surrounding Wendy, his son Bradley, and the others. One FBI agent had an M- 16 pointed at his wife and son, the muzzle just inches away. Wendy was clutching their son tightly, afraid to move.

  The FBI's Jet Ranger helicopter had just set down about three-quarters of the way down the runway. The pilot immediately realized the DC- 10 wasn't going to stop, and yanked the helicopter off the runway and quick-taxied clear. The DC- 10 had started to rotate to takeoff attitude at that spot, and the wingtip vortices sent the chopper spinning and flipped it on its side.

  "McLanahan," Terrill Samson's disembodied voice said, what has gotten into you? You may have killed that helicopter crew! Are you crazy?"

  "If any harm comes to my family, I'll be looking for you, Samson," Patrick vowed.

  "They're taking Wendy and your son into custody," Samson said. "She won't be placed under arrest unless she fails to cooperate. I advise you to orbit the field and bum down fuel until you can land right back here."

  "Not one hair disturbed on either of their heads," Patrick warned. "I hold you responsible."

  "I am not your enemy, Patrick! " Samson thundered. "Dammit, don't you understand? The ghost of Brad Elliott has

  got you completely screwed up. Don't let it affect your family as well. If you don't give yourself up, Patrick, I can't be responsible for what happens

  to them."

  It was the hardest thing Patrick ever had to do-not to give the order to turn around.

  Terrill Samson walked over to check out a noise far louder than the roar of the Sky Masters DC- 10 taking off or the sirens on the police and FBI cars still streaming onto the tarmac-the noise of a screaming child. An FBI SWAT officer dressed in full black combat gear and carrying an MP-5K submachine gun was trying to take Bradley James McLanahan out of Wendy McLanahan's arms.

  "Stop resisting!" the officer was shouting. Wendy was now fighting off three FBI agents. "Let the kid go!"

  Samson stepped in and pulled the FBI agents away from Wendy and the boy. "Back off, Officer, back off."

  "They're suspects, General," one of the hooded officers said. "They need to be handcuffed until we can search the area.

  "I said, back off," Samson said. The big three-star general put his arms around Wendy McLa
nahan and eased her away from the armored officer. "I'll take responsibility for these two."

  But Wendy shrugged away from him. "You get away from me, too, Samson," she cried. "I'd rather be in an isolation cell than be near you." But Samson continued to escort her away, the FBI agents did not protest, and Wendy turned her attention to Bradley's screaming and did not resist further.

  "Where is Patrick going, Wendy?" "Go to hell, Samson."

  "This is an investigation only, Wendy-we have no arrest warrants," Samson said. "But if Patrick disappears with that aircraft, he'll be charged with interfering with a federal investigation, evidence tampering, and withholding evidence. He'll be a fugitive. If we find evidence that anyone here conspired with McLanahan to take that plane, this whole place will be shut down and locked up and everyone will go to jail. This is

  serious, Wendy. You've got to tell me where he's going, and tell me fast."

  "Samson, I'm not going to tell you a thing," Wendy said, turning Bradley's eyes away from the red flashing lights to try to soothe him. "But I will ask you one question."

  "I know, I know-you think I'm the bad guy because I won't go along with McLanahan and help him fight his little personal war," Samson interjected. "You're going to ask: Where's my loyalty? Where's my integrity? Don't I care about what's going on? Why don't I do something about it?"

  "No," Wendy McLanahan asked. "My question is: are you having fun?"

  "Fun?" Samson was incredulous. The place was sheer bedlam, police were leading technicians and engineers away in handcuffs, and her son was screaming in holy terTor. "Fun? Are you trying to be funny, Doctor? I see nothing fun going on here."

  "Then you're just doing your job, is that right, General?" Samson could not reply. Helping the FBI track down his friend and ex-deputy commander, raiding a private company, and handcuffing men and women he knew and trusted because Patrick McLanahan might be planning to stage an attack on another country was certainly not in his job description. So why was he doing this? Just because he was ordered to do it? "No, I'm not having fun, Wendy. I'm having a really tenrible time."