His son, Grant, once he’d gotten over his shock of seeing the aircraft, had thrown himself into the project with gusto. Especially once he learned that they’d hijacked the bird from the Army. Grant was a lot more enthusiastic about helping these people out than he was. That fact worried him as much as not knowing who these people were, or what they were up to.
The old man he heard them mention a couple of times hadn’t made an appearance, at least in person. He could see him sitting in the shade of the barn with the pregnant lady. The duo hadn’t helped with the labor for obvious reasons. No one would have allowed Denise to help, and he got the impression from the others that as much as the old man would be thinking he should be directing the effort, he would have been in the way.
“OK. What now?” he asked. They all gathered around the front edge of the barn’s concrete pad after they’d restacked the rolls of hay around the aircraft to hide it from the side. “You still going to steal my truck?”
“No, but if you have a map of the area, we’d sure like to know exactly where we are.” The woman speaking, Brittany, he’d figured out by then was Tom’s wife. It had been easy to see during the parking exercise that she was in charge. They’d been smart to send Tom, the children, and the pregnant lady out to talk to him. Brittany just rubbed him wrong. The woman was all hard edges. Pete looked over at his son, Grant, who stood there with his mouth open catching flies, staring at the pregnant woman and the old man as they walked over to join the group. He was about to ask Grant what his problem was.
“It’s you,” Grant said. “Sir Geoff.” Grant turned around in excitement to face him. “Dad, it’s Sir Geoff! From the video I showed you.”
Pete turned around to get a better look at the old man.
“The government said you were dead!” Grant was thirty-three years old, but the excitement in his son’s voice reminded him of much earlier times.
“The government lied? I’m truly shocked.” The British accent sounded strange to him. He hadn’t heard it in person in a long time. The old man continued walking up, his head down. Now that Pete had a closer look, the old guy did indeed look like that crazy Brit from the video.
Pete would never forget that video. The government had branded this Sir Geoff a terrorist, along with all of his crazy followers. Supposedly, they’d all died or killed themselves inside that mountain in Colorado.
Shit . . . What the hell was he going to do now? It had been all he could do to convince Grant to come back home from Scottsbluff. His son had just made it out before the Army and ISS had surrounded the place and basically starved it into submission over the winter. He couldn’t imagine anyone the government could want more than this old man.
“Let’s get you folks back to the house,” Grant said. “Then we can figure out what you need.”
We? Pete’s attention grabbed onto that word. He glared over at his son who stared right back at him in challenge. He could see it clear as day. Grant wasn’t going to listen to him this time. Should have let them steal my truck, he thought. It would have been simpler, at least until the ISS assholes showed up. That wouldn’t have gone well for anybody.
*
Kentucky, Earth
“Look again.” ISS Agent-in-Charge Marc Starret pointed at the grainy video image and then at the personnel file photo he held in his hand.
“Tell me that isn’t Jennifer Bowden.”
The security camera footage was of low quality. The images had been recorded at night, and to make matters worse, there had been a light rain falling at the forward operating base the night the aircraft had gone missing.
Starret was doing his best not to fault the Army too much, or technically the Kentucky National Guard, who had been the owner of the missing Osprey. Whoever had stolen the bird had been an Army pilot, had known what to say, and had been cleared to take the aircraft per the base’s flight operations database. He’d personally interviewed everyone who had come in contact with the two mystery pilots; no one had been able to provide anything more helpful than to say the pilots had seemed legit. The flight operations center at the base had concurred, and they’d granted the aircraft’s departure without the slightest hesitation.
Starret, upon receiving orders to investigate an aircraft theft from an active military base, had originally thought this was a new assignment. But it wasn’t. Someone up his own chain of command thought this was related to the Task Force Chrome team that he’d spent the last three months trying to find.
Task Force Chrome; something whose existence he still had difficulty even imagining. The briefing had read; a highly capable special operations unit masquerading as a group of civilian married couples, and answerable only to the highest echelons of the US Army. The ISS had learned of the group from the former JCS, General Gannon, during his “questioning.” Gannon had come clean about hiding Sir Geoffrey Carlisle with the group.
At this point, that secret was known to perhaps half a dozen people outside of the White house. All of them were within the ISS. Of those in the know, he was by far the lowest on the totem pole. Tracking the missing special operations team and their ward, Geoffrey Carlisle, had been his life for the past few months. This was his first real lead. That was, if the female pilot in the security video was Jennifer Bowden.
It wasn’t like he could brief these Army CID officers as to why he’d been brought in, or why he’d felt secure in telling them he had every authority he needed and then some regarding their investigation into the missing aircraft. He could imagine that conversation; “Remember that crazy Brit from the Colorado video? Well, it turns out my bosses are concerned he might have been telling the truth. And I know we said he was dead, but the former JCS hid him with a special ops team, whose commanding officer is a soccer mom. General Gannon? The one under house arrest? It seems he took a bad fall on some stairs in his single-story ranch house. Apparently, he’d been drinking. Tragic to lose someone like that in a stupid accident.” None of it was a conversation he wanted to have.
General Gannon wasn’t going to be providing any more information, and he was stuck here lying to Army officers who were looking at him as if they feared they were going to be blamed for the missing aircraft. He was a long way from being the FBI agent that he’d spent nearly twenty years working as. He couldn’t remember ever having to lie about or hide why he was investigating a particular crime. That life was gone, as gone as his wife, as gone as the children who wouldn’t return his calls. Alcohol had been the cause of all that. By the time he had gotten help and gotten sober, his career in the bureau was gone, too.
If it hadn’t been for a friend and former colleague taking a high-ranking job at the newly formed ISS, he’d probably be living in a trailer outside a dog park somewhere in Florida, and drinking again. Outside of giving him a job, Archibald Lane had probably saved his life.
“It could be her, sir.” The Army lieutenant who answered him had at least made a legitimate study of Bowden’s photo from her file before answering. The young lieutenant was shaking his head back and forth. “But to be honest, she kind of looks like my sister-in-law as well. It’s a piss-poor image. Almost like she and her copilot knew where the cameras were.”
“Is your sister-in-law a rated pilot for the Osprey II?”
“No, sir.”
“Does she have any known associates that could hack into the base’s flight operation network? Create a legitimate flight plan out of thin air?”
The lieutenant shook his head in defeat. “She does not.”
“You’re thinking she had an accomplice? A hacker?” It was the Army CID major who spoke up.
Major Holston had been quiet so far, letting his team provide the briefing of their own investigation into what, before his own arrival, they’d classified as a missing aircraft rather than a theft.
“I do,” he answered, before picking up the remote for the video file. He rewound the recording to almost an hour before his suspects had climbed into the Osprey.
“This is a s
hot of them driving onto the base. Note the time stamp on the guard shack cameras.”
“OK,” Holston grunted, “I see it.”
“1943 hours.” He raised a finger and then pointed at the computer monitor in front of the young lieutenant. “Bring up the flight operations logs for that evening.”
It took the lieutenant just a few seconds to scroll through the entries. “Holy shit—their flight plan was being entered into the system while they were coming through the gate.”
“Exactly.” He nodded. “They had somebody else inside your system. Somebody who knew that network as well as our two pilots knew their way through the SOPs of the base and flight line.”
The lieutenant flashed a look of concern at his major and then nodded. “I see your point, sir.”
“John,” Major Holston spoke up, “give me a moment with Agent Starret if you would.” Holston waited half a second after the door shut behind his subordinate before turning to him.
“My people are scared shitless this is part of some special ops mission, either one of ours, or our people acting on orders from you ISS guys. We’ve had a shitload of that around here, and the level of coordination and communication hasn’t kept up with the ops tempo. I’m not calling out blame. I’m just saying my team has had its head handed to them on several occasions, looking into things that were sensitive and authorized at a level far above anybody on base.”
“I can assure you, Major. This was an unauthorized flight. They stole that bird and, according to your own radar logs, landed twenty miles from here. I assume they took on other passengers at that point and disabled the aircraft’s beacon and IFF systems before proceeding westward.”
Holston nodded at him. “Those parameters mirror half a dozen other missions I could point to over the last few months.”
“I’m guessing those aircraft always returned, though? Or have been accounted for, after arriving at another destination?”
Holston took a moment before nodding in the affirmative. “Mr. Starret, I’ve got a good team here. They don’t deserve being caught up in shit they have no business knowing about.”
“You have my word, Major. I’m just trying to find the pilots of that aircraft. This isn’t coming back on you or this base.”
Holston stared back at him for a long moment before tapping the table with the palm of hand in decision. “Our own investigation led us to ATC logs in the Midwest. That aircraft reported a fuel emergency over Nebraska three plus hours after liftoff here. It had flown black, no transponder or IFF until it interrogated a refueling drone for an air-to-air top off. They would have been close to running on fumes by that time.”
“Did they get the fuel?”
“No.” Holston smirked. “The drone in question was detailed in support of a prioritized mission, one of yours. I don’t have details, but I do know the drone continued up north into Canadian air space. Point is, the drone’s security software is pretty complex, and it signaled home to Offutt Air Force Base once it had denied the refuel request. Offutt lit the Osprey up.”
“Where’d it go?”
“Fell out of the sky a few minutes later. I’ve had one of our Osprey pilots review the radar track. He assures me that it was brick at that point; no way it isn’t a smoking hole in the ground somewhere in central Nebraska.”
He’d wasted three days at this base. Listening to Holston, he wanted to yell. He couldn’t fault the man; asking the wrong questions of the wrong people was dangerous these days. Nobody knew that better than he did.
“Like I said,” Holston continued, “Offutt was running a sensitive evolution involving that drone. They shut my team’s line of investigation down hard. The base commander here had his ass chewed by an Air Force three-star for letting his people get way off their reservation. You can imagine the base commander’s reaction where I was concerned.”
“I can.”
“Then I’ll hope you can understand our reticence in this matter. We weren’t stonewalling, just trying to stay clear of shit we have no business worrying about.”
“Major, my report will thank you and your team for your cooperation. That’ll be the end of it. I’d also suggest you and our team forget that I was ever here.”
“Mr. Starret, we forget shit every day. Safer that way.”
He didn’t doubt that. Everyone in the military and law enforcement was being forced to forget, or worse, ignore what was going on around them. He didn’t like the direction the country was heading in, any more than he guessed Major Holston did. But like everyone else, he had a job to do. A job he was very lucky to have.
“One more thing. How fast can you get me to Offutt?”
*
Chapter 4
Rocky Mountains, Eden
They’d crested the Continental Divide at Lolo Pass three days earlier and were now officially on the east side of the Rockies, on the downhill slope to the Atlantic or Gulf Coast. Kyle didn’t know whether to believe the map or not. There still seemed to be every bit as much “up” in their trail, as there was “down.” It certainly had been the case today. He was beat, and by the time they had camp set up, his legs were quivering with fatigue.
They’d broken into a simple routine during the first week of their trip. Two of them would set up the tents, one would get a fire going, and Jake would pull something together to eat. It might be something they’d shot during the day or snared the night before, but the ribbing they gave Jake aside, the guy could just flat out cook. Today, they’d caught a bunch of brook trout and Jake was busily wrapping them up in tinfoil along with what looked like stalks of grass.
Two hours later darkness had fallen; they were full and ready to hit the sack. Carlos’s chin had already fallen onto his chest twice. Both times, he’d jerked his head back up with an embarrassed look on his face. The camp chairs may have been unnecessary weight to carry during the day, but at the moment, Kyle was certain it was his most valued possession.
Audy got up with a grunt of stiffness, which Kyle was certain made them all feel a lot better. The Jema was a machine. If Audy was feeling the effects of the hike, they could all be justified in their bitching. Audy dug around in his pack for a quick moment and came up holding a plastic water container. He held it out in front of him as he walked back to the fire.
“I’ve been trying to make the jasaka our people used to brew. It is an art lost to most of us, but there were some families that kept the secret down through the generations. I’d like to know if you think your people would pay money for it?”
“Thinking of going into business, Audy?” He knew his friend was anxious to find something besides soldiering to do for the rest of his life. He’d been there not so very long ago. On top of his personal desires, Audy had told him that he felt a responsibility to the Jema to help set an example for his people; that a Jema could make a contribution and a life on Eden.
It was common knowledge there were several groups of Jema doing quite well combining Jema homegrown styles with Eden’s manufacturing capability across the textile industry. Others had pooled their starter shares and invested in modern fishing boats up and down the West Coast. Some, as expected, were having a more difficult time in adjusting to being free. Presented for the first time with a full spectrum of choices and the freedom to make those choices, many Jema were still finding their way.
“Perhaps.” Audy waggled the bottle back and forth. “It’s made with sugar beets, pear fruit, and the whelska grain, I think you call it rye.”
Jake snapped his fingers for the bottle.
“My first batches were not good, but then I remembered it needed to be distilled three times.”
“Audy, stop talking.” Jake stood up with a grunt and took the bottle from him.
Jake unscrewed the cap and took a whiff. “Smells like Irish whiskey, maybe a little smoky, like a peaty scotch.”
“I have tried both of those.” Audy shook his head. “This is much stronger.”
Jake took a swig from the container and
stood there a moment, looking at all of them, his face growing red. He suddenly dry-coughed a couple of times, beating his fist into his thigh as his head shook back and forth.
“Wow!” Jake managed before another raspy cough doubled him over. He held the bottle out to Audy before he collapsed into his chair, wiping at his watering eyes.
Audy looked down at his bottle and then at Jake. “It seems the art of my ancestors remains lost.”
Jake held up a hand, stopping him.
“Did you . . .?” Jake managed to cough out, his eyes tearing up.
“What?” Audy shook his head in confusion. “Did I what?”
“Cut . . . it? At all?”
“I . . . I’m not sure what this means.” Audy looked aghast as he glanced down at Jake, who was slapping his own face.
“I can’t feel my face.”
Carlos reached for the bottle before Audy pulled it back out of reach.
“Give it up, Audy,” Carlos said. “Otherwise, we’ll have to listen to Jake bitch all day tomorrow about how we didn’t try it.”
Audy handed the bottle to Carlos and glanced towards Kyle. “What does it mean to cut it?”
“Did you add any water?” Kyle regarded Carlos, who held the plastic container out to him as well. He dumped the water from his canteen’s cup and held out it. “All for one, one for all.”
He glanced over at Jake, who sat there staring at them, wearing a sick grin.
“You distilled it three times, right?” Kyle asked Audy as he took a whiff of the almost clear liquid.
“Yes.”
“It’s probably close to Everclear in proof.”
Jake struggled to speak slowly and clearly. “I think it’s more clearer . . . er, than that.”
Kyle slammed the shot to the back of his throat and swallowed, immediately reminded of the funky battery-acid truth serum Audy’s people had forced on him. A trail of lava ended in his stomach, where it spread outward like a brush fire.
New Shores: The Eden Chronicles - Book Three Page 4
