Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder

by Peter Casilio

  Mitchelli keyed his microphone. “Tower control, this is Marauder 225 Yankee. Need immediate clearance for takeoff, we are a reconnaissance flight for the federal Task Force E. I repeat, urgent we take off. We are investigators for the federal government’s Task Force E.

  The two friends watched as the heavy jet landed and the commercial jet revved its engines to enter the runway, then stopped, its nose gear squatting under the weight of the sudden brake pressure. The pilots could be seen through the cockpit window waiving Marauder 225 Yankee onto the runway.

  “What the hell are you talking about, ‘Task Force E’?”

  “CONTROL TOWER TO MARAUDER 225 YANKEE, SORRY FOR THE DELAY. APPROVAL GRANTED FOR IMMEDIATE TAKE OFF BY FEDERAL AIR MARSHAL. PROCEED TO RUNWAY TWO THREE FOR QUICK TAKE OFF, REQUIRED HEAVY TURNING ON FINAL APPROACH.”

  Divido increased the throttle and taxied onto the runway, thanking the tower. There was no engine run up; the Cessna never stopped rolling forward, as they had to clear the runway before the heavy jet landed. The high wing Cessna used a quarter of the runway and was in the air.

  Divido looked at his friend clenching one fist and holding onto the handgrip above his head. Mitchelli was turning white. “Look at the clouds not at the ground and breathe, take deep breaths. I can’t figure you out, you’re afraid to fly, but didn’t hesitate to confront the Control Tower demanding flight clearance. I’m emphasizing the word control because it does not apply to you. Peter Mitchelli is an exception; he takes priority over hundreds of people in those planes not to mention the fuel they’re gulping up while their waiting for us to clear the airspace.”

  The plane leveled off and Divido stuck the GPS to the windshield of the plane with the suction cups Mitchelli had attached to it.

  “Um, I’m impressed. This GPS is better than mine. What the hell is Task Force E? I’d like to know before they arrest me when we land. We are going to land, right? Or do you have a federal jettison pod aboard this plane and we’ll eject over Canada and the plane will crash into the woods?”

  “Len, you need to fly below radar so they can’t track where we’re going.”

  “What! They who’s they? You want me to fly an hour away under radar, are we going to land in an Iranian desert during a sandstorm?” He looked at his friend. Mitchelli’s face was white and his hands were shaking as he removed a camera with a very large lens from a bag by his side. His friend was airsick, desperate, and needed his help. Divido knew Mitchelli could have hired a pilot. His friend was reckless, but not crazy. He trusted Divido and no one else. The plane’s nose pointed towards the ground, heading two hundred feet below their current altitude.

  “Ok, I’ll tell you everything. I know you won’t tell anyone. Well, the truth is you can’t tell anyone because people will die and your country will arrest you for espionage. You’re in it now, and you deserve an explanation.”

  ***

  Handly sat with O’Connor at a downtown coffee café. Their waitress approached the table with their lunch orders. “Veggie Panini with low fat cheddar and a Buffalo chicken finger Panini with extra bleu cheese, double meat.” The waitress looked at the her notes. “Who had the veggie?” O’Connor raised her hand. “Ok then the heart attack wrap must belong to your father, there yaw go, Dad.”

  Handly looked around the restaurant. Most of the patrons were college students working on their laptop computers texting friends on their expensive phones. “These kids have no cares at all,” he said. “Their parents or the government pays for their education and their fancy computers. A college education is a waste. Look at the millions we’ve made Katherine, and we never went to college.”

  O’Connor took a bite of her Panini. “I went to college, Leo. Harvard. I was finance major. And I went to Columbia for my doctorate.”

  Handly had bleu cheese all over his face. “The only money you’ve made is with me and our investments. You didn’t need a doctorate for that, just a set of balls.”

  “Wipe your face. Then why don’t you let one of your truck drivers manage your Cayman accounts if you don’t think it’s important to have a college degree? I’m sure they can evaluate Chinese hedge funds.”

  Handly smiled. “You’re beautiful, you’re really something. We have three hundred million in heroin stolen, I’ve got Middle East producer ready to blow up Buffalo, our Northeast associates are sending hit squads in my area of operation without telling me, and you gotta break my balls because thanks to psycho dago, I lost my chance at a college scholarship.”

  “Leo, I never knew you had a chance at a college scholarship. What happened?”

  “Forget about it. When are the Chicago men arriving?”

  “They’re here; they docked last night at the large boat harbor.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “They just contacted me fifteen minutes before I walked in. You’re a bear when you’re hungry so I figured I’d tell you after you ate.”

  Handly clenched his fists. His phone rang and he picked it up from the table and answered it. “Good afternoon, facilitator.” Handly’s voice was uncharacteristically chipper.

  “Leo, my investors want forty million for your missing shipment. Talk to your partners and get back to me by tomorrow, 3 p.m.”

  “Forty million! You two-timing bastard. Forty million for a shipment Mitchelli stole. You sold him out and now you’re in control of the shipment.”

  “I divulged Mitchelli’s name to you at the request of my investors, of course your deposit helped. I assure you it was a business decision. Mitchelli’s a wildcat, uncontrollable. Forty million is fifteen percent of the value of the shipment, it’s very pure. You take care of Mitchelli and I’ll get your shipment.”

  “I’ll talk to my partners and call you in two days. By then I’ll have Mitchelli out of the way, which will clear the path for our purchase. No matter what the deal, I’m insisting I meet you face to face.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “Very necessary. I’d like to meet my new associate and look him in the eye. A partnership is like a marriage, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “This marriage is destined for divorce. Although I will give your request some thought.” The phone went dead.

  “Leo, what are we going to do, forty million?”

  “I’m sure our partners would contribute, but I’m going to make that prick sweat. Like Mitchelli, his days are numbered.”

  “So Leo, what’s your plan? When should we put the hammer to Mitchelli? Huh, we’d be better off making him a partner.”

  “Katherine, the son of bitch is smarter than I remember. He’s survived two attacks, the second by professionals. If I didn’t want to kill the grease ball he’d make a great partner. I have to come up with a good location to make the hit. Someplace where it’s difficult for him to run and get help.”

  ***

  “Wow, Len, you’re handling this better than I thought.” Divido did not answer, his mouth was half open and his face was expressionless. His arms locked as he pushed the yoke forward. Mitchelli had told him everything from his first meeting with Freed, his training, the shooting at the grain elevator, the rolling battles he had with the trucks, the most recent car chase, and his relationship with MacJames.

  “The truck is gone, shot up, and torched? That truck was you: big, massive, and loud. It didn’t have a scratch on it.”

  “The FBI told me the new truck should be arriving today.”

  “That figures, no rules for Peter Mitchelli. His truck gets destroyed, the federal government replaces it. I’m sure it will have more options. That happens to the unprivileged people like me everyday. I hope you have your gun? Jesus, do you have a gun on you. If you’re right, we’ll need it if we crash. Let me guess your ankle, small of the back? No, we’re in a propeller plane; Peter the history buff is wearing a shoulder holster. I usually get nervous when you carry those murder weapons, but today I’m glad you have it.”

  “Did you have to say crash?” Mitchelli’s face began to
pale.

  “Hey, how did you get the key from Mr. Martin? That old Jew would have never let you take this plane without a license!”

  “I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

  “Peter, you’re kidding right? Please don’t tell me you hurt him. He’s an old man.”

  “Len, don’t be stupid. I paid him ten times his rate and locked him in his office.”

  “You locked that little old Jewish man in his office?”

  “It was his idea, I made sure he had a couple of water bottles and the telephone works in case he gets nervous. He figured it was a good alibi incase I wrecked the plane, he could tell the adjuster that I locked him in his office at gunpoint.”

  “Why didn’t you pull the plug on the phone?”

  “I gave him the phone number of one my contacts at the FBI. I told him to give me a couple of hours and call them. Len, I didn’t even lock the door and he knew it. He was happy for the business and the cash.”

  Divido looked at his friend and worried about his safety. “Forget about it; get that camera ready. According to your GPS and satellite photos, the properties are situated around a large hilltop, actually the large hill directly ahead of us. I’ll keep making low passes around the hill alternating directions while you take your pictures. I’m dropping the flaps to slow our airspeed.” The propeller noise was loud, and as the flaps dropped to twenty degrees, the propeller strained to pull the plane from the additional drag. Divido, in his typical methodical engineer fashion, worked a geometric pattern around the hilltop.

  ***

  “Tom, Jim, you’ve been here the shortest of amount of time. Can you hear that? Can you?” The room was black. The sound of men breathing and moaning pierced the silence. “Hey, are you guys asleep?”

  “Shut up! Damn it, we’re trying to listen.” Through the hollow tin metal vent pipe, a faint sound of an airplane drone could be heard. The fat sound of a propeller pulling its way through the air. “It’s a plane alright, nothing the Sheriffs fly though, a single piston engine prop job. Shit, they’re flying low.”

  A desperate voice cried out, “Should we yell? God, we have to do something.” The man began screaming insanely, “Help! Jesus help us! We’re sinners, all of us! Help or kill us, we’re already in hell!”

  “Someone shut him up; we can’t hear the damn plane!” The screaming mouth was covered, followed by sympathetic plea for him to calm down.

  The men gathered in the darkness around the vent pipe, which blew cool air into the black room. “Is it my imagination or is it getting closer? Tom, what’s your opinion?”

  “I don’t know. A civilian pilot would never fly that close to the ground, they are low and slow, too low. They could be doing a tree survey for the state Department of Environmental Conservation, you know DEC. Man he’s pushing that little plane, I wonder what our friends are doing? I bet they’re shitting their pants.”

  Dutch came out of his cabin on to the porch and stared up at the sky. “Are the jacks put to bed?” A plane had never flown over the camp, let alone buzzed over their heads at tree top level. Dutch had not trained his men for this scenario.

  A voice responded, “Affirmative. They’ve been put to bed for the last four hours.”

  “Anyone get an eyeball on that plane?” The sky was obscured by the thick canopy of branches and leaves over the camp. Several men near a rock ledge through the foliage could see the sky. “Assholes, put your guns down! Don’t let them see your guns!”

  The men were several hundred feet away from Dutch. One of the men raised his gun and tracked the plane as if he were directing an antiaircraft battery. The plane flew by in the valley, well below the hilltop.

  ***

  Mitchelli’s camera clicked away at five frames a second. He was white and sweating profusely. “Len, I haven’t seen anything.” Then he swore, “Son of a bitch. Len, we have to check out the top of the hill. Boon never made it to the hilltop because he was stopped at the surrounding properties.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They stopped the forester before he could get to the top of the hill.”

  Divido focused on flying the plane. “Ok, I’ll do a wing over and we’ll check out the top of the hill.” The plane pulled into a steep climb. The propeller strained at the increase load and then the left wing dropped and the tail swung abruptly around. The plane was heading in the opposite direction. “Peter, I think there are buildings down there.”

  Mitchelli’s camera rapidly clicked away like a World War I machine gun. “I see, looks like a camp. Make another pass.”

  ***

  The plane streaked over the treetops, just above Dutch. “Who the hell is that damn pilot? Guys, I want the numbers off that plane. For God’s sake, hide! I don’t want them seeing any of us.” Dutch ran to the other men at the ridge who were not obeying his instructions. He was screaming, “Junior, put that gun down, damn it! Hide your gun!” The man continued to track the plane with his rifle. Dutch came to within thirty feet of the man with the rifle when he dropped flat on the ground, fearing the plane was crashing into the camp. The sound was intense; Divido had the plane just above the treetops. Dutch looked up and saw the young man empty his carbine while aiming at the small airplane. Dutch screamed, “NOOO, STOP!” The young man stopped when he had depleted all his rounds and his bolt locked back.

  ***

  The pinging of bullets hitting the plane was muffled because of the loud noise emanating from the straining propeller. “I think I saw a man in the camp… He may have had a rifle,” Mitchelli said. “Great flying, hey just when I thought I was going to puke my guts out, my stomach calmed down.” Mitchelli turned to his friend who was pale white. “Len, what’s wrong?” Mitchelli looked at his friend’s left arm, which was bleeding. Mitchelli quickly got a sweatshirt out of his bag and ripped it into strips.

  “Peter, hurry up, I can’t hold her much longer. I think the bullet broke my arm, I’m going to throw up.”

  Mitchelli wrapped a piece of torn shirt around Divido’s arm. Divido screamed in pain. “Len, you’re going to be ok. I think it is just broken. Shit Len, I don’t see an exit wound. I think the bullet is lodged in your arm.”

  “Peter, you have to take the yoke. I can’t fly the plane.”

  “Len, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “Now is not the time for you to be meek; that would be uncharacteristic of you. You have to pull my left hand off the yoke, I can’t move my fingers.”

  Mitchelli wrapped another strip of his sweatshirt around Divido’s arm, then grabbed the yoke with his shaking left hand and with his right, he pulled Divido’s fingers off the steering wheel. The wings rocked abruptly from side to side.

  “Peter, level the wings. Just like you’re flying a remote control plane, keep them level.”

  Mitchelli leveled the wings and pulled the yoke back towards him, raising the nose and gaining altitude. He then reached up between the seats and placed the flaps in zero position. The propeller instantly quieted from the release of tension. Mitchelli looked at his GPS and gradually banked the plane into a slow right-hand turn.

  “You never cease to amaze me.” Divido’s complexion was white as he held his left arm across his lap. He was perspiring heavily.

  “Len, are you ok? Put your head back and breathe.” Mitchelli took a water bottle out of his bag, opened it with his mouth, and gave it to Divido. “Drink the water, splash some on your face. You need to snap out of it. You have to land this damn plane.”

  “No way Peter, I’m going to pass out. You’re going to land this plane and don’t tell me you can’t.”

  “Len, you’re the pilot remember?”

  “Peter. You’ve been my friend since we were kids. Whenever you set your mind to do something, nothing stands in your way. You were driving a tractor trailer when you were fourteen, hell you figured out how to start this damn plane.” Divido looked at Mitchelli. “Don’t shake your head at me; you’ve killed eleven men
in the last week, two of them with a car.”

  “Len, save your energy so you can land this plane.”

  “I wish I was there to see you gun down those guys at the grain elevator, I would have dirtied my shorts, but I bet you were something to see. Those commercial pilots waiting on the tarmac, man they must have been pissed when we jumped in front of them to take off. I would have loved to have seen their faces when I rolled this plane out in front of them.”

  “Len, you’re rambling like a dumb broad.” He keyed the radio. “Buffalo approach, this is Marauder 225 Yankee, we have a medical emergency. Pilot has a trauma wound to his wrist and bleeding heavily. He is unable to fly, repeat unable to fly the plane. Repeat, we have a medical emergency.”

  “MARAUDER 225 YANKEE, THIS IS BUFFALO APPROACH. ROGER, MEDICAL EMERGENCY. HOLD YOUR CURRENT COURSE AND ALTITUDE. WE HAVE THE SHERIFF’S HELICOPTOR ON AN INTERCEPT COURSE. ETA LESS THAN TEN MINUTES, THEY WILL ESCORT YOU.”