Grape lunged forward just like his high school football days and attempted to tackle Richard, but the distance was too great for Richard’s rapid finger on the trigger. Four shots rang out from the P226, traveling at 2,500 feet per second. Two shots toward Grape and two to Zeke.
Squadron Morning Meeting, Niagara Air Base, Niagara Falls, New York
Ford looked at the wall screen and saw the Aeromed team was flying this weekend as one of the jets was heading up to the Maine refueling track to work with some F-16s.
“What unit up in Maine, looking for fuel?”
“Vermont Air Guard,” replied the briefer. “Converting to F-35s soon. Pretty controversial with the local community. Loud as heck. Flying the Vipers as much as they can before swapping out.”
Ford flipped the schedule over. “Any NBC training scheduled?”
Maintenance Hangar, Niagara Air Base, Niagara Falls, New York
One bullet hit each man, Richard ever the expert marksman. Richard stood over all three of them now, contemplating if it was even worth rolling Holly down to the hangar floor with this latest hiccup.
“You guys ruined the plan! Someone had to hear the gunfire,” Richard thought out loud, leaving them and walking to his office desk area. Disgusted with the disruption in his idea, he paced back and forth in his office on what to do next, scratching his head, his typical mannerism when faced with an uncertain situation. Then he itched his arm until it bled, numb while doing it. Inside the secret room, he could hear the two men moaning from their pain. Anxious, Richard made a split second decision to leave.
Just then, Charlie Stevens had finally made it over from Ford’s office and startled Richard as he walked in. Charlie was not aware of the developing state of affairs.
Charlie saw how disheveled he looked. “Hey, sir, how ya doing? I’m looking for-”
Without warning, Richard socked him in the jaw hard with his fist, his boxing skills returning. Knocking him down to the floor, Charlie wasn’t prepared to receive the violent hit. The hard and fast punch was strong enough that Charlie felt the room go dark for a second. Charlie’s knees collapsed, and he held on the leather chair, puffing for air.
With the situation unfolding in a hasty fashion, Richard panicked and darted from the office.
Squadron Morning Meeting, Niagara Air Base, Niagara Falls, New York
“Good to hear. Get out that NBC qual for the annual requirement. What else do we have for annual stuff?”
The training officer stood up, looking at his spreadsheet. “Hi, Ford, we could always launch a second jet for chamber rides at Andrews. Launch a third for water survival at Key West for next quarter. Get it completed before the fiscal year ends.”
Maintenance Hangar, Niagara Air Base, Niagara Falls, New York
Charlie struggled to stand up, moving his jaw from side to side, ensuring it was connected to his face. He reached up with his hand, feeling how sore it was. What the heck just happened?
Hearing the moaning from inside the closet as he finally stood, he peeked into the rag closet, looking around, mesmerized by the intricate setup. He continued into the second room, and his peripheral vision caught the small lights and weapons, but then he saw boots, men in flight suits on the floor.
“What the hell, Grape? What happened?” Charlie asked, confused. “What- What type of injury do you have?” He looked over at Zeke.
With a raspy voice, Zeke spoke. “Charlie. Get a rag and make Grape a tourniquet for that leg of his. Gunshot to his leg. He’s passed out from getting the crap scared out of him.”
“Okay, okay,” Charlie did as Zeke asked, and crawled over to help. “He shot you guys?”
“Listen to me, Charlie. Listen to me. We don’t have much time. Quit asking your questions,” Zeke told him.
“What, what?” Charlie was jumpy. “Got to call 911.”
“Lansing is the saboteur. Okay? Are you listening? It’s not you, I get it now. He and Congressman Bruce Anderson are involved in taking down our two mishap jets. Go after him before he escapes. Help the police find him. Go,” Zeke said, breathing deep from the shock. “Hey,” Zeke held him back, swallowing. “Tell the cops a dead girl is in that bin, too. Looks to be about 25 years old.”
Charlie’s heart just about stopped as he closed his eyes. “Oh my God, Grace. Is it Grace in there?” He stood to check, moving the rags off the front of her face. She was pale, her warm pink glow taken. It’s not her… not Grace.
“Oh, man…Zeke…this is Holly Hayden. She works for the congressman and with Lansing. Wow… what… what the hell happened to her?”
Zeke looked at the blood on his shoulder and arm. “Got to call 911. Call, then go, I’ll be fine. We’ll take care of Grape. The Big Man upstairs gave me two arms, and I got one left. Get outta here… you have to follow him for the police.”
Charlie called 911 and relayed the medical issues to the dispatcher, and it turned out someone else in the hangar had already called after hearing the gunfire. The call was quick, and he turned back to Zeke.
Zeke was stirring after Charlie hung up. “Charlie, Richard has a swollen left eye and some type of bleeding to his left ear. Like someone cracked him in the head. All right? Now go!”
Charlie raced out of the office, down the staircase, and into the parking lot for his truck. He saw the Econoline van down the flight line road.
Running towards his own Jeep, he texted Ford while yelling into his phone. “Text!”
Out of his phone, came the question, “Who do you want to send it to?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” He looked at the screen while running. “Ford!” Charlie yelled.
While running across the parking lot, he had one hand on the phone and the other on the remote. He kept pressing the remote, two, three, four times, wanting to make sure it was unlocked. He yanked the door open and climbed in.
“What do you want to say?” asked his phone.
This phone is killing me.
“Lansing is the saboteur. Lansing did it. Chasing him now. Ford, need your help,” he said as clear as he could, wanting to make sure it would capture his voice.
“Here’s your message, ready to send it?”
“Yes!” Charlie yelled for a third time.
“Ok, it’s sent,” replied the phone.
“Well, no shit.”
Niagara Air Base, Niagara Falls, New York
Charlie was in his Jeep, speeding out of the maintenance hangar parking lot, driving with one hand and holding the phone with his other.
Ford, where the hell are you? Come on. Text back already.
Continuing with his texting, he transmitted more as he navigated the hairpin turns on roads of the base. Come on, Ford.
CHARLIE: Run in with Lansing in his office. He shot Grape and Zeke, and they need medical help. Killed Holly Hayden.
CHARLIE: Chasing Lansing now. Anderson and Lansing are saboteurs. Caused mishaps. Mayday.
Squadron Morning Meeting, Niagara Air Base, Niagara Falls, New York
Ford felt the vibration and wondered about texting. Many of his friends knew how much he hated texting, being quite vocal about how easy they could be intercepted and read by others. He ignored it and pressed on with his meeting regarding annual training requirements.
“Second quarter would be good for the next group? Weather about that time of year will be... oh, overcast. Maybe even snowing already, and down in Key West will be 80s and sunny.”
He looked over the papers one more time, said good-bye to his team, then made his way back to the office. With the morning meeting complete, Ford picked up his land-line office phone for a call to Zeke’s office to see what the lab results were. Ford continued to be concerned about Charlie, and if he committed the acts for some reason, the Stevens boys needed to have the best lawyers available. But Ford continued to reason that it was impossible
to him that Charlie had anything to do with the mishaps. Bringing up dad’s F-15 fire was spot on… bothered me, too. As he waited for Zeke to answer, the vibration of texts was flowing in from someone. Ford hung up his office phone and turned to his mobile phone, his eyes darting back and forth.
“Holy mackerel,” Ford said out loud, grabbing the keys from in front of Wu’s flight helmet, running right out of the squadron building.
Ford hated texting, but replied, typing “Where are you?”
Richard yanked the wheel and turned into the flight equipment shop parking lot, figuring he could exchange his clothes with new ones. The dirty clothes he had on were from last night’s Canal Fest, and with his OCD, were not clean after a night of action. Need a disguise, too, Alex.
He got out and ran inside to the air flight equipment building, fidgeting for the lights but missing the switches. Richard walked to where the life support storage gear was kept, past the survival vests and parachutes that hung on clothing store-style racks. He pressed on past the array of oxygen masks used during the rare KC-135 nuclear missions. After hearing the distinct screech of tires outside, he stopped and hid among the dark flight helmets’ storage area.
With sweat pouring out, Richard stood in silence to view the interloper. The drips of sweat came off his forehead, landing in his eyes, and the drops from his chin were making small puddles on the floor. Even in the dark, he could see a figure coming into the room, but couldn’t identify him. The person walked in but didn’t announce anything, so he knew it wasn’t the police. This guy is alone. The male walked the same path as he did, maybe figuring Richard was going to the small locker room.
Charlie walked right down the aisle and straight into Richard, bumping into him. They wrestled with each other for two or three seconds on the floor until Richard’s adrenaline kicked in. Working faster and harder than Charlie, Richard reached up and took one of the spare flight helmets off the shelf. Raising it high above his head, he slammed it down on top of Charlie’s head. Richard thumped him three times, striking him hard on the skull and his arms. Charlie managed to wriggle away a few feet, but Richard wasn’t taking any chances. He landed more blows to his face with his fist.
Richard took off one of the parachute hangers from a nearby rack and attempted to bang it over his head while he was down on the floor. Charlie scrambled to get up while holding his arms up to protect himself, but a solid hit came down hard.
This last blow knocked Charlie out cold, and Richard scampered off, leaving him laid out.
Richard heard no police sirens, saw no police lights, and jumped into his van. Driving away at normal speed, pretending everything was normal, he looked into the rearview mirror. With no reason to speed and attract attention, he made his way toward the main gate to get off base.
Ford was calling Charlie now on the phone and put him on speakerphone. He drove in the maintenance hangar parking lot, didn’t see Charlie’s Jeep, and left. Ford drove past the squadron a second time and didn’t see his Jeep there either. No answer on the phone. Where the hell is Charlie?
Ford drove slow with his foot on the brake and his head on a swivel, checking out each building’s parking lot as military members were starting to begin their day. Some camouflaged and flight suited members were parking, while others were entering their buildings. He’d speed up, then slow down, driving erratically while he searched. As he turned the corner for the New York Air National Guard side of the base, he passed Richard in his Econoline van, opposite direction. Ford yanked the wheel to the right, then to the left in a U-turn, aggressive in his pursuit.
At each U.S. military base across the world, beginning at 7:30 a.m., “Morning Colors” played on the public address systems as the American flag was run up the pole. By tradition and a way of showing respect, all pedestrian and car traffic stopped. If someone was walking, they would render a salute. If they were driving, they would stop until after the ‘all clear’ signal was heard. This morning was no different as a back-up of cars sat at the security gate at Niagara. At least ten cars’ worth of brake lights sat in front of Ford, as Richard had already escaped the base.
Chapter 44
Spaulding Lake, Clarence, New York
Bruce was at his kitchen table eating a slice of toast with the News open in front of him as his kids were eating cereal. He always went to the sports section to see what was going on with football stories, then to the rest of the paper.
“Daddy, can I have more?” Bobby asked.
Bruce wasn’t paying attention, absorbed in the story.
“Daddy. Daddy!”
“Yes, oh, yeah, Bobby, you can have more. Go ahead.”
He kept reading, focused on the upcoming summer camp for the Buffalo Bills. The vibration of his phone interrupted his concentration.
“Hello, Richard, how are things going?”
“Sir. Good morning. Things were going well, and now I have a situation developing. A serious one. I’m packing now,” Richard told him, sounding anxious.
Bruce put his paper down, squinted, and looked out the back window at the stamped concrete deck and inground blue swimming pool. A tall pink flamingo inflatable rotated in the breeze. Behind the pool was the lake, and beyond that, some of the loveliest homes around. It was uncommon for Richard to tell him something like this, as his calls were always more positive, that he had a handle on unique situations.
“Packing? What does that mean, Richard? Where are you going?”
Richard told him he was scrambling around his apartment, dumping out drawers of clothes into a large canvas suitcase on his bed. He now had his phone on speaker.
“Congressman, I may have muddied the waters a bit. Packing, yes. Got to go. Either the military police or the sheriffs will be arriving soon.”
Bruce raised his eyebrows in shock. “Holy crap, Richard. What the hell did you do? You got caught?” On the inside, Bruce just about peed his pants.
The two boys looked at each other and started giggling. “Mom! Dad said a bad word!”
“Sir, it will come out soon enough. I’m sorry. Want you to know I did it for you. Bruce, I love you.”
Bruce was alarmed at first but knew he had to work through this with him. “Okay, Richard, okay. I love you, too,” he replied, lying. Bruce knew full well that Richard meant it in a romantic way, having detected the vibes some time ago. “What did you do? You’re blowing off my question.”
Bruce could hear Richard scurrying around his apartment, hearing bangs every so often from drawers closing. Richard could hear the congressman from his bedroom as he wandered between the bathroom and closet.
“I eliminated the threat, congressman. Got to go, congressman. I will contact you soon so we can, after all this time, be together. All of this, all of it, was for us.” Richard disconnected and attempted to zip and buckle the overstuffed suitcase.
Bruce watched his labradoodle dog push it out on the lawn from his large composite deck. “Richard? Richard!”
Bruce could not see what Richard was up to, but the last thing he did before locking up his basement door was slipping his blue U.S. passport into his back pocket. It was going down.
Chapter 45
Niagara Air Base, Niagara Falls, New York
Charlie came to consciousness on his own, grabbing the stepladder nearby to help himself up. His arm and head were both sore, and he was pretty sure he had a concussion. Putting his hand up to feel the lump, he was shocked at how swollen it was. With his other hand, he dug in his leg pocket for his phone and saw the replies flowing in from Ford. Charlie dialed him up.
“Ford, uff. Ford… you… you got all my texts?”
“Yeah, you ok? You sound like crap. Where the hell have you been?”
“Richard dinged me on the head with a flight helmet. Had a fight after the shooting in his office. You get him yet?”
“No. I passed him in front of Air
Flight Equipment when I was looking for you, then got stuck at the gate during Morning Colors. Saw Richard leave the base. Have no idea where he went… maybe home. I don’t know. I’m over by the Tonawanda Reservoir now.”
“Frickin’ eh! Here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to hang up and text you his number. He gave it to me weeks ago when he passed me those freaking rags. Call that dirtbag and see where he’s hiding, maybe you can hear something, or he’ll tell you where he is. I’ll come meet you,” Charlie said.
“Yup. If he drops that gun, I’ll tackle him like we used to do to Ohio State. Send it over to me. I know he lives up in Sanborn someplace, but have no idea of an address.”
“Alright, bye.”
Charlie scrolled through his contacts in reverse, starting from Z. He passed W, U, T, lots of last names in the letter S. Stevens, Sullivan… until he found L. Lansing. And he sent it to Ford with the flick of a thumb.
Lansing is next to ‘Lee, Wu’ in my contact list. Where has that guy been?
Niagara Air Base, Niagara Falls, New York
About ten minutes had passed before the medical personnel could get to Richard’s office to respond to Zeke and Grape, and Zeke was a bear to deal with. More concerned about Grape than himself, the legendary Air Force pilot was lucky with his minor injuries.
“Don’t worry about my old ass, take care of Grape,” he told the medical team. “Hey Grape!” he yelled over. “They got you, buddy. You’ll be fine! Hang in there.”
The paramedics were tending to Grape, while others were working on Zeke. Zeke only had grazing injuries on both his shoulder and upper arm, having no traditional entry or exit wound. Setting him up with a cloth sling from the bullet that grazed him, Zeke couldn’t stand it knowing Richard was on the loose. He was lucky the other bullet passed near him instead of inside him, but unfortunately, Grape needed surgery at the hospital stat.
The Buffalo Pilot: A Ford Stevens Military-Aviation Thriller (Book 3) Page 22