The Buffalo Pilot: A Ford Stevens Military-Aviation Thriller (Book 3)
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Zeke dialed up the 914th commander, currently in the military sedan, on her way to see him. Sarah had just been informed by base ops of the volatile situation unfolding, making her way over in person.
“Hey Sarah, what’s the name-”
She cut him off. “Zeke, Zeke, are you ok? What the-”
“Yes, fine, forget about me. I’ll be fine. Have an urgent matter. Need your duty officer to send the police or sheriff helicopter over for me. What’s dis, Niagara County? Have them come pick me up. Got your ambulance guys taking me to the flight line right now.”
“Zeke, you just got shot. Why don’t you-”
He cut her off mid-sentence. “Sarah, we don’t have time for rest. I’ll rest later. Need that helo, can you work it?”
“They are already here for fuel. Just landed. I’ll have my aide call base operations and make sure they get you on board, okay?”
“I’m on my way right now,” he said, walking outside the hangar.
“Wait a sec, Zeke, what the hell happened in his office?”
“It’s too long to explain, Sarah. Just know Lansing is the saboteur, and Congressman Anderson is behind it. They took down the two jets.”
“Oh my gosh. Congressman Anderson and one of our own?” she said.
“Lansing told Grape and me that he and congressman had reasons for closing. Some connection to them wanting to close the base. Also, you need to relay this to OSI and the sheriff. Lansing has a dead girl in his office. Charlie Stevens said her name was Holly Hayden, works for the congressman and Lansing. So, this is much bigger, Sarah.”
“Gosh, Zeke. Copy, all,” she told him, thinking for a moment. “Oh, ok, I got it from here. Go get him.”
Chapter 46
Niagara Flight Line, Niagara Falls, New York
Zeke’s ambulance pulled right up in front of the helicopter like a limousine, and he hopped out of the front seat like he owned the place.
Zeke was an airplane pilot and did not trust helicopters or helicopter pilots. He always thought the aerodynamics were too much to figure out, and that the pilots took excessive risk. That low to the ground was too much for him. Zeke was apprehensive about getting in one, but figured drastic times called for drastic measures.
He got out and laughed out loud at the young pilot near the aircraft.
“You’re the pilot? You look sixteen,” Zeke said, sending the young pilot a zinger before even meeting him.
“Screw you, too. And you look like some old fat bastard ship captain I used to fly around back in my Navy days.”
Zeke smiled and knew he’d like flying with this guy.
“I can tell from your wise-ass answer we’re going to get along great,” Zeke told him, putting a cigarette in his mouth, but didn’t light it. “Look, I got a hot one. Need to do a fly-along with you in looking for a murder suspect that just left the base maybe 20 minutes ago, no more than 30 minutes now. As soon as you spark this thing up and get the radios going, I can guarantee you got a mission from your dispatch.”
“I don’t know, colonel. Can you be a good co-pilot and tactical flight officer for me if I have you sit up front? Left seat, with that ugly arm bandage?”
Zeke was used to the jokes, and there was no way he was going to take jokes from a chopper pilot that looked half his age. Being this close to a helicopter for the first time suddenly made him curious, almost attracted to how it flew, but he wasn’t going take any crap from some former Navy helicopter pilot.
“You’re ugly. Look here, rookie. I was dropping bombs back in the Gulf War on bad guys when you were in diapers. Start this whirlybird up, and let’s go. I’m Zeke, and you’re late.”
Zeke and OH-58C pilot Brannon “Bick” Bickel from the Niagara County Sheriff’s Department hopped in the recently refurbished red and white helicopter. As part of the federal Program 1033, where local law enforcement inherited military surplus equipment, the county was able to support its citizens with this aircraft. While the Civil Liberties Union made arguments about the militarization of local police forces, pilot Bick didn’t care. He liked being airborne, just as he did when he was in the Navy.
Zeke said hello to the other former Navy pilot, Bill “Chocks” Young, who would normally sit in the left seat where Zeke was sitting. The third member of the crew was SWAT Member Brad Charles, a K-9 handler, along with his German shepherd “Taz.” With their headsets on, the pilots made small talk during engine start.
Bick handed Zeke an olive-drab bulletproof vest that had “SHERIFF” in large block yellow letters across the rear. “Here, put this on. All the cool kids are wearing them,” he said, joking, because Bick, Chocks, and Brad were wearing them, too. While nearby Erie County, New York, fooled around with their funding, politics, and SWAT, Niagara County Sheriff’s Department meant business.
Bick looked around to clear the area. “Same turbine start you’ve had your career, Zeke. N1, temps, rotor and turbine speed, and that gauge is torque,” he said, pointing. “About 25 seconds on the clock for the start.”
Chocks looked up front and couldn’t help but strike at a fellow aviator.
“Don’t touch the merchandise up there, Zeke. This isn’t some cute Air Force jet,” said Chocks, taking advantage of the time to bust another pilot’s chops. “This thing is too advanced for your delicate, soft hands. Look only. No touch.”
Zeke smiled at the banter from Chocks and continued to look around the cockpit, impressed with the advanced avionics. “Dis here’s a nice chopper. Glass cockpit, too. And FLIR? Perfect. We may need it to catch this guy.”
“Helicopter, not a chopper. No one calls it a chopper except Air Force pilot weenies like you,” Chocks said. “A chopper is a motorcycle.”
Up front, Zeke grinned. “You got it, chopper pilot.”
Both pilots turned up the automated broadcast for the airport information, such as weather, wind direction, and runway in use. It repeated, always ending with a phonetic letter. This morning’s letter was Echo.
“Niagara Ground, County One, with information Echo and urgent request,” said Bick.
“County One, Niagara Ground, go ahead with your request.”
“Got a hot mission. Request to clear the airspace for a present position takeoff. Will coordinate with Tower upon switching.”
The air traffic controllers talked in private about what to do next.
“Stand by, County One, go ahead and switch up to Tower. We’ll work the details for you.”
“County One, wilco.”
Zeke pointed at all the avionics, screens, and controls in the helicopter. “Dis is your police radio? Talk to dispatch, ground units?”
“Yeah, and that FLIR camera is connected to a moving map display on that screen. This shows our current location, and you can point the camera at a separate geo-location down below, and the cross-hairs designate where you’re pointing,” Bick said.
Zeke sneered at the flight controls, knowing they were quite different from his thousands of hours in fixed-wing. “Collective, eh?”
“BISON 87, go around, landing canceled. Switch up departure.”
“BISON 87.”
Bick nodded, pointing outside. “Here come the cancellations. That canceled landing clearance for Bison was in support of us.”
“Attention all Niagara aircraft traffic. Stop present position. No movement. All airborne traffic, do not, I repeat, do not enter Niagara airspace due to an ongoing special law enforcement mission.”
A few seconds went by, and all the military and civilian traffic on the field stopped in their tracks.
“County One, Niagara Tower, you’re cleared to take-off, present position. Winds two-eight-zero at ten, altimeter three zero, one zero.”
“Thanks, Tower. Cleared for takeoff. Thirty Ten,” Bick said over the radio. “Hold on, Zeke. You’ve never taken off like this before.”
“Whoa, dis is cool. No runway needed, eh?”
Zeke threw in a fresh unlit cigarette on his lip that begged to be lit, but he knew the flashpoint trick wouldn’t work with these guys. Plus, he wasn’t sure what type of jet fuel they were using, so he kept it at the ready.
SWAT Team Member Brad Charles began unpacking his rifle from its case in the event he needed to take down Richard. Next to him was Taz, wearing his badge on a black leather holder around a chain on his neck. Zeke turned to see Chocks, Brad, and Taz between the seats, spotting Taz staring out the window with his tongue hanging out.
“Bick, Brad here in the rear.”
“Go ahead, Brad.”
“Just talked with tactics chief on Tac One channel. Guy we’re searching for is Richard Lansing, Caucasian male, military, 50 years old. Residential address is hidden on all databases, but his mother lives in Sanborn. Recommend northbound.”
“Got it, Brad. Zeke, that’s your guy?” Bick asked.
“Yep. That’s the chump that shot us.”
“Tower, County One, we’ll be working to the north today to start. Will stay with you and monitor.”
Zeke pounded his fist into his hand. “Lansing. That’s him. He’s Niagara’s maintenance officer. Caused some considerable damage today,” Zeke said.
“Pull out that button, Zeke. That’s the police radio. You can hear the ground units responding from the county, along with the state police. Must be 10 or 12 cars in on the action,” Bick told him.
The two pilots up front did a counter-clockwise circle above Richard’s house at about 500 hundred feet, observing the sheriff sedans on the main roads, minutes away from the destination.
“Zeke, grab that joystick. Put the cross-hairs on the house down below. The white farmhouse south of the barn. That way, the ground units will know the address. Help them out.”
“Ground Unit 451, this is County One up above your pos. You’re first to arrive. We have one dark sedan parked in the back of the home. Have fresh tire tracks in the mud leading up to the barn in the rear of the property, over. No civilians in sight.”
Reservoir State Park Winter Pavilion, Lewiston, New York
Ford received the contact info from Charlie, saved it, and dialed. He let it ring for a few seconds, but Richard didn’t answer. He dialed a second time, and this time to his surprise, Richard picked up.
It sounded noisy to Ford over the phone, as if Richard was in a crowded mall or sporting event.
“Lansing! I know you’re there!”
“Is that Ford Stevens, the illustrious pilot calling me? I’m sorry about your little brother, Charles. Hope his head doesn’t hurt too much.”
“Screw you, Richard. Where are you right now? I want to talk to you, mano a mano. Man to man,” Ford said.
“As you can hear, I’m at the airport. Soon, I’ll be gone, on my way to beaches someplace nice, Ford.”
Ford thought for a moment. How could he have gotten down to the Buffalo Airport already? No way, too far in this span of time.
“Don’t go anywhere, Richard. You screwed the pooch pretty good…”
From behind Richard’s table came an announcement from the ceiling speakers. “Attention in the student center. The Purple Eagles Summer Basketball Camp starts in fifteen minutes. Please make your way upstairs to the Gallagher Center.” Richard attempted to cover the phone with his hand.
“That’s my flight, Ford. Must run along. Sayonara,” Richard said. He disconnected.
“Niagara University! He’s at the student center at the university!” Ford yelled.
He dialed Charlie. “Charlie, Charlie! Meet me at the university! He’s at the student center. I’m on my way now.”
“Me, too. Three or four minutes out,” Charlie replied.
Ford pressed his truck’s gas pedal to the floor and tore out of the State Park traffic circle near the reservoir embankment.
“Errrr… swwhhh,” was heard as dirt and gravel sprayed the area behind the vehicle as he left. Speeding and reckless, he passed two drivers and made a wide turn to Route 31, heading straight for the campus.
Niagara University, founded by Vincentian Catholic priests in 1856, was a private liberal arts university located on the Niagara River, a few minutes’ drive from Sanborn, the Niagara Air Base, and the Canadian border. With 4,200 students spread over 182 acres, it was crowded enough for Richard to blend in. With 15 different NCAA Division I athletic teams and a robust summer program, it was a picture-perfect hiding spot for him.
Ford and Charlie both arrived at the same time, parking in opposite directions in front of the large Gallagher Student Center. Athletics buses were also parked out front with about 120 high school basketball players, lined up to enter the gym for their annual summer camp with the Men’s and Women’s Purple Eagles basketball team.
Giving each other a quick embrace, they stopped and looked at each other.
“Not only do you sound like total crap, but you look it, too,” Ford said.
“Have I told you today that I love you?” Charlie replied, laughing.
“Good. Let’s go in the rear entrance and look for him from afar. And Charlie, just observe, okay? I know you are cop trained, but we don’t have any weapons. Wait, why aren’t you armed? You’re a cop.”
“Dude, no, come on. I had to hand in my weapon when I went on military leave.”
“Wonderful, now I find out. Okay, well, I got a wife and a kid coming, and I’m not taking a bullet from him. We’re doing this like the old days when we used to sneak up on the elk. Quietly. We want to see where he is, not do some cop and his brother takedown. You good?” Ford asked.
Charlie was already ahead of Ford. “What are you waiting for?”
Both pilots walked around to the rear of the building near the university library. They walked down the stairs with a few other students, blending into the normal student environment.
“Ford, you think he’s just sitting there drinking a Timmy Horton’s coffee or what?”
“Yeah, perhaps. You go that way, I’ll go this way, and we meet. Remember, quietly. No engagement with a crazy dude with a handgun.”
Ford walked down one side of the student center, right in front of the administrative offices and past groups of students chatting on sofas. He attempted to blend in, but his flight suit was out of place for college-kid clothing seen on campus. On the far side was Charlie, wearing the same, passing around the food kiosks.
Charlie spotted Richard first, sitting at a table by himself, looking at his blue passport.
Got to tell Ford he’s here and dial 911.
Charlie kept his eye on Richard as he leafed through the passport pages. Richard stopped once he reached the last page and looked up. It was as if he could tell Charlie was staring at him, but it wasn’t him. He spotted Ford first.
“Stevens!” Richard yelled. He stood up and kicked back his chair, reaching in his waistband and pulling out his P226, and started firing.
Pop. Pop. Pop-pop.
Each shot was deafening inside, and it seemed like each additional shot was louder than the last. The entire student center went into pandemonium, with hundreds of people screaming, kicking chairs and tables, and running in all directions. A wave of people ran up the stairs to exit the building, while others were pushed down flat to the reddish titles. The rush of people was overwhelming, as some tripped and fell while others shoved to get out. Some of the players assisted in getting them out the door, but a host of students were trampled upon in the stampede.
Richard the
n spotted Charlie on his right and moved his weapon to start shooting at him.
Pop. Pop. Pop-pop.
Charlie ducked down behind the food equipment, and all the bullets missed him.
In the confusion of people running up the staircase and out the doors of the building, Richard ran out with them. He blended in with the crowd, walking out fast without anyone identifying him as the shooter.
“Ford! Ford! Are you hit?” Charlie yelled.
But there was no answer.
Chapter 47
Tonawanda Reservation, Niagara Falls, New York
“Yo, congressman, what up?” Ray asked on the phone.
Bruce was driving himself to the Buffalo office that morning, already annoyed and wondering what Richard had done.
“Ray, this isn’t a good time. Call me back later,” Bruce said, disconnecting the call. Stuck in Route 5 morning traffic, he let out a sigh. He looked over at his right, seeing an old-school Williamsville restaurant that he fondly remembered. Raised plenty of money inside coming up, he thought.
The phone rang a second time.
“I thought I told you I would call you back!”
“Brucie, yo, check this out. You sitting down?”
Wham.
Annoyed, Bruce slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. “Ray, I told your dumb ass…”
“I’m doing the talking, so you better listen. What’s up with your boy Richard, that’s his name, right, Richard Lansing?”
Ray had Bruce’s attention now. “Yeah, how do you know? Why?”
“Cause your boy Richie is causing some mess over at the airbase. You don’t have the Buffalo morning news on, yo?”
“Ray, I am driving. What’s going on?” Bruce replied, curious.
“Looks like your boy Richie shot up the base. Shot a few military people, looks like he whacked a girl. He’s on the run someplace. A matter of time before he’s someone’s girlfriend in the joint, getting a Chin Check.”
There was no way for Bruce to know, but sitting in front of the television were Daniel and Ray, watching the news unfold. The local affiliate had live cameras, reporters, and a helicopter, reporting live at the airbase. A dozen sheriff red-and-white patrol cars had arrived, in addition to federal government sedans.