by H. L. Wegley
Julia listened for the next thirty minutes as Steve and Benjamin strategized using military jargon that she only partly understood. Their conclusions seemed to be that the entire group needed to participate and buy in to the final decision. They all had a big stake in whatever decision they made, their lives.
Julia looked toward the house when a door opened.
Jeff and Allie stepped through the back door from the kitchen.
Steve waved them toward the table.
Jeff looked up as the two approached. “This place is beautiful. Why the grim faces this morning?”
“Keep your voice down.” Steve said.
Benjamin shoved his note from last night in front of the two.
Allie gasped. “They're monitoring us. How awful for KC and Brock.”
Jeff looked at her with raised eyebrows. “KC and Brock? Whoever did this doesn’t give a rip about embarrassing us, they mean to kill us.”
“Keep your voice down, Jeff,” Benjamin said.
Allie’s reaction had been completely unselfish, so unlike her own. Julia had only thought about her personal danger, not how violated KC and Brock might feel. Once again, Julia chided herself for her biggest failing. She was a weak, selfish woman.
Allie and Jeff slid onto the picnic table bench beside Benjamin.
Jeff looked at Steve, then Benjamin. “Well, what are we going to do about it?”
Benjamin's dark eyes flashed a menacing look as he met Jeff's gaze. “We're dealing with a traitor, a Hannan sympathizer, either among the Canadians or the Israelis. My guess is it's a Canadian.”
Jeff nodded. “You're probably right, but you didn't answer my question.”
“I called Katz.” Benjamin scanned the faces around the table. “He says we need to leave today. We shouldn't spend another night here. Hannan won't violate Canada's sovereignty by sending US troops, but we saw the lengths he will go to when he sent Hamas after us. He might hire someone to kill us here.”
“But didn’t you say the group needs to reach consensus on this?” Steve said.
“We need to leave regardless. What we need consensus on is where we go. Any ideas?” Benjamin gave them a palms-up hand and waited.
It grew quiet. The only sounds were a few birds in the trees and the lake lapping the shore thirty steps away.
The raspy sound of a slider opening came from the deck off the dining room. KC and Brock.
Surprised to see them up already, Julia studied their faces for clues as to why the two newlyweds were up so early. Had their time not gone well?
No. Brock and KC exchanged warm looks, affectionate smiles, and KC held onto Brock's arm as if it were her most prized possession.
If it weren't for KC, Julia might be the person with Brock. She had gotten his attention in Guatemala after the incident with the Mayan girl. And she’d gotten a hug from him at the Redmond Airport.
Julia Weiss, what are you doing?
Was she actually envious of KC because of Brock? No. Julia was, for the first time, wanting a man to share her life with. Facing danger alone, without a person who loved you at your side, was a frightening proposition, even for someone who said they trusted God.
Julia was happy for Brock and KC. But the loneliness in Julia’s heart and mind had crept in, creating an ache that, if she didn't squelch it, might soon turn to envy and then to fear—emotions that could drive a person into an ill-advised relationship.
Steve’s gaze moved from Brock and KC to Julia's face, where it remained.
For whatever reason, Steve was attracted to her, or thought he was, and his gaga eyes were clearly on display for all to see.
Her loneliness morphed to warm cheeks and embarrassment. Why did Steve—a thought blindsided her. Maybe Steve was lonely too, despite the dedication to his career as a Ranger. Maybe he needed more than a replacement for the twin sister he lost.
But Steve was a Ranger. A man of violence and killing. He was his detachment’s weapons man, highly skilled in the art of blowing people up, shooting them, and instructing others in doing the same. As long as the six of them were stuck together, Steve would be their weapons man and that eliminated him as a candidate for her attention. Imagining them becoming a couple, seriously courting, was the stuff of fairy tales. Pure fantasy.
After he looked away, she stole a glance at Steve’s handsome face. It was a very nice fairy tale, but one that had no chance of ending happily ever after.
KC and Brock stopped near the picnic table. She whispered something to Brock. He pulled KC’s head near and kissed her forehead, then turned toward the table. “What's up? From the looks of you all, I'd say you're planning a funeral.”
“That's what we're trying to avoid, bro.” Jeff slid Benjamin's handwritten note in front of Brock and KC.
KC drew a sharp breath and looked back at the house.
Brock shook his head. “Hannan again. This isn't going to stop until that man's dead or locked in prison. Personally, I'd like to get my hands on—”
KC put her hand over his mouth. “Don't say it, sweetheart. Not today.”
Benjamin's face saddened as he slumped in his seat on the bench. “I'm sorry for the bad news, KC. But this means we have to leave here today.”
“But we—” KC stopped. Her gaze dropped to the ground. “I guess the honeymoon's over.” She looked up into Brock's face and gave him a weak smile. “For now.”
“Not over,” Allie said. “To be continued. Same time, different place.”
“The question we need to decide is...” Benjamin grabbed the note and shoved it into his pocket, “... where are we going?”
Brock sat down beside Benjamin and made room for KC. “Wherever we go, I assume Craig still wants me blogging on the Israeli server.”
“Of course,” KC said. “And it still works because the Israelis built-in a protected page to enter your posts and the messages for Craig. The submittal is handled with a CGI script that also does the encryption.”
“Remind me why that’s important, Kace.” Brock brushed a stray curl from KC’s face.
She kissed his hand. “Sweetheart, we were FTP’ing the posts. NSA knows about the Israeli server, so they could just search their network traffic database for an FTP to the Israeli server’s IP address, get ours, and locate us.”
“NSA may know about the server,” Benjamin said. “But they can't take it down. Not even with a DOS attack.”
“A what?” All this computer jargon frustrated Julia. She used technology as little as possible.
“A denial of service attack. We've got that covered,” Benjamin said.
Brock sighed sharply. “Come on, guys. We need to move faster. Before the spies get suspicious. We need to ditch this place, this incredible place that I’d give almost anything to live in.”
“Agreed,” Steve said. “But we need transportation and a place to go. We don't have passports, or any ID, and we couldn't use them even if we did. That would only bring Hannan's hounds down on us, immediately.”
Jeff shook his head. “This isn't working out well. Technically, we're in Canada, illegally. If the police stop us, we're toast.”
Benjamin stood. “Don’t worry about ID or the police. In case things didn't work out here, Katz asked our pilot to stick around for a day or two. He can take us anywhere in the world with a runway that can handle our Gulfstream.”
“Not quite anywhere,” Steve said. “We don't want an Israeli plane flying into Hannan-controlled areas where its transponder might get it shot down. Hannan's not happy with Israel right now.”
Brock gave a disgusted snort. “He's never been happy with Israel. Hannan was perfectly content to force the Israelis to sit there and take it while Hamas bombarded them daily with rockets fired from schools and hospitals. Hannan wouldn’t stand for Mexican drug cartels shooting rockets at us every day across the border. I—sorry. Sometimes I get—”
“Carried away?” KC hooked an arm around him. “Brock is right. But there’s probably no one with the
birth name Abid who’s ever going to be happy with Israel.”
Benjamin shot KC a curious glance. “So his first name is really Abid, not Abe?”
“Yes. But he kept it secret, or he might not have been elected to his first term. Still, there were people who called him a closet Muslim.”
“KC’s right,” Brock said. “But we need to stay on subject here. We're flying out of Vancouver, but anybody got a suggestion as to where?”
Allie stared at Jeff, as if waiting for him to say something. “Jeff … are you going to tell them or should I?”
“Tell them what, hon?”
“Mi amor, about your house in Western Oregon. You know, where we first met.”
Jeff rubbed his chin. “That could work. I was going to have it cleaned and painted before I rented it again. So, it’s available.”
Steve propped his elbows on the table. “How big is this house?”
“Three bedrooms and a den that could be a fourth bedroom. Two bathrooms and …”
Allie shot Jeff a glaring glance. “Don't even mention that outhouse in the back.”
Jeff grinned. “Now, I don't have to.”
“That works,” Steve said.
“Yeah.” Jeff chuckled. “It always works. Never needs a plunger because you don’t have to flush—”
“Enough, Jeff.” Allie pointed a finger at his face.
Benjamin laid a hand on Jeff's shoulder. “You've got me interested. Now for the … what do you Americans call it, the clincher?”
Jeff nodded. “Yep. The clincher.”
“Where is the nearest landing strip at least 1,400 meters long?” Benjamin focused on Jeff.
“There's an old Forest Service runway near O’Brien. Smokejumpers used it years ago. I think they flew DC-3s out of there, but it’s still used by the locals.”
Benjamin rubbed his chin several times. “DC-3s you say. I'll call our pilot on my secure phone. He can check out the runway. If it's been maintained at all, we can probably use it. Though I'm a little worried about weight restrictions. With all of us onboard, our Gulfstream weighs almost twenty-three thousand kilograms.”
“Southwestern Oregon is in red territory,” Brock said. “We can probably get in and out of there, unless Hannan scrambles fighters from Portland or Kingsley Air Force Base in Klamath Falls?”
“Let's assume that won't happen,” Benjamin said. “Our Gulfstream is identified as having diplomatic immunity. But, being Israeli, it could be risky to fly into a populated area.”
Jeff shook his head. “O'Brien isn't a populated area.”
“Are you okay with this?” Benjamin asked. “You know what could happen to your house, don’t you?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Allie sighed and propped her chin on her hand.
Benjamin gave her a strange look, but didn’t pursue her strange comment. “Okay, here’s our plan. We take off from Vancouver, reach cruising altitude, fly south. After we’re out of ATC range, we descend to about 500 feet and shoot a radar gap to the Southern Oregon coast. We hug the mountains and drop into the valley by O’Brien.”
Julia hadn’t contributed to the discussion, but listening to it gave her an uneasy feeling. “But suppose they send a plane to intercept us. What happens then?”
Benjamin sighed, loud and long. “The Air Guards that Brock mentioned have all been federalized since Hannan declared martial law. We have electronic countermeasures on the Gulfstream, but it would be too late to use them. We would be at the pilot’s mercy, and I can guarantee you what his orders from the Commander-in-Chief would be.”
“Shoot them down.”
Chapter 8
Fifty miles off the Oregon coast, the Gulfstream broke out of a low cloud bank and soared over the water nearly a thousand feet below. The sound of the engine changed. Or, was there a second engine’s sound?
Steve looked out the window and recoiled from it when he saw a fighter off their wing.
He turned toward the front of the plane.
Benjamin stood by the door to the pilot’s cabin.
“Benjamin, tell the captain we've got—”
“He knows.” Benjamin glanced back at Steve, an intense expression frozen on his face.
“It's always something,” KC said. “This is never going to be over until Hannan is dead.”
“What's the pilot doing about it?” Jeff’s voice came from across the cabin.
“He’s broadcasting a message on several frequencies, hoping the pilot will hear.”
“What's the message?” Brock's voice came from the rear of the cabin, laced with sarcasm. “Don't shoot, all we have on board is public enemy number one, Brock Daniels?”
“And enemy number two, KC Banning—I mean Daniels.” KC's voice.
Benjamin heaved a sigh. “He's telling the fighter pilot we've got an aircraft emergency and will be making an emergency landing in fifteen minutes.”
KC shook her head. “If Hannan’s federalized the Air Guards, he could be giving direct orders to the pilot, right now, telling him to shoot us down while we’re still over water.”
“He didn't.” Benjamin took his seat and buckled in. “We just made land and we’re headed up a river valley.”
Steve looked out, but couldn't see the fighter. “Where did he go, Benjamin?”
The copilot twisted in his seat and leaned toward the open door to the cabin. “He's following. Above and behind us now.”
Steve pushed his face against the window and strained to look upward. Nothing. But ahead of them stood towering clouds that flattened and spread out on top surrounded by others that looked like giant kernels of popcorn. “What are we flying into? It looks downright ugly inland.”
Turbulence jarred Steve, slamming him down in the seat then lifting him up until his seatbelt stopped him.
Julia gasped and grabbed his arm. “Are we going to crash?”
“Just stay buckled in. It's convective turbulence,” Benjamin said. “At least it got rid of the fighter, temporarily.”
“Speaking of convection,” Jeff said, his face against the window. “Look at those CBs.”
Getting safely onto the ground at O'Brien might take more than a softhearted fighter pilot.
“Thunderstorms? You've got to be kidding.” Brock's voice.
“Not kidding, bro.” Jeff pointed a thumb at the window. “In August and September, southwestern monsoon moisture works its way into the intermountain region and comes in the back door to Western Oregon, sucked in by our heat low. Sometimes, like this afternoon, it sets off spectacular fireworks.”
Brock pointed a finger at Jeff. “You've been holding out on me. You … a meteorologist?”
“Only an amateur,” Jeff said. “Took a few courses in college.”
“Hang on, everybody!” Benjamin's voice.
Steve drew a sharp breath as darkness enveloped them. The buffeting grew violent, like repeated blows from a giant hammer, threatening to knock the plane from the sky.
Julia put her hand over her mouth.
Steve hooked her shoulder with an arm and pulled her as close as their fastened seat belts would allow.
A bright flash stole his vision. It disappeared leaving only blackness. He couldn’t see Julia though he was holding her.
A deafening roar sounded, causing the plane to vibrate. Something pelted the body of the Gulfstream.
Julia’s arms circled his neck and squeezed. Her cast dug into the side of his neck.
The roar continued as Steve sat weightless while the airplane fell downward in total darkness. With his stomach flip-flopping, he braced himself for a crash he would probably wouldn’t even feel.
The roar intensified and his and Julia’s bodies, locked tightly in each other’s arms, seemed to be floating in the cabin of the falling airplane.
Was this how it would end? The group of six, who had survived so much together, becoming nothing but body parts scattered over the mountains of Western Oregon?
His last words. What did
he want to say? Steve leaned toward Julia.
She pressed into him.
“I love you so much, Julia.” He spoke the words into her ear.
She buried her head into his chest.
Tears splashed on Steve's arm.
Only a few seconds more, then …
Steve lurched as light exploded into the cabin, transforming the darkness to bright daylight. His body dropped down onto his seat.
The quiet whine of the engine replaced the deafening roar.
Steve raised his head and looked out. Blue skies filled the openings between columns of white clouds. The mountaintops towered above them. They must be over the valley floor, otherwise … His mind balked at describing that scenario.
Julia had raised her head, too. She wiped the tears from her cheek and gave Steve a long penetrating look that softened and then warmed.
The captain's voice came over the PA system. “Sorry about the hail shaft. But we needed to elude the fighter before he got trigger happy. I'll have you all on the ground in less than two minutes. You're safe now.”
Steve's and Julia’s gazes were still locked, searching, wondering, and questioning.
He needed to say something to break the awkwardness of the moment. “I thought we were going to crash, Julia.”
“Nothing like a little shot of impending death.” She gave him a weak smile. “Truth serum.”
Just like every smile from Julia, cute morphed to beautiful.
“I...” He searched for words to explain his outburst, but found nothing except Julia’s explanation. “Yeah. Truth serum.”
As relief spread nervous chatter through the cabin, Julia buried her face in his shoulder and cried, softly.
Happy? Sad? Relieved? He didn't know and was afraid to ask. At least she hadn’t pulled away. She’d pressed into him, held him while she cried. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it?
“Hang on, again, but don’t be alarmed.” The pilot’s voice. “I need to use the entire runway to set down. I’ll break hard at the other end. Touching down in thirty seconds.”