Wings of Steele 3: Revenge and Retribution

by Jeffrey Burger

  “How far to food, water and...” Karen looked down at herself, “a shower?”

  “Are you up for a walk?”

  “I suppose, she groaned, “if that's what it takes.”

  “Then it's about a mile,” said Chase, setting their backpacks on the sand.

  “How far would it be if I didn't feel like walking?”

  “Swimming would be about two miles... “ He pulled Allie's tennis ball from a pouch on her harness and gave it a toss, “Did I mention the sharks..?”

  ■ ■ ■

  After scuttling their crippled watercraft in the mangroves, Chase covered it with cut branches to camouflage it from the air and the water. Hopefully they'd be long gone from the island before anyone discovered it.

  Karen had been thirsty for hours, It might have been nice if Chase had mentioned earlier that the backpacks had two-liter hydration systems in them. Even Allie's harness had a hydration bladder and a collapsible fabric bowl kept in one of her pouches to drink from. Ingenious. Karen suspected Chase didn't mention it to preserve their supplies as long as possible. The hike to relative civilization, such as it was, wasn't as bad as Karen had expected, following well-trodden paths through the mangroves. Chase hiked like he knew exactly where he was going – at least he made it seem like that. She was however, not too fond of the revelation that there were snakes to watch out for... poisonous no less. That lived in trees. Yeah, great. Wonderful.

  At one point Chase broke from the path, using a hand held GPS to find a small, green, Tupperware-like container tucked into the crotch of two palm trees that had grown together. He removed a key and jotted notes in a small log book, leaving a hundred dollar bill inside it and resealing the container. Geocache, was all he had said. He was a man in his element, he had a plan and he was executing it. Karen wondered if it should bother her that the whole survival, secret cloak-and-dagger thing seemed to be part of his comfort zone. Or that Allie seemed to suddenly be a different animal, almost instantly morphing into a work dog, all play aside. Karen supposed the thing that frightened her most was when she realized the key he retrieved from the Geocache belonged to a multimillion-dollar, Key West style stilt-house on the water, just beyond the mangroves... and that before he entered, he fitted a silencer to his pistol. He called it a suppressor but all she knew, was that it was the same thing the guys in black used on their guns during the raid.

  ■ ■ ■

  “It has come to my attention,” said Karen carefully, “whether by design or my naiveté, that I don't know you as well as I thought I did...” They sat across the table from each other in the kitchen, half naked, wrapped in bath towels, their clothes in the washing machine, churning away in the adjacent laundry room.

  Chase fed a piece of cooked Spam to Allie off his fork, his plate nearly empty. She took it gingerly without even touching the tines. “Well,” he sighed, “part of it is, that I'm not so sure how to tell you in a way where you don't think I'm totally batshit crazy...”

  Her elbows on the table, Karen set her chin in her hands, supporting her head, “Try me. Truthfully, I can't see any scenario I wouldn't believe at this point.”

  “Ok, I'll start from here and work my way backwards... hopefully it'll be easier for you to follow that way...”

  “One question first... what's with the silencer? You're not one of them are you?”

  “No. I'm a security specialist, you know that. I've done some bodyguard work, it's just a tool of the trade. There's another one with the pistol in your backpack. They're totally legal...”

  “My backpack?” her eyes widened. “I'm glad I didn't go digging around in there for anything!”

  “No, no,” he shook his head. “It's in a separate compartment. They're bugout bags, they have necessities in them. Food, water, clothes, a gun, ammunition, knife, a couple unused pre-paid cell phones, walkie-talkies, money... So you can be self sufficient for a while if you need to be. In addition, mine has a small collapsible shovel, yours has a collapsible tree saw, Allie's has her water, four days of food, her collapsible bowl and her tennis ball.”

  “That's why you were worried about losing the bag...”

  “Yeah, and each backpack has ten grand in it...”

  Karen sat up, “Dollars? In cash?”

  Chase shrugged, If something bad happens, cash is your best friend, especially if you need to be invisible. Credit cards can be tracked, most cell phones can be tracked via their GPS whether you have it on or not... that's why we have the disposables.”

  Karen stared at the table, “My dad once told me people who expect conspiracies always seem to have a way of finding them. Or make them up... like a self-fulfilling thing.”

  “Just because you're paranoid,” began Chase, “doesn't mean you're not being followed. Case in point, look at us.”

  “I guess. So what's with the secret key thing? How many people know about them?”

  Chase sipped his coffee, “ It's a private Geocache, only four of us. Me, the Realtor and two people who are not likely to be found. I've done some very delicate security work for the Realtor, she owes me. So there's almost always a key to a house out here for emergencies.”

  “In case you're being followed...”

  Chase raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Case in point, us,” she nodded, “I get it.” She stared at the table, wondering what happened to her comfortable little world. “So what happened... what's going on? My entire life has changed to something I barely recognize in twenty-four hours...” She looked up at him, her eyes welling with tears.

  Chase took a deep breath, “Here goes... Did you ever meet my friend, Dan Murphy, the Sheriff''s Deputy?”

  “Yes I think so.”

  “His wife was Caroline Murphy, the reporter that was killed right after that UFO news special aired on TV. Remember her?”

  “Yes. That was so sad. I didn't know that was his wife, I never put the names together.”

  Chase fed another piece of Spam to Allie. “The crash that killed her wasn't an accident. It was intentional. OK, remember my friend Jack Steele?”

  Karen chewed on her lower lip, “Didn't I meet him at your bar-b-que right after you got back from Afghanistan? Tall, mustache, had a German Shepherd too? He's a pilot or something, right?”

  “That's the one,” he nodded. “OK, remember on the UFO special, there was footage of two girls and a group of people running from a house across the beach and getting on the UFO?”

  “I remember something like that... but didn't the government debunk that all as fake?”

  Chase steepled his hands, “Stay with me here...”

  “OK...” she leaned forward, listening intently.

  “The two girls were Jack Steele's sister and her friend.”

  “Whaat?”

  “And that was Jack's house.”

  Karen leaned back in her chair, “You're joking...”

  “No joke. Jack has been missing for two years... but he wasn't lost... he just wasn't here,” he tapped on the table. “That video footage is as real as it gets. The ship was real, the people were real and they were sent by Jack to pick her up.”

  Karen's mind reeled, staring blankly at Chase, blinking. “Are you saying he's an alien?”

  “No,” he chuckled, “His plane disappeared over the Bermuda Triangle a couple of years ago, he's been off-planet ever since. Along with two Navy F-18 pilots. The FBI, CIA, NSA, CSS, have all been searching for him ever since.”

  Staring at the patterns of color on the marble tabletop until they began to move, Karen blinked again doing her best to digest it all. “So he was abducted then... by aliens...”

  “By an alien ship,” confirmed Chase. “Jack's parents were telling me that the incident wasn't intentional on the part of the aliens, some type of circumstantial oops.”

  “Circumstantial...” her voice trailed off as she rubbed her face with the palms of her hands. “When I said there wasn't anything I wouldn't believe at this point... I wasn't expecting th
at.” She frowned momentarily, “Wait, you said his parents told you... how did they know what happened?”

  “Jack came back a little over a year later to visit them and let them know he was alright. He had his own ship by then and he took them up to see it. Evidently he's married now and has a son...”

  Karen waved her hand to cut him off, “This is getting deep, I need my wading boots...”

  “Jack's mom said she's absolutely gorgeous and has purple eyes...”

  “Oh, come on..!” she snapped.

  “Hey I can't make this stuff up,” laughed Chase, “my imagination's not that good. Anyway, Jack left something behind, some technology. Lisa, his sister, had it. It was some kind of a communication unit Jack's dad said was no bigger than a laptop. That's what all the alphabet agencies are wanting.”

  “I don't get it,” said Karen, fluffing her damp hair. “All this fuss for what, a radio?”

  Chase leaned forward his elbows on the table, his voice low like he was revealing state secrets. “A piece of alien communication hardware so advanced, a unit the size of a common laptop can transmit and receive real time audio and video signals from deep space. SETI's radio dishes are about one-hundred-fifty feet across, with literally tons of electronics running them and they can't even come close to doing what this little laptop does.”

  “So they want the laptop...”

  “And anything else they think they can get their hands on...” Chase stared into his coffee for a moment before sipping. “The NSA is systematically and aggressively pursuing anyone and everyone who had any connection or contact with Steele. His family, his friends, I don't think anyone is safe. I haven't been able to reach Jack's parents in a while and that worries me. It's pretty obvious his sister was in danger... Dan's wife paid with her life for making it public, Dan has had to go into hiding, Penny and Pam are gone because they got in the way... It looks like they're willing to do whatever it takes to get the technology. I think they let me go so they could track me to other people. I'm guessing they're regretting that now.”

  “But we don't have anything... do we?”

  “No we don't,” he assured her. “But I really think at this point, fact and common sense are no longer in their vocabulary.” He stood up moving to the counter, placing his plate and silverware in the sink. “Jack's dad did mention an FBI agent that he trusted, a friend of the family... supposed to know this whole story. But I can't for the life of me, remember the guy's name...”

  ■ ■ ■

  The bullet-riddled Jet Ski sat on a cradle in the garage of the Sheriff's evidence yard, looking forlorn and out of place, surrounded by confiscated vehicles and crime scene equipment.

  “Sheriff,” acknowledged the girl without looking up, concentrating on dusting the machine for fingerprints. Her short-cropped red hair was a stark contrast to her white uniform polo, the Sheriff's Forensics Team embroidered on the left breast.

  Frank Naywood rubbed his tired eyes, the bright lighting in the bay not doing his headache any favors. “Find anything?”

  “A few partials, not much else. The saltwater pretty much washed away any chances of finding anything significant. It was submerged up to the bow.”

  Naywood pinched the bridge of his nose. “Any blood?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Have any aspirin?”

  “Top left drawer,” she pointed, “take what you need.”

  “Thanks. Where'd they find it?” he asked, staring at the machine as he fought with the bottle top. “Stupid child safety caps...” he grumbled.

  If the tech heard his gripe, she made no indication of it. “It was headed to the Gulf, floating out of Pine Island Sound, through Blind Pass as the tide went out. A boater almost hit it before he realized what it was. Called the Coast Guard and they came and picked it up.” She paused and looked up, “I heard there's a search on... Are we looking at a recovery or a rescue?”

  Recovery meant bodies, rescue meant people. “Rescue... I hope.” The Sheriff tilted his head back and tossed the aspirins back, swallowing dry. He winced as they went down with resistance. Capping the bottle, he tossed it into the open drawer. “Think you might get anything off that aluminum tape if you peel it?”

  “On the glue side if we're lucky. The adhesive on this stuff is a beast, it usually destroys impressions but I have a new solvent I'm interested in trying, see if I can get some better results...”

  Turning to leave, Frank Naywood's expression was pensive at best. “Let me know if you find anything...”

  “Will do...”

  He stopped just outside the overhead door, his back to the bay. The buildings cast long afternoon shadows across the evidence and impound yard. “Did you happen to find any spent rounds anywhere?”

  “One. A partial...”

  “A Black Talon?”

  “Yeah, how did you know?” she asked, stopping her work and staring at his back.

  “Same thing the M.E. found in our victim. Have you entered it into the report?”

  “No, not yet...”

  “Good. Don't. Leave it off...” he walked away without turning back, “bag it and send it to my office...”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  UFW CONQUEST, AEGERON PASS SYSTEM : BACK TO JACK

  The battered Remora fighter sat in a repair bay two levels below the Conquest's flight deck, its nose dismantled, skeletonized, supported on jacks, the mangled landing gear hanging loosely underneath, suspended off the floor. Jack stepped over and around the parts scattered about the floor, a maze of puzzle pieces. A mechanic standing on a short ladder was buried past his shoulders in the frame of the fighter, humming to himself.

  Steele cleared his throat, not wanting to startle the crewman. “Will it fly again?”

  “Oh sure,” came the muffled reply from inside the fighter. “Not bragging but it's a good thing they gave it to me, I know this system...” The man began extricating himself from his position, “When I'm done it'll be as good as n... Admiral!” he straightened up and saluted.

  “Toncaresh!” Jack stepped forward and instead of saluting, offered his hand to the engineer he'd known from the Freedom's early days. “How are you? I see you got your new stripe...”

  “Thanks for that,” smiled the mechanic, “Petty Officer means I have a little extra to send home...”

  “I'll be honest with you Tonc,” said Jack, “I need this bird fully functional, including her ARC system...”

  “No worries Admiral, her Reflective Camouflage system will work like new.”

  Steele leaned casually on the frame of the Remora's nose, “What about teeth?”

  Toncaresh smiled, “Guns are something we're not short of around here, we have some good choices. The only thing that won't fit is Mercury Gatlings. No room in her belly for the mercury tank or the cryo system. At least not without some major changes to her hull. The kind of enhancements which would affect her performance...”

  “No,” waved Jack, “don't do that. What will fit?”

  “She's got plenty of power to run pretty much whatever you want, but space and fit is your issue. She's an older bird with some limitations. There's about four choices for wingtips and rear turret - depends on your flavor preference... But if you like projectile, I have a set of Gauss Coil guns for the nose. I have to allow for the ammo racks but I'm pretty sure if I stagger the setup when I mount them, I can tuck them in.”

  “I like that idea,” agreed Jack. “Tell you what, you do as good a job as you say you can and I'll see what I can do about another stripe for your sleeve...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Having a bite to eat at the Officer's Club, Jack was zoned out, not really thinking or seeing, his brain in neutral, staring at the wood grain on the wall as he ate his breakfast, his first real meal since the CherriPit back on Rikovik's Reef. When Lisa slid into the booth opposite him, it pulled him back into the living world.

  “What's good? I'm starved.” Lisa grabbed up the day's menu.

  “Great o
melet,” he said mechanically, still partially lost.

  “Mmm, not feeling omelet,” she shook her head, “I'm feeling pancakes... something sweet.” She looked up from the menu, “You OK? You with me?”

  “I'm OK,” he said slowly, yawning.

  Lisa raised an eyebrow, a habit she'd gotten from her brother. “Have you slept yet?”

  “No.”

  “What the hell? How are you still able to function at all? Go to bed.”

  “Had to clean up, debrief the senior staff, went down to look at the Remora...”

  “Jesus, you're not even speaking in full sentences anymore.” Lisa slid out of the booth and moved to his side, pulling him out by the arm. “Let's get you to your quarters.”

  “My omelet...”

  “Forget your omelet, we'll get you another one later. Besides, you're liable to miss your mouth and stab yourself in the face with your damn fork.” She shouldered underneath him and hefted him to his feet. She looked around, “A little help here?” Within seconds an off-duty bridge officer left his meal and appeared at Jack's other side. “He's exhausted,” explained Lisa, “we just need to get him back to his quarters.”

  “No problem, ma'am,” replied the Lieutenant.

  “Y'know,” said Jack, looking at Lisa, as they moved through the restaurant, “You're the first pilot I've ever seen who used her fighter like a push tractor... maybe we need to install a rubber bumper on it for you.”

  She smirked, “And you're the first person I've ever seen go after a woman and come back with a harem. So I guess we're even.”

  Steele's last words were still stuck in his tired mind as he motored mechanically up the corridor, supported under each arm, “Rudder baby buddy bumper... er, rubber baby bunny bunker... ah screw it, a bumpker for a baby bugger...”

  The Lieutenant was doing his best to fight back a smile of his own. He was losing. Miserably.

  ■ ■ ■

  Heart racing, Jack Steele watched as the wall of the transition tunnel separated, the gate within reach. Well below speed protocols, the ship slid sideways toward the opening, away from the gate. His breath hung in the frozen air as the ship passed through the massive tear, the ship's vibrations threatening to destroy itself, appearing in a sky of unfamiliar stars.