The Pilot

by Michael Cole

  “Great,” he said. “Just what I need.”

  “Would you rather you try to identify all the material yourself?” Hawk spoke up.

  “YES, actually,” Seymour said. He narrowed his eyes at Lesher. “You realize you’re asking me to take one of your lackies into a hot zone, infested with God-knows how many militarized combatants eager to blow holes in anyone who steps foot on that island.” Seymour clenched his teeth and stared angrily at Lesher. For private contractors shadowing an operating official, should the client representative be killed in the operation, they would likely disappear. “Thanks, but no thanks. Have a good evening.” He turned around to walk to his house.

  Lesher anticipated Seymour’s hesitation.

  “I suggest you wait a moment,” he said. Seymour ignored him. The two male agents suddenly approached, taking large strides to catch up with him. Within seconds, they were right behind him. One made the mistake of putting a hand on his shoulder.

  An elbow struck the agent square in the nose. In that same instant, Seymour snatched his wrist, bending it counter-clockwise. The agent had two choices: go with the motion, or let his wrist snap. He went with the motion, flipping head-over-heels before landing hard on the pavement.

  The second agent drew his firearm from his jacket, only to feel it snatched from his grip. Seymour grabbed a fistful of the agent’s sleeve with one hand, while grabbing the collar of the suit jacket with the other. Turning his hips sharply, Seymour lifted the agent over his shoulder, and dropped him to the pavement. The agent felt his head bounce against the concrete, and everything went blurry.

  Hawk instinctively reached for her weapon, only for Lesher to hold up his hand, signaling for her to stand down. Seymour kicked the dropped sidearm to the side, then crossed his arms while staring at Lesher.

  “I’ll need to bring along new field agents,” he said aloud. “Forgive me, these boys were a bit too rash…”

  “Stupid’s the better word,” Seymour said.

  “That’s plenty accurate,” Lesher said. He glanced at Hawk. “Grab the other folder from the car.” She opened the rear passenger door, reached inside, and returned with another tan envelope. She handed it directly to Seymour. She could hear the air hissing from his nose as he eyeballed it, before taking it out of her hand.

  You guys should be a postal service. He opened it, revealing photographs of a Caucasian man in a suit-and-tie shaking hands with the leader of what appeared to be a paramilitary group. He recognized the man in the suit. He was Seymour’s most recent client.

  “Yeah, so your customer is into more than just oil,” Lesher said. “He’s been selling weapons to Boko Haram in Nigeria. And you, sir, officially helped his most recent shipment reach its destination.” Seymour closed the folder. Lesher slowly walked up to him, extending his hand to take the folder back. “Successful completion of this job will bring substantial payment….and in addition, we’ll drop this matter.”

  “Seven Mil,” Seymour said. “Half up front.”

  Lesher creased a satisfied smile. He turned and started walking back to the car.

  “Agent Hawk will go over the details of the plan,” he said. “I trust she’s in good hands.” He opened the trunk and brought out a small duffle bag. Hawk caught it in her arms, and held it by the straps at her side. He brought a second back to Seymour, unzipped it to reveal the blocks of cash, then set it down at his feet. “You’re getting a bonus…I figured you’d negotiate up to ten.” He walked to the limo.

  Seymour stood silently as the two agents struggled to their feet. One pressed a handkerchief to his broken nose to control the bleeding, while helping the other one up. They collected their weapons and made their way to the limo, walking past Hawk.

  The engine started up, and the vehicle quickly disappeared into the darkness. Hawk walked toward Seymour’s truck.

  “You’re driving,” she said. Seymour kept his expression blank. However, inside he was raging. However, there was no way out of it. Either they do the job, and keep this hotshot from getting herself killed, or face dire consequences. Prison would be a best-case scenario.

  Terrie’s gonna be pissed.

  CHAPTER

  3

  Cassie Hawk quickly pressed her hand over her equipment, keeping it from falling over onto the floor of the ShinMaywa US-2. Since piercing the storm, the aircraft had entered some turbulence. The shaking eased up, and she released her grip on the vial holder. The sealed glass vials juddered in their slots, stirring their contents. Hawk pressed her eyes back into the microscope, gently applying the syringe to the glass platter.

  Creating a vaccine was difficult enough under normal circumstances. On board a moving plane, traveling at over three hundred miles per hour, inside a storm, proved to be a whole new endeavor.

  It had been a long, ten-hour trip, after leaving the coast at Twenty-two-thirty hours. Six hours later, they landed on a Nimitz-class Aircraft Carrier for refueling. Thirty minutes later, they launched again, this time traveling north of the Philippine Sea.

  Now they were less than an hour’s flight time from their destination.

  Hawk could hear Seymour and Charlie in the cockpit, discussing several avionic details of which she had no knowledge of their meaning. The only part of the conversation she understood was the mentioning of windspeed decreasing to thirty-eight miles per hour. They were approaching the edge of the storm.

  Then there was the nonstop interchange coming from the inner cabin.

  “Eighty-six! Eighty-seven! Eighty-eight!” Ivan counted out loud. He and Rex were doing pushups on the floor, the latter slowing down considerably. Both men were wearing sleeveless combat vests, exposing biceps the size of footballs. Ivan paused and looked at his competitor. “Getting tired there, buddy? I’m five ahead of you, and still going strong!” Rex leaned on his right hand, and used his free arm to wipe beads of sweat off his brow. All it did, however, was smear it everywhere and add extra grime to his face.

  “Only coming up halfway will do that,” he said. Rather than continue, he allowed himself to rest on his knees. Ivan sprang to his feet and started reaching into the side pocket of his camouflage tactical pants, pulling out a tin container of chewing tobacco. He shoveled his fingers into it, and scooped a black ball of tobacco into his mouth. Ivan noticed Hawk watching him, and extended the container toward her.

  “Want some, Miss Agent Lady?” He smiled, baring brown stained teeth.

  “Uh…no, thanks,” Hawk said. It was all she could do to keep from wincing. Her gaze briefly trailed further into the cabin. It was a spacious area for a team of eight, nine including her. The plane, which had previously been a medical search-and-rescue vehicle, had been converted into a military transport. The large cabin and cargo area had been converted into sections.

  The first section was where she stood. It was directly behind the cockpit, and was considered the tech area. Several computers and maps lined the walls, and overhead were storage chambers for other electronics.

  The next section was the personnel quarters. The stretchers and gurneys had been removed, replaced by bunks. In the wall space between the bunks were seats with harnesses, in case of major turbulence. With a twenty-foot width, the mercenaries had plenty of room to stretch out.

  As Ivan and Rex were exercising, Craig Easley was doing the complete opposite. He was stretched out on his bunk, passed out, with an open comic on his chest. Across from him was Nagamine, fully dressed in his tactical gear. An inch behind his head was the handle to his ninjato, freshly sharpened. He sat upright, with the tranquility of a praying mantis. Hawk was uncertain whether he was awake, despite the fact that his eyes were open.

  “You get used to it,” Terrie said. She sat in the bunk next to Nagamine’s. Her hair was up in a bun, hidden under a dark green ballcap. She had just finished cleaning and reassembling her McMillan TAC-338 sniper rifle.

  Hawk realized Terrie was speaking to her, after staring at Nagamine for a moment.

  “Yeah?” Haw
k pointed to Rex and Ivan, who kneeled by one of the chairs to arm wrestle. “What about that?” Terrie looked at the duo, smiled and shook her head.

  “Never,” she said.

  Hawk nodded. Before looking away, she couldn’t help but notice Tim Sutton. He glared at her and her microscope. Hawk stared back, envisioning the imaginary bubble over his head.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Do you even know what you’re doing there?” Sutton said, pointing at the vials. Hawk leaned in toward the microscope, finishing the mixture.

  “Being on this island will bring exposure to certain types of viruses…” she started to explain.

  “Oh, believe me, I know.” Sutton stood up.

  “Doc, leave it be,” Terrie said.

  “Fat chance,” he said. He walked to the table and reached past Hawk for the vials. Hawk stood straight and swatted his hand away.

  “Don’t touch!” she said in a loud commanding voice. Everyone’s attention was now on them. Easley snorted while waking up from a deep sleep, dropping his comic on the floor as he sat up. He scrubbed his sleeve over his eyes, and eagerly watched the spat. Even Nagamine turned to watch, while maintaining the same blank expression.

  Sutton raised his hand, warning Hawk back.

  “Let’s see, you’ve got Typhim Vi and RTS,S. Those make enough sense,” he said. He then pointed to the vials at the far end of the vial holder. “But what the hell are those?”

  “It’s classified,” Hawk said.

  “Oh, hell no,” Sutton said, holding both hands up. “I’m not having any experimental junk injected into me.”

  “Forgive the Doc…Doc, he just gets a little paranoid,” Rex said.

  “Doc.” Sutton looked at the floor, shaking his head. He looked at Hawk again. “Are you a doctor?”

  “Yes,” Hawk answered.

  “A doctor of what, may I ask?” Sutton said. Everyone waited patiently, wanting an answer. Hawk was used to having Lesher, or another senior official to back her up. But now, she was on her own, and had to remember by heart what info she could and could not distribute.

  “Bio-chemistry and toxicology,” she said. A crack of thunder echoed around them, and the plane shuttered, causing her to tense up. Damn it.

  “Damn,” Ivan bellowed. “And we’re rescuing another Doc…who’s supposedly making weapons! We’re told this island is used for weapons testing. And we’re getting vaccinated…by a doctor specializing in bio-toxicology!”

  “Bio-chemistry…and toxicology,” Sutton corrected him, immediately realizing the effort was useless. However, he agreed with Ivan’s point.

  “Listen, it’s just a precaution.” Hawk said, growing defensive. Everyone stared at her with questioning eyes. Terrie and Easley stood up, suddenly feeling uneasy.

  A shadow cast over her as Seymour stepped in from the cockpit.

  “Ease up, everyone,” he said. The group looked at him and quietly returned to their bunks. Sutton walked into the last section, which contained the armory. He looked at the weapons, each carefully stored in a rack along the wall.

  Seymour stood alongside Hawk. She simultaneously was grateful and resentful of his presence. She was aware he despised this assignment, despite the pay, and detested her presence.

  “Listen up, everyone,” he said. “We’ll be touching down in fifteen. Get geared up and stand by to inflate the Zodiac.”

  “Fifteen?” Hawk asked. Seymour glared back at her.

  “We need to set down a minimum of ten miles away,” he said. “If these assholes are as equipped as you guys might suggest, they’ll detect this plane if it gets any closer. We need to approach by water.” He removed a folded piece of paper from his vest, unfolded it, and slammed it down on the table. The impact rattled Hawk’s equipment, and she quickly steadied the vials. She looked at the paper, which was the map of the island. Seymour was studying it, examining the markings of the known guard shacks.

  “I suggest we make landing there,” Hawk said, pointing to a region along the southeast side. “It’s shallow there, with a lot of canopy. We can hide the boat there…”

  “No,” Seymour said. “We’re making landfall here.” He pointed to a red marking on the south side of the island. Hawk shook her head.

  “That area’s nothing but a big cliff overlooking the Pacific,” she said. “Plus, there’s a guard post right nearby! That’s insane.”

  “Listen, Agent,” Seymour said, “this is MY command. I was hired as the combat professional, and my team will execute the job the way I see fit.” Hawk shut her mouth. One perk of her previous Army training, she knew when to keep quiet. Seymour pointed to the map, running his finger along the eastern perimeter. “Now, they’re likely patrolling these other areas more tightly, because…AS YOU POINTED OUT…it would be easier to dock landing craft. However, if we come up the cliffside, under the cover of night, in this weather, we’ll have better luck making landfall here. We’ll climb up, eliminate the guards, and then move on to the peninsula and eliminate all personnel there. That way, nobody’ll get off the island except us.”

  Hawk nodded, taking in Seymour’s reasoning. “Okay. What about the Zodiac?”

  “Do you know how to drive it?” Seymour asked.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Good, because you’re gonna stay in it,” he said.

  “HEY!” She raised her voice. “I’m more than capable of handling myself in a combat situation.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Seymour said. “I know what you are. Army infantry, blah blah blah…not impressed. You spent most of your service in the lab, kid.” Hawk bit her lip, growing agitated. Seymour turned and walked toward the armory while continuing his lecture. “You get capped out there, your pal Lesher will have my head. When we disembark, you’ll wait in the Zodiac. When we clear the dock, we’ll radio you to come ashore. Then you can tag along, since we’ll need you to identify the goods.” He reached toward the rack, grabbing an HK-G36c from the rack. He grabbed several loaded magazines, inspecting each one before placing it in his vest. He reached above the rack, pulling a locked box from a storage compartment. He opened it, revealing an eight-shot S&W R8 revolver. He inserted it into his thigh holder, strapping it tightly. Holding his rifle properly pointing toward the floor, he walked back toward Hawk. He stood in front of her and turned to the right.

  “You gonna give me the vaccine, or should I?” he said.

  “Oh!” Hawk said. She grabbed a vial, placed it into the jet injector, and inserted the needle into his arm. With the press of a trigger, the injection was complete. “Okay, all set.”

  Seymour stepped away. “Alright, team, go see the doctor and get your shot.”

  Rex stood up first. “Do I get a lollipop?!”

  CHAPTER

  4

  The plane had come to a full stop after landing in the water. Hawk looked at the window, looking at the thrashing waves outside. She watched as a swell rolled toward them, gaining height with each passing moment until it was as tall as a man. It hit the hull, breaking apart over the side of the plane. She grabbed a bar handle on the wall, keeping herself upright as the plane rocked to starboard.

  She heard Ivan and Rex laughing. Still holding on to the bar, she looked over her right shoulder. Sure enough, they were laughing at her.

  “Look out! WHOAAAA” Ivan held both arms out on each side of him, tilting to his right to mimic a boat capsizing. “Splash!!!!”

  “I think I saw a movie where that happens!” Rex said. “Boat tried to ride up a wave, only to fall backwards and…”

  “Stow it, you two,” Seymour said.

  Rex cleared his throat, “Yes sir.” Seymour walked toward the cockpit, where Charlie stood at the table where Hawk had been working on her vaccine. Several computer monitors lit the compartment. A two-foot long drone, shaped like a little airplane, rested on the table. Its body was equipped with several small cameras, each linked to the various monitors.

  “Everything all set with you?” Seymo
ur asked.

  “Ready to go,” Charlie said. He picked up the drone, and with a click of a couple of buttons, the rear propeller began to rotate. Holding it by the bottom as one would to a paper plane, he brought it to the side door. Seymour opened it for him, allowing a swell of water to wash inside. Charlie released the drone, which took off like a bird, immediately disappearing into the stormy night. Charlie shut the door and quickly returned to his computers. He tapped a few keys, and the monitors came to life. One monitor was like a dark, murky green. He zoomed that camera in.

  Hawk stared at that monitor, seeing a fuzzy, cross shape in the middle of the screen. After a moment, she realized she was staring at an aerial view of their plane in night vision.

  “Alright, you have eyes in the sky,” Charlie said to Seymour. He handed him a small metal briefcase. Inside was a computer, linked to the video feeds, in case Seymour needed his own visual perspective.

  “Thanks, Charlie,” Seymour said. He walked to the cargo doors, where the Zodiac had been inflated. Its metal hull was unbalanced on the floor, and the boat teetered to the side. Once in the water, it would be correctly positioned. Everyone boarded the vessel, with Easley at the helm.

  For this mission, Seymour would prefer one of the Navy’s stealth speedboats. However, they had to make do with what they had. He stepped into the boat and took a seat next to Hawk. She was fully strapped in, one hand gripping her vest, another resting on the grip of her Beretta M9.

  “You do realize you won’t need that just yet,” he quipped. She looked down at her hand.

  “Habit, I guess,” she said.

  “Habit, or ego?” Seymour said. It was more of a remark than a question. During his many years of combat, he’d seen plenty of the John Wayne types: men and women who wanted to believe they were tough enough to handle the cruel life of war. Those people were often the types who felt they had something to prove, and therefore were often more of a threat to themselves and their own team than the enemy.