by GJ Fortier
“Purrs like a really big kitten,” Rob answered with a grin.
“Has she got a Windsor or a Cleveland?”
Rob scoffed. “I wouldn’t have bought her if she didn’t have a Cleveland.”
The teenager spoke up. “You gonna be taking your dad’s Beaver out?”
Well, that explains that. “Probably in the morning. I just wanted to show her to my friend June, here.” He gestured in her direction.
“That is a sweet plane,” the young man nodded. “Mister Tyler senior took me up in it a few times. He even let me fly it a little ways.”
The older man offered June his hand. “Tom Bradford,” he said and then he gestured to the boy. “This is my oldest, Lincoln.”
“Hi,” Lincoln waved as June smiled at him.
“I’m the caretaker here. We live just up the road in the house on the corner.”
June smiled and shook his hand. “Doctor June Phillips.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Well, Tom,” Rob said, “I appreciate you comin’ and checking us out to make sure we belong. Makes me feel good about keeping Dad’s plane here, knowing you’re on your toes.”
“No problem.” Tom grinned as he looked from Rob to June and back again. “Just do me a favor and give me a call if it’s after hours next time, huh?”
“Sure thing, Tom. Sorry we got you out of the house.”
“Thanks again,” June added.
Tom waved as he wheeled the Jeep around and headed back up the road.
“You’re dad’s plane?”
“I know,” Rob grinned wickedly. “Now I don’t feel quite so bad about stealing it.”
When they got back in the car June drove them through the gate, which closed behind them. They came to a fork in the road. “Which way?”
“Left, and then left again,” Rob instructed, following his instincts.
June did as instructed and they found themselves on the airport’s tarmac. They could see in the darkness a cluster of buildings along the flight line that ended with a row of five hangars.
“It’s the middle one.” Rob pointed in the general direction.
June rolled slowly along, finally stopping in front of the hangar’s open door.
* * * * *
TOM AND LINCOLN HAD just reached their driveway when they saw another car, a Mercury Grand Marquis, turn onto Apalachee Street and head toward the airport.
“Not another one,” Tom said in exasperation. “Do you know that car?”
“No, sir. Maybe they’re with Mister Tyler.”
As they watched, the car drove toward the gate a little too fast, and then proceeded to push right through it.
“Holy crap! If they are, he’s in a lot of trouble.” Tom pulled his cell phone from his pocket.
* * * * *
JUNE WATCHED AS ROB organized the items that he had selected for his journey. It was true that she had made the decision not to go with him to South America, but she was feeling somewhat miffed about the fact that he had made no attempt to convince her otherwise. It made no sense for her to accompany him, but up to now, she felt he had needed her if for nothing more than moral support. Who am I kidding? For crying out loud, the man is a U.S. Navy SEAL. He doesn’t need me. I’m just acting like a little girl about it. And besides, I need to get back to the babies.
Brushing away those thoughts, she turned her attention to the planes parked inside the hangar. “Do you know which one it is?”
“Is there more than one with pontoons?” he asked, rummaging through the trunk of the car.
“No.”
“Then it’s the one with the pontoons.”
She saw it parked on the left side, nearest to the door. It was an elegant-looking single-engine plane. It made the others seem plain by comparison, not to mention small. Sitting atop the landing gear under the pontoons, it towered over the other aircraft. June had seen its type before when she was a child in Africa. She and her family had flown to Madagascar in one similar to it, though this one seemed a good bit smaller than the one she remembered, and that plane was painted canary yellow. In the low light, this plane’s hunter green and white paint job appeared gray and black. She walked slowly around the plane, admiring its lines before she climbed onto the starboard pontoon and peered through cockpit window. She was admiring the clean uncluttered appearance of the instrument panel when she heard a man’s voice behind.
“Doctor Phillips.”
She froze as her heart skipped a beat. Slowly, she turned to see a shadowy figure standing in the open doorway of the hangar, silhouetted in the moonlight.
“It is you, isn't it?” The man sounded more than a little relieved.
“Who are you?” She looked around for Rob, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“It's Neil. Neil Covington.”
Her heart dropped and her breath was stolen away. Flashing through her mind was the horrific vision of Benny being shot in the head, his warm blood showering her in the rainy darkness, and his lifeless body falling into the mud. She started to tremble, and felt queasy as her throat constricted. He was wearing a suit, but she couldn’t make out much detail. His hands were empty. He had been standing easily, nonthreatening, before he took a few tentative steps inside. She could hear the smile on his face as he spoke to her as if the two were old friends.
“Ah, Doctor Phillips, I'm so glad that I found you. Are you alright?”
June’s knuckles were white, clutching the plane’s strut. She scanned around the immediate area for something—anything—that she could use as a weapon. There was nothing that she could reach before he would be on her. “What?” It was all she could think to say. Her mind turned to clay, gripped with fear. She took a few deep breaths. “What do you mean? How did you find me?”
Covington was completely at ease as he spoke. “Oh, I guess I got lucky. But I'm surprised he remembered this place.”
“He who?” June asked, knowing he was referring to Rob.
“Orson.”
June knitted her eyebrows together in genuine confusion. “Who?”
“That's what the professor named him when they took him out of the nursery. Orson. That’s his name.”
“Named who?”
Covington decided to try a different strategy, one he hoped would put June even more on the defensive. “The clone you’re trying to steal. Where is he?”
June shook her head. “What are you talking about? Trying to steal?” She looked straight at him. “You killed the captain.”
He ignored the accusation, trying to keep her off guard. “Has he hurt you?”
The question didn't make any sense. She felt as if she was losing control. Again, she tried to turn the tables on the assassin. “You killed Captain Walsh,” she said forcefully.
“I had to, June.”
“What do you mean you had to?”
“I was there to protect the others. I was security chief. I knew what the two of you were up to. I had to kill him.”
“The two of us?”
“It’s over, June. I’m taking you back to face up to what you’ve done. What you and the captain did.”
She shook her head, stepping off of the pontoon. “I don't believe you. You’re crazy. You’re gonna kill us.”
“Where's Orson, June?”
“I don't know.” She stepped backwards, deeper into the hangar. And it was no lie. She was desperate to find her companion, whatever Covington called him.
“Well, he must be here. Why else would you be?”
She didn’t have a good answer for that one, so she remained silent.
Covington took a few more steps toward her. She back-peddled faster, nearly tripping over something on the floor. He stopped and held his hands out. “It's okay. This doesn’t have to get any more complicated. I don’t want you to get yourself hurt. We just need to get going.”
“Going? Where?”
“Back to the complex. The others are waiting.”
<
br /> “The others?”
“Yeah. The professor, Doctor Cook, Jimmy.” He paused, and then added, “and Commander Tyler. They're all anxious to see how the … how Orson fared through all this.”
“Couldn't tell you how he fared.” Rob's voice startled both of them in the darkness. “But I'm just fine, thanks.”
Covington smiled, and looked deeper into the hangar. “Orson? We need to go, buddy.”
“Only my mama calls me Orson. And you ain't her.”
Covington gave June a puzzled look. “Does he think that he's Tyler?”
“He is Tyler.”
“No, June,” Covington shook his head. “This is the clone. The commander is in the hospital.” He nodded to the back of the hangar where he believed the voice had come from. “Does he have Tyler's memories?”
“Of course.” It was a half-truth, but there was no reason to mention the memory loss. “He is Tyler,” she repeated.
“That's incredible.” Covington was genuinely astonished. “Yeoum said he wouldn’t. How far back can he remember?”
“Don’tcha hate it when people talk about you like you’re not in the room? I know I do,” Rob said.
Covington smiled again. “Sorry about that. Look, Orson, I don't have any weapons.”
“All that tells me is that one of us is armed and one of is a liar,” Rob replied.
“Why don't you come out where we can see each other?”
“Can't think of a good reason not to. Just as soon as you, very carefully, using the thumb and forefinger of your left hand, reach around and take out that weapon that's tucked under your jacket at the small of your back and drop it on the floor.”
Covington smiled. Slowly, he reached around and produced Jo Turner’s Sig Saur. But instead of dropping it, he leveled it at June. “You did say only one of us is armed.”
June started to bolt but stopped in her tracks when Covington shouted, “No, no, no Doctor Phillips. I'd prefer it if you stayed right where you are. Orson, listen to me. I don't want to hurt either of you. But the fact remains that we need to leave here. There are some people who want to see you.”
“Well, I'm shy and June doesn't make house calls. She's not that kind of doctor.”
Covington couldn't zero in on where the voice was coming from. He started toward the port side of the plane, keeping the 40 caliber trained on June. “You're a clone, Orson. The real Tyler is—”
“Not likely,” Rob interrupted. “My folks would have told me when I was thirteen at confirmation.”
“Do you mean to tell me you have memories from that far back?”
“You have no idea.”
“Is that how you knew about your father’s plane?”
“Well, you know what they say. You only steal the planes of those you love.”
“Do you have other memories from your childhood?” Covington was surprised at his own curiosity.
“Yes and no. But I do remember when dad gave me a BB gun for Christmas one year. I nearly shot my eye out, just like Mom warned.”
“Those are false memories, Orson. They're not your own. They belong to the real Rob Tyler.”
June was trying to find Rob's voice, but it seemed as if it was coming from all around her. She took a single step toward the tail of the plane.
“I'm gonna have to insist you stop calling me that,” Rob said, conversationally.
“It's your name, Orson. The one Chi gave you when you were grown last week.”
“You know, you’re really kind of an annoying person. I can see why June doesn’t think too highly of you.”
“My apologies. But seriously, we need to get you back to the lab.”
June took another step.
“I can't. I have a lunch date with Castro tomorrow.”
Covington laughed. “I gotta say, for a clone you have an unusual sense of humor.”
When June took another step, she saw Rob's dark form half kneeling on top of the fuselage of the Beaver, his hands cupped around his mouth, throwing his voice toward the ceiling.
Covington noticed June’s movement. “Now, Doctor—”
She dropped and rolled under the tail, narrowly avoiding smashing her head into the fin that she hadn’t seen under the rudder.
Covington lunged after June, only to have Rob's full weight crash down on him.
Rob’s timing was perfect. He slammed his knees into Covington’s back just below the shoulder blades, throwing him into a toolbox near the tail. The pistol sailed into the darkness.
Rob landed on the balls of his feet and tucked into a roll, coming up in a defensive crouch.
Covington regained his balance and grabbed the heavy toolbox. He used its weight to pull himself away from his attacker. Using it as a shield, he pushed it toward Rob.
Ever alert, Rob was on Covington’s heels, jabbing over the box and connecting with his cheek. But it was only a glancing blow, as Covington flinched at the last second. When he did, he noticed an oversized box wrench on top of the toolbox. He grabbed it and back peddled, launching it at Rob’s head. Rob ducked, and the missile sailed harmlessly past.
“You killed my friend,” Rob accused. “Now it’s your turn.”
“I was doing my job. Protecting you,” Covington snarled, unconvincingly.
June was making her way to the back of the hangar, hoping to find the pistol, when she saw the next best thing. She picked up a chemical fire extinguisher and pulled its metal pin, spinning to face the combatants.
Rob had used the element of surprise to his advantage, but it was less effective than he had hoped as Covington regrouped and went on the offensive. He wasn't clumsy or reckless. This was a man who had training. His eyes were focused as he fiercely came at Rob in an elegant state of controlled violence.
Rob found a clearer spot in the floor, away from the plane. I may have underestimated this man.
In a blur, Covington launched a flurry of kicks and punches that the SEAL was able to deflect, even returning a few of his own. But the assassin had thrown Rob off balance and had him on the defensive.
An instant later Rob darted sideways, putting the strut of the wing between himself and Covington. Using it as a pivot, he kicked out with both feet, catching Covington in the midsection. Covington doubled over and staggered back, but remained on his feet. Rob charged in, grasping him around the waist and lifting him in an attempt at a body slam. As he did, Covington clubbed Rob’s back with his doubled fists. The two went down in a heap, but Covington used their momentum to roll on top. He was unable to find firm footing so he carried through bringing his elbow down hard on Rob's sternum. Rob heard an unmistakable snap and felt an explosion of pain within. The air was blasted from his lungs. Remarkably, he maintained the presence of mind to rear back and kick at the assassin's face. This time, the blow was solid. Covington, who was not yet on his knees, rolled heavily away from Rob.
Rob rolled on his side toward his assailant. Every attempt to breath was excruciating, but his training had taught him to ignore it. All in one motion, he jumped to his feet and found his opponent on one knee facing him. He watched as Covington spat blood and teeth to the floor. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he glared up at Rob.
“Had enough?” Rob asked, the simple act making him wince.
Covington’s smile was bloody. “Wow! I am impressed. You really turned out well. Muscle memory, reflexes, self-control. I bet the professor could never have imagined that you'd be this … this … whole. And a real challenge to boot!”
“That's what clean living and a good exercise regimen will do. It requires discipline though. And perseverance,” Rob said indignantly. He had his back to the open hangar door. In the dim light, June crept up behind Covington, the extinguisher's nozzle pointed at his head.
The assassin stood slowly, revealing a .38 caliber revolver. He pointed it at Rob. “They want you alive. But they failed to mention whether they cared if you had a hole or two.”
Rob smirked. “You know, June's right behin
d you. I'd …” His sentence trailed off as he watched in horror as his ploy backfired. The sergeant spun around, the .38 leading the way. June reacted without thought. She squeezed the trigger and shot the chemical powder into Covington’s face, blinding him. His eyes burned and he couldn't breathe, but he still managed to pull the trigger.
Rob couldn't see through the cloud of white that enveloped the scene before him. He rushed to the place where the assassin was standing and crashed into him as the gun went off. The two went down again, but this time Rob was on top and had his knees firmly planted. Ignoring the pain in his chest, he clenched his hands into a double fist and raised them above his head. With his remaining strength, he slammed it into Covington's face. He knew he had hit home when he felt the crunch of the man’s nose as it snapped. The force of the blow sent Covington's head into the concrete floor hard, and he stopped moving.
Rob found June lying next to him. She had dropped the extinguisher and was clutching her right bicep.
“June, are you alright?” he asked, checking the assassin for life.
“What do you think? He shot me!”
Feeling Covington's weak, but steady pulse, he turned to June. “Let me see,” he said, grimacing with every word.
June moved her hand and looked away. “Oh, I'm gonna puke. Why did you tell him I was behind him?”
“Sorry,” he said, checking her wound. Thankfully, it was just a graze. “Just broke the skin,” he said as he tore the sleeve from her blouse to make a bandage.
“Ohhh,” she moaned.
“Go ahead and throw up. You'll feel better.”
June readily complied with Rob's suggestion as he finished wrapping her arm.
Looking back at Covington's motionless form, Rob became aware of the sound of sirens in the distance. “Time to go.”
June looked up at him and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Her stomach felt marginally better but her arm throbbed with every move. “What’s the matter?”
“Listen.”
She focused her senses through the pain. “You think they’re coming here?”
“I don’t know. Somebody could’ve heard the shot. Doesn’t matter, I can’t take the chance.” He grabbed the last few items from the trunk of the car and tossed them into the plane.
“That was like fourteen-and-a-half seconds ago!” June protested. “They can’t be that close already.”