by Tom Hansen
It wouldn’t make much difference where they waited, however, because Harfield, Jackson and the rest wouldn’t be there when they arrived. Nor would the O’Sullivan Center.
* * * * *
Roy hadn’t slept much on the flight from his ranch to Gainesville. He was restless thinking about how the mission that his brother and Oliver Harfield had designed had changed over the years. Now with the latest complication, would the plan ever be successful? Roy reclined his chair and looked out into the night sky, seeing only the blinking blue light at the tip of the Learjet’s wing. Memories of the last twenty years were a neuronal mishmash of impulses swirling around in his brain:
When the CIA had carried out President Kennedy’s secret mission in December of 1962 and built an underground nuclear control facility in Gainesville, no one could have predicted that the University of Florida would grow so fast. And when university officials broke ground in October of 1977 on the Murphy O’Sullivan Center, architects were told that an old, dormant sewage facility lay ten feet below the ground. The design professionals wanted to extract the tank prior to excavation for the new basketball fieldhouse, but were told that the storage container was owned by the federal government and must be left in place. No one questioned why the feds wanted to preserve a tank full of excrement and unidentified amoebas, so university officials simply built the center over it, end of story.
This had caused a big problem for Oliver and Ray. Previously, the entrance to their secret base of operations had been disguised as a manhole cover and they came and went only during the darkness of night. But by New Year’s Day in 1978, concrete had been poured on top of the manhole cover by university construction workers. The cover had been built of ferromagnetic materials with a transponder imbedded in the iron. The transponder was powered by a small nuclear battery that had a lifespan of a hundred years. President Kennedy had feared that Soviet missiles could create significant earth movement and if one landed in central Florida, he wanted the ability to locate his subterranean control center quickly. The manhole cover could be detected even if it was smothered under a large quantity of dirt.
Oliver and Ray had to wait for a year before they could return to their op center. The men’s basketball locker room was built directly over the buried manhole cover, and during the Christmas Holiday in 1978 when construction workers had been given days off to be with their families, Oliver brought in twelve men to covertly create a new entrance into the underground control center. They chipped through the floor tiles and the concrete foundation, then dug down to the manhole cover. Then they framed up a four-foot by four-foot steel encasement in the tunnel leading from the locker room to the control room, and finished by welding steps onto one wall. The trick was to design an undetectable entrance, which happened to be in the equipment room, using tiles glued onto a wooden trap door. After several adjustments had been made, there was no way to see it with the naked eye.
However, there was still one obstacle in the way of their masterplan. Once the fieldhouse was in use, which would be the fall of 1980, the only people who would be allowed in or out of the men’s locker room would be their coaches, managers and players. And during afterhours, the entire Murphy O’Sullivan Center would be protected by security guards.
That’s when Ray Jackson had an idea. His nephew Jimmy was a decent player on the Seminole Bend High School basketball team. Perhaps Roy could persuade Coach Brett Berry to do whatever it took to get Jimmy a scholarship to the University of Florida. The mission to hold America hostage would begin in early fall of 1982 and it would be imperative to have access day and night to the operations center. If Jimmy was playing for the Gators, he would have access to the locker room.
Brett never knew why Roy was so intense on Jimmy playing for Florida. He had no knowledge of Roy’s clandestine activities and didn’t know that Roy was his father. The only thing Brett was aware of was that Roy Jackson was a ruthless son-of-a-bitch and a man to be feared. But with a chance to beat Martin Park and win the title, Brett opted to play his best players, which most likely ended Jimmy Jackson’s chances of playing NCAA Division I basketball, not just at Florida, but anywhere. And after the game when he didn’t see his wife or Roy anywhere in the gym, Brett was terrified that he had made the biggest coaching mistake of his life.
Roy never cared much for Sheryl and it didn’t faze him to murder her family so she would move to Florida and marry Brett. But he had no intention of killing her until after his grandson was born, and he was devastated that Brett got himself killed trying to save the life of a man who was already dead and placed posthumously in Brett’s own pickup truck. Roy wondered if Brett recognized Doc Stanley at the wheel of the truck before it collapsed on top of him. What a shame that the only doctor in town who still made house calls accidently came to the wrong house . . . at the wrong time. Doc Stanley was very good at delivering babies, but very bad with addresses. Roy was trying to figure out where he could find a body for the decoy maneuver he had planned when the doorbell rang. Doc had semi-retired a few years back and lived alone. He ran a small office where he saw a handful of patients once a week, but only if the fish weren’t biting. Yes, he would be the perfect decoy.
Roy kept Doc’s decomposing body rolled up in horse blankets out in the barn until the cadaver was needed. Over the phone, Roy plotted out the accident with Sam Dulie. The DNR chief remotely controlled Brett’s truck from the video center in Homestead and caused the fiery crash into the culvert.
At the end of the basketball game against Martin Park fans were celebrating like wild lunatics. Nobody noticed Roy Jackson pull out a small gun from his pants pocket and force Sheryl Berry out the door of the gymnasium. Still furious that the University of Florida coaches left without seeing Jimmy shine on the court, he returned back to the ranch driving recklessly with one hand on the wheel while the other waved the gun at various points on Sheryl’s face. After shoving Brett’s wife through the front door of his ranch he threatened to kill her unborn child. He said a miscarriage would be in her future if she didn’t ensure that Brett followed his advice on the basketball court from this time forward.
When Roy kidnapped her from the gym he had no clue that investigators would assume Sheryl was in the burning truck, but when he heard what had happened it triggered a new idea. Roy would have to make sure Sheryl was never seen or heard from again.
But then that damn coroner, Cliff Sutton, found out that the skeletal remains in Brett’s truck were from a big man, not a young lady. Time for Plan B or C or wherever they were now in the alphabet: cut off Sheryl’s hand and place it at the scene of the midair crash in the Everglades. And that meant that is was also time to recruit Norma Foss into the scheme.
Norma’s best friend was Judge Boone’s daughter Maddie. She had confided to her about the affair with Brett Berry at the teacher retreat the previous summer. Maddie wasn’t the best person to confide in because it was painful for her to keep a secret, and sure enough she told her dad the story one night at the dinner table. The next day, while out trolling in the weeds off the north shore, Judge Boone revealed the affair to Roy. Most folks in Seminole Bend knew that Norma’s husband was sterile (rumors spread quickly in a small town), so when Norma got pregnant, the good Christians of the community assumed it was a miracle. Roy, however, because he caught wind of Norma’s affair, reckoned it was most likely Brett’s baby.
Brett never knew, nor did Norma, that Roy was Brett’s father. Norma would have had a massive coronary if she knew that the baby forming vocal cords in her tummy would one day use them to call the badass rancher Grandpappy!
Norma resembled Sheryl in many ways: face, size, age and figure. She was married to Jim Foss, a very well-liked and respected member of the community. Roy figured that blackmailing her would be easy. Norma was angry, but she went along with Roy’s plan so she could save her marriage now that Brett was gone. She could also save her teaching job at the elementary school, and yes, save her own life! Besides, since falling in love wit
h Brett she hadn’t much liked Sheryl anyway. So she agreed to pretend that she was Sheryl.
Norma drove to a travel agency in Orlando and bought tickets for the Trans South Airlines flight from Miami to Atlanta, and then checked in at the Miami airport. But she never got on the airplane. Afterward, Roy was worried that Norma would run and tell authorities about the plot, so he forced her to stay with him. But he would only keep her around until his other grandson was born. He decided that once Sheryl and Norma had delivered their babies, they would be erased from this earth and Roy could one day tell his grandsons that they were twins.
CHAPTER 84
Monday, March 15, 1982
7:30 a.m.
O liver’s Learjet touched down at the Gainesville Regional Airport just before dawn was awakening and Florida could once again make claim as the nation’s true Sunshine State. During the flight from Seminole Bend he had tried to radio Ray, but without luck. A good CIA agent has a unique sense of intuition and can surmise when something has gone wrong, and Oliver’s thoughts were troubling.
Even more troubling was what Oliver saw in an open hangar as the jet touched down. It was an F-4 Phantom fighter jet, just like the ones used by the Special Operations Unit back in the early ‘70s. As everyone was headed for the terminal, Oliver excused himself and walked briskly towards the hangar. He was met outside the large open door by two men in khaki pants, light blue shirts and tennis shoes. One had a Brave’s baseball cap pulled down tightly on his forehead, but other than that, they looked like they were wearing some sort of casual uniform.
“May I help you, sir?” asked the man in the cap.
“Yes, I would like to know why this Air Force jet is parked in this non-military hangar,” replied Oliver in an authoritative tone.
“Whom may I inquire is asking?” replied the cap man in an equally directorial voice.
Oliver pulled out his badge. “CIA. Now could you please answer my question?”
The man without the cap took a close look at the badge, then replied, “Your badge is CIA alright, but it says retired. Now, may I ask what your business is here?”
“Retired or not, I hold a high rank in the United States government! You will explain to me what an F-4 Phantom jet is doing in this hangar! The F-4’s were buried years ago, son. I will be on the phone to the White House if you don’t answer my question immediately!”
“We have presidential orders to commandeer this hangar,” said the man in the cap as he took a step towards Oliver in a threatening manner. Yes, he did have presidential orders, but they were from Richard Nixon. Hopefully, the retired CIA man wouldn’t ask to see them. “Our mission is top secret. Now step away and get along on your business.”
Oliver knew he wouldn’t get any further. He had noticed both men were carrying pistols strapped inside their belts and he was certain they wouldn’t hesitate using them. Yet, Oliver was curious. Why would the president have two plain clothes agents guard a military aircraft instead of uniformed soldiers with automatic weapons? And why was a retired Phantom jet now back in use? And what was that jet doing in Gainesville right now while he was about to execute a mission that he had planned for twenty years? Coincidence? Oliver didn’t believe in coincidences. Without acknowledging the two men he turned and walked to the terminal.
* * * * *
Oliver didn’t speak a word while driving the limousine carefully at the speed limit through the city. He wasn’t about to be pulled over by some rookie cop playing around with some Doppler speed radar as rush hour was commencing. But everyone in the car could tell by Oliver’s silence that something was bothering him. They hadn’t noticed the Phantom fighter upon deplaning at the airport and Oliver hadn’t mentioned a thing to them.
“Something bugging you, Oliver?” asked Roy.
“Nothing. Just thinking, that’s all. We need to hurry and get to the O’Sullivan Center before the coaches and students start arriving.”
“Won’t need to worry about the students,” replied Governor Daughtry. “The university is on Spring Break this week. I’m sure they’re all partying in Daytona Beach as we speak.”
“Well, someone will be around. And we heard that security was going to change the locks over the break. If my master key doesn’t work we’ll have to eliminate another guard like before, then fiddle around trying to find the right key on his belt.”
Ten minutes later the limo parked sideways blocking three handicapped slots in the O’Sullivan Center lot. Oliver hung a blue and white handicapped permit on his mirror, one he had stolen from a car whose unlucky driver had left the window open. All the men exited the vehicle and walked towards the back entrance that was reserved for coaches and administrators. Hopefully, if security was watching, they would think university president Robert Marston was showing off the new basketball facility to some other important people. Oliver slid the master key into the door with no problem. The locks had yet to be changed.
With no coaches or anyone else in sight, Oliver and company entered the men’s locker room. The door locked automatically when it was closed. In the back near the showers was the equipment room, which needed to be locked manually after exiting. Today, it wasn’t locked and the secret trap door imbedded into the floor tiles was wide open. Everyone paused for a moment and glanced at one another with cold sober looks on their faces. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.
Each of Oliver’s accomplices pulled out a weapon. Roy descended the steps first. He feared the worse for his brother. The manhole cover had also been displaced and was leaning up against the wall, another major security breach for this team of gangsters. Oliver and the rest waited impatiently for Roy’s prompt that would signal it was okay to enter. It came, but it wasn’t the signal they were expecting to hear.
“No!” cried Roy, as his voice echoed from the operations center to the equipment room above. “Ray, oh my God, Ray!”
Ray Jackson was lying face up on a small cot with his eyes wide open staring at the ceiling. Unfortunately, he had witnessed his own death. His neck had been slashed from ear lobe to ear lobe and the small traces of blood still left in his body were trickling out of his carotid artery. He was white as a ghost, which of course, he was. The murder weapon lay on the floor next to the cot. It was a stainless steel Gillette safety razor blade.
Roy pounded his fists on his brother’s deflated chest. “Who did this to you? I will kill him, Ray, I swear I will get revenge! No mercy!”
Oliver stood behind Roy and patted his back, a sympathetic gesture to the brother of his best friend. Then he kneeled down and whispered to Roy, “This is a tough time, but we need to work fast. Are you up for it?” Roy nodded, then stood and placed a nearby blanket over Ray, covering his body and the red, blood-soaked sheet he was lying on. Everyone else in the room remained motionless, wondering if it was time they gave up and got away while the getting was good.
“Our moles must be Jim Brown and Tyrus Banks,” confirmed Oliver. “Jim Brown must be Air Force or Special Ops. There was an F-4 Phantom fighter jet in a hangar at the airport. That’s where I was while you were waiting in the terminal.”
“F-4?” questioned Governor Daughtry. “Those have been retired from the military for quite some time. Banks doesn’t know how to fly, so Jim must be a pilot. How did he get ahold of a Phantom and why is it parked at the Gainesville airport?”
“Those are questions for later. Come over here and take a look.” Oliver signaled for the group to approach three televisions bolted onto the counter. The screens had been smashed and the remote controllers were missing. There was an empty space where a fourth TV had been placed. “Jim took out our video system and stole the remotes and a television. Sam, what are our options here? By now, Banks and Brown will have secured the Homestead facility, so we can’t go back there. Two of the nine passenger jets we rigged with cameras and jammers are scheduled to depart later this afternoon and Tassett has installed jammers in the control towers at their destinations. I know we weren’t plann
ing on doing this for a couple of months, but can we somehow get this mission initiated today?”
“We haven’t fully tested the equipment, Oliver,” answered Sam Dulie. “I don’t know if we can pull this off that soon.”
“The hell with more testing! We’ve taken down four passenger jets in two midair collisions in the last month! I think the equipment works just fine!”
“Can we deploy the USS Halibut right away?” asked Daughtry. “We’d have some excellent bargaining leverage if we controlled a sub carrying two nuclear missiles onboard.”
“Yes, I’ll get on the phone with Admiral Inman up at Kitsap. He will be devastated when he hears that his good friend, Ray, was killed. He told me earlier that he could have the sub into the Pacific within an hour or two of my call. But he has no idea we need it ready this soon. He’s a good man, he’ll make it happen. I know we can count on him.” Oliver walked to the shortwave and found it was working. “Thank God Jim didn’t take out our communications. He must have wanted a quick exit.”
Five minutes later Admiral Inman confirmed that he would have the USS Halibut deployed and through the Puget Sound and into Pacific waters by no later than two that afternoon, which was five o’clock on the east coast.
“We have a stock of remotes back on my ranch,” informed Roy. “But I don’t have video equipment, so the cameras imbedded in the nose of the planes will be useless.”
Sam looked at Yussef. “You have the radio frequencies for the target jets, don’t you?”