by Dale Brown
“You’re not going to need money where you’re going, Townsend.”
“Is that so?” Townsend retorted. “Tough talk for someone hiding behind an electronic suit of armor. Coward! Why don’t you take that thing off and let’s have at it, you and me, man to man. Or are you too cowardly for that?”
Stunned, he watched as the figure dropped the backpack power unit off his shoulders. “Well, well. You do have some sporting blood in you after all, General…”
But the surprises were not over. As the Tin Man unfastened and removed his helmet, Townsend saw before him not General Patrick McLanahan but his brother. He could not believe his eyes. “Good Lord! It’s Officer McLanahan! Following in your dead brother’s footsteps, I see.”
“Patrick is very much alive, Townsend,” Paul said coldly. “He survived the fight on the dam. Major Reingruber did not.”
Townsend managed to maintain his composure. “Be that as it may, Officer, you are here and he is not. And there is still a business accommodation we can make, you and I. It would be worth ten million dollars to me for my freedom right now. You have the stealth fighter and all my surviving men, including the ones who killed your fellow officers in downtown Sacramento. As I understand it, you also have no job now, nothing but an inconsequential disability pension. There are no witnesses out here. One single phone call, and a secret Cayman Islands bank account will be established in your name, ten million dollars in it, all for you. You can go back to being a lawyer, or you can live out your lifelong fantasies in a country where the law can’t touch you.”
“I’ve got an even better idea for you, Townsend,” Paul said. He walked over to one of the soldiers lying unconscious next to the fuel truck and withdrew the combat knife from his leg sheath. “You kill me, and you keep your ten million dollars and walk away free.”
Townsend smiled a satisfied grin and pulled out his knife with theatrical flourish. “You are a sporting man, Officer McLanahan,” he said-and attacked with the speed of a cobra.
The fight appeared to be over before it had begun. Townsend feigned a slash to Paul’s head, then reversed the knife and brought it down full force on his left shoulder. Paul made no effort to counterattack; he simply raised his left arm in a feeble attempt to block the assault. But he was far too late. Townsend’s knife buried itself to the hilt. Townsend laughed right in his face, then tried to remove the knife-and found it stuck fast…
… and before he knew it, Paul’s own knife lashed up and deep into his belly.
Townsend dropped to his knees, clutching his midriff. He watched dumbfounded as Paul McLanahan jiggled the big knife in his shoulder and freed it. There was no blood. Not a drop.
“Ironic, isn’t it, Townsend?” Paul McLanahan asked. He removed his gauntlets, opened the suit front, and shrugged off the left sleeve. Underneath was a dull aluminum prosthesis. It moved like a real arm, but it was definitely not human. It was one of the prototype Sky Masters, Inc. prosthetic arms, attached and activated without any cosmetic enhancements. “I owe you thanks for this,” he said. “Your bloodthirsty attacks gave it to me. I felt sorry for myself and I told them I didn’t want it, but I’m glad they helped me change my mind. What do you think of this, Colonel?”
But Gregory Townsend was a long, long way from being able to answer.
Epilogue
Sacramento, California
Monday, 1 June 1998, 1015 FT
The city does look like it’s getting back to normal, “Wendy McLanahan said to her brother-in-law. Bradley was in the car seat between Patrick and her, and Paul was accompanying them to Sacramento-Mather Jetport to see them off to San Diego. They were all glad to have the last few months behind them.
“Yes and no,” Paul answered, his electronically synthesized voice sounding more natural all the time. “It looks that way on the surface. But the old problems haven’t gone away. I think the wars are just starting up. The biker gangs are still at it, only now they’re vying to fill the void left by the Satan’s Brotherhood. The meth production hasn’t even started to gear up again, and I know the Mexicans are going to come in hard. This whole county’s been hit pretty hard. It’ll take a long time to recover.”
Wendy shook her head. “I still find it almost impossible to believe anyone could cause so much death and devastation simply to create a diversion to cover a robbery-even a huge one.”
“It’s useless to look for rational explanations for his actions-though I admit I keep trying to also,” Patrick said. “Townsend was far crazier than Henri Cazaux was ever rumored to be-he outdid his ex-boss. And he would’ve gotten away with it if it weren’t for you, bro.”
“Well, the county owes you big-time for what you and Hal did on the dam, Patrick,” said Paul. “If any more of those gates had blown, the loss of life would’ve been much worse. Sacramento was lucky.”
“It’s a good thing they’ll never know exactly what happened up there,” Patrick said. “My name’s been in the Sacramento papers too much as it is. It’s a relief to have it cleared and the charges dropped. I’m ready to go home and leave the town to you.”
“It does feel great to be back,” Paul agreed. “I didn’t think I’d ever be saying this, but I really owe Chief Barona.”
“You’re right. We both do. He sure came through for us in the end. The city’s lucky to have you back as a cop. It really needs you.” But Patrick could see a touch of sadness in his brother’s face. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “No, light duty won’t be the same as being on the street-but you’re back on the payroll, you’re still wearing Dad’s badge, and you’re still out there helping your community. This place really needs that help.”
Paul took the badge out of his pocket and fingered it. “Yeah. That’s true. And who knows? It’ll take time, but maybe down the road I can prove that the arm and the voice synthesizer aren’t problems and I can get switched back to regular duty. I know they’re not.” He sounded more cheerful.
“What’s going to happen to Tom Chandler?” Wendy asked. “That’s not resolved yet, is it?”
“Well, they’re giving him a little consideration because of what he did trying to help Helen,” Paul said. “But he’s still looking at time. We’ll see what kind of man he really is when he’s faced with being not a cop but an ex-convict. Actually, I have a feeling he’ll rebound. He’s lucky to have survived. A lot of good people died at Townsend’s hands.”
As if on cue, there was a commotion on Placerville Road as they approached the turnoff to Mather Field Road. Amid the sound of sirens, a man ran from a bank with a bag in his hands just as Sacramento County Sheriff’s deputies roared up to the scene. They watched in a kind of slow motion as the robber pulled a gun from his pants and the deputies ducked for cover. Wendy looked at her husband and her brother-in-law. She could read their faces and their minds: The suit is in the trunk; the backpack is charged; I can have it on in minutes…
Then the robber tossed his arms straight up in the air, turned around, and was instantly in custody. No casualties on either side. The brothers sat back and relaxed.
As if by telepathy, Patrick answered Paul’s unspoken question. “Yeah, Hal Briggs and his team are still interested in the BERP technology. But we want to work the kinks out of it before we offer it to anyone. And Jon still wants the airlines to have it to protect cargo compartments.”
“I have a feeling Jon will get whatever he wants,” Paul said with a grin. Then he asked, “And you? Anything different from what you’ve been telling me, Patrick?”
“No. Go home, help raise my son, and think about the future,” Patrick replied. “General Samson at Dreamland still wants me as his vice commander at the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center, but he’s given me until October to decide whether or not to take the assignment. Jon and Helen’ll need a lot of help trying to rebuild the company.”
The thought of them made Wendy smile. “It’s so great that they’re a team now,” she said. “I love seeing them so happy together.�
��
Patrick nodded, but he had something else on his mind. “Bro, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time…”
“You don’t have to tell me, Patrick,” Paul said. “I think I know what kind of things you’ve been doing the past several years-though I’ve got a feeling I’ve only sensed the very tip of the iceberg. But there’s something I want to tell you too. I know how much you like Jon and the company and all, but I think you’re much happier in the Air Force, doing all the cosmic stuff you were doing. You’re a general. Go be a general again. Get out there to your base, wherever the hell it is; march in front of your troops, call them to attention, and lead them. You’re certainly not too old to strap on a jet once in a while and fly a few more bomb runs, but I’ll bet there are some pretty shit-hot kids out there ready to do their part. You’ve just got to teach ‘em how it’s done.”
Patrick looked at his brother quizzically. “And how the hell did you get to be so smart, kid?”
“Just trying to be like you, bro,” Paul said. “Just trying to be like you.”
The Sky Masters, Inc. Gulfstream had departed from Mather Jetport several minutes earlier, bound for San Diego. Paul McLanahan was back on Highway 50, heading to his first afternoon on the job, when his cellular phone rang. When he picked it up, he heard a warbling sound, so he pushed the function and I keys to engage the auto-descrambling function on the special Sky Masters cellphone and waited for the warbling to go away. Then he said, “Hi, Jon.”
“Hi, Paul,” Jon Masters responded. “They’re on their way?”
“Yes.”
“What did Patrick say?”
“Nothing definite,” Paul replied. “I think he wants to take the Air Force job, but he also wants to give being a dad a try. My feeling is he’ll come back to work for you for a few months, but he’s not going to let October come and go without some hard soul-searching.”
“I thought so,” Jon said. “Listen, I have some mods I want to try on your arm-and-shoulder prosthesis. I’ll be back out your way next week. Should only take a couple of hours over two or three nights. You won’t miss any work.”
“What kind of mods?”
“Oh, I think you’ll like them,” Jon replied. “A bit better interface with the suit, some weapon-control functions I want to try.”
“What about the suit itself?” Paul asked.
“I’ll bring the latest version along with me,” Jon said. “A bit better slow-penetration protection, better power-management functions and readouts, some different features to try to bring the weapon systems on board.”
“Good,” Paul said. “My office has been receiving a lot of new information on a resurgence of meth producers moving into the state, and especially in the north. I have a feeling the Tin Man needs to get out on the street and countryside a bit more.”
“The National Interagency Counterdrug Strike Force out of San Luis Obispo has an operation that I think might be perfect for you,” Jon said. “Are you familiar with NICI?”
“Of course,” Paul said. NICI, located on the central coast of California, was a combined federal, state, and local law-enforcement training-and-education center where members of the military, federal agencies, police units, and district attorneys came together to learn the latest about the illegal drug trade and how all the different antinarcotics agencies could work together more effectively. What was not widely known was that every year NICI took the best and the brightest one percent of its thousands of graduates and formed a strike team that ran actual counterdrug operations throughout the United States. “I can’t wait to get started.”
“You give the word and your support team will be rolling and ready to go,” Jon Masters said.
“You’ve got the word, Jon,” said the new Tin Man. “You’ve got the word.”
About The Author
Former US Air Force captain Dale Brown was born in Buffalo, New York, and now lives in Nevada. He graduated from Penn State University with a degree in Western European History and received a US Air Force commission in 1978. While in the Air Force, he was a navigator-bombardier in the B-52G Stratofortress heavy bomber and the FB-111A supersonic medium bomber, flying over 2500 hours in different military tactical and training aircraft and receiving several military decorations and awards. He was still serving in the Air Force when he wrote Flight of the Old Dog, his highly acclaimed first novel. Since then he has written a string of New York Times bestselling novels, all of which are available from HarperCollins: Silver Tower, Day of the Cheetah, Hammerheads, Sky Masters, Night of the Hawk, Chains of Command, Storming Heaven, Shadows of Steel, Fatal Terrain and, most recently, The Tin Man.
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