by S. L. Menear
Memories of our first kiss in his office flooded back, and my heart rate skyrocketed. He swept his desk clean with one hand and held me with the other. I momentarily forgot about my bruised body as he unzipped my flight suit and kept kissing me.
In seconds, he pulled my jumpsuit down to my waist and laid me across his desk. A soft moan escaped my lips as I stiffened against the discomfort of the hard desk surface.
Ross must’ve interpreted my rigid muscles as evidence of excitement rather than pain. He worked his way downward from my lips with hungry kisses, but he stopped cold when he saw my left breast.
“Sam, you’re bleeding!” He reached for tissues and blotted the blood.
I tried to see the underside of my breast, which was impossible without a mirror. My voice was tight with pain when I asked, “Did the stitches come loose?”
He gently dabbed my wound and looked closer. “Two stitches broke. What happened? This looks like a stab wound. I’ll call the medic.” He leaned over me to reach for the phone.
“A terrorist stabbed me yesterday. I must’ve popped the stitches when I flew a fighter with Matt a few hours ago.” I kissed him. “Don’t worry, it’s just a flesh wound.”
Ross looked at my body and gasped. “Sam, you’re covered with deep bruises!”
“Yeah, I’m really sore from a high-speed roll across the carrier deck after I jumped out of the 727.”
He shook his head. “What the hell happened?”
I gave him a quick recap, and then he grabbed the phone and called for a medic.
After he re-stitched my breast, the medic applied Steri-Strips for extra strength and then a new dressing. “This should hold you until you heal.” He glanced at Ross. “No rough stuff, Captain Sinclair.”
“Don’t blame Ross. I was like this when I arrived.” I smiled at my sexy boyfriend.
Ross smiled back. “That will be all, Sergeant. Thank you.”
The medic nodded and left us alone.
“I have black combat fatigues and a helmet for you to wear until I have you safely inside Duncan’s castle.” Ross handed me the uniform. “Here, see if this fits you.”
I put it on. “A bit baggy, but close enough.” I tried the helmet.
“Good, but stuff your long blond hair inside. This should pass muster in the dark.”
Ross wore a uniform identical to mine. “We’re taking a Lynx to MacLeod Castle. It will look like we’re relieving soldiers on guard duty.”
I grabbed my little bag containing my precious flight suit and bomber jacket. It wasn’t long before we landed on Duncan’s lawn. We saluted the soldiers who met our helicopter, and then we entered the ancient stone fortress.
Duncan and Mom were waiting for us in the great hall. Fires blazed in the massive hearths, and red velvet drapes covered the soaring windows.
I pulled off my helmet and rushed to my mother. “Mom, it’s good to see you! I missed you.”
She hugged me. “I was so worried. Are you all right?” She looked me over.
The uniform hid my bruises and bandaged breast. “I’m fine, just stiff from a fall yesterday.” I smiled at Duncan. “Good to see you too.”
He kissed my cheek. “We’re relieved you’re here, dear. You must see what’s beneath the castle, but only if you feel up to the steep stairs down the cliff.”
“I’m okay, just a little sore. Show me now.” I glanced at Ross. Would he object?
Ross smiled and offered me his hand. “I’ll go down with you. You’ll want to see this. It’s a lot like the circular chamber inside the mountain in Petra.”
Duncan rang for Baxter. “We’ll need four torches. Sam wants to see the secret chamber.”
While we waited, I checked in with Commander Metz on the satellite phone.
Baxter returned with the flashlights, and Duncan led us down the secret passage’s stone steps leading to the North Sea. Halfway down, we stopped in a small alcove two hundred feet above the rocky beach.
“Sam, put your right hand on that handprint.” Mom pointed her flashlight at it.
I pressed my hand against the gold and heard grinding as the stone door opened. She hugged me.
“See? I knew she could do it.” Mom grinned at Duncan and Ross.
“Did you open this the first time, Mom?”
“Yes, come and see what’s inside.” She motioned to me.
Ross stepped in front of me. “This is one time where the men must enter first. As soon as you and your mother are inside, the door will close.” Ross ducked his head.
Mom and I followed Duncan through the door, which closed behind us. I recognized the three goddesses on the wall and scenes from Atlantis.
Mom pointed at the crystal pyramids held by the triplets. “You’ll be amazed when you touch the crystals.” She seemed giddy.
When I did, a hologram appeared in the center of the room. Three baby girls with the same features as the three women appeared and grew older in a high-speed sequence that ended when they reached the same age as the goddesses. They stood back-to-back atop a huge obsidian pyramid, each holding a brilliant crystal. The scene ended in a blinding flash.
I noticed everyone’s shocked looks. “Is something wrong? Is this what you saw last time?”
“Not even close,” Ross said.
Duncan looked at my mother. “Loren, darling, your face is pale. Are you all right?”
She blinked and took a deep breath. “I think I know who the three women are. Let’s go upstairs. I need a drink and some chocolate.”
“Mom? What’s wrong?”
“I’ll explain upstairs.” She pointed at the footprint as she clutched Duncan’s arm. “Sam, place your bare foot on the gold to open the door.”
We climbed the steps and headed for Duncan’s study. Baxter provided glasses of merlot and chocolate cake for Mom and me and whisky for the men.
“Sorry, Baxter, but I think I need whisky this time.” Mom watched him pour her a double.
“I should have made the connection when Professor Armitage told me the names of two of the goddesses, but I assumed the images were women from the ancient past.” She drank half the whisky.
“My best friend, Sheila Conor, looked so much like me, people thought we were sisters. She gave birth to triplets on the winter solstice two years after Sam was born. Her daughters, Solraya, Luna, and Blaze, had identical features, except for their hair and eye colors, like the women in the secret chamber. Twenty-three years ago, Sheila was lost in a plane crash in the Himalayas.”
I was stunned. “I remember you told me she had the same psychic powers as you.”
“Yes, we had so much in common, and her blond triplet looked like you.” Mom sighed.
“Professor Armitage couldn’t decipher the name of the fire goddess. It must be Blaze.” I sucked in a deep breath. “What happened to the babies?”
“They were with their parents when the plane crashed. Everyone assumed they were killed, but their bodies were never found. There was one survivor—a flight attendant.”
“Do you know her name? Maybe she could tell us something that could help us find the girls,” Duncan said.
“Richard Conor’s company, Gold Trident Industries, should have the information on file. I’ll call them.” She pulled out her cell.
“I’ve been following gold trident symbols! I found them on the artifact in Hong Kong, on the Taj and pendant in Agra, and inside the mountain in Petra. We assumed the three women were a vision from the past, but they could be a prophecy of the future.” I took a long drink.
“If they’re alive, we have to find them. I have a feeling they’re in grave danger.” Mom scrolled through her phone directory and found the number for the American headquarters of Gold Trident Industries.
The offices were open because they were five hours behind Great Britain. Mom spoke with the CEO, Richard’s younger brother, Tim Conor, and soon had the information we needed.
“I can’t believe this. The lone survivor, flight attendant Suzan
ne Berglind, married a man she met when her part of the airplane slid into his base camp on Mount Everest. She lives in England now. Her husband is Lord Colin Covington. They have a large estate near York.”
“I know Lord Covington. I’ll arrange a meeting, and we’ll get this sorted.” Duncan glanced at his watch and reached for the phone.
“Laird Duncan Macleod calling Lord Covington with a matter of great urgency. Aye, I’ll hold.” After a brief wait, Duncan said, “Colin, good of you to take my call.” He explained his request and paused. “Aye, tomorrow afternoon. May we land a helicopter on the lawn? Good. See you then.”
I looked at Ross. “I want to go too.”
“You’ll have to wear the SAS uniform and ride in a military helicopter with me. We’ll land at the nearest military base and drive in. Duncan and Loren will fly there in a private helicopter.”
I nodded. “That’s fine with me as long as I get to go. I have questions that need answers.”
“Please explain us to the Covingtons,” Ross said to Duncan and Loren. “We can’t let Sam be seen in public without her military disguise.”
My mother stared at me. “Oh, my God! I know why the Black Sun wants you. You’re a carbon copy of Solraya, and your touch activates the weapon. They think you are the blond triplet known as the Golden Goddess.”
“Dragon Master addressed me as Solraya Twin. I believe they think I’m her non-related twin—a woman with the same appearance and psychic power, but not her sister. Lucky me.”
I drained my wine glass as the color drained from my face.
Aqaba, Jordan
An hour before dawn, Captain Jeff Rowlin boarded the Luxury International 767 parked in Aqaba, Jordan. At six-five, he ducked his head out of habit from spending a week on the Navy ship.
Lieutenant Joe Kernan of SEAL Team Six followed him in and stood in front of the six crew members and sixteen passengers. The two flight attendants and thirteen passengers, who had been waiting at the Hotel Royal ever since their friends and coworkers vanished in Petra, were aboard with the returning actors and crew.
The lieutenant held a mike close to his mouth. “Keep the window shades down. It’s easy to see inside a lighted airplane at night. We helped your pilots do a careful inspection of the aircraft, including scanning for bugs and tracking devices. We found five.”
He paused when the passengers gasped. “You’re safe now. We also searched and scanned the luggage before it was loaded. Remember to stay vigilant. Captain Rowlin wants to depart for Paris as soon as my team disembarks. Any questions?”
Carlene raised her hand and batted her lashes. “Can we keep you until we leave Paris? I’d feel a lot safer with SEALs looking after me.”
Inga smiled sweetly. “I agree with Carlene. We need you. Can’t the Navy spare your team for another day?”
“Yeah, we need armed protection. Ask Captain Kingston.” Rod looked like he needed a boatload of Xanax to calm his nerves.
“You’ll be safe with Captain Rowlin. Our COD is ready to depart. Good-bye and have a safe flight.” He saluted, handed the mike to Jeff, and joined his team on the ramp.
Blond and blue eyed, Jeff looked like a Nordic sea captain, minus the beard. “Hello, I’m Captain Jeff Rowlin. As you know, Hal and Tawnee were killed and Captain Starr was injured in Petra. I’m replacing her for the duration of your charter flight. The Dubai flight was cancelled. I arranged for private security guards to meet our airplane in Paris and stick with us until we depart. We’ll keep you safe.”
“Maybe Jack should ask Admiral Stone to send a SAS team with us.” Rod looked concerned.
“No time for that. We’re leaving. Buckle up and wave good-bye to Jordan.” Jeff entered the cockpit.
Lance and Pete followed Jeff as Inga closed the forward entry door. Lance slid into the right seat, and Pete sat in the jumpseat behind them.
“That’s one nervous group of passengers. No joking on the PA. Let’s give them a nice calm flight.” Jeff adjusted his seat and buckled his harness.
“A normal flight will be a welcome change.” Lance tapped in the flight info for the navigation computer. “Looks like west over the Mediterranean, then northwest past Sicily to Paris for noise abatement.”
“Yep, pre-dawn over the sea and dawn patrol into Paris. Should be easy,” Jeff said.
Pete glanced at Lance. “I guess we should warn Jeff about Carlene…she’s not as harmless as she looks.”
“What do you mean? She’s barely five feet.” Jeff glanced from Pete to Lance.
“He means she’s an insatiable man-eating vixen. I have the scars to prove it.”
Jeff laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’re complaining about hot sex with a movie star?” Jeff shook his head.
“Lance is serious. She may be tiny, but she’s aggressive as hell. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.” Pete tightened his harness.
The flight crew completed the checklists. Soon the charter was on the takeoff roll at Aqaba International Airport. After the initial climb, Jeff turned the big airliner toward the Mediterranean Sea.
Later, he felt uneasy as he glanced at the Egyptian coast and thought about what had happened two days earlier.
Air traffic control called on the radio. “Luxury 813, fog is building around Paris. Reduce speed to 280 knots.”
Lance answered the call. “Luxury 813 is reducing speed to 280 knots.”
As their airliner crossed the pale pre-dawn sky over water midway between Tripoli and Sicily, two unmarked L-39 fighter jets appeared forward of their wings.
“Uh, Jeff, we’ve got company.” Lance studied the fighter on his side.
“I see them—L-39s. No flags. Looks like R60 air-to-air missiles on the outer pylons.”
Lance pulled out his mini binoculars. “They’ve got 23-millimeter twin-barreled cannons too. A friend of mine has an L-39, told me all about it and the weaponry on the ones used by the military in Third-World countries. They’re not as fast as a 767. They never would’ve been able to intercept us at our normal speed.”
“Too bad we can’t outrun their missiles,” Jeff said in a calm tone.
Pete pointed. “The one on the left is holding up a sign that reads: Follow us or die. No radio calls.”
“Usually stuff like this only happens when Sam’s with us.” Lance shook his head.
Jeff pulled a SATCOM from his flight bag and handed it to Pete. “Duck down so they can’t see you and call the AWACS aircraft. It’s already set to their number. Tell them to send fighters.”
Lance glanced at Jeff. “What do we do in the meantime?”
“We play along. Turn on the seat-belt sign and tell the cabin crew to strap in.” Jeff followed the fighter on his side as it banked to the left and descended toward Africa.
Pete put the SATCOM on speaker so Jeff could hear the military’s response. “Luxury 813, we scrambled the fighters. Remain over water. F/A-18s en route, ETA fifteen minutes. Enemy aircraft are too close to your airplane for long-distance missile shots from the fighters.”
“We’ll be over the coast in fifteen. No way are we landing in Muslim-controlled territory.” Jeff throttled back to 250 knots to give the American fighters time to arrive.
“Our fighters are unable to pursue into foreign territory after the recent Egypt incident. Stay over water. Do not cross the coast.”
As the airliner neared Africa, Lance wiped his brow, and Jeff cracked his knuckles.
American fighter pilots were known as highly skilled predators of the sky, and Jeff was no exception. His mind reeled with scenarios to defeat the enemy.
“Lance, is the fighter on your side directly in line with our wingtip?” Jeff checked the L-39 on his side.
“Looks like it, and we’re only thirty miles from the coast. The Super Hornets won’t get here in time.”
Jeff throttled back to 230 knots.
The L-39s slowed for the 767 to catch up. Their pilots needed to remain close to the airliner to preclude a long-distance missil
e shot from an American fighter.
“Luxury 813, AWACS has you approaching the coast. Fighters two minutes out. Do not cross the coastline!”
Jeff checked the positions of the L-39s and saw he was seconds from crossing over land.
“Screw this! No way will I let terrorists take us!” He reverted to fighter-pilot mode and pushed the throttles to full power. “They aren’t expecting us to accelerate. Time to splash two tangos.”
Jeff knew he had to take out both fighters simultaneously or the remaining L-39 would shoot them down. With absolute precision, he slammed his wingtips into the tails of the fighters before they could react. The big Boeing crushed their tails and glass canopies as its wingtips raked across the L-39s.
As the fighters fell into the sea, Jeff checked his controls. He adjusted the throttles and banked the 767 hard to the right, away from the coast.
He grabbed the SATCOM. “AWACS, this is Bücker. Splashed enemy fighters. Need escort to prevent retaliation.”
“How did you do that? Never mind. F/A-18s are closing on you. Continue north across the sea. I’ll patch the fighters into your SATCOM.”
Jeff held the SATCOM close to his mouth. “Understood. Bücker is on frequency.”
“Bücker, this is Rodeo. We have your Boeing in sight. Where are the L-39s?”
“Splashed ’em, took out their tails with my wingtips. Close in tight and check my wings.”
“Hoo yah, Bücker, splashing two fighters with an unarmed airliner! You just made aviation history. Uh, left wingtip’s gone, sheared off the outer three feet or so. The rest of the wing looks good.”
“Hot damn, Bücker! This is Jersey. Your right wingtip’s gone too. Looks like it broke off about three feet from the end. The good news is the wings look symmetrical.”
“That’s why all right-thinking pilots say, ‘If it’s not a Boeing, we’re not going.’”
“Heads up, Bücker, enemy fighters approaching your six. Rodeo has missile lock on the one on my side.”
“Jersey has tone on the other one. Continue north, Bücker. We’ll splash the tangos.”
Seconds later, Rodeo reported, “Enemy fighters down. Bücker is clear.”