Lined up in rows in front of green glowing screens, the squad pounded at their keyboards, each wanting to be the first to crack the assignment. One shouted he’d found a hit in Florida, but the rest scathingly rebuked him. Of course that wasn’t the source. Everyone knew the culprit had routed it through a dummy connection to fool the ignorant.
Sutherland smiled. This might actually work.
9:15 PM – EDT
From the sidelines, Frank observed the gang in the living room eye each other warily as they realized they would need to form a truce if they were going to become a team. Ever the diplomat, Iggy proposed a brainstorming session on mission details. Frank should have known she would conjure up a ploy to start bonding them with a shared purpose. He paid close attention; he needed a strategy to save his own skin.
Iggy explained that they required a space-worthy ship for time travel. She volunteered that an old airplane might suffice, as it would be insulated against extreme temperatures and pressurized for air. She opened the floor to ideas.
Frank could guess what was coming next.
Dee raised her hand. “I don’t get it. Why in the world do you need a spaceship for time travel?”
Jay pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “While we have precise calculations for time-jumps, there is still a margin for error, especially as we go greater distances. Even a tiny discrepancy could put us high in the atmosphere, causing us to crash down to the surface. Or worse, we could wind up in the planet’s core, where we would implode. Our plan is to deliberately jump outside of the earth’s gravitational pull. That way, we can use incremental jumps to get closer. If we use aircraft, as per Iggy’s example, we could then simply land on a runway.”
The potential deadly hazards of the trip silenced everyone for a moment.
Space flight. Frank thought of his old friends from NASA, and the solution ballooned inside his mind fully formed. They were going about this all wrong. He could get them an appropriate vehicle while simultaneously finding safe haven. “An airplane isn’t strong enough. In a jump from the zero pressure of space to the atmospheric pressure of flying, the wings might shear off from the stress.” He paused as if thinking out loud. “But I have a better idea. I know a guy in California who’s a former aerospace engineer from NASA. He has the means and knowledge to help us with a proper ship.”
“How would we get to California? There have to be at least ten border crossings along the way, including getting out of WB.” Bick couldn’t resist reminding them of their status. “Ten chances for you outlaws to get caught.”
“I know.” Jay snapped his fingers. “Have your friend meet us here. Or somewhere in Pennsylvania.”
Frank shook his head. “Nope. He has all his equipment and supplies on the West Coast. We have to go to him.” He waited while the rest squinted down or glanced heavenward, concentrating on coming up with a method for travel. He pantomimed their actions before speaking up. “I know a person who can get us there. A pilot who operates outside of the law. A bit of a scoundrel.”
“A scoundrel?” Sera wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like it, Frank. He might sell us out for the reward money.”
“I wouldn’t have suggested it if he weren’t completely trustworthy. Besides”—Frank grinned—“he owes me his life.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 2013
6:30 AM – EDT
In the balmy predawn dusk, Jay scurried inside the fence at Wyoming Valley Airport on the heels of Iggy, Sera, and Frank. The modestly sized facility, with code letters WBW, served corporate jets, cargo transports, and passenger flights for WB. The infiltrators had chosen this terminal over Westmoreland International to avoid risking more rigorous security.
As they stole into the specified hangar, Jay reflected on the atrocities that had occurred at this location. Most people assumed this valley was named after the state of Wyoming, but paradoxically, the opposite was true. Settlers in the Midwest had been puzzled when congress bestowed the moniker on the forty-fourth member of the union. The naming of the state paid tribute to the bloody Wyoming Valley Massacre in northern Pennsylvania. In 1778, British Loyalists and their Iroquois allies had slain more than three hundred American Revolutionaries, allegedly even torturing and scalping several dozen who surrendered. A monument stood nearby as a remembrance of the event—a stark obelisk on the graves of the fallen.
Next to Jay, Frank batted at his trousers, trying to clean off the grass and muck. “It was bad enough you had me sleeping on the floor last night. And then this morning crawling under the cyclone fence. My back is killing me!”
Iggy sighed. She’d had just about enough of this drama queen.
Ignoring his theatrics, Sera commented on the relative ease with which they’d broken into the airport.
“That’s because the US government contracts security to the lowest bidder.” Jay tilted his head matter-of-factly. “In this case, MacDowell-Douggan.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Well, think about it. The company wants to make money, right? So they employ the fewest number of guards possible, and concentrate them in the main terminals. Everyone witnesses the massive presence at the checkpoints inside, like Bick and Dee are probably encountering now.” Jay paused, thinking worriedly about their safety. He had booked tickets to Boston for the only two legitimate citizens among them, as a ruse to divert Zimmerman. If the colonel somehow uncovered Bick’s unauthorized search for the fugitives on the Governet, Bick himself would become a target. They wanted to send the warden on a wild goose chase in the wrong direction. Bick and Dee needed to clear screening and then sneak out of the airport to meet them. A risky proposition, but no point in second-guessing.
Jay shook himself back to the present. “Anyway, travelers assume the same stringent rules apply in the field. But patrols here are scattered. No one expects us to realize we can slink in under cover of darkness. It’s a show. Security theater.”
Sera nodded, grudgingly impressed with his limitless font of knowledge.
As a nearby plane revved its engines, Bick and Dee clambered in, banging suitcases and wearing sour expressions.
Relieved, Jay slumped down to wait for their next trial.
7:30 AM – EDT
In a repair shop on the fringes of WB, Sutherland led the way as he and Zimmerman prowled around the premises in a cop-like manner. Wielding guns with both hands, they sidled along walls and whipped around each corner pointing the weapons with elbows straight. No one was there.
Sutherland lowered his arms, taking in the surroundings, shockingly pristine for a mechanic’s garage. Although he detected the odors of used grease and fresh paint, neither tools nor parts lay strewn about the benches from works in progress. Customers’ motorcycles formed a severe angled line across the floor, as if positioned by tape measure. The facade in front displayed a dramatic black sign with gleaming chrome letters proclaiming: Bick’s Bikes.
Sutherland’s geek posse at Lehigh had indeed located the source computer of the Governet inquiry. Earlier, the captain and the colonel had broken into the townhouse of a Bickford Haycock, but the perpetrator and the escapees weren’t there. The army men had ransacked the home for clues, carelessly clearing out cabinets and upending drawers. They found nothing.
As the pair began to defile the business in a similar vein, Sutherland’s transceiver phone jingled from his pocket. These new communication devices were powerful enough to work on signals bounced from skyscraper antennae dotted across the landscape, but remained portable. Only the government, the military, and the wealthy could afford the gadgets. However, few citizens owned them, since law enforcement monitored the airwaves.
Sutherland jabbed the answer button. This had better be good news.
8:00 AM – EDT
“Where is he, Frank?” Sera couldn’t keep the accusatory tone from her voice. As the minutes ticked by, tempers flared, and they took turns questioning the professor on the punctuality and reliability
of his acquaintance.
“He’ll be here. You can count on it.”
Sera noticed he betrayed his uncertainty by checking his left wrist, forgetting about the broken watch. She pressed her lips together to stop herself from chortling.
After a short while, Frank pointed. “There. There he is. Told you he’d come.”
They watched in astonishment as a garishly painted, orange and yellow sightseeing plane taxied toward the hangar. Enormous red words on the side boasted Fly with Flynn!
Jay realized his jaw was hanging open. “Not too subtle, is he?”
The transport roared into the building and made a sweeping turn, spewing exhaust fumes. The engines abruptly ceased. A moment later, the cockpit burst open and the pilot literally jumped out, alighting nimbly on both feet. He spread his arms and announced, “Fly with Flynn Flightseeing, friend of the felon and fugitive, at your service.” He bowed slightly as he smiled from one side of his mouth.
Sera stared in disbelief at the stereotypical cowboy aviator in his late thirties. He sported a crew cut, and was clad in a white T-shirt, faded denims, a distressed brown bomber jacket, and weathered brown timberland boots. He even had the expected mirrored sunglasses on his rugged, bronze face. She muttered, “Wow, the ego has landed.”
Frank approached, pumped Flynn’s hand, and slapped his shoulder. “Nice entrance. As usual.”
“Hey, we pilots do what we can. Gotta keep up the celebrity image, right?”
Frank tittered indulgently and introduced the team.
When her turn came, Sera politely shook his hand. “Flynn. Is that first or last?”
“Flynn. Just Flynn.” He gave her his goofy, lopsided grin again.
She snorted.
Meanwhile, Dee rummaged in her oversized satchel. She fished out an antique camera—an Imperial Reflex model from the sixties. She explained that her grandfather had given it to her in honor of her adoration of the Golden Age. She began snapping photos.
Flynn enthusiastically posed next to his aircraft, gesturing toward the huge red logo on the side. The others begrudgingly said cheese as the lens trained on them.
Frank, however, was appalled. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to record our presence here? We’re trying to keep a low profile, you know.”
“Oh, don’t be such a killjoy, Frank. I’ve been appointed trip historian. I’ve got to chronicle our mission. And no one but us will ever see the pictures.”
Bick spoke in a subdued tone. “I believe you are historian of the past, not the present.”
Dee ignored him and kept shooting.
“Enough.” Iggy stepped into the fray. “We have to leave. Now.”
“No problem. I already refueled, so let’s board up.” The airman strode toward one of Dee’s suitcases and swooped down to grab the handle as he kept his forward momentum. But as soon as his fingers closed around it, his body jerked backward and he almost lost his balance. “Hey, what are you cats smuggling? Bars of gold?”
“No.” Dee raised her eyebrows innocently. “Just research materials.”
Sera laughed. The previous night, she had observed Dee packing a suitcase with every book, magazine, and newspaper she owned on the assassination. The other bag contained clothes and personal items, so it naturally weighed less.
Dee shrugged at the pilot, effortlessly picked up the second case, and carried it to the cargo hatch.
8:20 AM – EDT
Frank relaxed his shoulders and closed his eyes. At long last, freedom shone ahead like a beacon. He rode shotgun next to Flynn as the flightseeing craft taxied toward the runway with seven individuals crammed inside, marking full capacity. The small cockpit housed three pairs of seats in rows, with a solitary one in the rear for Jay.
Suddenly, a general broadcast blared from the radio into their headphones, knocking Frank back to attention. Due to a serious air-traffic control malfunction, all take-offs and landings at WBW were prohibited. Grounded flights were ordered to return to their gates and hangars until the problem could be rectified.
Dismayed, Frank glanced around the cabin, noting that the ploy hadn’t fooled anyone else either.
“I can’t believe it.” Jay banged his fist on the window. “The warden isn’t smart enough to have tracked us so quickly. Besides, he was supposed to stop the diversionary flight to Boston, not ground the entire airfield.”
“Quiet.” Iggy cut him off. “No time. Suggestions?”
Before anyone could respond, the Tower radioed their plane directly, ordering them to cease and desist, repeating the cover story.
“We can’t go back.” Frank appealed to his friend. “We’re wanted.”
“I know.” Flynn continued driving forward. He executed the turn onto the beginning of the runway, and then gasped. “Who the hell’s this guy?”
Sera instantly recognized the black Chevy Caprice bisecting the pavement halfway down, facing them dead on. “It’s Colonel Zimmerman.”
“He’s a colonel?” Flynn asked.
Frank nodded, looking alarmed.
“In the army?”
Frank gripped the dash. “Yes.”
The G-forces pinned all seven into their seats as Flynn throttled the engines to maximum power.
8:22 AM – EDT
Zimmerman grimly exited the driver’s side and stood next to the car, waving his arms high above his head.
Sutherland followed suit from the passenger door with significantly less confidence. “He’s not going to stop! He’s insane!”
The colonel held fast, his arrogance allowing no thought of failure. The captain gawked at the orange and yellow projectile hurtling toward them.
Both officers drew the same conclusion at the same moment. Screaming, they leapt to either side, throwing themselves flat on the tarmac. The plane lifted off, yards from their position. As it gained altitude, the landing wheels crashed into the Caprice’s windshield and rolled over the roof, crunching it into oblivion.
The deafening noise drowned out Zimmerman’s raging tirade.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 2013
8:24 AM – EDT
Frank turned his ashen face to Flynn. “What are you trying to do? Kill us?” He had felt his gut whoosh up to meet his esophagus when the plane dipped after its collision with the colonel’s car.
“Yeah, Frank.” Sera flopped back in her seat, her clothes clammy from perspiration. “I thought you said you could trust him.”
Flynn calmly checked his gauges and continued pushing the altimeter. “Settle down, people. I got you outta the airport, didn’t I? It was a brilliant maneuver, and I had it all under control.”
“You nearly killed two men!” Bick hollered.
“Hey, nobody got hurt. Obviously they were going to jump out of the way. Human instinct.”
“Who is this guy?” Sera glared at her companions. “I mean, who does he think he is?”
“Actually”—Iggy squinted her eyes into slits—“I’ve been wondering why he seems rather familiar.”
“I’ll never forget him now.” Sera unclenched her hands from the armrests.
“I’d wager he’s Air Force.” Bick’s gaze bored into the back of the aviator’s buzz cut. “Only an Air Force pilot would be so cavalier.”
Flynn guffawed. “Pipe down there, Navy.”
Bick grinned. Definitely Air Force.
Dee half listened as she peered below at the sturdy concrete bunkers of WB, attempting to quell the rising bile in her throat.
“How about thinking positive? You know, bright side and all that. We’re alive, and we dodged Zimmerman.” Jay prodded Dee from behind. “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” Dee clutched her midsection.
Bick patted her arm. “Put your head down. You’ll feel better soon.”
“See? Everyone’s fine. You’re all breathing.” Flynn smoothly banked the aircraft in an arc to the left. “Now, to business. What about my fee?”
“Your fee!”
Frank inadvertently sprayed out the F. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“Dead serious. Let’s add it up.” Flynn began ticking off his fingers. “My time, fuel costs, wear and tear . . . oh and, let’s see . . . a thrilling escape. Besides, I cancelled a lucrative gig because you said this was urgent.”
“Whoa, whoa, cowboy. Aren’t you missing something?”
“How could I forget?” Flynn splayed his thumb in the final count. “Insurance!”
“No.” Frank mustered his dignity. “How about the fact that you owe me your life?”
“Look, I can still take you back to WB.”
“Flyyyn?” Frank drew out the sound of his name like a schoolteacher who had caught a kid misbehaving.
The pilot gave him a sidelong glance. “Okay, okay. But we’re square. Score settled. Done.” He eased the throttle back as they reached cruising altitude, reducing the howling of the engines to dull white noise. “So, what’s the deal? I know you’re in deep manure or you wouldn’t have called me. But why visit Sam?”
“We need one of his submersibles. It’s critical.”
“Submersible? What good’s that? You gonna hide at the bottom of the ocean?” Flynn snickered. “Anyway, why would Sam help? You two don’t even get along.”
Frank considered this. “He’s a bit of a peacock, I’ll grant you. But we get along great.”
Flynn lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows at Frank.
“No, I mean it. Yes, we argued all the time. Yelled even. But it was in the spirit of scientific debate on the most controversial theories in engineering. The constant sparring, jabs, and insults galvanized us to accomplish our most outstanding achievements. I can honestly say that without Sam, I wouldn’t have developed my environmental systems for the space fort. And I believe the feeling is mutual.”
“Wow. Didn’t suspect that.” Flynn nodded. “You know, I’d like to pop in on Sam. It’s been a while. ‘Sides, I need to lay low after smuggling you all out of WB.”
Destination Dealey: Countdown to the Kennedy Conspiracy Page 8