Flying Monkeys [Drunk Monkeys 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Tymber Dalton

  “So Florida, here we come,” he announced, his focus on Kyong. “I suspect we’re going to need at least one refueling stop between here and there. I’ll get with Bubba and arrange that.”

  “Where?”

  “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

  “I’ll kind of need to know the coordinates so I can plan.”

  “You’ll have them, don’t worry. Filing a flight plan for this trip won’t be an issue.”

  “Are we flying into a base in Florida?”

  “Not at first, no.”

  “So where the hell am I supposed to land the Panda if we’re trying to keep this a secret mission?” she asked. “I can’t just drop that bird onto some backyard landing strip or cow pasture. It’s forgiving, but not that forgiving. I need a level surface. And it doesn’t stop on a dime. Also, turning it around is an issue if I don’t have the space. Not like you can call AAA to come tow your cargo plane out of a ditch.”

  Papa turned to Uni. “Would you like to do the honors?”

  The man looked like he was about ready to pop a gasket. His grin broadened. “You’ll have Victor, Zed, and Echo as your flight crew, obviously.”

  She felt a little pang that Foxtrot and Kilo weren’t included in that official crew manifest, but she didn’t interrupt him.

  “I’ve got you miles and miles of landing strip,” Uni said. “Perfectly straight, and in the middle of nowhere. You’re going to land, we’ll offload the RV, personnel, and our stuff, and boogie to our next hideout. Meanwhile, you’ll lift off again. Won’t even have to turn around.”

  “Lift off for where?”

  “Ft. Myers,” he said, pointing at the map. “The old international airport there. No landing lights, but the runway is still intact and you’ll be hitting it during daytime. General aviation use now, but it was built to handle heavies, back when it was still functioning as an international airport.”

  “And then…what? We just leave her there unguarded?” That thought rankled Kyong to her core. Three good people died. She didn’t want the plane to sit and rot.

  Not when it was all she had left of them.

  “No, you refuel there,” Papa said. “Not a full load, just enough. You’ll turn around and fly up to MacDill and park her. She’s been listed as scheduled for a full overhaul, with maintenance and mods. Kilo will drive and pick you all up from there.”

  Something possessive flared deep inside her. No, technically the Panda was the property of the US Military.

  But she was still her bird.

  “Why? She doesn’t need it. She’s sound. She got me here, didn’t she?”

  “There are some modifications we need made to her,” Papa said. “On the books, it’s going to be run through as an official job, direct orders from General Arliss. The mods should only take a couple of weeks and then you can pick her up again.”

  She tamped down on her anger. “She’s still our bird?”

  “She’s still our bird,” Papa assured her. “Arliss is working on the paperwork now. He’s still not sure if there are any other moles he needs to worry about. But because of his history with Mal, he made it look, officially, at least, like he pulled in an orphaned pilot and assigned you to a logistics division down there.”

  “Let me guess, something that only exists on paper.”

  “As of about twelve hours ago,” Papa confirmed. “Congratulations.” He smiled. “The mods will happen. Newer engines, better avionics, some improvements to the airframe and interior. If we need to bug out of Florida, we can load up the mobile lab and head out. But on paper she looks legit, meaning you can stop anywhere for refueling and you won’t have to answer any uncomfortable questions.”

  “You still haven’t told me where I’m landing to drop all of you off,” she reminded Uni.

  The man nearly giggled as he zoomed on in the map displayed on the tablet. “Alligator Alley,” he said. “This strip of I-75 is flat, there aren’t any light poles to interfere with the wings, and it’s wide enough for a landing. Nothing but sawgrass flats on either side.”

  She stared at him for a moment, shocked into silence. “You saying you want me to land a C-160 Zeus on a farking road?”

  “Not a road, an Interstate highway,” Uni said, looking a little less sure of himself now. “Bubba went over it with a fine-toothed comb on sat pics. Even sent a drone over it. It’s perfect. It’s wide enough.”

  “You can’t do it?” Papa asked, looking concerned.

  She snorted. “Oh, I can thread that needle, I was just confirming you all are as farking crazy as I thought you were.”

  “Crazier,” Foxtrot assured her.

  “Much crazier,” Kilo agreed.

  * * * *

  Even crazier, the old municipal airport in Venice, to the north of their new hideout on a barrier island just west of Cape Coral, was still in service. Including two runways that were plenty long enough to launch and land the Panda, and with fuel to service it. Once the mods were finished at MacDill, she’d pick up the Panda and fly her there. And she’d pick up a small Derring 82X, which could take off and land on water or terra firma and carry up to eight passengers and some cargo. It’d be their go-to fast transport to and from their island to Venice, putting some safe but still workable distance between their hideout and their airborne lifeline.

  And, as she thought about it, she realized it was probably the best idea she’d ever heard.

  They could still move things back and forth to their new hideout by boat or vehicle, depending on the tides, a barrier island that was a former NOAA scientific research station decommissioned a few years earlier after budget cuts. Over a century ago it had been populated with high-dollar homes, until a hurricane came through and wiped them off the land. The government claimed eminent domain, forcibly bought out all the homes to keep from having to pay repeated FEMA claims and litigate lawsuits against insurance companies, and deemed it federal recreation land. Once the science station was built, which had also been used as a black ops base for missions in the Caribbean, access to the island had been restricted to personnel only.

  If it looked like things were getting dicey and their location might be compromised, Kyong could grab the Panda, meet them at the Ft. Myers airport, and then take off hot and heavy from there to several intermediate hideaways in Florida and Georgia. From decommissioned bases, to abandoned or barely used airstrips, to black ops stations that the locals didn’t even know were there, the Panda’s ability to take off and land on less than perfectly groomed airstrips, much like its ancestor, the old C-130, meant they’d have a lot more freedom of movement.

  Hopefully, this would be the unit’s last group move for a while. They could run missions from their new home base without risking giving away their position. With winter setting in, they’d be better off in Florida than anywhere else in the lower forty-eight. And they wouldn’t have to worry about hurricanes until next summer, if the current weather trends held steady.

  “This is going to be a lot of farking work,” she muttered, apparently not as much under her breath as she’d intended.

  Omega laughed out loud. “This ain’t nothing. We’ve done more complicated stuff in our sleep and half drunk.”

  “Or even completely drunk,” Echo added.

  Sharon, a civvie friend of Chief’s who’d tagged along with them to get out of California, spoke up. “I’ve got a niece in Orlando. I know you don’t need extra weight dragging you guys down. If you don’t mind, I’ll part ways with you all when we get there.”

  Chief started to speak up, but Sharon quieted her. “I’m an old woman,” she said. “The only reason I hadn’t retired yet was boredom, and I needed the money. I’m ready to settle down. Last year after the anthrax attack, she’d said I could come move in with her if I wanted to get away from California. At the time, I said no. Maybe it’s time I take her up on it.”

  Another guy, Mike, who’d been one of Chief’s deputies, raised his hand like a kid in a classroom. He was young,
barely out of the police academy when everything went to hell in California. Kyong had noticed his main job seemed to be standing watch in the garage during the daytime.

  Papa nodded to him, amusement on his face. “Yes?”

  “I’m not military. I’ll pull my weight while I’m here, but if it’s all the same to you guys, I’d rather end my ride in Florida, too. I have some family around Tampa. I…I would have left California last year after the anthrax attacks, but I couldn’t afford it. I only took the job with the department because I needed one. I didn’t really want to be a cop.”

  “Fair enough,” Papa said. “No one here will judge you for that, and we appreciate your help so far.”

  Kyong wondered if Mal ever thought about retiring and realized if he had connections with General Arliss, he probably didn’t need to worry about his future. If the man wanted to change posts, he’d probably be relocated by the end of the next day, if not sooner.

  “So that trims things a little,” Papa said to Omega. “You, Kilo, and Uni go on ahead and prepare things down there.”

  “What’s our timeframe?” Omega asked.

  “ASAP. I want to shut this operation down and be moved out in seven days or sooner. With things getting dicey, and medical supplies an issue, I don’t want to risk hanging around and getting caught here like we did in California. The situation is too fluid, and we’re too top-heavy now to be able to bug-out on a moment’s notice. Especially from here. Lima, get Bubba on the horn and arrange immediate transport for them from McChord to where they need to go.”

  The man stood. “Roger roger.” He left the room.

  Omega indicated Sharon and Mike. “I’ll get them a vehicle and have it ready when everyone else lands. They can load up and drive away from there and head to their parts unknown.”

  “Make sure we get them hooked up with Bubba, too, so he can take care of them.”

  “Roger roger.”

  Sharon clapped Mike on the shoulder. “My niece is young, single, and not bad looking,” she teased. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you hanging out for a few days…or longer.”

  He blushed. “I’m going to need to find a new job.”

  “All the more reason to stick with me, kid,” the older woman said, hooking an arm through his. “Don’t worry. We’ll get through this.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mike said to Chief. “I feel like I’m letting you down.”

  Kyong watched as the woman hugged the guy. “Hey, you did great. You were there when we really needed you the most, you helped hold things together, and you’ve been honest. I can’t ask for more than that. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  If Kyong hadn’t already respected the woman, that would have cemented it. Kyong could tell the kid—and that’s basically what he was—didn’t have the constitution for what they were doing. Not that she was much better, but as a pilot and career officer, she had training to get her through the white-knuckle times, both in the air and on the ground.

  He was better off somewhere safe, out of harm’s way, and not in a position to be a liability to them at some future time.

  “I guess that means I need to prep the Panda to fly a long-haul,” she said.

  “You also need to wrap up training your new crew,” Papa said. “You all have your orders. Prepare to leave ASAP, just in case. But if everything goes according to plan, we’ll leave here a week from today.”

  Kilo wrapped his arms around Kyong from behind. “Guess if I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said, “I should make good use of my time tonight since Foxtrot will get to bogart you all week.”

  “Hey,” Foxtrot complained. “You were the one who suggested Florida.

  “Oh,” Papa said. “Captain Tran, a moment alone, please.”

  She pulled away from her men, leaving them standing there in the dining room as she followed Papa into the room that was doing double-duty as his office and his shared quarters with Alpha.

  They were alone.

  “Close the door,” he said.

  She did.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Alone in the office with Papa, she waited for him to speak.

  He finally drew in a long breath. “There’s no easy way to say this, so as officer to officer, I’m just going to say it. Bubba got back to me with information about your brother’s death.”

  She was glad there was a chair along the wall, because she pretty much fell into it. “And?”

  “We’d learned about what’s going on in New York while we were in Colima,” he said “Kite drug deaths being listed as ‘heroin-beta overdoses’ to keep it out of the press.”

  “So he wasn’t a heroin junkie.” Sadness and relief and a bit of vindication swept through her. “I don’t understand why he’d be on Kite, though. He wasn’t doing drugs.”

  “Well, it looks like your brother might have been using a low-cost health clinic that popped up for a few weeks in Manhattan, associated with…”

  She looked up and realized he was waiting for her to fill in the blank. “The Church of the Rising Sunset?”

  He touched his nose.

  “They got him hooked on it.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. “I knew it,” she said. “I knew he wasn’t a junkie.”

  Part of her wanted to cry. Part of her wanted to laugh.

  The rest of her wanted to scream and cut to the head of the “Kill Hannibal Silo” line so she could rip the fucker limb from limb.

  She finally opened her eyes again. “I don’t understand how he got on that damn stuff. He wasn’t a junkie. I know he wasn’t.”

  “Bubba’s still trying to find records for us,” Papa said. “But it’s highly addictive. They might have told him it was medicine, vitamins, anything. Whatever they needed to tell him. Looks like New York was one of their first guinea pig sites for Kite the drug before they set up the Los Angles Preachsearch Project.”

  “Which we still can’t officially tie directly back to Silo, can we?”

  “Actually, we can. We have more than enough circumstantial evidence to make it clear in my mind. Would it convince a jury?” He seemed to consider it. “Depends on how good his lawyers are, but I’d say probably.”

  “Probably pretty good lawyers.”

  “Yeah, but it’s compelling evidence.”

  “Please tell Bubba thank you,” she said, dragging herself to her feet. “I appreciate it.”

  “Sorry I didn’t have better news for you.”

  “No, at least it’s better than the version I was given.”

  When she opened the door, Kilo and Foxtrot were hovering just outside, waiting for her. Part of her wanted to laugh, the other part wanted to cry.

  They didn’t pester her for information. She’d give them credit for that. She waited until they were behind the safely closed door of their quarters to reveal to them what Papa had said.

  Sitting on the bedroll, she started pulling off her boots. “I really want to drop a nuke on top of that fucker,” she muttered.

  “I guess you mean Silo?” Kilo asked.

  He wore a cute smirk. “Not Papa,” she said.

  “Take a number,” Foxtrot said. “I think we all want a piece of that guy now.”

  “The deeper we dig,” Kilo said, “the more shit we find. Just when I think the guy’s plumbed the depths of being an asshole, we discover something else.”

  She flopped back on the bedroll. “What possesses a human being to come up with these kinds of schemes? Seriously, can’t we develop some sort of personality test and take them out of the gene pool before they reach adulthood?”

  “Let’s just hope the eggheads develop a broad-spectrum vaccine for Kite,” Foxtrot said. “Or else survival of the fittest might become the law of the world in a very short time.”

  Kilo stretched out next to her. “Need some mental distraction?”

  She reached up and stroked his rugged jaw, evening stubble coarsely rasping against her fingers. His blue gaze pierced through her, appare
ntly seeing things she didn’t even know about herself. How else could she explain how either of them had worked their way inside her heart?

  She tipped her head back so she could look into Foxtrot’s face. He’d settled on the other side of her on the bedroll. Dark brown eyes, his skin lickable caramel, salty sweet. The three of them were a study in contrasts in multiple ways. Physically, emotionally, and professionally.

  Foxtrot grinned. “I can beg you to order us to ravish you…ma’am.”

  She rolled over, planting a splayed hand in the middle of his chest. Catching him off guard, she was able to shove him down onto the bedroll and swing one leg over him, straddling him.

  She poked him in the chest. “Do…not…call…me…ma’am.”

  His grin broadened. “Yes…sir?”

  He laughed as he caught her wrists when she tried to pummel him. “Hey, Kilo, help me out here, buddy.”

  Of course she wasn’t seriously trying to beat him. But it felt good to hear somebody laugh for a change. Too damn long since that had happened.

  Kilo let out a melodramatic sigh and sat up, straddling Foxtrot’s legs and settling behind her, wrapping his arms around her and grabbing her wrists. As he pulled her arms back, stretching her out against his body, Foxtrot started unbuttoning her shirt.

  Kilo nuzzled his face against the side of her neck, his lips by her ear. “I’m going to miss you while I’m gone.”

  All the fight, even the playful fight, drained out of her. She pressed her back against his chest, tipping her face to his. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

  He kissed her while Foxtrot continued unbuttoning her shirt, pulling the tails from her trousers and lifting her undershirt. Tomorrow it would just be her and Foxtrot, and her focus would be on trying to finish getting her new crew up to speed on the Panda while prepping it for the journey.

  Tonight, for a few more hours at least, she could sink into a delicious deniability that there wasn’t a real and deadly world out there, one which could forever rip them apart without notice.