Chameleon (Corrosive Knights Book 3)

by E. R. Torre

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The passengers aboard the Little Charlie spent much of the trip back to Bad Penny in silence.

  The five soldiers from Bad Penny stole glances at General Spradlin and his two companions, their eyes searching for some hint as to why they were forced into this return trip. For his part, General Spradlin offered no clues, either verbal or physical. He sat straight back in his chair, his head up and his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. He scanned the passengers now and again, each time spending several long seconds on one or another. If the object of his gaze noted Spradlin’s stare, he looked away and began the process all over again with someone else.

  Sitting to Spradlin’s right was Dr. Evans. Unlike his partner, the older man kept his head down and didn’t seem to care much about what the other passengers were doing. If it wasn’t for the fact that his body was so rigid and neither slid nor shifted in his seat, one might think he was sleeping. The last of Spradlin’s men, Alan Robinson, sat next to Evans and beside a window. He stared out that window for much of the trip, his eye lids at times narrowing as if trying to see something in the distance. Considering the complete darkness outside, that was very unlikely.

  In the cockpit, Samantha and Frank worked the controls of the Little Charlie. After thirty minutes, the chopper was in the thick of the rapidly moving cold front. The rain and wind outside were strong and battered the helicopter from side to side. Samantha pushed the chopper’s speed with the hopes of eventually passing the front and building some distance between it and the chopper. She hoped to land in Bad Penny well before the front once again caught up with them.

  Samantha eased back in her seat. She could barely see the stars in the sky above or the deep darkness of the Atlantic Ocean below. She scratched her chin and turned her microphone on. She set it for private communication with her co-pilot.

  “You know General Spradlin?” she asked.

  “I’ve met him a few times,” Frank said.

  “Is he always this…intense?”

  “It’s in the nature of his job,” Frank replied. “But, yeah, every time I’ve seen him he’s exactly like this.”

  “When was the last time?”

  “A couple of years ago. He showed up at our base and needed transportation from point A to point B. It was all very hush-hush and right now.”

  “Where did you fly him?”

  A sly grin appeared on Frank’s face.

  “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  Samantha nodded and didn’t push. She wasn’t entirely sure if Frank was kidding.

  By 2300 hours, the southern edge of the front was just behind them. But it lingered behind them in hot pursuit. Heavy rain still splattered now and again against the Little Charlie’s windshields but Samantha found the chopper much easier to handle. Frank was on the computer, pulling up weather charts and muttering instructions and up to the minute data. Samantha clicked on the intercom.

  “We passed the edge of the front,” she told her passengers. “But we’ll slow down when we approach Bad Penny. The front will probably overtake us and things are going to get very interesting when we land. Take a moment and double check your seatbelts.”

  The level of tension in the passenger compartment, already high, soared. Alicia Cunningham, true to her word, turned very pale and showed advanced signs of air sickness. She held on tight to a sickness bag and kept her head down. Becky Waters put away her book and, like Howard Bartlett beside her, double checked to make sure her seatbelt was secure. She then patted Alicia on her back and offered to do the same for the newbie. Alicia accepted the help between gasps of air.

  “Don’t talk,” Becky said. “You’ll be fine. As soon as we get on the ground.”

  Dan Thompson followed suite, checking his belt and noting Jennie Light was pressed back into her seat. The blonde’s teeth were clenched. Perhaps she too, Thompson thought, might have a touch of air sickness. He turned from Jennie and looked down the length of the cabin. Alan Robinson continued to stare out his window, while Dr. Evans’ skin color was almost as pale as Alicia’s. Still, he didn’t look sick.

  General Spradlin, the last person seated in the row and nearest to the cockpit, removed his seat belt. He grabbed the overhead hand rail and got to his feet. He took a couple of steps and stopped at the cockpit’s entry.

  “How much longer?” he yelled. His voice just managed to pierce the maddening shriek of the helicopter’s engine.

  “We’ve got a little less than an hour left, General,” Frank replied.

  “Thank you,” Spradlin said. He returned to his seat.

  When he was gone, Frank activated his microphone.

  “You look hungry, Samantha,” he said. “How about some chili? Or maybe some yogurt?”

  Samantha’s lips curled into a sneer.

  “That sounds like a dare,” Samantha said. “Or at least the makings of a bet. How about it, Frank? That case of beer Lombardo owes you to whichever one of us doesn’t get sick on this flight.”

  “What if neither of us gets sick?”

  “Then we share, like you should have done to begin with,” Samantha said. “You wouldn’t have won your little bet without me in the first place.”

  “I wouldn’t have the bet at all if you were a little more punctual.”

  “Point taken.”

  “What if we both get sick?”

  “You might get sick,” Samantha said. “I won’t.”

  The Little Charlie suddenly banked to the right. Samantha held tight on the controls until the chopper leveled off. Frank smiled.

  “Stacking the odds in your favor?”

  “You know it,” Samantha said. She allowed the chopper to drift to the left, then right. Frank let out a laugh.

  “It occurs to me we made the wrong bet,” Frank said. “We should bet on which of our passengers makes it through this trip without hurling. We’re experienced pilots; we’re supposed to have stomachs of steel. The people back there may not appreciate this weather quite like we do.”

  “Loser cleans up the mess?”

  “There you go,” Frank said.

  “Winner gets the beer,” Samantha added.

  “Fine.”

  Samantha chuckled before shaking her head. The moment of levity was over, and her thoughts returned to General Spradlin.

  “So what did you say to the General back at Tortuga?”

  “Nothing much,” Frank replied.

  “You spent a pretty good amount of time talking to him. I’m assuming it wasn’t about the weather.”

  “No,” Frank said.

  Samantha shook her head.

  “Don’t tell me. If you say anymore—”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a heavy finality to the single word answer.

  Don’t ask any more questions.

  The front’s fringes, gorged with sharp gusts of wind and sheets of heavy rain, whipped around the Bad Penny military base. Ghostly trees, their forms barely visible in the night, swayed and lashed against each other. The only road leading through the military town was, with the exception of a single HUMVEE parked in the center of that road, deserted. Fluorescent lights flickered through random windows of buildings along the road, their illumination faint in the stormy night.

  The landing pad on the south end of the island, similarly, was not immune to the increasingly harsh weather. Palm trees danced wildly on the edges of the pad while rain splattered against the control tower’s windows.

  Inside this structure, metal shutters clanked as the winds increased. Radio equipment lined the other side of the room and from one of the speakers came the low hum of static. An ashtray loaded with cigarette butts sat beside the radio equipment. Smoke rose lazily from one of the butts.

  The sound of static increased, until it was like a whine of screeching metal. This sound was replaced by a distinctly human voice.

  “This is transport MT-1034,” Frank Masters said. “Do you read me, Bad Penny?”

  In the
hallway outside the room, a file cabinet lay overturned. Its contents, paper and navigational charts, were scattered across the floor. Mixed in with the papers were shards of broken glass.

  “I repeat, this is transport MT-1034. Do you read me Bad Penny?”

  The control room was alive with lights. They flashed and blinked, following a well-established routine. Below them, the loose sheets of paper, alone or bunched together, danced in the wind. When it momentarily died down, the paper’s dance was over and they settled back onto the floor.

  “Lombardo, are you there? Please respond.”

  A shadow flicked over the radio’s control panel. A muddy hand reached for the microphone.

  Aboard the Little Charlie, Frank and Samantha wondered why they weren’t getting a response from Bad Penny. Frank sighed and gave the radio another try.

  “I repeat, this is Transport MT-1034 calling Bad Penny. We are—”

  “MT-1034 this is Bad Penny. We read you loud and clear. Please proceed with landing protocol. Over.”

  “Lombardo? Is that you?” Samantha said.

  There was a long pause, punctuated by the crackling on the radio.

  “Affirmative.”

  “Where were you guys?” Samantha said. “Taking a nap?”

  More static.

  “We read you,” Lombardo said.

  “No one believes in working the night shift,” Samantha muttered.

  Frank smirked. He pressed the microphone button.

  “We're coming home earlier than expected, Lombardo,” Frank said. “Can't always get what you—”

  “We have you on radar and will see you soon,” Lombardo said.

  Samantha glanced at Frank. She leaned in close to his ear.

  “Something’s wrong,” she said. “More so than usual. Did someone kick Lombardo’s dog?”

  Samantha activated her microphone.

  “Hey, Lombardo. You remember your bet with Frank?” Samantha asked. “He’s coming for it.”

  “Bet?” Lombardo said after a long pause.

  “The beer, dummy,” Samantha replied. She frowned. “You don’t remem—”

  “Over and out.”

  The radio signal went dead.

  “Well, that didn’t help,” Samantha said.

  “You know Lombardo,” Frank said. “He really hates paying off debts. Especially when they involve large quantities of liquor.”

  “I suppose.”

  Though she said nothing more, Lombardo’s reply rattled Samantha. Instead of talking to an old friend, she felt like she was talking to a total stranger. She stared forward, into the darkness of the night, and wondered exactly what she would find back at Bad Penny.

  As she pondered that question, Frank eased into his seat and, very casually, thrust his left hand into his jacket pocket. Samantha did not notice his movements. Just as casually, Frank removed his hand from the pocket. In it was a small black remote control device. On the device were two buttons, one red and one black.

  Frank eyed the device for a few seconds. Finally, he pressed the black button. He then placed the control on the counter where Samantha couldn’t see it.

  He made sure to keep his fingers as far away from the red button as possible.

  In the passenger compartment, General Spradlin stretched. He looked down at his belt and a small black beeper clipped on it. The beeper was vibrating. General Spradlin pressed a button on it and the vibrations stopped. He casually eyed the passengers and removed his headset before turning to Doctor Evans and motioning for him to do the same.

  Doctor Evans complied and General Spradlin leaned in to whisper something into the elderly man’s ear.

  Almost all the passengers paid little attention to General Spradlin’s actions. Even under the unusual circumstances they found themselves in, there seemed nothing untoward about the General talking to one of his partners.

  But one of the passengers, Becky Waters, watched with interest as General Spradlin whispered to his elderly partner. She watched General Spradlin’s lips, catching the movements and forming the words he was speaking in her mind. As she did, her eyes opened wide. When General Spradlin was done talking, she had to force herself to look away.

  She had to force herself not to shake.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The wind and rain were growing in fury around the Seahawk. Samantha and Frank fought hard against increasingly sluggish controls. The front had once again caught up with them as they slowed for their approach into Bad Penny.

  “Winds are coming from the west,” Samantha said as she adjusted to the latest burst. “I'm bringing her around.”

  “Yeah,” Frank replied. His left hand held down the two-button remote control. He glanced at it, for only a second, to make sure his fingers weren’t anywhere near the red button. He frowned before unbuckling his seat belt and getting to his feet.

  “What are you doing?” Samantha asked.

  “Got a cramp,” he muttered and stretched. He rubbed his leg with his free hand.

  “Great timing,” Samantha yelled.

  “It’s a skill,” Frank said.

  “I could use a hand here.”

  “That sounds mildly perverse,” Frank replied. “I have the greatest faith in your piloting skills, Captain Aron.”

  Samantha shook her head. Her eyes returned to the weather display. She pressed down on the intercom button.

  “Passengers, this is your pilot. I know I’m starting to sound like your mother –at least to those who have a mother– but if you haven’t done so already, please make sure you're buckled in real tight. This stuff is only going to get worse.”

  Samantha shut off the intercom.

  “That goes for you, too, Frank. Get back to your seat.”

  Frank did as told. He laid his small remote unit back on the control paneling. A burst of lightning flooded the cockpit and was followed by a thunderous crack. The passengers gasped as the helicopter veered wildly to the right.

  Samantha swore as she fought the sluggish controls. It took several seconds for her to level out the chopper.

  “Call Bad Penny,” Samantha said. “Tell them we’re coming in as fast as we can.”

  Frank hit a switch.

  “This is MT-1034 calling Bad Penny,” Frank spoke into his microphone. “We are on final approach, coming in from the northwest side of island.” Frank’s eyes returned to the remote unit. He tensed. “Eta for landing is eight minutes. I repeat, eight minutes. Over.”

  Frank and Samantha waited for a response. None came.

  “I repeat,” Frank said. “This is MT-1034. We are on approach from the northwest side of the island. Eta for landing is eight minutes. Please acknowledge.”

  Again there was no response.

  “Don’t know why I bothered getting out of bed today,” Samantha muttered. She pressed her microphone button.

  “Bad Penny, this is MT-1034,” she said. “Do you read me, Lombardo? Where the hell are you?”

  As with the previous calls, there came no reply. Another burst of lightning, this one from farther away, illuminated the cabin. The helicopter lurched forward.

  “What the hell is wrong with those guys?” Samantha said.

  “I wish I knew,” Frank replied.

  “If this is their idea of a practical joke, it’s not fucking funny.”

  Samantha slammed down on the radio button.

  “When this is over,” she said. “I’m having a real heart to heart with Lombardo and the rest of those boys.”

  She shook her head and focused on her controls.

  “At least we’re nearly home,” Frank said.

  He saw the fringes of the coast of Bad Penny in the near distance. In seconds the Little Charlie would be over land. Frank’s thumb hovered over the red button of the remote control. He knew what he had to do when they reached the coast.

  Frank’s thumb now rested on the red button. A simple push and it would happen.

  Rain splattered against the windows, streakin
g down and away. More lightning followed.

  The coast was very close now. Very close.

  Frank braced himself. There was another burst of lightning, followed by another crash of thunder. Frank rubbed his thumb along the edges of the red button. They were almost over the coast. Almost. Almost.

  Now.

  Frank closed his eyes tight and pressed down on the button. In that very instant, another loud crash filled the body of the helicopter. The craft shuddered and lights flickered across the instrument panel. The helicopter lurched forward into a steep descent.

  Frank flew out of his chair. He hadn’t replaced his seat belt after stretching. His right knee slammed against the chopper’s control panel. There was a ghastly crunching sound and Frank screamed in pain. The two-button remote slid from his hand and fell to the floor.

  Frank grabbed his injured knee. Blood poured out of the wound.

  “We’ve been hit!” Samantha yelled. If she noticed her partner’s injury, she didn’t dwell on it. Instead, her complete attention was on regaining control of the craft. It was falling. Fast. She switched on the radio.

  “Emergency,” she yelled. “This is the MT-1034. We’re going down! We’re going down!”

  The helicopter fell at a steep angle. In the passenger compartment, the passengers grabbed their loose possessions. Some screamed, one cried. Complete panic enveloped the area. All save for General Spradlin and his men, who held on tight to their hand rest and gritted their teeth.

  In the cockpit, Samantha pulled at the yoke.

  “Answer me, Bad Penny!” she yelled. “Goddamned lightning hit us!”

  As before, there was no response.

  “Fuck you too, Lombardo,” she spat. She hit the intercom button. “All passengers, brace for impact. We’re going down.”

  The helicopter swayed violently in the heavy rain. Thick smoke flowed from near the helicopter’s rear rotors. More flashes of lightning burst around the wounded craft. Her angle of descent, however, leveled.

  Samantha felt a trickle of blood in her mouth. She wiped it away.

  “Better,” she muttered, pleased to have regained some control of her craft. She again hit the radio switch. “This is MT-1034,” she said. “Mayday, Mayday! We're going down, northwest corner of Bad Penny. Anybody, Mayday!”