Call of Duty [Class of '93 Trilogy Book 3]

by Felicia Forella

  But Ramos and fuck-ups had gone and changed the rules when they took Casey hostage. They'd better be treating her well. If she so much as broke a nail, he make them suffer.

  Just when Chad thought he'd lose his mind if he had to spend any more time farting around, Fudge entered the room, fresh from being “detained” by a bogus assignment from the general. He cast a cursory glance at Chad, then proceeded to dress. The g-suit for the JSF was marginally different from the traditional one, but Chad was prepared for that. Listening closely, he heard what sounded like Fudge strapping into his g-suit. Now was the time to make his move. He removed a syringe from behind his helmet bag and approached his fellow pilot. Stealth was the ultimate requirement. If Fudge heard him coming, he'd be forced to hurt him when all he wanted to do was render him unconscious for a couple of hours.

  With speed and finesse, he grabbed the other pilot from behind and immobilized him long enough to jab the needle in his neck. The rapid-acting anesthesia did its job and the man slumped in his arms. Chad quickly stripped his g-suit and stepped into it. Grasping him under the arms, he dragged Fudge into a closet and closed the door. There was no need to tie him up or lock him in since he'd be out cold long enough for the JSF to leave US air space. He snatched up Fudge's helmet bag and headed to the back door.

  Next stop—the fighter. The driver of the transportation van saluted Chad as he boarded and turned in the direction of the lone F-15 Eagle on the tarmac before being directed to head out to the JSF. If the young enlisted man found anything unusual about the request, he kept it to himself, his face remained neutral. Climbing down from the vehicle, he returned the salute and hoped the kid didn't get in too much trouble.

  All of the men he came into contact with would find themselves under intense scrutiny because of his actions. He'd owe them all a round when he returned.

  The airman guarding the plane and the crew chief snapped to attention at his arrival. They had better damn well question his presence on this section of the flight line. Both men snapped a salute, looking at each other with curious looks on their faces.

  "Where is Major Packer, sir?” The crew chief spoke up first.

  "He came down with something and is unable to fly.” When lying, stick as close to the truth as possible.

  Neither man looked like they quite believed him, but weren't prepared to confront an officer. “Are you familiar with this aircraft, sir?"

  Translation—do you know how to fly a plan worth almost one hundred million dollars?

  "I have simulator time, yes. So the decision was made by the powers that be that I would take this jet up tonight.” Almost the truth. He'd never set foot in the simulator. Climbing the ladder and settling into the cockpit, he surveyed the environment. Similar enough to the Eagle. The experience would be like driving a new car. Everything necessary for a successful trip was there, just not where it was expected. If he kept it simple, he'd be okay—push stick up, plane go up; push stick down, plane go down.

  He pulled on his skull cap and then removed his helmet from the bag. Holy fucking shit. The damn thing was ugly enough to give small children nightmares. He'd look like a giant bug with that thing on his head. He'd learned that the jet didn't have a head's up display at the front of the cockpit, and the information was actually transmitted to the inside of the helmet, but shit. Did they have to make it so hideous?

  As the crew chief attached him to the fighter and ensured safety, Chad tugged on his flight gloves. He drew several deep breaths before he attached the oxygen mask to the side of his helmet. He gave the thumbs up signal as the canopy lowered into place. His first instrument check was to ensure that it had sealed, something very basic but so vital.

  The air traffic controller's disembodied voice came over the headset, checking in on Lightning One. The conversation continued back and forth as he received instructions and clearance to taxi to the active runway. As he'd hoped, he'd delayed his arrival on the flight line long enough that the other planes were already airborne and on their way to play.

  Then the clearance came, “Lightning One you are cleared to take off.” He throttled up the jet and accelerated down the runway.

  For the first time since he'd held his newborn son in his arms, he prayed.

  * * * *

  Casey's brain pounded in her head; her eyes closed shut in a futile effort to hold back the pain. The last thing she remembered, she'd been standing in the hospital, talking with a young woman who'd been waiting for her. This had to be the worst migraine she'd ever had. Ever. It felt like an entire cast of showgirls tap danced in her head. Maybe if she managed to sit up, she'd be able to crawl to her purse for her medication.

  The room swayed as she moved. Then she realized she hadn't moved, the room had. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead.

  "It is nice of you to wake up, Señorita Wilkes. I did not think you would sleep for so long."

  That voice, she recognized it as it pierced through the fog. It belonged to the young woman.

  "Please forgive me, I have a horrible headache. I'm afraid you'll need to come back another time."

  "The drug sometimes has that side effect. Once you are able to sit up and drink some water, you will feel better."

  Drug? Casey realized the roar in her ears wasn't from her splitting headache. It was plane engines. What the hell is going on? Hoping the woman was right, she forced herself to sit up and open her eyes. Nothing about the small confined space was familiar. “Where am I?"

  "You are an esteemed guest of the Ramos family. We are returning to Cancuen, my homeland."

  "I'm afraid I don't understand.” The cabin spun with every attempt to keep her eyes open.

  "All you need to know, Señorita, is that you will be remaining in Cancuen until Major Monroe delivers the fighter jet he's promised and we've paid him for."

  She'd been confused before the other woman started talking, now she was just beyond befuddled. As far as she could tell, she was sitting on a private plane bound for a tiny Latin American country. She had no idea why. Oh, sure, the crazy lady had said something about Chad stealing a multi-million dollar jet for them, not that she believed her. He wasn't perfect, but it was a huge jump from not telling her about his deceased wife and child to betraying his country.

  A cold water bottle was pressed into her hand. She tilted back her head as far as possible and gulped the refreshing liquid. It gave her an excuse to remain quiet. To gather her thoughts over the jackhammer in her head.

  Jackson. Oh, my God, Jackson. They'd call her father if she didn't pick him up from preschool. He'd worry, he'd call the police. He didn't need the extra stress on top of what he was probably already under.

  "I need to go home. I have a son, I have responsibilities."

  "You will be allowed to go home as soon as your Major Monroe fulfills his part of our agreement."

  Peeking through squinted eyelids, Casey watched as the young woman sat there, looking smug. Casey wanted nothing more than to knock that smirk right off her face. She wanted to argue, to rail, but her head kept her from doing much of anything.

  What the hell is going on here?

  "Please relax and make yourself comfortable, Señorita. We will be arriving in Cancuen in approximately four hours."

  Four hours. Relax? When each second they covered hundreds of feet that took her farther and farther from her son, down an unknown path. Her cell phone. If she could sneak to the bathroom...

  "May I have my purse, please? I have medication in there I need to take."

  "I am afraid I did not bring your purse."

  "But...” Such hope to be dashed so quickly.

  "You have no need of it, so I left it."

  Desolate, she turned to the window and rested her forehead against the cool pane. They were up too high to see anything besides clouds and sunshine. Not that she'd have a clue where she was even if she saw the ground.

  The only thing she knew for sure was that, despite the other woman's soft voice and attrac
tive face, she'd been kidnapped by an evil woman.

  But why?

  * * * *

  The call had come from the preschool, he'd known it would. When Casey didn't arrive on time to pick up Jackson and the staff hadn't been able to reach her on her cell phone, they'd called him. So now he was entertaining his grandson in his office. Not exactly standard operating procedure for him. One of his pilots, with kids Jackson's age at home, had run and grabbed some videos and snacks.

  When the little guy started to get anxious and ask questions about his mother, he'd told Jackson she got called out of town for a couple of days, so he'd be staying with Grandpa and Jan until she returned.

  God help them both if something happened to her.

  Now Jackson lay curled up on a chair, sound asleep. He knew he needed to call Jan, but he couldn't bring himself to let go of the boy, of that little piece of his daughter.

  "General?” The soft voice startled him.

  "Major Dalton-Greene. How may I help you? It's late for you to still be here, isn't it?” It had been two hours since Monroe took off in the JSF. Two long hours. The alarm was bound to sound soon. By now, he had a head start and was out of US air space. Latin America's lack of coordinated air traffic control worked in his favor as well. With any luck, he'd be landing before anyone even figured out what direction he'd taken.

  "Sir, I'm afraid we have a problem."

  Soon had arrived sooner than he'd expected. “What would that be, Major?"

  "Major Packer was found in a closet, unconscious, by one of the janitorial staff."

  "Any idea what happened?” He deserved to win an Oscar when this shit was all behind them.

  "No, sir, not yet. He's been transported to the hospital."

  "Please keep me updated.” He waited for her to leave. She didn't. “Yes?"

  "Sir, Major Monroe was the last one seen with him."

  "And?"

  "No one is able to locate him. My preliminary investigation has revealed that he took off in the JSF instead of his Eagle. The transponder has been turned off and he's not participating in any of the exercises."

  "Anyone actually see him take off in the JSF?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I want to see them immediately."

  "Yes, sir.” She finally walked away.

  And so the game begins.

  He'd have been nervous if Monroe's life were the only one on the line. He'd have been nervous because this group had to be stopped before they turned into another Al Qaeda. Damn politicians had sat on their fat asses and allowed Bin Laden to happen even though the military had warned them again and again. At least they learned their lessons.

  But now that his daughter had been dragged into this, he was fucking petrified.

  He'd held it together through Mary's death, just barely. If he lost Casey, they'd have to commit him.

  The only comfort available to him was Monroe. He hadn't come right out and said he loved Casey, but it was only a matter of time since he wanted to marry her. He'd straighten the Amazon River to keep her safe and bring her home. He had to. All would not be right with the world until they both came home.

  * * * *

  Casey stared out the window as the plane landed, but the dark sky and the even darker landscape revealed nothing. Few lights dotted the runway, leading her to believe they were touching down at a private airstrip rather than a commercial airport. None of which helped her get home. She'd even clicked her heels together and whispered, “There's no place like home,” three times. Apparently, that only worked for Dorothy.

  Her companion had finally introduced herself as Luz Ramos, as if that was supposed to mean something. As soon as the jet taxied to a stop, Luz walked to the front of the aircraft and opened the door. Gesturing to Casey, it was obvious the time had arrived to leave the plane. When she reached the door, the moisture-laden air made breathing difficult. She'd heard of tension being so thick it could be cut with a knife, but never the air itself.

  Poised at the bottom of the steps, two large men with even larger guns waited. They were redundant. She was not stupid enough to try to run in the dead of night in a strange country. No one had ever accused her of having a death wish. Summoning a bravado she didn't feel, she marched down the steps. Straight into the barrel of one of those nasty-looking guns.

  So much for the balls she'd grown. She took a backward step and tripped on the stair. Landing on her butt was a humbling minute. Luz came behind her and offered a hand. Casey refused the assistance, pushing to her feet and brushing off her offended bottom. Once steady, she stepped onto a tarmac illuminated only by the glare from a set of bright headlights. Definitely a private airstrip.

  Luz pushed past her and gestured for everyone to follow her. The armed goons brought up the rear, the barrel of their weapons jabbing at Casey's back. Where the hell did they think she would go? With no moon and no lights, she struggled just to see her feet. That kind of ruled out breaking free.

  She was shoved into the back of an SUV, with Luz climbing in the other door. The thugs climbed in the front.

  "Where are we going?"

  "The compound isn't far, less than a mile. But at night, it is necessary to drive."

  "Compound?"

  "Yes, my family home in my homeland. Welcome to Cancuen, Señorita."

  Well, at least she knew where she'd landed. Sort of. From what she remembered in news reports, Cancuen was roughly the size of Delaware. She still didn't know why she'd been dragged to this country. Oh, sure, Luz had told her that fantasy tale about Chad and a jet, but really, who'd believe that? He'd spent all of his adult life in service to the Air Force.

  She was jumping ahead of herself. Chad was in Las Vegas, he was probably finishing up a sortie after numerous “kills.” He'd go home, go to bed, and hopefully wonder why she hadn't called. How long would they keep her when he didn't show up? Oh, God. Will they kill me? Will Daddy ever know what happened? What would happen to Jackson?

  For the first time since she'd been told about her predicament, she actually hoped Chad would walk through the door.

  The compound, like everything else in this place, was enshrouded in darkness, preventing her from getting a look at her prison. Escorted inside by Goon One and Goon Two, the luxury of the place shocked her. It looked like a mansion out of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.

  Her personal bodyguards followed Luz as they all made their way down a hall with spotless tile floors and gleaming white walls. After a couple of twists and turns, Luz stopped in front of a door and gestured for Casey to enter. The well-appointed room was hers, her captor informed her, for as long as she was a guest in this place. Guest. Yeah, right, if she was a guest she'd ... well, she didn't know what she'd do. Her thoughts spun and her mind whirled. She was too tired to think, and despite all the sleep on the plane, she still felt the effects of whatever drug she'd been given.

  With a parting comment, Luz told her that she'd have a dinner tray delivered and that Casey should make herself comfortable. She then spoke to Goon One and Goon Two. Casey knew enough Spanish to understand the guards were a permanent fixture at her door. There was a surprise.

  Too wired to do much more than prowl, she paced the confines of her room. Confines? Ha! The room was bigger than her entire apartment and lushly decorated in shades of light blue, white, and gold. Under different circumstances, she'd probably admire her surroundings. The decorative bars on the windows reinforced her captivity. At least she had a private bathroom and didn't have to go ask permission from one of her goons.

  Her thoughts bounced back and forth like the balls Jackson loved. Chad wasn't coming. If he showed up here, it meant he was something far worse than the typical fighter jock she'd pegged him as initially. It meant he was in league with these people and anyone who'd steal a United States military fighter jet was not exactly Switzerland-neutral. That meant he was a...

  No, she wasn't going there.

  But what if he doesn't come? What will these people do to me? They
might have money but they also carried big guns. If they didn't get what they expected, would they take it out on me? No, she wasn't going there either.

  Shit.

  How the hell had she ended up here?

  She flopped back on the soft cotton bedspread and watched the large ceiling fans spin oh-so-slowly. She attempted to focus on nothing but the circular movement, anything to shut off her mind. Options A and B both sucked but she'd be damned if an Option C came to her. She'd seen Chad with his fellow squadron members; she'd watched him when he didn't know she was watching him. The man bled Air Force Blue. She'd never believe that crazy bitch Luz. No man was that good an actor. So where did that leave her?

  When a loud knock sounded at the door, her heart skipped several beats and she all but jumped off the bed. Goon Two entered holding a tray with food and a pitcher of water. She slapped a hand over her stomach when it growled at the sight. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until just now. Not a big surprise, considering she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and it was now after seven according to her watch.

  Sitting down at the small bistro-style table where Goon Two set lunch, she eyed up the platter of meat, cheese, and fresh fruit. She briefly wondered if they'd drugged her food before her stomach sent up a chorus of painful grumbles, reminding her that it didn't care, it just needed nourishment. She poked around at the chunks of meat that resembled chicken. Too hungry to care, she took a bite, hoping and praying that whatever it was, it at least tasted like chicken. Before she realized it, she'd finished everything on the platter except the kiwi and drank half the pitcher of water. She'd most likely have a wicked case of Montezuma's Revenge, but she was probably going to die anyway, so what did it matter?