Test Pilot's Daughter II: Dead Reckoning

by Ward, Steve

“But how. . .”

  “I don’t know. You can ask him when you thank him for saving your ass. The good news is, he was able to buy them off for twenty-five million. He set up the release, and the Director asked me to bring in your friends to help with rehab in a secret location.”

  “So, where are we?”

  “Memphis. We’re in a four bedroom apartment in a high-rise. Billy and Heather are here too. We’ve been doing shifts waiting for you to come around. The CIA assures us this location is secure.”

  Her mind started to drift, thoughts spinning into a mysterious blur. She was having great difficulty concentrating. “Forget all the minutia, I’ll figure it out later, but what are we doing about the attack?”

  “My God, I just told you that.” He looked worried and put a hand on her forehead. “There’s a plan, all quite complex, of course, and the President needs your help. You’ve got three days to get yourself together, then we meet with the Director and Gleason. Why don’t you drink some more water then go back to sleep, you need to rest. You do need to see a shrink, but we’re not taking any chances, not letting anyone in or out.”

  She began to lose interest in his chatter as the morphine took control. “What about General Wallace?” barely a whisper.

  “That’s part of the problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Apparently there’s a whole group of renegade generals at the Pentagon trying to take advantage of the situation to pull off a coup. They want to declare Gleason incompetent and take over the government.”

  “Never happen,” she said as her eyelids drifted shut. She forced them open.

  “Don’t be so sure. I know it’s hard to believe, but the military has never been happy with Gleason. They want a huge preemptive strike, and he won’t go for it. Anyway, Wallace is their mole, or maybe I should say, gofer. The CIA knew he was up to something, but had no idea until I told them what he said to us in that conference room. The President wants your help to nail him.”

  “But how?”

  “Wants you to meet him, go in with a wire and CIA backing. They already have a meeting set. They told Wallace we got scared and hoofed it back to NASA. It was the President who sent in the SWAT team, Wallace knows nothing of it. As a matter of fact, Wallace asked the Director for another meeting with you.”

  “Oh goody. After what I’ve been through, I’m going to need a couple of years with a shrink before I’m gonna be able to help anyone.”

  “No time for that, too much at stake. You’ve got exactly three days, that’s all. There’s also a shuttle launch, and you and I are both on it. I don’t know all the details yet, but it’s part of the plan to counter nuclear strikes out of Tehran and Moscow.”

  “Hey wait a minute. Wallace surely knows we are aware of his plans. He told us himself.”

  “Yeah, it’s dangerous as hell, and I’m against it, but they need hard evidence.”

  She looked deeply into his eyes, “Michael, I am so sorry. . .you know, about those things I said. . .back in the cabin. I was feeling a little threatened and said some things I didn’t mean.”

  “Okay, I got my feelings hurt, but so what,” he said, misty-eyed. “It was nothing compared to what you’ve been through. I’m so sorry you were captured. But I am so goddam happy we got you out of there.”

  She choked, reached up to touch his hair and finally whispered, “When I was in that hellhole, I was thinking of you, the great time we had.”

  He looked down as he grasped her hand. Massaging the backs of her fingers tenderly he said, “Christina, I want you to know this. No matter what they did to you, no matter how much they screwed up your head, no matter how long it takes for you to get better. . .I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.”

  She smiled and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Hey sleepy head, wake up.” Heather came in with breakfast on a tray. Steam rose from a piping hot cup of coffee.

  Christina rubbed her eyes trying to remove the fog. When she focused on her friend, she had to laugh. Heather was decked out in a nurse’s uniform: short skirt, spiked heals and white blouse open at the top.

  “I see you’ve been shopping.”

  “You wouldn’t believe what I had to go through. You can’t get this stuff at Target, you know.”

  “So where’d you get the outfit?”

  “I had to go online to one of those, ‘please your husband’ sites. They got all kinds of uniforms from Catholic School plaid miniskirts to Tiger Lady cat-skin.”

  “You’re too much, Heather.” Christina laughed aloud. “You never fail to surprise me. So how does Billy like it?”

  “Just fine. . .won’t leave me alone,” she said with a grin.

  “That coffee smells fantastic. So, how long have I been out?” She hurt from head to toe, but it was so great to be alive and even better to be safe and pampered. Her pajamas were a knotted mess, so she sat up straight and smoothed out the wrinkles. As Heather leaned over the bed, Christina chuckled to herself, Looks like a housemaid in a porn movie.

  “Too long. You gotta get your act together. What do you think? Is this a resort or what? Honey, we got a bunch of ground to cover. My oh my, you look like shit warmed over, girl. Gotta do something about that hair. You got bed-hair for sure.” She reached out and ran her fingers through Christina’s hair. She looked concerned like it might be beyond her skill level. “Complete makeover material. How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve done an all-nighter at a frat party. Got any aspirin on that tray?”

  “No, but I’ve got some in my purse,” Heather fumbled around in her tiny black handbag. “Here. Now, we’ve got to get you up and in that shower. Looks like you were in a prize fight, sweetie. When’s the last time you put on any makeup?”

  “Well uh. . .”

  “And this place is absolutely crawling with good looking men. Good thing I got Billy here to keep me straight. Some of those spooks out there are pretty hot. Wait till you see Jack; he’s the guy outside your door. I call him Jack the pack. Abs ripple right through his shirt.” She closed her eyes and sighed, “Maybe I can get him to frisk me.”

  “Heather, be good. Don’t you ever think about anything but sex? Anyway, men are the last thing on my mind right now,” Christina grimaced.

  “You’re not getting any younger sweetie; we gotta get you hooked up. Michael’s been pining after you all this time, mopin’ around. You’d think his mother died or something. That boy’s got it bad.”

  “I like Michael all right. We got pretty close in that cabin on the lake. Did he tell you anything?”

  “No, I tried to pry it out of him, but mum’s the word. Spill it, girl, I want all the sticky details. Right now!” Heather hopped up on the side of the bed. She took the banana off the tray, put it between thumb and forefinger and ran it back and forth between her lips. “Mmmmm?”

  Christina laughed out loud. “Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t a very good girl.”

  “Nooooo!” Heather looked like a kid at the circus, hungry for more cotton candy. “Way to go, I knew you’d come around. You weren’t cut out to be a nun, girl. Billy and I been sleeping together for weeks now. I love that guy. He may be young, but he’s quite the man. I swear, that boy can go all night. I’m getting too old for that. What happened to the good old wam-bam thank ya ma’am?”

  “Yeah, Billy’s great, but tell me, what do you think about. . .well, about Michael?”

  “Michael? Are you kidding? He’s got the cutest little butt I ever saw, and he’s an egghead for sure, just your type.”

  “But there’s something bothering me, and I can put my finger on it.”

  “Hey, biaatch, he’s only guilty of one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Being a nice guy. And you know what they say about nice guys.”

  “What’s wrong with us. . .that we’re always attracted to the bad boy?”

  “Don’t know. I guess the big, bad caveman could keep you al
ive, something along those lines. Thousands of years of latching onto the baddest mother-clucker in camp.”

  “But it doesn’t make much sense today, does it?”

  “Like I said, he’s only guilty of one thing. You could do a lot worse, girl. What are you waiting for, anyway, honey? I’d be all over him like flies on dung. Tell me,” she rolled her eyes to the side, “what’s he like in the sack?”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little personal? I didn’t ask you about Billy.”

  “Of course it’s personal, that’s what makes it so good. Now what’s he like? I already noticed he’s got pretty big feet.” Heather put her hands palm to palm and slowly pulled them apart. “So are we talkin’ regular dog or foot-long?” she giggled. “Okay, you don’t have to answer that. Just tell me, do those egghead brains light your fire honey?”

  Christina felt her face flush. She didn’t know what to say. “Uh. . .”

  “C’mon, did he jump your bones or did you jump him? How did you get it going?” Heather wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

  She knew she’d have to tell her something, or she’d never hear the end of it. “Well, let’s see, first he stuck his tongue down my throat, then I ripped his clothes off, something like that. Actually, I can hardly remember now, all such a blur.”

  “Did he throw you on the bed, or did he have to read the manual?”

  “No bed, it was a bear skin rug, buck naked, right in front of a roaring fireplace.”

  “Oooh noooo! That’s hot!” Heather picked up a napkin and started fanning herself. “Really? Bear skin? Every girl’s dream. Did he ring your chimes?”

  “I hadn’t had sex for months, what do you think?”

  “Whoah, that’s just too good, hon. So how did it end up then? I mean, are you two a thing now?”

  “I’m not sure. You know me, I blew it. Got scared the next day and screwed it all up. Told him I didn’t love him.”

  “Sugar, you do need a shrink. Don’t ya know a guy’s ego is as fragile as an eggshell. What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking. I was feeling. . .feeling all mixed up. Couldn’t get Lazer out of my mind, I guess. Somehow it all seemed wrong.”

  “Well, girl, you better kiss some ass big-time and apologize. That boy’s about the best catch a nerd like you could ever hope for. We all loved Lazer, honey, but you gotta getta life. For God’s sake!”

  “I think I already apologized, but I’m not sure how I feel now. Frankly, I’m just trying to get through the night. Remember those nightmares I used to have, back in high school?”

  “Oh God, those bloody things where you killed your parents?” she whispered as her eyes widened in fear. “How could I forget?”

  “Yeah, last night I had one even worse; I was being ripped apart,” Christina hesitated, shivering as though a sudden chill had blown through the room. “Never mind, don’t want to talk about it. By the way, what’s that on your finger?”

  “Oh, this little old thing?” Heather stuck out her left hand. “Isn’t it the cutest little diamond you ever saw? Billy bought it himself.”

  “So you’re engaged?” Christina almost squealed.

  “Reckon so, but we haven’t talked about a date or anything. Too much stuff goin’ on right now. Now come on, let’s get you in that shower, and I’ll help you with some makeup. Oh baby, you could use some work, and I’m just the one to do it. You’ve got a meeting with the big guy this afternoon, and we can’t have you lookin’ like you been beat by the ugly stick.”

  “The big guy?” Christina didn’t have a clue. “You mean the Director’s coming here?”

  “Forget the Director, honey, you got a meetin’ with the President.”

  * * *

  Rhani Hussein was on a roll. For such a young man, he thought himself quite clever. Astronaut, CIA agent and Iranian spy? How many people could pull all that off? he beamed. On top of that he was raking in the cream. One day he hoped to be one of the wealthiest Arabs in America. As a day-trader, the markets treated him well, and his hard earned money swelled to a small fortune. He had just met with Director Scott delivering another bundle of cash. Proud of his accomplishments, he had been able to work both ends against the middle. So far he had managed to skim almost two-million dollars from the transfers, depositing cash in several bank accounts and investing in hedge funds.

  As a child he’d been trained in the strict ways of Islam, but it wasn’t for him. He only memorized enough of the Quran to be able to quote it to his clients. He had learned to enjoy the good life in America. His plans of buying a condo on the beach and retiring young were to be financed by a small sliver of bribe money. He’d never particularly liked living in the Middle East with all the burdens of religion. Scott had introduced him to the nightlife in Houston, and he loved the young ladies. Doling out plenty of cash, he had no problem attracting good looking women, and he was having a ball. Why wait to get to heaven, he thought, when I can have all my virgins right now? Well, maybe not virgins. Although he had cooperated with the Iranians to protect his family in Tehran, it was imperative that the nuclear attack be thwarted. Life in America was just too good. He planned to tell the CIA what they needed to know when the time was right.

  It was an unusually warm December in Houston. Rhani had been training hard for STS 734 and was excited about the mission. It was 4:00 o’clock in the afternoon, and he was beat. He intended to take a nap, get a hot shower and head out to the Triple R Bar. He would hook up with some hot, young cowgirl, and the evening would be his.

  Driving into the parking lot of his apartment building, his cell phone started chirping. He looked at the phone, pushed the button and said, “Hussein here.”

  “Rhani Hussein?”

  “That’s right. Who’s this?” He didn’t recognize the voice.

  “Muhammad is displeased. Allah is troubled.” It was the voice of an older man in a thick Middle Eastern accent. The connection sounded more like a local call, and Rhani instinctively scanned the area to see if he could see anything unusual. He saw a young boy on a bicycle and an old lady walking down the sidewalk with a scraggly, old dog. His neighborhood looked peaceful enough. There was almost no traffic, all nice and quiet. As far as he could tell all the cars in the parking lot were empty.

  “Who is this?” Rhani asked again, a little louder this time.

  “Let’s just say, a friend of the family. You need to know. . .” the voice dropped to only a whisper, “the Mullahs are onto you.”

  “Who? What do you mean?”

  “They know your talking to the filthy Americans. Your uncle Almanar and aunt Ranez in Tehran. . .”

  “Yes. What about them?” Rhani cringed.

  “No longer. You might say, they lost their heads.”

  “Oh no!” Rhani screamed. “And my cousins?”

  “Dead. All three little girls were buried up to their necks and stoned, the death of traitors.”

  Rhani couldn’t speak. He sobbed into the phone. He was afraid to hang up, he needed to know more. He managed only, “And why. . .are you telling me this?”

  “Because you are in trouble my son. I’m warning you that Allah’s justice is seeking your demise. Your only hope is to disappear, quickly.”

  “But they need me,” Rhani pleaded. “This can’t be happening.”

  Everything had gone so well. He had successfully sabotaged the DROID mission, what more could they ask? He had no indication that anything on either side had been compromised. Not yet anyway. Once he blabbed to the CIA, he would be a hero in America. He planned to move right into witness protection and take on the identity of a young oil executive.

  “No longer are you needed, the end is near. Heed my warning. Disappear.”

  The phone clicked, and Rhani heard nothing but dial tone. He was frozen in fear. What will I do? Where will I go? He ran up two flights of stairs to his apartment and noticed drips of blood down the hallway leading to his door. Allah save me!

 
The door was left ajar as though someone had made a hasty escape. He had to get inside for the paperwork, his bank accounts. He carefully leaned over, peering in the door. There was something odd in the middle of the room. It looked like two sticks nailed into the floor. Whatever they supported was covered in a large canvas bag. Blood pooled underneath. He was petrified, but curiosity got the better of him as he ripped off the shroud.

  Rhani gasped in horror as a lump seized his throat. Worse than any horror movie, a sight to fuel a lifetime of nightmares, it was so grotesque he turned his head away and felt sick. No doubt, it was his aunt and uncle, their heads on the ends of sticks, contorted in horrible sneers, tongues hanging out to one side. It was more than he could take. He fell to hands and knees and retched, spewing vomit across the floor. It was difficult to move, but he had to do something quick. He had to get out of there.