“Follow me, Captain,” Major Bradley said as he turned and headed down the hall.
They walked down the hall single file, Major Bradley in front until they reached the door to the Communications Center. He stopped and paused for a second before turning the handle and entering. It was a fairly narrow room with high ceilings. Banks of transponders and radar machines lined the walls. Small short-wave radios were placed haphazardly throughout the room. Any and all methods of communication were being used in an attempt to make contact with survivors out there, not to mention any representative of a foreign nation. Information was hard to come by and in woefully short supply. Major Bradley half-expected to see carrier pigeons flying in and out of the Comm Center.
The aforementioned equipment was currently being operated by two men. Private Anthony Jackson and Simmons. The latter turned to face the door when he heard it open.
“Major! Thanks for coming down,” Simmons said.
“What have you got for me?” Major Bradley asked as he turned his body to shield their conversation the best he could from Jackson. He had no real concern that he would mention anything that was said here to Colonial Jepson, but why take any unnecessary chances. Captain Morris followed the Major’s lead and added his own sound barrier.
“I think you might be interested in what I found,” Simmons answered.
“Go on.”
“I have found your missing plane. Worthington’s plane,” Simmons said.
Major Bradley leaned in and had a difficult time hiding his excitement. It was the news he was hoping for but not really expecting.
“I have been tracking it from New Mexico for the last half an hour or so,” Simmons continued. “Not far from where we lost it weeks ago.”
“What’s its heading?” Captain Morris asked.
“It was due north but he has changed his heading to 330. Looks like he’s headed for southwest Colorado,” Simmons answered.
The Captain and Major exchanged knowing glances. Worthington was returning to his estate in Silverton.
“The Doctor mentioned that Worthington loaned him a pilot when we ran into each other at Fort Campbell. I would assume it’s probably the same pilot,” Major Bradley mused out loud.
“I would assume so,” Simmons responded.
“Have you attempted to hail the aircraft,” asked Captain Morris.
“No sir, I was waiting for the Major,” Simmons said.
“We’ll have to assume that the pilot is alone in the cockpit. We don’t know his allegiance to Worthington, but it’s worth the risk. See if you can contact the plane,” Major Bradley ordered.
As Simmons hailed the airplane, the Captain and Major spoke in hushed tones.
“We could hop in a Humvee and make a bee-line to Worthington’s place, be there not long after they land,” Morris offered.
“We don’t know for sure if that’s where they’re headed. Besides, there still is a chain of command. We would be gone too long for no one to notice.”
Captain Morris nodded and continued to run through possible scenarios in his mind when Simmons spoke up.
“Major, I have the airplane on the line,” he said with a hint of disbelief.
“Can you grab me a headset?”
“Hold on a sec …”
Specialist Simmons grabbed a spare headset and plugged it into the console. Handing over the headset, he fiddled with a few knobs and pushed a button before adjusting his own headset. A voice came through loud and clear.
“This is Captain John Bannon, with whom am I speaking? Over.”
Major Bradley was about to respond when the door to the Comm Center burst open and an Airman that he recognized but had forgotten his name all but fell into the room.
“Major, Sergeant Sanchez sent me to find you. He needs to see you right away!” the Airman blurted out.
Chapter 3
Bannon
He had just dropped Benton Worthington III off at his desert laboratory after a long flight from Toronto, Ontario. Worthington has never confided in him during his tenure as his personal pilot. He had, on occasion, overheard conversations. It was usually by accident but sometimes his curiosity got the best of him. Some of what he heard he didn’t really understand. Other things though, were very clear. Captain John Bannon never had any illusions about his boss’ ruthlessness but what he overheard a few weeks ago, however, changed everything.
Bannon understood that one didn’t become as wealthy as his employer by being a nice guy. One definitely had to step on a few toes to get to where he was. Unfortunately, toes weren’t the only things he stepped on. Bannon had witnessed Worthington destroy people’s lives with little more than a phone call and not blink an eye. A conscience was something foreign to him. If it was going to make him money, he did it. Screw the consequences.
A few weeks ago, he had flown Benton to his mountain resort in Colorado. After landing he was told to remain with the plane, which he did. About an hour later Worthington returned with a middle-aged woman and a young girl, probably in her late teens or early twenties. They were briefly introduced to him as Holly and Zoe Sanderson; Dr. Sanderson’s wife and daughter. At first, Bannon thought this was the first humane thing he had witnessed him ever doing. Going out of his way to reunite the Doctor with his family showed a different side of his boss.
When they landed back in Mexico the ladies were escorted off the plane into the waiting arms of Benton’s chief of security, Gunner Johansson. Benton turned around and headed back up the stairs and ordered Bannon to set a course for California. He had a much smaller mountain retreat similar to the one in Colorado located in the mountains outside the Los Angeles Basin. It was a fairly short flight. Its purpose, undoubtedly, was to retrieve the German doctor he had dropped off a week ago.
Flying back, Captain Bannon had to use the lavatory. He had been flying all day without an opportunity to relieve himself. He engaged the autopilot and headed into the main cabin. As he walked toward the rear of the aircraft, he observed Benton lying on the couch taking a brief nap. The German was seated in one of the larger chairs, reclined as far as it would go, snoring so loud it covered the sound of the plane’s engines. Smiling to himself, he continued on and locked himself in the bathroom trying to be quiet so not to wake his passengers.
Unfortunately, it seemed his trek through the cabin had rousted the men from their slumber. They began to converse. It soon became apparent that, although the Captain was likely responsible for their being awake, they had no idea he was in the lavatory. They assumed he was in the cockpit. The vent in the bathroom allowed for easy eavesdropping
“What are your plans for the Doctor?” the German asked.
“Well, I found the pills in his knapsack so I know he has discovered something that he believes will work. I need him to tell us what it is and how to replicate it. I do not know how cooperative he will be.” Benton answered.
“I can figure it out,” the German offered.
“We do not have time for that. Besides, I have brought along a couple of insurance policies,” Benton said with a grin that the Captain could not see.
“Yeah … “
“Trust me, he will do as we ask.”
“How can you be so sure?” The German asked.
“Waiting for us back at the lab is the Doctor’s wife and daughter,” Benton said. “If he does not see things our way, we apply pressure.”
“And once he gives us what we want?”
“I do have a reputation for squashing the competition. I don’t see how we can let him live.”
Captain Bannon nearly fell over after hearing that last statement despite the tight quarters of the lavatory. The noise he made while attempting to steady himself coincided with the aircraft hitting a small air pocket followed by some mild turbulence.
He waited a few seconds before exiting the bathroom. He hoped they wouldn’t question him about what, if anything, he heard. Benton was aware that he had overheard some confidential things in the past and tr
usted him to remain quiet. He does, at the very least, trust the Captain with his life every time he flies with him. The turbulent skies will give him a good reason to rush to the cockpit.
Bannon opened the lavatory door and sprinted into the cabin, briefly acknowledging the men in front of him.
“I’ll go see if I can find us some smoother air … be on the ground in about an hour,” was all he said as he raced to the cockpit.
Opening the cockpit door, he fell into the pilot’s chair more than sitting in it. He remained motionless for a minute, in a stunned disbelief. Is it possible that he misheard what Benton had said? Maybe he said it with a smile that Bannon couldn’t see. Did he just hear two men discussing the willful murder of another human being? His thoughts were disrupted by another bump in the celestial road. He refocused on getting the Gulfstream to smoother air and eventually on the ground or none of those questions mattered.
He checked his radar and descended to 28,000 feet. As he was going over his landing checklist, the conversation he overheard in the cabin came back to him. Dr. Sanderson started this nightmare and he is probably, like it or not, its best hope to solve it. Benton must be planning to do something with whatever the Doctor came up with that the Doctor did not agree with. Probably selling it.
“If it was going to make him money, he did it. Screw the consequences,” he thought to himself again.
A number of scenarios and possible actions on his part flashed through his mind including scuttling the plane and putting an end to any conspiracies that would take Dr. Sanderson’s life. That would, unfortunately, end his life as well. He decided that it was best to concentrate on simply landing the plane. Once on the ground, he would weigh his options. He hoped he had some.
Three weeks later, he now found himself flying alone on an errand handed to him by Benton. Unbeknownst to Worthington, the Captain had no intentions of carrying out his mission. He had spent the last three weeks attempting to find the Doctor, hidden away somewhere in the desert laboratory in Mexico. Benton, of course, offered no assistance and eyed him suspiciously anytime the subject of Dr. Sanderson was broached. He never asked him directly if he had overheard any or all their conversation on the plane. Benton was holding his cards close to the vest, as he often did. The doors to the basement laboratory were kept locked and short of breaking them down, he wasn’t getting in there. Anyway, Benton’s lapdog Gunner was a constant presence. He decided that he was going to need help. Time was definitely running out. He had flown Benton to several northern cities in the last few weeks, Toronto having been the most recent. He had brought with him a small suitcase each time. The Captain could only speculate what was in the suitcase but his best guess was the antidote that Dr. Sanderson had discovered. That meant that if he was still alive, it wouldn’t be for much longer.
The Gulfstream had been hailed by someone from Petersen Air Force Base at Fort Carson, Colorado on a number of occasions. He was unable to respond because Benton ordered strict radio silence. He was now flying in that very direction hoping they would attempt to do so again. Or that he would be able to contact them. He dared not land there uninvited, they might view him as hostile and attempt to shoot him down. Fortunately, military personnel are as he remembered them; persistent.
He heard the base come through his headset and felt something he hadn’t felt in some time, hope. Working the communication controls, he was quick to respond.
“This is Captain John Bannon, with whom am I speaking? Over.”
There was a short delay. The Captain was about to repeat himself when a confident voice reverberated in his headset.
“This is Major Charles Bradley, United States Army. Captain Bannon, are you alone in the cockpit?”
“That’s affirmative, I am the plane’s only passenger, over.”
“I am looking for a Dr. Lemuel Sanderson. I am hoping you might be able to help us, over.”
Captain Bannon was sure that this Major’s motives were pure, and he knew he needed their help. But he wanted to be sure.
“May I ask your interest in Dr. Sanderson, Major, over.”
“We met at Fort Campbell a couple of months ago, I believe you may have been flying the plane that brought him there. He mentioned to me his belief he could find some kind of cure or antidote for whatever this infection is. I fear for his safety and believe Benton Worthington has him hidden somewhere, over.”
It was more or less what Bannon wanted to hear. He was sick and tired of working for that egomaniac and felt it was time to side with the good guys again.
“I believe I can help you with that, Major. Gulfstream A670-04 requesting permission to land,” he said.
Chapter 4
A Question Worth Asking
Major Bradley finished his conversation with Captain Bannon, removed his headset, and immediately turned his attention toward the airman still standing just inside the Communications room doorway.
“Airman…?” the Major asked.
“O’Malley, sir,” he answered.
“Where is Sergeant Sanchez?”
“He is waiting in the MP’s office, he said…” Airman O’Malley responded but was cut off in mid-sentence.
“I need you to get down to the airfield on the double and inform ground control to expect a Gulfstream to be landing in less than an hour. There is to be no trouble. If they have any questions, they can contact me, and only me. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” O’Malley answered and was out the door.
“Simmons, keep an eye on that plane. If there is any deviation from its course or he attempts to contact you, I’ll be in the MP office,” Major Bradley said.
“Captain, care to accompany me to jail?” the Major asked with a smile.
“We might be headed there for real if Colonial Jepson finds out about this plane,” answered Captain Morris.
“It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Major Bradley said as he pushed the door to the hallway open.
Most of the top brass had their offices on the other side of the base from the airstrip. Major Bradley was counting on the airplane landing with no one noticing until he was able to talk to this Bannon fellow and formulate some kind of plan. As he and the Captain moved briskly outside of the Administration building and continued onto the MP office, roughly a ten-minute walk, he was attempting to do just that; think of his next move.
After a few minutes, he realized that any course of action would very much be predicated on what the pilot had to say. He then turned his thoughts to what Sanchez wanted. He had been up on the northwest corner of the base extending the perimeter. It would have taken most of the morning and probably into the early afternoon. And why are the MP’s involved? That was rarely good news. He hoped he wasn’t in any kind of trouble. His concentration was broken when Captain Morris spoke up for the first time since leaving the Comm office.
“What do you think the Sergeant wants?”
“No idea, Captain. I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”
A few minutes later they arrived at the entrance to the military police barracks. A non-descript single story building with a door that opened inward and a four-paned bulletproof glass window. Major Bradley opened the door and went inside.
He was at first relieved when he saw Sergeant Sanchez leaning against one of the five office desks scattered throughout the main lobby, arms folded, and in casual conversation with one of the base’s police officers. At least he wasn’t behind bars. Stephen Russo was standing on the other side of the desk, leafing through a folder. Also, in the room were two other MP’s sitting at their respective desks and a tall brunette woman that the Major did not recognize. Despite her soiled clothing and the obviously worried look on her face, the Major could tell she was probably in her early thirties and quite attractive. She stood next to Sanchez with a bottle of water in her left hand.
Sanchez stood up and turned to face the Major and Captain Morris as soon as he heard the door open. He had sent Ritchie home right from the work s
ite. The poor boy was pretty shaken up after his near run-in with the zombies. Stephen closed the folder and placed it on the desk.
“Thanks for coming sir,” Sanchez said.
“Sergeant … Stephen,” the Major said as a greeting. “What’s so urgent?”
Before either could explain, the woman came up next to Sanchez and exclaimed, “I don’t understand why we have to lock him up; he won’t hurt anyone.”
The Major stood looking at the woman and then at the Sergeant waiting for someone to tell him what was going on. The door to the barracks suddenly opened again and Lucy Griffin barreled through the door looking frantic. One of the MP’s at his desk, the one closest to the door, rose to his feet. Sergeant Sanchez motioned for him to return to his seat, letting him know everything was alright.
“Are you ok …?” Lucy asked of Stephen. “I heard there was some trouble up where you were working today.”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered. “There was a few infected stumbling around gate 12. I took care of them. Then we rescued a couple of people, but … “
“Maybe it’s best if you just follow me, sir,” Sanchez finally said. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off Stephen; and take Lucy with you.”
Stephen nodded as he and Lucy turned and headed for the door. Sanchez made his way back toward the officer he was talking to earlier.
“This is Lieutenant Barnes, Major,” Sanchez said motioning toward the officer.
“Major Bradley,” he said introducing himself, surprised there was an officer on the base that he had yet to meet.
“Captain Morris,” the Captain said.
The group headed back between the desks and arrived at a locked door. Lieutenant Barnes produced a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. As they moved through it, the Major noticed the unidentified woman was following them. The lieutenant didn’t seem to notice.
The Zombie Principle II Page 2