by Dale Brown
"Our electronics sensors detected them in your clothing. You're under arrest for attempting to bring a weapon-ofmass-destruction component inside a secure government facility."
"That's bullshit!" Willison stared bug-eyed at the objects. "I've never seen those things before! I have no idea what they are! This is a frame-up! You planted those things on us ... no, that girl! That girl planted them on us!" He continued his loud protests as the security officers were hauling him and his men away at gunpoint.
Landow met up with Jon Masters a few minutes later. "Good job, John," he said. "Those old triggers from the museum sure did come in handy."
"It's a ridiculous stunt that won't hold up for a moment," Landow said.
"But it sets off the security procedures, and onae they go into action, it'll take someone in Washington to stop it,"
Masters said happily. "This is the first time I'm actually thankful we have such tight security. How long are they going to be out of the picture?"
"We can hold them incommunicado for about six hours," Landow replied, "unless you intend on just locking them away somewhere."
"The thought had crossed my mind."
"Even a terrorist with a gun would get a phone call," Landow pointed out. "I think you should count on locking them away until just after five P.M., so they'll have to contact a duty officer instead of their own office for helpthat'll slow things down a little more. But once the call goes in, your time runs out fast. The FBI will probably fly a supervisor or a U.S. attorney out from L.A. shortly after they hear about this, but they won't have clearance to enter, so that'll delay things another few hours. But they might fly a Hostage Rescue Team out here to guard the place until the men can be released-that'll take them no more than one or two hours. After that, the game will be up. I'm sure they'll shut this place down tight and have all of us in federal prison in a heartbeat."
"Plenty of time," Jon said. "We'll all be long gone by then. We'll have to hope that Patrick's benefactor can keep the heat off us so there's a company to come back to after this is all over." He held out his arms when Kelsey Duffield approached, then picked her up and gave her a kiss on her cheek. Sasha sat down beside Jon, proudly puffing out her chest. "Good job, Kelsey," he said. "You too, Sasha. Kelsey, I didn't know you were a pickpocket too."
"Thanks, Jon. My dad always told me everyone likes a good pickpocket-but just as a joke. It's easy. I never picked a pocket to put anything in before, though."
"The support aircraft will be ready to launch in about four hours, fully loaded with every weapon we can carry," Jon said. "The bombers should be airborne a few hours after that. They'll be loaded to the gills too with external weapons, so they won't be stealthy, but we'll have to risk it. I hope Patrick and Megafortress Two will be up there clearing a path for us."
"Is this going to work, Doc?" Landow asked. "We've broken just about every federal law in the books already-we're going to make it a million times worse by flying those planes to Libya. Libya is a prohibited country-technology export and import sanctions, terrorist support sanctions, money sanctions, travel and immigration restrictions, the works. If we don't get our asses shot down by the Libyans, we could all be in prison for the rest of our lives."
"Nah. Every thing'11 be okay," Jon Masters said confidently, giving Kelsey a reassuring hug. "You haven't been with the company too long, John. We do this sort of thing all the time."
"And you've never been caught?"
Jon shrugged, then gave Landow a sheepish grin. "Well... we've always gotten away with it before," Jon admitted. "That's just as good." He turned to Kelsey. "Unfortunately, the only plane we won't have with us is the second Dragon airborne laser aircraft. We can't fly it in its current state unless we remove all the plasma-pumping equipment you've put on it and reassemble the diode pumping system on the laser. You gave it a good try, Kels."
"Jon, I promise, it will work," Kelsey said. "Don't keep on thinking in two-dimensional ways. The plasma generator doesn't need to be a multimegawatt monster-all we need is a large pulse for a hundredth of a second to excite the neodymium lasing amplifier chips. Let's reassemble the plasma generators we have, install them, and try it."
"We're going to lose our lab in less than eight hours, Kels-"
"Then we better hurry, shouldn't we?" Kelsey asked. "We have a plasma generator we know will work on Dragon Two right now. Let's load it up, put the screws back in, and leave before that angry Mr. Willison comes back." She smiled and touched Jon's hand. "Jon, we'll have time to write up the documentation and the engineering later-right now, we have to get Dragon flying, before they come and take her away. You're worried that you won't know how it works if it does, and so you won't be
able to start preparing marketing plans and prospectuses for the project. Don't worry about all that stuff, Jon-let's see if it flies first, then worry about selling it later."
Jon Masters looked at Kelsey with a grin. Her enthusiasm was indeed infectious. "Kelsey, you know there's no way this should work," Jon said. "It's too dangerous. We still haven't gotten the right yield out of the singlegenerator system to be an effective weapon with the proper safety tolerances. We won't know if it's ready to let go until just before it blows up. And all these unknowns will be going on with two human beings riding on top of it."
Kelsey took Jon's face in her hands, pulled his head down, and kissed his forehead. "You're silly, you know that?" she said. "I know we don't know all these things, Jon-doesn't that want to make you go and try it out?" When he hesitated in replying, Kelsey added, "Jon, wasn't there once a time when you would have given anythingeven your own life-for one chance to try?"
In fact, there was such a time: Jon Masters put himself in the fuselage of an airliner loaded with several hundred pounds of TNT to prove his electronic armor called BERP, or Ballistic Electro-Reactive Process, would protect the aircraft in case of a terrorist bomb going off in the cargo hold. The demonstration had horrified the airline and government representatives to the point that they refused to fund the program, but that didn't matter-it worked, and Jon risked his own life to prove it. That BERP material eventually became the Tin Man battle armor system, which would one day revolutionize American infantry fighting.
Kelsey paused, still holding Jon's hand, like a brother and sister taking a stroll. They found themselves standing in front of Dragon One's open hangar door. There was a flurry of action around it, with dozens of technicians and crew members rushing to get it ready to fly. Right next door was Dragon Two-virtually ignored except for the four security guards stationed around it.
"Doesn't it look lonely?" Kelsey asked her new big brother. "It needs some love and attention. We can do it,
Jon. We put Dragon's new plasma generators in, give it some gas, and take it on a trip to help the general find his wife." She saw Jon's smile vanish and his shoulders slump. "I know Wendy is still okay, Jon. I know she is. But we need to help Patrick so he can go back and find her."
Jon smiled at his little partner, then nodded. When he looked at Dragon Two, he had to agree-it was a goodlooking bird, and right now it did look pretty lonely.
He pulled out his secure cell phone: "Doug? How's it going ... ? Excellent. Listen, pull Ken and Duncan's crews off Dragon One and have them start installing the plasma generators on Dragon Two ... yep, right now. As soon as Joel's crew signs off their preflight on One, have them jump over to help, and get the rest of the crews on Two as soon as One launches. We're going to bring Dragon Two with us ... yes, and I want it operational... yes, operational, not just flyable.... We've done all the lab testing we're going to do. Dr. Duffield and I are standing out front right now to help. We have about six hours to do it... yes, I said six, and I'll be surprised if we don't get a visit from the feds before then. Let's hustle!"
SKY MASTERS INC. WORLD HEADQUARTERS,
ARKANSAS INTERNATIONAL JETPORT,
BLYTHEVILLE, ARKANSAS
LATER THAT EVENING
The twin-engine Aerostar aircraft taxied quickly off the two
-mile-long runway right up to the doors of Sky Masters Inc.'s main hangar. The pilot wheeled the light twin around so it was pointing back down the taxiway toward the runway, then shut down engines.
In less than two minutes, two dark sedans pulled over to the plane, blocking it fore and aft. By the time the pilot opened the split clamshell doors and stepped out, the plane was surrounded by agents in black fatigues emblazoned with "FBI" and "FEDERAL AGENT" front and back, all carrying M-16 assault rifles at the ready.
"General McLanahan?" one of the agents in a simple dark suit and tie announced.
"That's me," Patrick replied.
"Special Agent Norwalk, FBI, Memphis office. I'd like you to come with me. Anyone in the plane with you?" Instead of waiting for a response, another agent pushed past Patrick and shined a flashlight inside, then shook his head, indicating it was empty. Another agent checked the baggage compartment in the back-it, too, was empty. He even checked the wheel wells, but they were too small to hide anything bigger than a small dog.
"Something wrong?" Patrick asked.
"We'll explain everything inside," the FBI agent replied. "Your plane will be secured inside the hangar."
"You guys ever move a plane like this before? The nose gear is sensitive."
"We'll be careful," Norwalk responded, definitely sounding like he wasn't planning on being careful at all. He spoke into a radio, and before long one of Sky Masters Inc.'s technicians came out riding an aircraft tug, accompanied by another agent. The tech scooped up the Aerostar's nose wheel with the lifter. Meanwhile, the main hangar door opened. The plane was pushed back into the hangar beside one of the company's DC-10 mission I/ I aircraft.
Patrick was taken to his office in the headquarters facility. Special Agent Norwalk and another officer stayed inside with him. "Now, mind telling me what's going on?" Patrick asked once they were seated inside.
"First, General, I advise you that you are hereby under arrest," Norwalk began. "You have the right to remain silent; should you choose to give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and to have the attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at no charge. Do YOU understand these rights as I've explained them?"
'What am L oemg arrested for?"
"General, do you understand your Constitutional rights as I've explained them to you?"
"Yes. Now can you tell me-?"
"Do you waive your right to remain silent?"
"I've done nothing wrong."
"Are you willing to answer questions for me?"
"Yes. Now tell me what's going on here."
"Do you know where Dr. Jon Masters, Dr. Kelsey Duffield, and the Sky Masters Inc. crew members that were stationed at the Tonopah Test Range are right now, General?"
"I thought they were at Tonopah. Are they missing?"
"You're telling me you have no idea where they are?"
"What's going on, Norwalk? Has something happened? And why am I under arrest? Do you think I had something to do with it?"
"Did you have anything to do with Dr. Masters and Dr. Kelsey recently, say, in the past two days? Have you been in contact with them?"
"Hold it, hold it," Patrick said, raising his hands and shaking his head in confusion. "You're not answering any of my questions, and I'm getting confused. I feel like I'm being tricked into admitting something, and I think I should stop this questioning until I get my lawyer."
The last thing Norwalk wanted was for McLanahan to "lawyer up" now, so he nodded and put on a faint smile. As long as McLanahan only said "I think I should stop" and not "I want a lawyer" or "I want to stop," he could still question the suspect, even if the suspect believed his responses wouldn't incriminate himself. "I'm sorry, sir. We just got here, and it's been a long day. Let's all relax and just talk." He looked around the office. "You got any coffee around here? It's been a really long day."
"Sure," Patrick said cheerfully. "It's been a busy day for me too. Call in the rest of your guys-there's plenty for everyone."
"Nice plane you got out there," Norwalk said as Patrick went out to the outer office to start the coffeemakf r. "What is it?"
"An Aerostar-the fastest piston-powered twin you can buy," Patrick said proudly. "It's got six seats in it, but it's really only good for two persons with full fuel and luggage."
"You fly out from San Diego?"
"I keep the plane out at North Island Naval Air Stationthe base commander is a friend of mine. It's about a sevenhour flight, plus a couple potty breaks-eleven hours total, including the time zone changes."
"It sounds pretty fast."
"It's a rocket ship," Patrick said. "I just wish it could hold more people and baggage. Me, the wife, and my son pretty much max it out."
The armrest of the rear bench seat inside the Aerostar flopped down, and one eye peeked out from behind the seat. Seeing it was all clear, both seat backs in the split bench seat flopped down, and Chris Wohl and Hal Briggs unfolded themselves from the small baggage space behind the seat. "Oh, God," Briggs said, groaning as he stretched and flexed his sore legs and back. "My leg cramps have cramps." As he usually did, Chris Wohl ignored his friend and former commanding officer, but it was obvious he was experiencing much of the same difficulty unfolding his legs.
After he got feeling and circulation going in his limbs, Briggs crawled over the bench seats, staying low, then peeked out the smoked side windows into the hangar. No guards visible on the hangar door side; none visible out the forward windscreen. He looked out the right windows and saw one armed guard seated up on the concrete stairway landing leading into the flight department offices. Briggs made hand signals to Wohl where the guard was, then made his way to the forward entry hatch.
Meanwhile, Wohl knocked twice on the rear bulkhead. Behind the pressurized cabin was the unpressurized baggage compartment, which in Patrick's plane was normally mostly filled with an auxiliary fuel tank. But gloved fingers popped the false steel cover off, and two Night Stalkers emerged from the space normally occupied by the fuel
tank. They were clothed in heavy winter-weight flight suits, jackets, boots, hats, and gloves, and each had a green oxygen bottle and mask. They, too, took a few moments to stretch and get their limbs going again, then donned FM commlinks and readied automatic pistols. "Cargo One is up," one of them reported.
"Stand by," Wohl said. "One guard in sight. Pop your hatch and get ready." The Night Stalkers unlatched the baggage compartment door as quietly as they could but did not open it.
Meanwhile, Briggs made his way to the split clamshell entry hatch, unlatched it with a twist of its handle, opened the top half just an inch or two, then unlatched and lowered the lower half. He hoped the guard couldn't see the open lower half from where he was sitting. Briggs stepped out and then lowered the upper half of the door all the way. "Let's go, Sarge-"
"Freeze!" he heard. "Hands where I can see them! Now!" The lone guard had seen the hatch open and had quickly sneaked around the Aerostar, his rifle lowered.
Briggs shot his hands up in the air. The guard braced his rifle against his right hip, then pulled his walkie-talkie from his web belt and keyed the mike button: "Unit Three to Control.. ."
"Cargo! Out now! Hard!" Wohl whispered into his commlink.
The lead Night Stalker in the baggage compartment threw himself out the baggage compartment, landing about five feet in front of the startled FBI agent. The agent pulled the trigger on his rifle. The single round missed the Night Stalker by a few inches, then ricocheted off the side of the Aerostar, missing Briggs's head by scant inches as well.
The second Night Stalker inside the baggage compartment aimed and fired his weapon. Tiny crystalline darts about the size of a short golfer's pencil hit the FBI agent. The darts instantly exploded into a fine dust that penetrated the agent's black fatigues. The agent had just enoflgh time to realize that he was hit before the nerve agent in th
e dust
completely immobilized his entire voluntary nervous system and he collapsed to the concrete hangar floor.
Briggs, Wohl, and the two Night Stalkers quickly split up, taking separate exits into the building. They were gone before any other FBI agents had responded.
Special Agent Norwalk was in the middle of a sip of coffee when he heard the shot, and he nearly dumped the coffee on himself. "What the hell... ?"
"Don't worry-that's just the cavalry showing up," Patrick said matter-of-factly. Norwalk was reaching for his service pistol when Patrick touched a hidden switch on his desk, then covered his eyes with his arm and tightly closed his eyes just as the room lights went out and an immense flash of light completely blinded the two FBI agents. The room lights then came back to normal. Patrick was able to simply walk over and disarm both men by plucking their weapons from their hands-the sudden flash of light disoriented them so badly that they could hardly tell up from down. Norwalk was shouting for help as he bumped and caromed off the furniture; the other agent couldn't stay on his feet any longer and finally slumped to the floor.
Briggs and Wohl rushed into the office moments later. Briggs looked at the two writhing on the floor. "There's the last two. All present or accounted for," he said, then shot both with the crystal nerve darts. "I think the guy out in the hangar shot your plane."
"Bastard. He'll pay for that," Patrick deadpanned. "Let's go."
Within minutes, Patrick started up the DC-10's auxiliary power unit and powered it up while one of the Night Stalkers drove one of the company jet fuel trucks over to the DC-10. After Patrick directed him on how to use the DC-
10's single-point refueling system, he went up to the cockpit and started getting ready for their flight out of the country. Meanwhile, Briggs and Wohl loaded up as many sets of the Tin Man battle armor, the powered exoskeletons, the electromagnetic rail guns, and as much ammuni-
tion, spare battery packs, tools, and as many other devices as they could carry in the DC-10. In less than twenty minutes, they had completely refueled the DC-10, loaded it up, and were all on board.