by L Jan Eira
Several retired military and CIA distinguished men then took turns telling the world that they had never seen anything like this and that they had no idea as to what could have caused this incident.
Jack winked at Claire.
“A covert operation, huh? Looks like the CIA’s got the Rat Poison,” postulated Claire. “Hope they put it to good use.”
“Who knows if they will. This is a crazy world we live in,” said Jack his head shaking slightly.
A few hours later, the baby was asleep. The dinner dishes were washed and put away. The beautiful sunny day had been replaced by a calm, dark evening. All was quiet. All seemed right.
CHAPTER 69
Right outside the house, a dark sedan drove by slowly, the driver calculating, scheming. The car stopped for a few seconds in front of the mailbox bearing the Norris family’s address and then continued. The car and its passenger remained unnoticed, and then it disappeared into the night.
If you would like to read the second book in the HARMED series, visit
www.amazon.com/author/JanEiraBooks
HARMED, book 2
Seconds From Revenge
(Abridged)
Other books by this author
STILL – a medical murder mystery
Excerpt From
HARMED, book 2
Seconds From Revenge
Abridged
Jack was buckled in the Beechcraft Bonanza. Moments earlier, soon after landing at Spirit of St. Louis Airport, Claire and Nick had deplaned. Now, they stood beside Claire’s cousin Jill, and her daughter Lauren, as they waved, watching the airplane preparing for departure. Good-byes had been punctuated by embraces and adorned with I love yous and I’ll miss yous.
Now alone, Jack made final arrangements for his flight back home. He read over the pretaxi checklist and noted that all items had been addressed. Outside the airplane, the day was gloomy; a significant chance of rain had been forecasted for St. Louis. With the headphones tight around his ears, he jotted down the important weather facts as he listened: “Spirit of Saint Louis Airport, automated weather observation twenty-two zero five, Zulu; wind, three hundred and fifty at zero-five; visibility, ten; sky condition, overcast three thousand; temperature, twenty-eight Celsius; dew point, seventeen Celsius; altimeter, three-zero-zero-niner.”
Before leaving home, Jack had filed his flight plan via the Internet with the FAA. That essential information was now accessible by the clearance controller’s computer.
“Spirit of Saint Louis Clearance, Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, requesting clearance to Kilo-Echo-Victor-Victor,” said Jack, his microphone nearly touching his lips.
Jack waited with pen and paper in hand. He knew he was about to be provided with several important data points necessary for his flight.
“Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, cleared to Evansville as filed. Fly to altitude of four thousand feet, expect nine thousand in ten minutes, departure frequency one-two-six point four, squawk six-four-four-one.” Jack repeated the information, acknowledging it. In no time, the Bonanza taxied to Runway 26 Left and took off.
This was the first time he had flown to this small airport. As his aircraft gained altitude on autopilot, Jack took in the moment, admiring the picturesque monuments that were the magnificent city of St. Louis. In awe, he observed the breathtaking Gateway Arch, the winding Mississippi River, the Busch Stadium, and the vast sea of tall buildings as they progressively diminished in size, now viewed from two thousand feet in the air and climbing. Moments later, the aircraft punched a hole through the cloud layer at three thousand feet as the Beechcraft sped heavenward. Once Jack reached four thousand feet, the sky was clear and sunny, with beautiful light blue visible as far as the eye could see. Wisps of clouds here and there decorated Jack’s picture-perfect view.
“Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, climb to nine thousand, direct to Evansville,” commanded the departure controller.
The trip would be about fifty minutes of bliss. For now at least, at nine thousand feet, the air was still, allowing for a perfectly smooth ride. Looking ahead on his weather radar, Jack realized the trip would get a bit bumpy in another twenty minutes, with large green areas and a few yellow areas in his path. I’ll be flying in the clouds awhile, thought Jack. But not for a bit. He had a lot to think about, and the journey would give him an opportunity to clear his mind and reflect. The events of the last few months, particularly the last few weeks, were very much on Jack’s mind. One thing was for sure: his nemesis was back.
Three years earlier, the small Midwest city of Evansville and surrounding counties were assaulted, suddenly acquiring national notoriety. Notoriety for all the wrong reasons—the kind of reasons no one wants. Several heinous murders had been committed at Newton Memorial Hospital. The carnage was the outcome of a moneymaking scheme involving three executioners. Of the three terrorists, one was killed, another was incarcerated for life, but the third villain was still at large. The fugitive went by many pseudonyms, but his real name, Jack eventually learned, was Simon Lagrange. Lagrange, now prominently displayed on the FBI’s Most Wanted List, had been the mastermind behind the dreadful bloodbath that so profoundly devastated the community. The country. The world.
Jack Norris had helped the police disrupt the murderous plot and bring the homicidal activities to a halt. Having escaped the law, Simon Lagrange was now back, looking for revenge, or so Jack truly believed. There was no clear-cut evidence, but Jack had sensed something was wrong for months. A growing sensation of doom loitered within his every fiber as if his body was a massive raw nerve. This feeling was now erupting, causing a volcano of emotions. The mere thought of the dreadful events of three years ago stirred a soup of feelings in him, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. His heart would race, his muscles would tense, and his palms would become clammy. Jack felt uncharacteristically anxious and helpless, topped with a hefty measure of despair and rage. Trying to compose himself, he took a deep breath, endeavoring to halt his musing, and took in the beautiful, vast light blueness accentuated by fluffy white islands here and there as the airplane effortlessly raced to its destination.
The first step was to protect the most important people in his life and get them out of harm’s way. This trip had accomplished that goal. Claire and Nick had deplaned in St. Louis a few minutes earlier. The second step was to face the problem. To face the problem, Jack had to understand it first. More relaxed, he continued to gaze out of the cockpit. Surrounding the airplane was peaceful serenity. Six thousand feet below his flight path, at three thousand feet, a layer of thick clouds prevented visualization of the ground, no doubt giving those living in the area the sense of a murky day. From Jack’s vantage point, nothing could be farther from the truth.
“Niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, contact Evansville Approach on one-two-seven point five.” The words emanating from the headphones broke Jack’s thoughts.
“Evansville Approach, one-two-seven point five,” he said as he inputted the new frequency into the transmitter. “Evansville Approach, niner-eight-Golf-Kilo with you at nine thousand.” Jack spoke calmly into the microphone a moment later.
“Niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, Evansville Approach, good morning. Altimeter in Evansville three-zero-zero-two.”
Jack changed the settings on the altimeter to reflect the updated figures. In the near distance, Jack saw the quickly approaching huge banks of clouds, which he would be entering in another two minutes of flight. The clouds would prevent visual flying, but Jack was proficient with instrument flying, so this was no trouble at all. Jack performed a quick evaluation of the autopilot and sat back, realizing all was proceeding perfectly. His mind went back to deep reflection.
It was likely Simon Lagrange had changed his physical appearance. There were many eyes looking for him. Lagrange had escaped with a lot of money, and he was cunning, intelligent, cruel, and, no doubt, dreadfully bitter. Three years was a long time to plot revenge. With Lagrange’s time and cash aplenty, Jack could well imagine
what Lagrange’s vengeance plan would be. Jack had to be prepared and match—no, exceed—Simon Lagrange’s ingenuity and smarts. Jack knew he himself could not even come close to the killer’s malevolence. Or could he?
• • •
The shift had been unusually quiet at the Evansville Air Traffic Control Tower. One of Jason Fuller’s jobs as air traffic controller was to watch over the corridor of airspace currently utilized by Jack Norris’s aircraft. All synchronous blips on his radar were accounted for and widely separated, allowing Jason to take a relaxed posture, feet up on the desk and a cup of coffee in his hand, and engage in pleasant conversation with the new controller sitting nearby. Tiffany was young and pretty, definitely eye-candy material.
“Hey, Tiffany, wanna hear a good one?” asked Jason, breaking the monotony and securing the woman’s attention.
“Sure.” She nodded.
“Did you hear the one about the woman who met a man in a bar? Having already downed a few power drinks, she turned around, faced him, looked him straight in the eye, and said, ‘I screw anybody, anytime, anywhere: his place, my place, in the car, front door, back door, on the ground, standing up, sitting down…it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve been doing it ever since I got out of college, and I just love it.’ Eyes now wide with interest, he said, ‘No kidding. I’m a lawyer, too. What firm are you with?’”
Tiffany smirked. “That’s a good—” Her words were interrupted by something she spied on Jason’s screen. “You got bogey.” Her right index finger pointed at a dot blinking rapidly in bright yellow. Both sat up straight.
Jason quickly assessed the situation and mentally prepared for what he was about to declare. “Evansville Tower to unidentified traffic twenty-four miles west of the airport, please respond.” An uncomfortably long moment of radio silence followed. No answer was returned.
“Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, unidentified traffic at your twelve o’clock, twelve and a half miles out, moving fast toward you,” he said, his voice tinged with a smidgen of apprehension. The air traffic controller’s main role was to provide for adequate aircraft separation. Having a new unidentified blip on his radar in the path of and so close to the Bonanza made Jason exceptionally uncomfortable. He put the mug of coffee down on the counter and shoved it aside, his eyes fixated on the blinking dot.
“Looking for traffic,” said Jack, as was customary. Almost reflexively, he turned his attention to his radar screen where a yellow blinking light corroborated the information. “Evansville, Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, I have traffic on my screen. Unfortunately, I’m in the clouds, so I have no visual on traffic.”
“Roger,” said the controller. A few seconds later, Jack heard the repeated message once again.
“Evansville Tower to unidentified traffic thirty miles west of the airport, please respond.” Nothing. Radio silence. The longer a radio response failed to return and the closer the dots on the screen became, the higher the apprehension, which by now was palpable.
“Have you been able to contact that traffic on any frequency, Evansville?” asked Jack, waves of dread escalating.
“Negative on contact, niner-eight-Golf-Kilo,” said the controller. “Turn ninety degrees to the right and descend a thousand feet. No delay.” Save for computer-learning drills during training, never in his six years of service had Jason come across anything even closely resembling what he was facing now.
“Roger, turning ninety degrees to my right and descending a thousand, niner-eight-Golf-Kilo,” said Jack, a hint of worry in his speech.
Another moment of silence ensued as all eyes focused on the dot blinking rapidly on the screen. The other plane mirrored Jack’s moves and soon was again flying toward the Bonanza, descending to his flight level.
“Evansville Tower to unidentified traffic thirty-three miles west of the airport, please respond.” Nothing.
To Jack’s continued astonishment and horror, the airplane continued to encroach on his position. The yellow light on the radar screen now blinked more rapidly, indicating the other aircraft was within eight miles as the distance between them diminished fast. The yellow blip soon became orange on the screen, signifying increasing danger of collision. A beep now emanated from the unit, adding auditory warning to the visual alert. Jack tensed up in his pilot’s seat. He tried to tighten the seat belt, but it was already snug. He sat up straight and held the controlling yoke tightly, ready to make changes to the airplane’s flight direction and altitude as might become necessary.
“This guy is coming right at me,” he whispered to no one without keying the mike. “It has to be Lagrange.” The warning symbol on his screen suddenly turned red, loudly proclaiming that the bogey was dangerously close to his airplane and now within four miles off his nose at the same altitude.
“Golf-Kilo, take evasive maneuvers,” yelled the controller into Jack’s ears.
A bead of sweat appeared on the young doctor’s forehead. Then another. Jack took steadying and calming breaths.
“Have you been able to communicate with traffic, Evansville?” asked Jack.
“Negative. No communication at all, Golf-Kilo. Fly at your discretion. I recommend a quick change in altitude and heading.”
One thing is for sure, thought Jack, you’re faster than I am; I have to be smarter.
“Taking evasive action,” said Jack, purposely being vague in case malevolent ears were monitoring the transmissions. Is this my last flight? he mused, sickened by the prospect. Is this son of a bitch crashing into me? Horrified, he could barely glimpse the approaching airplane through the dense clouds less than half a mile outside his windshield, flying at his altitude. Am I ever going to see Claire and Nick? he brooded, nearly suffocating with terror. The other plane was coming fast, and it was right there. Right outside his cockpit. Oh my God! We’re going to crash. In a last act of desperation, Jack turned and pushed hard on the yoke to quickly direct the nose of his aircraft to the right and earthbound at two thousand feet per minute, hoping this last-ditch effort would avoid a midair collision. As the Bonanza sunk hurriedly, Jack glimpsed the other plane flying rapidly in the opposite direction and only a few feet away. The proximity to this near kamikaze caused Jack to tremble horribly and feel an emptiness in the pit of his stomach, adrenaline pouring into his veins. Sweat beads cascaded down his eyebrows onto his face.
Jack’s airplane had acquiesced to his commands, and soon it hurled toward the ground. This generated a new warning buzzer, loudly competing with the proximity alarm already in progress. The racket increased the tension of the moment. Red warning lights flashed wildly from the instrument panel. Jack pulled back on the yoke to resume leveled flight. The bogey slowed down, turned around, and was now again speedily chasing the Bonanza from behind and at the same altitude.
He didn’t want to collide with me. He would have done it, if that were his intention. He just wants to play chicken up here, the crazy son of a bitch, sensed Jack, following the other aircraft’s moves on the screen. He’s chasing me again. There’s more to come. Oh great! The throttle was at maximum, but the other faster airplane would soon catch up.
“Niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, he went by you fast, but he’s back on your tail. He’s closing in fast.” The controller’s voice boomed through the headphones. “We’ve alerted Homeland Security, but it’ll be—”
“Hello, Dr. Norris.” These words, barely heard and coming out of nowhere, interrupted Jack’s concentration. Though the whisper-like sound was delivered in a mellow and calm tone, it roared above all other noises in the cockpit. “Hello, there. Dr. Norris, are you there?” reiterated the soft voice.
Where is this coming from? thought Jack apprehensively, his head turning side to side, hoping to locate its source. The words were strange. Out of place. Unanticipated. As such, they continued to capture Jack’s full attention, above and beyond the background of loud cacophony of warning clamor and the much-louder air traffic controller’s agitated voice. Jack looked all around the cockpit. He was alone.
“Golf-Kilo, fly one-one-zero, descend to—” said the excited, persistent controller. Jack took off his headphones, trying to hone in on the barely audible eerie voice in the distance.
“Hello. Are you there, Jack?” the quiet, serene words murmured again.
It has to be him. It has to be Lagrange, reflected Jack. He placed the headphones on the right passenger seat. Doing so allowed Jack to realize the remote sound arose from that direction.
“Can you hear me, Jack?” the man’s voice continued calmly, a hint of rancor barely discernible. “Hello, Jack!”
One thousand five hundred feet had come and gone as the Bonanza hurriedly approached flight level of seven thousand. Jack pulled back on the yoke to continue leveled flight at that altitude. He reengaged the autopilot, ascertaining that the present speed and heading would be maintained. He spied the bogey on the screen. He was now a half mile behind and fifteen hundred feet over him, descending and closing in on him fast. Jack’s body trembled, and his heart hammered in response to the massive outpouring of adrenaline.
“I know you can hear me, Jack. Check under the right seat,” said the mysterious hushed voice.
Jack released his seat belt and reached under the passenger seat. Despite his uncontrollable hand tremors, Jack found a solid object and carefully retrieved it from its resting place. It was a walkie-talkie. He placed the device on the seat as he buckled back up. Jack looked outside the cockpit but realized his vision was useless as the approaching aircraft was behind and over him.