Brown, Dale - Independent 02 (39 page)

 
          
“We’ll
divert the Dolphin heading back to headquarters, ETA, about two minutes.”

 
          
“Why
are you wearing guns?” Hardcastle asked.

 
          
“We’re
the
police!”
the chief shouted,
wincing at the pain.

 
          
“What
axe firemen
doing with guns?” Geffar
asked. “That’s dangerous and stupid—”

 
          
“Not
half as stupid as what you two are doing. This is private property, you can’t
come to this airport without permission—”

 
          
“We
have authority to go to any airport in the country ...”

 
          
“Not
without probable cause you don’t.”

 
          
“Van
Nuys entered the country without Customs clearance. He was flying in restricted
airspace without permission. We have authority to pursue any airspace
violators.”

 
          
“Van
Nuys had clearance and a flight plan filed and executed,” the chief said. “I
verified it with the FAA myself when he called it in from
Freeport
. As for crossing restricted airspace—well,
he was radio-out, an emergency aircraft can deviate in an emergency. Besides,
all this Border Security Force is a crock . . . you people have no authority
over land.”

 
          
A
white-haired mustachioed man appeared from the crowd that had gathered. “I’m
Fred Weintraub, chairman of the homeowner’s association. What’s going on?”

 
          
“We’re
from the United States Border Security Force,” Hardcastle told him. “Your fire
chief, or police chief, whichever, was uncooperative, he’s being detained—”

 
          
“Detained?
Assaulted, you mean.”

 
          
“He
was reaching for a weapon—”

 
          
Just
then they heard the sound of a Dolphin helicopter approaching. The yellow
chopper sped overhead, completed an orientation circle over the center of the
runway, then landed a few dozen yards from the growing knot of people at the
edge of the runway. Two Border Security Force personnel hopped out of the
right-side door wearing sidearms and carrying fire extinguishers.

 
          
“Margaret,
Jack, keep everyone away from the Cessna here,” Geffar told them. “No one go
near it until Customs arrives. When they get here give me a buzz on the radio.”
They nodded and placed themselves between the airplane and the crowd. “Looks
like we stirred up a hornet’s nest,” Geffar said as an aside to Hardcastle.

 
          
“Something’s
strange here,” he said, holstering his sidearm. “All this local security, all
this crap about us invading them . . . Why?”

 
          
Border
Security Force Area Headquarters,
Alladin City
,
Florida

 
          
Four Hours Later

           
The new Border Security Force
headquarters was located in
Aladdin
City
, about fifteen miles southwest of
Miami
. It was located on a U.S. Coast Guard
communications reservation, where a huge labyrinth of antennas had been erected
over several dozen square miles to allow Coast Guard vessels across the
southeast
United States
and the
Caribbean
region to link up with their
Miami
headquarters. It was also the location of
the former joint Coast Guard and Customs Service surveillance and command and
control center known as C-3-I, an abbreviation for Command, Control,
Communications, and Intelligence. C-3-I was the nation’s most sophisticated
command post, an electronic hub that combined radar data from several different
sources—civil, federal, local, military, and intelligence sources— plus
worldwide communications facilities into one building. When the Border Security
Force was established, control of C-3-I transferred immediately to the new
organization; with its sophisticated security setup, remote yet accessible
location, and the nearby New Taimiami Airport, which was large enough to handle
military aircraft, it was the logical place to set up a base of operations for
the Hammerheads.

 
          
The
facility was quickly expanded to handle the Border Security Force, with
administrative facilities, even more advanced security and communications
setup, and expanded access and capacity near
Taimiami
Airport
to handle the unit’s manned and unmanned
tactical aircraft. The new base was soon nicknamed the “Zoo,” because of the
headquarter’s location—the Border Security Force’s headquarters was less than a
mile from the Miami Metro Zoo.

 
          
“Your
little episode at the Sunrise Beach Club was about as well- received as a
stripper at a funeral,” Brad Elliott said with a weak smile. He was meeting
with Hardcastle and Geffar at the Border Security Force’s headquarters later
that same day. They were in the intelligence operations center, an enclosed,
electronically sealed room just off the master control center. Beyond the
one-way windows in the front of the room, they could see the
three twenty
-foot square computer monitors from where
the entire southeast
United States
, and soon the entire nation, was kept under
constant watch by the Border Security Force. Those three screens displayed
combined radar and sensor images from dozens of different sources, and so
complete was the picture on those screens that virtually every aircraft and
vessel flying within two hundred miles of
America
’s shoreline was constantly being plotted
and tracked by the Hammerheads.

 
          
Geffar
was pacing around near the office’s windows, her flight suit clinging to her
body. Hardcastle sat on one of the sofas.

 
          
Hardcastle
protested. “We were doing what we’re supposed to be doing . . .”

 
          
Elliott
held up a hand. “I know, I know, and you were right... well, dropping the
police chief wasn’t such a hot idea ...”

 
          
“I
saw his gun and reacted,” Hardcastle said. “He was reaching for it, had his
hand right on it . . .”

 
          
“Dammit,
Ian, no one’s accusing you. The chief will get a very detailed explanation of
the authority and responsibility of the Border Security Force. But you know the
press and the investigators will focus in on what
you
did, not on what he did to promote it.”

 
          
“He
didn't even seem like a
fire
chief to
me,” Hardcastle went on angrily.

 
          
“We
pulled his files. He was voted in three years running.
Ex-Dade
County
deputy sheriff.”

 
          
“Ex?”

 
          
“Resigned
after eight years on the force. No explanation given, none required. Most
likely a BBD.”

 
          
“What’s
that? Bad Boy Discharge?”

 
          
“Bigger
and Better Deal.”

 
          
Hardcastle
shook his head. “He just . . . hell, I don’t know. He seemed wrong, that’s all.
Everything seemed wrong. What was with all that foam? They covered everything
on that plane.”

 
          
“He
said he saw smoke and ordered the foam applied,” Elliott said, flipping through
a folder with Hokum’s accident reports. “He says he was concerned with the
safety of the eminent Maxwell Van Nuys, wasn’t thinking about any
investigations. He thought the foam was the best and most immediate option—”

 
          
“Well,
who the hell uses foam any more?”

 
          
“Just
because the military doesn’t use it doesn’t mean it’s not effective,” Elliott
replied. “He says his responsibility is to the residents who—”

 
          
“Still
doesn’t wash,” Hardcastle muttered.

 
          
“What
did Customs find on Van Nuys’ plane?” Geffar asked. “Plans for a new hotel on
Grand Bahama
Island
, souvenirs, a case of Diamond Plantation
rum. It looks like a short-circuit in his alternator caused the radio blackouts
and the smoke in the cockpit.” “What about his flight plan and Customs
clearance?”

 
          
“We
found it in the system,” Elliott said. “He had a defense VFR flight plan from
Freeport
to
Sunrise
Beach
, including a Customs advisory and
declaration. There’s some question about when it was filed—the chief logged it
in one hour before takeoff, but our records didn’t show it in the system until
he crossed into American airspace. Someone slipped up in there somewhere. We’re
investigating. And, yes, he declared the rum.” He paused, then added, “It was a
good sortie. Completely justified and authorized If anyone’s to blame for what
happened it’s Hokum, he should have backed off—”

 
          
“What
about Van Nuys?”

 
          
“He
claims exactly what Sandra suspected,” Elliott told them. “He lost his
navigation radios, found the platform and used it as a landmark to find
Key Largo
.”

 
          
“But
what about entering the country without a flight plan or permission to enter?”

 
          
“He
had a flight plan . . .”

 
          
“Not
a valid one,” Hardcastle said. “Not one filed before takeoff or approved by
us.”

 
          
“He
did request a waiver of normal Customs inspection procedures for this trip
along with the flight plan, but again, the request was never processed.”

 
          
“So
he skates, is that it?” Hardcastle said.

 
          
“Well,”
Elliott said, “the man loses his radio and can’t communicate—”

 
          
“Funny
thing about that. He can hear but can’t talk. His IFF goes out, too. Pretty
damned convenient. Enough to claim he was lost but not enough to risk getting
his ass shot down.”

 
          
“We’ll
backtrack to see if Van Nuys tried to enter the country without filing a flight
plan,” Elliott said, “or maybe tried to file one after the incident, when he
got caught. But I can’t promise a lot even if we find out he tried to enter
without permission. Van Nuys cuts a popular figure in
Florida
, is well respected. He’s already donated
the salvageable parts of the wrecked Cessna to the Customs Service— that’s
worth almost thirty grand right there. Besides, the man’s in the hospital with
neck injuries. I agree it’s a little fishy, Ian, but actually, we’ve got bigger
fish to fry. Like getting the Border Security Force to be a Cabinet-level department.
There’s opposition, as we knew there would be. See if we earn it, the
opposition keeps saying. Hell, if we don’t have Cabinet status we won’t have
some of the clout we need to show our stuff.”

 
          
“Wonderful,”
Geffar said. “Politics. If we’re successful, they’ll be shoving to get their
mug-shots with us. If we fail they’ll be shoving to be the first to pull the
plug.”

 
          
“There’s
another interesting topic being circulated—decriminalization. Rumor has it a
measure might be proposed that would virtually legalize marijuana and mandate
only rehabilitation for possession of amounts of cocaine less than fifty
grams.”