Dancing with the Dragon (2002) (6 page)

Recovering from the jarring impact, Scott fired three rounds at the Mazda's right front tire. Jackie braked hard and slammed the Mustang into the right side of the Mazda, forcing the car into oncoming traffic.

The passenger in the Mazda leaned out the window and fired a handgun as the driver swerved to the left to avoid a head-on collision with a Volvo station wagon.

Two rounds punctured the side of the Mustang near Jackie's left knee. Scott returned fire as the Mazda ran off the opposite side of the road and spun out of control, then almost sideswiped an Astro passenger van.

"Pull over," Scott shouted.

Jackie braked hard and swung to the right side of the road. "We need to stop these maniacs!" Scott said.

"They're headed straight at us!"

Jackie swung the driver's door open and started to get out. "Get in the car!" Scott said.

The Mazda was accelerating across the road toward them when Jackie dived into the front passenger seat.

Scott raised the Sig Sauer and held his fire until he saw an arm extend from the passenger's window.

"Okay, we'll play hardball," Scott said to himself. He methodically fired three rounds at the windshield and then ducked and waited for the impact. At fifty-five miles an hour and still gaining speed, the Mazda sideswiped the left side of the Mustang, tearing the open driver's door completely off its hinges.

In stunned silence, Jackie and Scott watched as the heavily damaged Mazda bounced off another car and raced out of sight near East Pensacola Heights. A few seconds later, the angry driver of the Nissan Sentra honked her horn and gave Scott and Jackie the middle-finger-salute as she drove past the Mustang.

"Welcome back to paradise," Scott deadpanned, following Jackie through the gaping hole where the driver's door had been.

"Are you still in one piece?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He headed for the crushed door. "Let's get this off the road before someone gets hurt."

"Look." Jackie pointed to a handgun lying in the road thirty yards in front of the Mustang.

They placed the driver's door in the backseat of the car and hurried toward the 9mm Beretta.

"Jackie, look at this," he said, pointing to the fresh splatters of blood on the road. "The shooter is going to need some medical attention."

"You nailed him." Jackie turned to get her satellite phone out of the car. "I'd better call nine-one-one and get this scene secured."

Both of them involuntarily had a flashback to the terrorist attack on September 11, 2001. The image of the hijacked airliners plunging through the twin towers of the World Trade Center would never fade from memory.

"Ah, that won't be necessary." Scott walked to the edge of the highway to flag down an approaching patrol car from the Escambia County Sheriff's Office.

As the car slowed to a stop, Jackie turned to Scott. "What are we going to tell the friendly folks at Hertz?"

Scott shrugged. "We're sorry we broke your car, but we need another Mustang, preferably one with two doors and no bullet holes."

Jackie shook her head. "I can just picture the smiles on their faces."

"Oh, yeah."

Before the sheriff's deputy stepped out of her car, Scott turned to Jackie. "Did you get a look at the shooter?"

"No. I was--how should I say this?--a bit preoccupied at the time. How about you?"

"I got a good enough look to know he's Oriental."

Naval Air Station Pensacola

After their statements were taken and the paperwork was completed at the sheriff's office, a deputy contacted the Hertz manager to inform him that the damage to the rented Mustang had been reported to the authorities. Jackie and Scott drove the battered Mustang back to the airport.

The Hertz manager, who observed the driver's door in the back-seat of the car, politely suggested that Jackie and Scott see a competitor for their transportation needs.

Thirty minutes later, they were again on their way to the Pensacola Naval Air Station. However, this time they were in a shiny new Mitsubishi Eclipse convertible from Alamo.

The damaged Mazda, which had been stolen from long-term parking at the Pensacola Regional Airport, was found abandoned near McGuire's Irish Pub and Brewery on East Gregory Street.

Inside the car, detectives found a state-of-the-art walkie-talkie with blood on it and on the seat. A trail of blood splatters ended about nine feet from the Mazda, leading police to believe the men had an accomplice in a getaway car.

Checks of area hospitals and health-care centers were negative for gunshot wounds. The Beretta was registered to a Chicago Laundromat owner who had reported the weapon missing seventeen months before it had been dropped on Scenic Highway.

Scott completed his call to Prost and placed the phone down as he neared the entrance to the interstate. "Hartwell was as shocked as we were. He doesn't have any idea why anyone would bushwhack us in Pensacola--in broad daylight, no less."

"Well, someone was desperate enough to attack us on a busy highway."

Scott accelerated as he smoothly entered traffic. "The question is why were we attacked, and who the hell are they?"

"Maybe it's something about your personal life, like the stuffyou haven't told me about."

Scott grinned. "Is it what we know about the downed Hornet, the mysterious bogey?"

"I don't know, but I want some answers from the Pentagon. Someone, somewhere, knows why we were attacked."

Scott shifted lanes. "Hartwell is going to see SecDef this evening and he'll get back to us as soon as he can."

Concerned about their attackers returning, Jackie took a quick look behind them. "Who do you think they were--any ideas?"

"I don't have a clue, but I think we're in the middle of something that's more than a bureaucratic cover-up by the guys at the Puzzle Palace."

"And?"

"The navy, more likely the Pentagon, is afraid of something. I can just feel it when these kinds of things happen."

"That makes sense, but the last time I checked, the navy and the Pentagon weren't into assassinating people."

"True, as far as we know," Scott said. "Which means we're missing a major piece of the hypothesis."

"Stellar observation, Sherlock."

Scott exited the freeway at Garden Street. "The Pentagon may be trying to sanitize something they can't explain, but the goons who customized our Mustang are clearly not affiliated with the Pentagon."

"I'd say that's a safe bet."

"After our chat with Lieutenant Hamilton, we need to regroup and take a look at this from all sides."

"You're right," she said. "I think we need to tap into the resources that Hartwell can provide--like getting the straight story from the Pentagon."

"I'll second that."

"Like you mentioned, we're not seeing the big picture." "Obviously not," he said. "We didn't anticipate being run off the road and having our car riddled by bullets."

"How did they know we would be here?" Jackie paused a moment and thought about the strange happenings in the last couple of days. "Where's the common thread between us and the jokers who tried to run us down?"

"My best guess would be Cliff Earlywine."

There was a moment of silence.

"You're probably right," she said. "Someone is watching him and watching us. Someone who has a vested interest in not having this incident revealed."

"I'd like to add one minor correction," Scott said with a pronounced emphasis. "They may be watching him, but they're trying to kill us."

"You make a good point."

"Actually, I'd bet our boys know you and I solve difficult problems for the U. S. government."

"They're efficient, no doubt about it," she said. "They had us pegged in record time--right on top of us."

"Like I said earlier, they were waiting for us at the airport." "We have to assume that Earlywine doesn't know he's being tailed."

"We didn't know either," Scott said with an embarrassed look. "And we're supposed to be trained observers."

"Emotionally, our guard was down."

"A major mistake," he admitted.

After checking at the bachelor officers' quarters, Scott and Jackie located Lt. Merrick Hamilton at the almost vacant officers' club bar. Hamilton had a pleasant smile, high cheekbones, and piercing hazel eyes. Dark haired and trim, Ham looked like a typical young fighter pilot, except for one obvious difference: Merrick Hamilton was female.

Sitting at the bar in a stylish dress, the Texas-bred Hamilton was quietly conversing with a male officer in uniform. She glanced at Jackie and Scott as they approached, then turned a wary eye toward them.

"Lieutenant Hamilton?" Scott asked.

"Yes."

"I apologize for interrupting you. My name is Scott Dalton, and this is my colleague, Jackie Sullivan."

Hamilton eyed them suspiciously. "How did you know my name?"

"A friend gave it to us."

"What do you want, Mr. Dalton?"

He gave her a friendly smile. "If you could spare a few minutes to visit with us, we'd sure appreciate it."

"Are you selling something?"

"No, absolutely not," he said with a quiet chuckle. "Please allow us a couple of minutes to explain. It's very important."

When Hamilton hesitated, Jackie smoothly intervened. "Scott and Sammy were friends--they went through flight school together."

Hamilton's eyes reflected her pain. She studied Scott for a moment and then softened her stance. "You're a navy pilot?"

"Both of us are pilots," he said. "We're civilians now, but I flew Harriers in the Marines. Jackie was an air force pilot--F-16s--and she learned to fly helicopters as a civilian."

Merrick nodded in open respect and turned to her companion. "Bob, I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Sure, take your time."

"So, what do you do now, Mr. Dalton?" Merrick asked, walking away from the lifeless bar.

"We're FBI," Scott said in a monotone as he and Jackie flashed their personal identification. "But we aren't here in an official capacity."

Hamilton grew cautious again. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand. Why are you here?"

Scott turned his head away a moment, and then looked Merrick in the eye. "Sammy was my best friend during advanced flight training. Since his accident things have transpired that have been, let's say, intriguing and suspicious. I promised his widow that we would look into it for her."

Merrick took a deep breath and then let it out. "I'm not sure I should be talking with you. I'm not at liberty to say anything about Sammy or the accident--that has been made very clear to me."

Scott nodded. "As I said, we're not here as part of an official investigation team. Anything you discuss with us stays with us. Your name won't be revealed, I give you my word."

Hamilton glanced at Jackie.

"You can trust him."

"Besides," Scott continued, "it may be helpful for you to know what has happened since the accident."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's take a ride and we'll explain."

Once they were in the car and leaving the parking lot, Hamilton unexpectedly opened up. "I feel like I'm being watched--I can't prove it, but I sense it."

"By the navy?" Scott asked.

"I don't know, but I was read the riot act before I left the carrier."

"The riot act?" Jackie asked.

"Yes. I'm not supposed to discuss the accident with anyone. Not even with my immediate family. The admiral made it very clear." Scott glanced at her. "Lieutenant Hamilton, I can assure you--" "Please call me Merrick."

"Merrick, regardless of what develops, we'll keep your name out of it. I just want to know firsthand what happened."

Jackie turned to her. "Just take your time and tell us what happened that night. Everything you can remember."

Hamilton unfolded the story up to the point of arriving back on the carrier. "When we went to the ready room, it was almost vacant. Our skipper, who was alone, looked very grim. In fact, I'd never seen him look like that--completely down and wouldn't make eye contact."

"What did he say?" Scott asked.

"He asked us if we were okay or something to that effect. He talked to Lou and me for a couple of minutes, then said CAG and the admiral wanted to talk with us."

"That's always good for the blood pressure," Jackie said.

"Lou and I were still in shock when the admiral, CAG, and the skipper of the ship entered the ready room. They asked how we were feeling, then got down to business."

"Down to business?" Scott asked.

"Yes. They were pleasant, but the admiral made it crystal clear that we were not to discuss the accident with anyone, including each other. It came out as an order without the admiral actually having to say it was an order."

"One of those 'Do you understand?' kind of orders," Jackie suggested.

"Exactly."