Rogue Operator (8 page)

In other
words he was trained in how to kill, and how to avoid being killed.

And one
of the best ways to avoid being killed was being in shape.

His body
was a tool.

Somebody
came out of the bathroom.

“Good
morning,” the man mumbled, then dropped into a chair and curled up.

God,
I hope I didn’t sleep with
everyone
here.

The
phone vibrated, again eliciting a sigh. He picked it up from the nightstand and
looked at the call display.

Odd.

He
answered.

“Kane.”

“Hi, Dylan,
it’s me, Chris. Chris Leroux.”

He had
known Leroux since high school. Kane had been a senior on the football team,
and needed to keep his grades up to keep his privileged position. Which meant
tutoring. And that had ended up being Leroux, a pimply faced grade ten genius,
who had been able to get him through all of his courses, and had had the time
and patience to actually have everything make sense.

And
rather than just taking cash to do his assignments, Leroux had actually made
Kane do the work.

And Kane
had become the young geek’s protector, at least for that year. They had become
very close, at least as close as a senior and sophomore could. Kane had
finished high school with great grades, and went on to college, quickly losing
touch with his high school friends, including Chris.

But
after 9/11, he had quit college and joined the army, which he had excelled at,
eventually joining the Delta Force. A two year stint and he’d been recruited
into the CIA’s Special Operations Group.

Then the
training really began.

Over the
years he had lost track of Leroux, and it was during his orientation that he
had bumped into him in a CIA cafeteria. They had immediately recognized each
other, and renewed their friendship. He was still a geek, but had filled out
far better than Kane had thought the poor kid would.

He just
needed to tame that hair, clean up the wardrobe, and stick to a regular
personal hygiene schedule. There was nothing Kane wanted more for the poor kid
than to find a nice girl and settle down. He knew that’s what Leroux wanted,
but he was his own worst enemy at times.

Kane
looked at the bevy of near perfect specimens adorning the furniture of his five
star suite, and felt a pang of guilt.

“What
can I do for you, Chris?”

“Are you
in the middle of something?”

Chailai rolled
over, exposing her store-bought breasts and he felt a twinge.

“About
to be.”

“Well,
there’s something going on that I need your help with.”

Kane
listened, his eyebrows climbing, his eyes widening, as he heard his friend lay
out the background intel.

“So what
do you think? Am I crazy?”

Kane
shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. There’s definitely something going on,
but why not just leave it to the FBI?”

“Because
they don’t know what these guys were working on, so I don’t think they’re
giving it the attention it needs.”

“Why,
what were they working on?”

And when
Leroux explained the type of research, his heart slammed into his chest at the
implications.

“I’ll be
in Salt Lake City tomorrow.” Chailai pushed herself up on her elbow, smiling at
him. “But first I’ve got a few things to try and take care of.”

Ogden-Hinckley Airport

Last Week, Day of the Kidnappings

“I thought you said you had something for me?”

Detective
Percy looked at Terry O’Toole through narrowed eyes. The phone call had been
clear, at least to him, and now all his Air Traffic Control buddy had was a
single complaint, phoned in by an old lady who lived on the outskirts of town.

“No, I
said I had an
answer
for you.”

“You
could have told me that over the phone.”

“You
didn’t give me a chance.”

Percy
sighed. O’Toole was right. He had been so mad back at the station, that he
hadn’t really listened.

“Sorry, Terry,
it’s okay, I’m just frustrated right now.”

“It’s
okay, Jack, I’m ATC. I feel that way every day. Now listen, I wouldn’t be too
quick to ignore this complaint however.”

“Why?”
asked Jamie, until now having kept quiet, apparently not wanting to interrupt
the two friends disappointing each other.

Percy
smiled slightly as he saw his friend give his partner the elevator eyes,
checking her out for the first time.

Did
you just flush, Terry?

O’Toole
stuck out his hand, a little too quickly.

“Terry O’Toole.
And you are?”

“Detective
Conway. Jamie.”

Percy
leaned in and whispered, “Like I said when we arrived, you old dog.”

O’Toole
shook Jamie’s hand, definitely turning red this time.

“That’s
right, sorry, forgot.” He let go of her hand, and wiped his brow. “To answer
your question, we almost never get complaints about helicopters, and never have
we had one from that area. In fact, we never get complaints from that area.
It’s not on any of our flight paths.”

Percy
frowned through half his mouth, looking at the paper O’Toole had handed him
earlier. He was about to thank his friend when someone poked their head out of
the small ATC unit of the mostly private airport.

“Terry,
you better get in here, you’re gonna wanna hear this.”

O’Toole
nodded then motioned with his head for them to follow. They stepped inside, the
dusk replaced by not much more light, the control room kept fairly dark.

“What is
it?” asked O’Toole.

“Salt
Lake’s got a Delta flight claiming a military transport crossed their flight
path.”

“What?
Anything on the scopes?” asked O’Toole as he rushed into the fray to check for
himself.

“No,
nothing, but they were apparently descending so might be off scope. And their transponder
was apparently off.”

The
other controller hit a button, and tin can voices could be heard over the
speakers.

“United
two-oh-four, I have unidentified traffic your two o’clock for five miles
closing. No Secondary.”

“They’re
checking with another flight,” whispered O’Toole as everyone leaned in to hear
the conversation.

“Roger
approach, United looking.”

“United,
traffic is now your one o’clock for two miles altitude unknown will pass from
right to left.”

“They’ve
spotted him on their scopes,” explained O’Toole for the benefit of the two
detectives.

“Roger,
United still looking.”

“United,
traffic now your twelve o’clock, less than a mile.”

Suddenly
excitement could be heard from the pilot.
“Approach, that was close! A C130
just passed in a steep descent. Our TCAS didn’t pick that one up!”

“United,
I am recording as a near miss.”

“Thank
you, approach.”

O’Toole
flicked the switch, silencing the speakers.

“What’s
that mean?” asked Percy.

“It
means if our United crew aren’t seeing things, we’ve got a military transport
plane landing somewhere around here, flying without his transponder turned on,
and without an approved flight plan.”

 “What’s
the procedure?”

“It’s
Salt Lake’s problem. They’ll call Hill Air Force Base and see if they have any
birds in the air in this vicinity.” O’Toole held up a finger before Percy could
object. “Buuut, I have a friend at Hill.”

O’Toole
picked up the phone and hit one of the speed dial numbers, and after a couple
of quick exchanges, hit the speaker button, placing the receiver down.

“This is
Major Perez. Sir, we can confirm we have nothing in your area, and nothing on
our scopes.”

“Ricky, come
on, we have a Delta crew saying they spotted something descending, and a United
crew swearing they were almost hit!”

“If they
were, it wasn’t by anything we have in the air, sir. And like I said, we’ve got
nothing on our scopes in your area. I’m afraid I can’t help you any further,
sir. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

The call
ended with a dial tone, and O’Toole jammed his thumb at the button, killing the
speaker.

“What do
you think?” asked Percy.

“I think
it’s bullshit. But unfortunately there’s nothing we can do. If the Delta crew
want to, they can file a report with the FAA, they’ll investigate, but if the
military isn’t going to cooperate, there’s not much that will come of it.”

“You
think they’re lying?” asked Jamie.

“Who?
The military? Absolutely. I’ve dealt with the Major before. He’s a good guy,
very friendly, and has
never
called me ‘Sir’. He was feeding us the same
story that was fed to him. The real question here is who has the power to force
a major in the United States Air Force to lie? And why?”

“National
security?” suggested Percy.

O’Toole
frowned. “I could see that with some fighter jet under development, but our United
crew reported a plain old transport, a C130 Hercules. That’s only national
security if it’s on a mission, which would be illegal on American soil.”

“I’m not
sure if Posse Comitatus would apply here,” said Percy, his understanding of the
act governing the use of military forces on domestic soil limited.

O’Toole
shook his head. “I don’t know either. I’m just pissed. I hate being lied to,
especially by a guy I’ve had beers with and known for the past three years.”

Jamie
cleared her throat. Percy looked at her, as did O’Toole.

“I think
the real question here is whether or not this is related to our case.”

O’Toole’s
eyebrows shot up.

“How
so?”

“We have
two highly sophisticated kidnappings, with a helicopter involved, that you
guys”—she nodded toward O’Toole—“know nothing about, then we have a transport
plane—military no less—landing in the vicinity. That sounds like a pick-up to
me.”

“Bright
girl,” said O’Toole, nodding.

“If
you’re right, this keeps getting bigger and bigger.” Percy turned to O’Toole.
“Can you tell me where they might have landed?”

O’Toole
smiled.

“I can
make an educated guess.”

Unknown Location

Jason Peterson awoke to a curious sensation. He could hear the drone
of the propellers still churning away, and judging from the vibrations, he was
still on the cold metal floor, his lower body aching, his back propped up
against the fuselage.

But
there was something else.

He
wasn’t sure he wanted to risk opening his eyes to find out what it was that was
pressing against both his sides. Whatever it was felt soft. And warm.

What
could it be?

He
jerked when the warm mass on his right moved, then opened his eyes. He found a
head of hair tucked into the divot created by his arm and chest, his hands
still tied behind his back. A quick glance to the other side and he found another
tuft of hair.

He
wanted to cry out in horror and joy at the same time. It was his babies, his
most precious possessions. His head spun and he saw Maggie lying on her side,
beside his daughter Ayla, and across from them, Carl with his wife and son, all
three still unconscious.

Something
moved to his left and his eyes darted toward the front of the aircraft, and he
saw a man walking toward him, knife in hand. Peterson began to shake his head
as his heart pounded in his chest.

“Please,
no, I won’t cause any trouble. Just don’t hurt my family.”

The man
stopped in front of him, his stance wide, as he looked down at Peterson. He
waved the knife in the air, as if punctuating each syllable.

“Now
that we have your family, can I expect your cooperation?”

Peterson’s
head bobbed up and down rapidly.

“Good.”
The man leaned over, grabbing Peterson by the shoulder and pulling him forward.
He felt a tugging at his hands, then they suddenly jerked apart, freed at last
as the man stood back up. He waved the knife again. “One bit of trouble out of
you, and I carve an ear off that lovely wife of yours.”

Peterson
trembled out a nod, his freed arms now enveloping his children protectively.

But he
had to know.

“Why are
you doing this?”

The man,
already walking away, stopped and turned.

“Certainly
not for God and Country.”

The
smile that accompanied the statement sent shivers down Peterson’s spine.

“Where
are you taking us?”

The man
laughed, shaking his head.

“You’ll
find out, Professor, when you get there.”

With
that he returned to the front of the plane where there were several rows of
seats set up, their high backs concealing how many were actually occupied. He
returned his attention to his family. He desperately wanted to know what had
happened to them, how they had been kidnapped, but they looked so peaceful in
his arms, at his side, that he dismissed any thoughts of waking them, and
instead closed his eyes, trying to figure out a way out of their situation.

But at a
presumed thirty thousand feet or more, he entertained little hope of escape.

Crossing Bear River Bay, Utah

“What do you expect to find?”

It was a
reasonable question, a question for which Percy didn’t really have an answer.
He glanced at his young partner, quickly returning his eyes to the dark road
ahead. His buddy Terry O’Toole had made an educated guess alright. A seasonal airfield
about an hour out of town that nobody would notice a helicopter or military
transport plane landing at, it not being shrimping season.

“I don’t
know.”