Shake the Trees (37 page)

CHAPTER 54

“So how are we gonna do this?”  Tillis asked in his typically imperturbable way.

Ellen raised an eyebrow.  “Finally.  Somebody I can work with.  Somebody willing to step into the breech.  A take charge kind of guy.  You can’t be a cop.”

“I’m a cop.”

“You sure as hell can’t be FBI.”

“FDLE.”

“Mmm.”

Ellen studied Tillis from head to toe, and he reflexively returned the unstated compliment.  Sally shook her head in disgust; the scene reminded her of a Discovery Channel nature special she’d seen.  Ellen noted the reaction and nodded in her direction.

“She work for you?”

“She works with me.  She’s my partner.”  Tillis replied.

“Mmm.  No mandatory physical fitness program at the FDLE I see.”

Tillis chose to ignore the comment.   

Ellen took a drag on the unfiltered Camel and nodded at Sally again.  “Lard ass over there needs to hit the gym.  My grandmother can run rings around that one.”

“You can kiss my fat lard ass.”  Sally spat the words out.  Surprising not only Tillis, but herself as well.

Ellen’s laugh contained equal parts amusement and derision.  “It’s not that I’m opposed in principle to what you’re suggesting, but in your case I think I’ll pass.”

Ellen waited for a response, but this time Sally held her tongue.  Tillis was glad the exchange was over.  After a few moments of silence, Ellen tossed the fuel nozzle and hose onto the pavement, and pulled a soft pack of unfiltered Camel shorts from the pocket of her Pizza Hut jacket.  She lit a new cigarette from the remnants of the old, and flicked the lit butt well away from the fuel spill.  Nevertheless, Tillis and Sally both cringed as the burning bit of tobacco flew thru the air.

“Enough chit chat.  Let’s get down to business shall we?”  Although phrased as a question, Tillis and Sally both knew Ellen had issued a command.  They knew she had the upper hand.  Both nodded and Ellen continued.  “Everybody off the plane.  Front and center.”

With only his eyes, Tillis told Sally to comply, and she stepped back into the jet.  In a moment, Bubba, Sandi, and Sam followed her down the stairs and onto the tarmac.  Ellen now stood on the wing of the plane looking down on the group of three, and then locked eyes with Tillis.  “Search them.”

Tillis patted down Sam and Sandi first, and then moved on to Bubba.  Ellen didn’t bother to watch Tillis.  She instinctively knew better.  She kept her eyes on Bubba’s face, and as Tillis made his way down his left leg, she spotted the tell.  “Bring it here.  Lay it on the wing.”  Then she took another drag on the cigarette.  Until the end burned brightly.

After removing a snub nose .38 from the ankle holster Bubba had strapped to his leg, an almost imperceptible grimace stole across Tillis’ features.  A tell of his own acknowledging the perceptiveness of his adversary.  Ellen caught the movement, but was modest in her reply.  “He’s an open book.  You’d think he’d have learned to play better poker after all that hurry up and wait in the military.”

Tillis placed the gun on the wing of the aircraft, and returned to the group.  Ellen tucked it into her waistband and pointed at Bubba, Sam, and Sandi.  Singling out each person one at a time.  Selecting them for something special.  “You three.  Back on the plane.”

Bubba and Sam began to climb the stairs, but Sandi didn’t move.  Sam stopped and looked back.  And then Bubba did as well.  Ellen was obviously becoming annoyed.  “On the plane.  Now.”

“I’m not going,” Sandi replied.  “I have a child.”

“You should have thought about that before you shoved that needle into my chest.”  Ellen reached into the pocket of the jacket she wore, thumbed the sliding bar to the distance setting, and fired the Taser at Sandi.  The twin barbs buried themselves in her chest and she collapsed onto the ground in a spasm of pain.

After placing the Taser in one pocket, and retrieving the softpack of cigarettes from the other, Ellen lit a third cigarette and flicked another spent butt away from the scene.  Ellen looked hard at Tillis.  “Either you get these three on the airplane right now, or I turn this place into hell on earth.  It’s up to you.  Personally, I’m ambivalent.”

Tillis knew Ellen meant every word she said.  He turned to Bubba and nodded.  Bubba nudged Sam and then picked up Sandi by the arms.  It took Sam an extra moment to understand what was expected of him, but he finally picked Sandi up by the legs, and the two began to awkwardly make their way up the stairs of the jet as Sandi’s dead weight dangled between them.

“Sam,” Ellen called out as they were about to reenter the aircraft.  Sam turned just as she nodded down at Sandi.  “Penalties and interest, Sam.  Penalties and interest.”  Sam looked away and swallowed hard. Bubba pulled on Sandi as he took another step backwards, and Sam followed.  Carrying Sandi and a heavy burden of guilt into the jet.

Ellen nimbly jumped off the wing, quickly strode across the tarmac to the stairs, and turned to face Tillis.  Still holding the smoldering cigarette between her index finger and thumb - still ready to ignite the fumes that hovered over the asphalt.  “Cap that tank.  It’s full.  Fill the other wing tank and get the hell away.”  Then she turned to Sally.  “There’s a Motel 6 about a mile down the road.  Room 113.” 

Ellen kept her eyes on Tillis and Sally as she moved sideways up the stairs.  When the door was near, she removed Bubba’s snub nose .38 from her waistband, pulled back the hammer, and yelled into the plane.  “Bubba and Sam. I want you two strapped in now.  I have a lit cigarette hanging out the door, so don’t do anything you won’t live to regret.”

After edging her way partially into the Citation, Ellen finally disappeared into the shadowy interior and the hydraulic steps retracted and melded into the sleek fuselage.  Tillis turned to Sally.  His set jaw and snapping eyes made it completely clear who was in charge even before he began to speak.

“Call Sante Fe and tell them to stand down.  Call local law enforcement and tell them to get to that motel room now.  Wake somebody up in Wichita and get their second best Ten instructor pilot on an open line.  I want the best on site within an hour.  Then check with the general aviation people inside.  I want a damn good Ten pilot sitting beside me asap.  Then let Ron know what’s gone down.”

Tillis capped the filled wing tank, and began dragging the fuel hose toward the opposite side of the aircraft.  Sally called after him.  “Ten?”

“Cessna Citation X.”

“Wichita?”

“Cessna headquarters.”

Sally stood unmoving for a moment, thinking through everything.  “Right.  Why?”  She questioned Tillis tentatively; hoping her need to know didn’t piss him off.

“I have a pretty good idea where this thing is going.”

“Okay.  Where will you be?”

Tillis didn’t dignify the question with an answer.  He just looked up.

“The tower.  Dumb question.”  Sally spoke out loud, but only to herself.  Tillis was already filling the opposite wing tank.

After capping the other wing tank of the Citation X and retracting the fuel hose, Tillis drove the big truck up to the front door of the general aviation terminal and leapt out.  Leaving the driver’s door hanging open.  The only access to the tower appeared to be thru the terminal building, and he shoved the double glass doors open.

He found himself looking at a startled young man in his mid-twenties with three days beard growth.  Tillis laid his identification on the front desk.  “Florida Department of Law Enforcement.  I need to go to the tower.”

The man studied the ID for a moment.  “This is New Mexico.”

“It’s a long story.  Buzz me in.”

“Can’t.  Big circle jerk today.  New security regulations.  No entry without the correct password.”

The man’s t-shirt had a likeness of Benjamin Franklin on the front, and displayed a quotation underneath.  ‘Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to prosper.’  Tillis considered the premise as he reached into his worn calfskin jacket.  His hand reappeared with a matte black nine millimeter, which he laid on the desk.  His fingertips tapped lightly on the dull metal.  “G - L - O - C - K.”

“That’s the one,” the man replied with alacrity as he stabbed a button and the door to the tower area began to buzz.

As Tillis pushed the buzzing door open, he turned back to the man at the front desk.  “My partner will be here in a minute.  She has the password too.”

The term ‘tower’ was a misnomer.  Or at least overly generous.  It was a square three-story concrete block structure attached to one end of the low-slung terminal building.  The middle floor contained four small offices - two on either side of a short hall.  The top floor was one big room with large windows on all four sides.  It had seating for two and ancient electronic and radio equipment stacked everywhere, including military surplus 1950s vintage radar equipment.

Tillis rushed up the stairs and burst into the big room; he found a lone man studying an electronic display that illuminated his features with a weird greenish light.

“My name is Tillis.  I’m a Special Agent with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.”

The man didn’t turn around and continued to focus on the glowing screen.  “This is New Mexico.”

“I know.  That Citation X taxing to the active is being hijacked.”

“I know.”

“You do?”  Tillis asked with surprise.

“It started squawking 7500 a few minutes ago.” 

Tillis admired Bubba’s cool head.  Before he could reply, the controller began again.

“The transponder on an airplane transmits or squawks an assigned code number so the controller can identify its blip on radar.  Certain numbers, however, have very specific meanings - 7500 is the code for a hijacking, while 7700 indicates a general emergency.”

“I know,” Tillis answered impatiently. 

The controller continued on with his nervous recitation.  “I thought the pilot might have squawked 7500 by mistake and really meant to squawk 7700.  A general emergency.  Center advised him to make an emergency landing here, but we don’t know why.  But then I figured he would have stayed on the ground if there was a general emergency.”

The controller paused long enough to take a deep breath and continued.  “I didn’t want to take any chances, so I called the FBI.  We just completed a Homeland Security mandated joint training exercise this afternoon, and two agents were still in town having dinner at the Pizza Hut.  They’re en route.”

“Oh, great.”  Tillis moaned.

“What?”

“Hold on.”  Tillis punched up Commissioner Alcorn on his cell.

“I just talked to Sally.  Go.”  Alcorn answered.

“I’m in the tower, but I have a problem.  The controller here called the FBI.  Fric and Frac are on their way as we speak.  Call Chuck.  I need these guys to stand down.  I don’t have time for their bureaucratic bullshit.”

“On it.”   Alcorn answered and ended the call.

Sally entered the terminal and glanced over at the young man behind the desk without braking stride.  “Tower?”

“You have a gun?”

Sally stopped.  “Yeah,” she answered questioningly.

The man nodded toward the door to the tower as it began to buzz.  At the same instant, two men with identical close-cropped haircuts burst through the front door of the terminal.  Each wore a dark suit, white shirt, conservative rep tie, and black wingtips.  Sally’s brow furrowed and she veered toward them while searching for her ID.

“Sally Cummings.  Florida Department of Law Enforcement.”

“This is New Mexico,” the younger of the two men observed authoritatively as they both flipped open FBI identification in unison.

“I was a passenger on the hijacked jet.  En route to a joint operation with New Mexican authorities.”  Sally explained.

“What’s the status here?”  The older man asked.

Sally turned toward the windows fronting the tarmac as the Citation X climbed out.  “The plane’s in the air.  This place is a dead end.  I’m on my way to a Motel Six up the road.  I just heard Roswell PD found four witnesses that the hijacker left there.  Bound and gagged.”  Sally leaned forward and lowered her voice.  “I hope the locals don’t destroy all the evidence before I get there.”

The two men studied each other.  Then both turned back to Sally and spoke in unison.  “We’ll take the Motel Six.”

“But this is where the primary crime occurred,” Sally whined.  “Shouldn’t you conduct a thorough investigation here and works backwards?  Follow the evidence?”

The older man smiled.  “Is that what they taught you at your academy?”  The other man smirked, and the older one spoke again.  “Hijacking is a federal crime.  If you want to help, just preserve the scene here.  Okay?”

“Okay,” Sally answered dejectedly as the men spun on their heels and began to walk away.  “What about the plane?”  She called after them.

The older man stopped at the door, looked back at Sally for a moment, and judged her worthy.  “Regional headquarters will link up with the closest En Route Center and monitor the situation on radar.  We’ll coordinate with Homeland Security and scramble a military intercept if necessary.”