Chapter 23

“I’m coming over the first reference fix, major. Put the other shoulder harness on, it’s gonna be a bit rough from now on.”

“Change of plans, Jackson. At the first way-point, make heading 243 true. At seventeen miles, will be the intersection of BIA road twenty and state highway two. BIA 20 runs north/south, is a gravel surface, and is clear of obstructions for at least thirty five feet on each side.”

“Seventeen nautical or statue miles?”

“Uh, not sure ... Can your radar be used to find this spot?”

“It’s a fucking weather radar, designed to filter out ground clutter. You fucking want me to find this with no navaids, and use dead-reckoning during the night? Your planners are morons, major.”

“Would it be that big of a difference?”

“At seventeen miles, we’re looking at approximately a two miles differential between statute and nautical. Fucking morons. Ya got another reference point to this intersection?”

“Yes, of course. The Fort Kipp community is approximately 1.5 miles southwest of the intersection.”

“Yeah? Nautical or statute?”

“Statute, of course.”

“Of course.”

What a fucking moron. How does the gunny stand this idiot? Yeah, I hereby dub her ‘Major Moron’. Does this Fort Kipp even show in my sectional?

“What the fuck? Major, this is on an indian rez.”

“Correct, the Fort Peck Reservation.”

“Just so you know.”

Stupidity should be painful. Wonder if her momma dropped her on the head a few times. I dunno about them army dogs. Wonder if all of their officers are that stupid? Captain Franks wasn’t too bright, but at least he was a good man. Come to think of it, most of my officers were not stupid, just mostly assholes ... Okay, help, me Zeus, Jupiter, Odin, or whoever is standing god-watch ... That little gaggle to port should be Kipp. Gotta slow the fuck down ... ten flaps, yaw dampener off, seperator on ... Fuck this stealth shit, landing lights going on. Okay, over Kipp, turn to 045. Slow down to 90, fuck it, full flaps. That lighter shade must be the gravel road. Line it up. Fuck me, can’t see shit ... too dark. Okay, got the road in my lights. Probably should keep it at 75 all the way down. Here we go...

Fuck me. Gravel too loose to brake, can’t risk beta either. This had better be straight for at least another 1500 feet.

“Shut it down, Jackson. I need to get to the middle container.”

I’ll feed Major Moron to the coyotes if this shitty gravel road fucks up my airplane. Probably should walk the length of the road before I re-position to make sure.

“Find your shit, major?”

“Affirm. Jackson, here are the instructions for your second leg. Meet me at Fort Peck airport in thirty two hours. The challenge to ID the contact at your next destination will be nine echo three if all is safe, and eight echo three if unsafe to continue contact. Your response will be alpha six three one to a safe challenge.”

“Huh? What’s this challange-response shit? What do I do if this guy gives me the ‘unsafe’ code?”

“Nothing. Immediately leave. Did you remember to bring your passport?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Read the instructions.”

Read the instructions? What an asshole. Let’s see what we got here. Moose Jaw airport? Fucking Canada? They want me to make an illegal border crossing, then fly into a canuck military field?

“Major, this can’t be right ... major?”

Where the fuck did Major Moron go? Fucking bitch disappeared with that rifle and pack. I’ll assume she’s not doing a girl scout camp-out. Don’t even wanna know. This shit is gonna get me thrown into the slammer for twenty years, at least ... Fuck it. I’ll walk the road then head to the great white north.

Let’s see the instructions before I turn this turbine and wake the neighborhood ... Cross the border two west of highway 24, proceed northeast to Crane Valley, then north to Moose Jaw. All below 500 AGL ... Fucking morons. A screeching turbine under 500 feet; yeah, that’s real fucking discrete. What drooling, crayon-drawing idiot wrote this plan? Whatever.

May the gods help keep me out of the Canada penal system. Here goes nothing...

“MCewen tower, this is Socata TBM november seven zero zero charlie sierra, seven south for landing, full stop, seven hundred charlie sierra.”

“TBM seven zero zero charlie sierra, altimeter is three zero zero one, report left base for one one right.”

“Tower, zero one on the altimeter, will report left base one one right. Seven zero zero charlie sierra.”

Seperator on, dampener off, radar off, flaps ten ... There’s nothing out here. Just small towns. Gear, all three green. If not for the fucking winters, this place would be tits. Well, that and no surf within a thousand clicks. Shit, Nyota has never seen snow. She’s gonna freak in a few months. Full flaps.

“Tower, left base for one one right. Seven zero zero charlie sierra.

“Seven zero zero charlie sierra, wind zero seven five at four, gusts twelve. Cleared to land one one right.”

“Tower, cleared to land one one right, seven zero zero charlie sierra”

They were obviously expecting me, so it looks like our spooks are working with the canuck spooks. Aren’t we just one big happy family?

“Seven zero zero charlie sierra, stay on tower frequency, exit at bravo and hold for guide.”

“Exiting bravo, holding for guide, seven zero zero charlie sierra.”

That’s interesting, a hummer as the follow-me truck. Whoa, they’re all armed. And they do not look friendly.

“May I see some identification, sir?”

“Gonna pull it out of my flight bag, sergeant. Okay?”

“Thank you, sir. I say nine echo three.”

“Uh, alpha six three.”

“Very good, sir. I have a vehicle inbound to unload the gear, and my captain will be here shortly to de-brief.”

“Uh, what debrief? About what?”

“I do not know, sir.”

I ain’t gonna give this canuck officer nothing. This could be national security shit. Time to play dumb.

“Sir, I just drive this thing and deliver stuff. Sorry, can’t help the captain.”

Just act stupid and ignorant. Well, actually it wouldn’t be acting. They expect me to tell unvetted foreigners all about my stuff? Me and the gunny are gonna have a talk about this. Once the canucks get hold of this stuff, the Ivans and Chongs will get it. I may be an asshole, but I sure as fuck ain’t selling out my country. This is just like in the 70s. The fucking commies didn’t know shit about the APD-10 and AAD-5 specs until we told the Canucks. Not gonna...

“Mister Jackson?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you not the principle designer?”

“Nope. I’m the delivery boy. I don’t even know what’s in those boxes.”

At least the last part was true. Just what systems are we giving to Canada?

“ ... about an hour, Major ... uh, I need to take a piss. Wanna watch shit for a minute?”

“Mister Jackson, I do not think...”

“It’s on fucking autopilot, major. We’re at least twenty mike from the next enroute hand-off.”

Fuck you, Major Moron. Gotta call the gunny. Need to see who is playing for which side. Where did I leave that phone?

“No, I can’t speak louder. I’m aft, in the head, and the major is up forward in the cockpit. For some reason the canucks thought that they were gonna be offered the schematics and source to whatever systems were in those crates. Who the fuck authorized that shit, and if they were my designs, who manufactured these systems? You remember what happened with the Canadians in ‘78?”

“I was not aware of, and Major Hegstrom certainly did not authorize any such transfer. Did you ever tell her that you were the design engineer?”

“Negative, gunny. And after the third destination, Major Moron asked me how the tutorial went with the Canadians.”

“Damn. Don’t say shit about any of our procedural particulars, Watson. I’ll be at the airport before you arrive. Is she armed?”

“Looks like she has a pistol in a cross-draw holster. When I picked her up, she had lost the rifle.”

“You armed?”

“My revolver is in my flight bag.”

“Have her exit the aircraft first. Have her turn her back to me as she exits the airplane. Follow my lead. Bye.”

Follow his lead? What the fuck is going on? I hate spook shit.

“Uh, major? Wait one. Take this case, I need to get my flight bag.”

Holee fuck. He beaned her brain-housing group. That had to hurt.

“Cuff her, Watson. Get her into the office.”

Damn, Major Moron weighs a lot more than she looks. Must be a lot of muscle.

“Get your airplane inside. And lock this place up.”

“Aye, gunny.”

Where the fuck is my tow dolly? And what is Nyota doing outside?”

“Get inside, little girl. Gotta lock it up. Ya miss me?”

Two rats? That’s my little panther.

“Damn, girl. You’re the best. Gonna give both to me? That’s my girl. You’ll get a whole bacon strip for this.”

What the fuck are those two pallets doing there? Gotta get this shit re-organized. Where’s the pallet jack? What the fuck is my jack doing under the trailer? Where’s the goddam nosewheel pintle? Where the fuck is the...”

“Watson!”

“What?”

“Get the goddamn airplane inside. Now!”

“Aye, gunny.”

“Strip her. Every last bit of clothing. Cut off what won’t go over her cuffs.”

Whoa, I was right. Nice tits. Nice butt, too. How can someone so muscular have tits like that? Maybe they’re not tits, but pectoral muscles.

“Shred her clothes. Look for anything that may be embedded. Take apart that pen and pencil, and everything in her bag. Spread it out over the hangar floor.”

“Aye, gunny.”

Would probably make a lousy interrogator. I’d just stare at her tits. Damn, another pistol. Gunny wasn’t being over the top when he pounded her head. Can’t fuck around with these spooks. What’s this bulge? I’ll cut the cover off of her fancy little portfolio notebook. Yeah, looky here. What’s this? Looks like a list of freqs, and a list of names.

“Find any trackers or electronic devices?”

“Nope, but found another gun and look at this shit. It was hidden in this.”

“Interesting ... This is not good. Watch her, Watson. I gotta make some calls. If she gives you any trouble, beat the shit out of her.”

Say what? Not too keen on beating women ... Yep, Major Moron is starting to realize that she’s truly fucked. Wonder if we’ll give her to the FBI...

“Jackson, or whatever your name is, you do not want to be part of this. If you release me, I can keep you out of the line of fire.”

‘Line of fire’? What does that mean? Fuck this bitch. If the gunny thinks she’s a traitor, it’s good enough for moi. She’s toast and she knows it. Not gonna say shit to her. But I will look at her tits, at least until gunny turns her in...

“Got a large tarp, Watson?”

“Yep.”

“Get it. Put her clothes and bag on it.”

“Scott, you are making a big mistake. I am not the enemy here. The internationalization of the IC is more important than your simplistic regional interests. The Berlin Wall is down, the Soviet Union is dissolved. We have entered a new era. You cannot stop the coming globalization...”

That sure as shit shut her up. That must have really hurt. Whole side of her head is covered with blood.

“Be careful not to get blood on anything, Watson. Put her in the middle of the tarp. Do not untie her ankle straps.”

Damn, she must weigh 75 kilos ... What the fuck is he doing? Shit, shit, shit. At least her brains stayed on the tarp. Where’s Nyota? She probably freaked over that .45 blast.