Chapter 28

“Damn, Nick, was thinkin’ you’d never retire from the suck. Ya really submitted it? Does the Major know?”

“Yes and no. The major has been out of contact since he went to MacDill. Scotty knows, at least I think he does.”

“Ya ‘think’ he does?”

“I sent him a message several days ago.”

“They sending ya back to North Island or Miramar to be processed out?”

“Probably North Island. I am guessing about three or four months before I get on the Fleet Marine Corps Reserve list. I will probably belong to the ComNavAirPac staff during the interim.”

“What about the dweebs in Quantico?”

“TECOM is gonna close out my detached duty; probably next week.”

“What if they send you back to the third MAW?”

“Doesn’t matter either way. But I did want to ask you to, uh, sorta watch the in-progress processing. We pissed off a shit-load of people back at MAG-11, so I’m worried about some asshole taking a parting shot at me.”

“That would be the pits, man. Hey, know what? I have a ‘path’ to the manpower office. Maybe I can set something up ... So the dickheads from the first ILSMT are still butt-hurt?”

“Yeah. Remember the LT?”

“Wiggins?”

“Yeah. The asshole is now a major at the wing four shop, and is really pissed that he’s at terminal rank and end of career. He has been trying to give me the green weenie for over ten years.”

“Probably the only reason he getting to stay twenty is because he’s a ring-knocker. I hate them fuckers, what bunch of dickheads. I’ll let ya know if I can install a watch daemon, maybe sometime tomorrow, dude ... Ya wanna see if I can get into a HQMC box and give Wiggins a going-away present?”

“You are one vindictive son of a bitch; and that’s one of your better qualities.”

“Ain’t it, though? Wanna surf? Shit’s coming outa the northeast today. Probably less than a meter, but we can do it.”

“That’s a firm titty, kemosabe.”

“Lemme yank Sandy away from her computer.”

“Jeezzus Christ Tap-dancing, Watson. Why the fuck you do that?”

“Because I can, and because he’s an asshole.”

“Newsflash, you are also an asshole.”

“But to be more precise, Nick did said that I’m a vindictive asshole.”

“Shit. Well, I did tell Johnson that we should not leave these two alone for a month without adult supervision ... Shut it down for a while, sir?”

“Not yet, gunny. Let’s hang tight for at least ten days, and do nothing. We will need to see the resultant developments and reactions to this ... Watson, I want a list of your compromised machines at HQMC, and the respective parametrics that you are flagging. Top, please stay away from Miramar until you get your retirement papers. I don’t want you on any public flights back to NI, so I will fly you back.”

“I can do that, sir. No problema.”

“You will not go anywhere, Watson. Absolutely nowhere. Understood?”

“Uh, aye, sir.”

Yeah, right. I’m a member of the First CivDiv. I can do whatever the fuck I wanna ... maybe not. The major would probably send some spook hit-man to cap my dumb ass. Whatever. It was worth it to trash Wiggins’ files and accounts, only Chesty knows how many Marines he fucked over. I hope he chokes on a bag of dicks.

“I do not understand, Mark. How can he order you around? You are the fiscal basis of all of this, and you are no longer in the Marines.”

“Uh, technically he can’t make me do jack. But ya really can’t hide from these people. He’d probably send some high-speed assassin after me.”

“He would do that to you?”

“Lady, once you start playing the spy vs spy games, there ain’t no exit, other than death. So if ya wanna walk, now’s the time.”

“I could not leave you.”

“Yeah ya can. Give it a little more time, and you’ll be ready to exit my dumb ass.”

“Mark, no! I love you.”

What’s with this constant ‘I luv ya’ shit? Does it ever mean anything? One day they’re all tits out and can’t live without ya, the next day it’s ‘never touch me’ and you’re out the front hatch.

“Mark? We stay together. We will fix this.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever.”

“Sir, I know the major is a shit-hot fighter jock, but if ya crash my airplane, ya buy it.”

“Watson, if I auger this thing in, you will be off the hook. That will be your payment ... Get you gear aboard, top.”

“My seabag is already in it, sir ... Dude, be cool. See ya in a few months. Sandra, keep him out of his mind. He spends too much time inside of himself. And don’t take any crap from this reprobate.”

“Bye, Nick. Please be careful.”

“See ya, Sandra.”

“Joe, how you and Jackie doing?”

“We finished building the barn, paddocks, and the second corral. She finally chose a spot for her little observatory.”

“It all sounds good, man. Where is Jackie?”

“She’s out riding.”

“Call me when she returns.”

“Roger that ... uh, Mark, you okay?”

“Yeah, just call me when she’s back.”

Fuck me. Maybe I should fly up there and let them know in person. It’s all over, anyway. Maybe I should move up there. Fuck me. Fuck you, Odin, and Jupiter, and you too Chesty. Every last fuckin one of ya can fuck the fuck off.

“Watson! Did you...”

“I didn’t say shit to Joe, guns. Everyone can fuck off. I’m gonna go surf, I need to think.”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Sandy. I’ll do this my own way. And I ain’t gonna talk about it.”

At least she knows when to shut up. Why are the furbags staring at me? ... Need to find a way into the NTSB. Gotta get the prelims...

That’s what I like about doggos and kitties. They always know when life sucks really bad, they don’t say shit, but are always there, being your bud. Nayota feels really soft. Probably from Sandy brushing her all the time. My little panther...

Holeee shit. Here it is ... No fucking way. Inertial separator on at over 200 knots? How the fuck would they know that? Maybe the fucking valve just failed in cruise, no, that’s stupid, it can’t fail on ... Wait. So fucking what if it failed? Just feather it and find a place to land. This is bullshit. Is this shit made by the PT6 manufacturer? ... Nope, so Pratt and Whitney may not know, and they would stone-wall me anyway. I need to talk to a Socata factory guy ... Yeah, found the images ... Looks like a pile of mangled metal and composites, how the fuck can they make any determination from that? Gotta find me a factory rep, and need to talk to my legal beagle.

“As the COO, I am giving you permission to fly dad’s plane. When are we leaving, Mark?”

“Uh, now? ... Gunny? we gonna remain headless?”

“Looks that way. I have no contacts, otherwise.”

“Fucking brilliant. Your organizational design has a single point-of-failure. Guess what, sports fans, that point failed, so we do what the fuck we want. I hereby declare myself the Grand Poobah, and Lord of the Manor. Any complaints from the adults in the room?”

What’s with the stunned looks? You’d think that Sandy flashed her tits or something. Speaking of tits, where the fuck is psycho-bitch?

“Where’s Dianne Santiago? She’s the only one not accounted for ... Well, let’s not all talk at once.”

“Uncertain, Mark. She was last known to be in-transit, and was going to meet Major Hegstrom in San Diego.”

“Ain’t that interesting. When did we lose contact, and why the fuck has she not tried to call us or something? Don’t you guys have some sort of standing protocol for this shit?”

“We do not. Unknown. What was your last ping, Scotty?”

“Wait. No protocol? No fucking standard way to retreat, regroup, and do whatever shit spooks do when shit goes south? What the fuck is wrong with you people? Don’t answer that. I’ll fucking tell you. You people are idiots. At least I have an excuse. I’m just a simple over-educated redneck. You assholes are supposed to be professionals ... Fuck me...”

“Mark, I do not think that...”

“Shut it Jonathon. I’m thinking.”

Nick said it, ‘never trust an adult that doesn’t know how to play’. He also said to respect Sandy’s opinions. Yeah, she’s one of the keys to putting this dumpster fire out.

First, gotta get all of our people accounted for. Then the site at the stumps torn down. Then we go to Waco and talk to Socata ... Then we gotta get rid of the externals. Yeah, Jonathon needs to go. Gotta make it all jarhead. Shit, what about Bill? Sandy is gonna have to decide ‘bout the big guy.

“Jonathon, return your ass to the FBI. If anyone of your spook friends asks, tell your Justice Department dweebs that the principles are either dead or missing, and are not expected to return. I know how to contact you if I find something ... Sandy, book him on the first available flight outa here, I’m sure there’s a red-eye outa Miami International going to DC ... what the fuck ya waiting for, Special Agent? Pack your trash. You are gone.”

“Mark we should not dissolve this group until...”

“I wasn’t asking. I control the money, so I now control whatever is gonna happen. Right now, I’m on an investigation, and I need your FBI ass sitting at a terminal that has access to that huge criminal database. You either do that, or we all disappear, forfuckingever. Not only that, you will lose access to all of my monitoring and tracking shit.”

“Understood. I will be ready to leave within an hour. What about the status of the Twenty Nine Palms site?”

“I will take care of that. You just get back to your DOJ digs.”

Wait for him to exit ... Watch that body language ... Yep, he’s gonna comply. Fucking-A, good, now I got a man on the inside ... What’s with Sandy? I know that look. She gets turned on at the weirdest times. Maybe I’ll bend Sandy over her desk and...

“Watson, another loose nut we got rattling around would be...”

“I know, gunny. Janice Marlborough. I took a look at their computers. I know where she and Bob are right now, they’re driving to the hacienda from work. And no, we ain’t gonna say shit to either one of them. At least not any of us idiots will say shit. Sandy, you, my hot little musician, as the COO of Hats industries, are gonna watch them, which ya would sorta be doing anyway. Janice and Bob are yours to handle as you see fit. As far as they know, me and the gunny don’t exist no more. So talk to me about the SoCal site. They doing any external projects?”

“Only one. Most of their output is based on the update and maintenance of your original designs, where the work is for process automation projects internal to the various Hats factories and admin.”

“What’s the outside project?”

“The original Treasury Department security systems that you and Bob set up several years ago.”

“The federal reserve banks?”

“That and there are some newer installations at three private regionals; they apparently process transactions for the fed.”

“Yeah? That’s interesting. I’ll have to look at that.”

Shit. Am I doin the right stuff? Am I fucking up? Maybe I should just walk away, take Sandy back to her palace, head to the desert, and accept that bad shit happens.

“What ya think, guns? Am I fucking up?”

“Nope, and I agree with your reasoning. You want only Marines around you. Well, except her. I will need a flight out tonight to SoCal, preferably John Wayne. Can you find me something, Sandra?”

“I can do that, Scotty. What do you mean that Mark wants only Marines around him?”

“Sandra, I have to pack. Mark will explain it to you. I will let you know when we are ready to mount out from the stumps, and will wait for your instructions ... Mark, I’m proud of you.”

“Uh, okay. See ya, guns.”

Proud of me? For fucking what? Hope he’s not getting wrapped too tight ... Damn, her headlights are definitely on high-beam.

“Turn around, Sandy. Now ... Bend over.”

Always figured that her fancy oak desk would be perfect for this ... her smell, that’s so good...

“The message says that he found Dianne Santiago and that she will meet us at your family’s palace.”

“It is not a ‘palace’, Mark.”

“Whatever. When’s Bill coming back?”

“Tonight. He’ll meet us at the airport by nine PM.”

“Good enough. Everything packed?

“Aye aye, sir.”

“You’re way too hot to be a stupid jarhead, but I liked the way you said that ... Darcy, feet on the deck. Nyota, get in your box ... Let’s go to Texas.”

“Mark, you never answered my question. Why only Marines?”

“We’re all brain-washed with loyalty and a sense of duty. I guess it reduces down to a simple ‘us versus them’ way of thinking.”

“Including Dianne Santiago?”

“Yep. She may have gone psycho on me once, but she’s a Marine. She’ll do the right thing when shit goes south. Let’s go.”

“ ... but the images only show the first flapper valve is damaged.”

“The linkage between them would cause the movement of both to be affected if one was damaged. The first re-directs the intake air along the bottom, a sump if you will, and the second restricts airflow such that a larger portion goes into the exhaust stream.”

“So we can say that this would be an uncommon failure?”

“For this particular inertial separator design? Very much so. In fact, we had a customer with de-lamination of the forward segment, which caused a detached corner at the rivets. The failure mode was so unusual that we had no parts available for repair and had to order from the factory in France.”

“So what ya think about the hydraulic lines that go to the generator?”

“Again, an unusual failure mode. Maybe it was not an in-flight failure. Perhaps this indicates the resultant impact damage. I cannot really say from these pictures.”

“Any other ideas as for a root cause?”

“None ... Uh, Mister Jackson, just how did you get these images and the preliminary NTSB report?”

“Uh, a friend of a friend. I’m gonna ask you a question, sir. A question that you never heard me ask. Okay?”

“I understand.”

“Since none of this makes any sense, do you see anything that suggests that the airplane was tampered with?”

“Well ... I will say this. Having seen the data and the images, I would have continued to look further for another root cause and/or another path for this failure to cascade into.”

“Thank you, sir. What do I owe you for your time?”

“Nothing. Give me the report and we’ll call it even. The boys at the factory in France were asking about this particular incident. They have expressed concern, as your aircraft was the second batch ever made.”

“The CD is yours, sir. Have a good one.”

Fuck me. So we got real live spy vs spy shit going on. Maybe the major wasn’t becoming a paranoid old geezer. Maybe we do need to watch the watchers. He said there were other groups like us, so who the fuck owns this operation? Should I try to contact them? What do they know about me? ... Here comes Miss Musician. She’s wearing that denim dress. And no bra, again. I wish she wouldn’t do that when I’m trying to think. I have got to mount some accelerometers on those tits. That sway and tit bounce has got to produce some interesting waveforms. Let’s say six degrees of freedom, so I guess three accelerometers would work. Have to be careful with a signal low-pass, but maybe could post-process and...

“Mark? ... Mark!”

“Yeah?”

“What did he say?”

“Enough to make me think that it was a very low probability failure mode that should not have caused a fatal accident.”

“Oh my god. Sabotage, Mark?”

“Maybe. At least the factory rep didn’t say anything to make me conclude that the NTSB had found the true root cause ... Wait, ya know what? The accident investigation never tried to contact me or the LLC agent, which is my legal beagle. Now that is fucking interesting.”

“We will continue to California?”

“Yep. Don’t want psycho-bitch to get all lonely at the palace.”

“Don’t call her that. One day, Mark, you may depend on her for something important.”

It’s hard to think of her otherwise, but Sandy is right. Wonder what they got for chow around these parts.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. You and Bill wanna get some chow?”

“Let’s find a hotel, first. We are not going to eat, then immediately fly to California. We will leave tomorrow.”

“Okay, I guess ... Probably a good idea, as the 340 is not as fast as my TBM is, or was. Don’t wanna shoot an approach through the marine layer at zero-dark thirty. Remind me to call Mister Salik after chow.”