Chapter 35

Damn, this is what make America righteous. Servers with bouncy tits, a cook that can’t talk without growling and cussing, and locals that don’t say shit if ya don’t want any of their shit. Gotta love Frank’s Diner, fucking America, yeah ... Who the fuck are those two? Why the fuck they looking at me. Shit. Them bitches are coming directly at me. Fuck this shit, I’m outa here.

“Mister Jackson? Do you remember me? I am Cindy.”

Yeah, and I am Daffy Duck. What the fuck, over? Who the fuck is this Cindy? How the fuck do her little tits even see outa them thick glasses?

“Uh, I gotta go...”

What the fuck!? The other one is blocking me? They carrying anything?

“I am Mary. You rescued us, Mister Jackson.”

Rescued? What the fuck they talking about? ... Good, my favorite waitress coming to my rescue.

“Problems, Mark?”

“Dunno, Jen. Was trying to leave. Ya know these two?”

“I suppose I do. Girls, just cool your heels somewhere else. Let the man go his way.”

“Mark, go sit there. I’ll bring you some coffee.”

Yeah, good idea. If I sit in that corner booth, Jenny will have to bend over to give me coffee. Why not? I’ll stick around for the scenery ... What the fuck is their big conversation about? Jen just needs to kick them out and bring me coffee ... Wonder if they got apple pie today?

“Sorry about that, Mark. Them girls insist that you rescued them.”

“Yeah? Never rescued shit. Ya know ‘em?”

“They are government wildlife biologists.”

“Wait ... What? ... Think I know who they are. I did a radio call for their dumb ass a while back. They broke a leg and couldn’t get off the mountain. They sent a chopper for them. Wonder how much that cost the taxpayers?”

This is great stuff. She knows. I know. And she knows that I know. Yeah, put them tits on display, woman.

“Want anything else, Mark?”

“Got some apple pie?”

“We do. Coming up.”

Damn, now that how a well-padded woman should walk. Them jeans do her ass good ... Yeah, bend that body over, free them tits.

“Just made, Mark.”

“Thanks, Jenny. Whose Suzuki is that?”

“Figured you would notice that. Belongs to Mike Patterson.”

“Who’s that?”

“The foreman out at that new electronics factory. He really likes the place and his job. Says that Doctor Barts is really cool. I assume you know her?”

“Yeah, at least I know her husband. We both work at Three Ranches. Why?”

“Been a lot of talk about that place since those properties were bought and consolidated. People say there’s a lot more going on than raising horses.”

“You know us peons can’t say shit, Jenny. And to tell the truth, none of us peons knows shit, anyway. Don’t even know who the owner is. I get my orders from some high-priced lawyer out west.”

“What’s with all the airplanes?”

“They belong to the boss. We fly his people to wherever we’re told. Why ya care?”

“Doesn’t really matter. Just curious. Three Ranches has been good for all of southern Idaho. And Doctor Barts has taken to the community real nice, with her teaching at the local schools and all. So she is the big guy for the ranch?”

“Pretty much. She don’t say much to us peons as long as we get things done.”

“What you know about her?”

“Not much. PhD in physics or something, and scary smart. I like her ol’ man.”

This woman is fishing. First time in almost a year that she’s asked any questions about the place. Gonna have to do a BI on the woman.

“ ... and she apparently has hooked up with one of those militia clowns next door.”

“So Jenny’s boyfriend put her up to this? Makes sense. She never asked me shit in all the months I’ve been eatin’ at Frank’s Diner. Not sure what to do, Dinky.”

“Nada, Mark. Absolutely nada. Keep talking to her. Feed her bullshit. We use this Jenny Richter as a way to control our narrative to the communities of this area. I also want you to reverse the situation, start probing her about the locals in general, and the assholes next door in particular.”

“Yeah, I can do that without much pain. At least she always has her tits on display. There’s that.”

“Yes, Mark. There is that...”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Dinky’s been a little too weird lately. Whatever.

“How was Wisconsin?”

“Bazillions of lakes. Fucking mosquitoes. Lots of good places to fish and hunt. The general say anything?”

“Nothing much, but he was happy about your data.”

“Ya know, been thinking ‘bout this shit, Dinky. Why the fuck is the general not using that new fancy robotic stuff to do this shit?”

“The MQ-1s? We talked about this. General Stewart’s doctrine is no CIA assets or direct contact. We are totally outside of the intel community. If we use their shit, we become part of that community, then how can The Watchers watch the watchers?”

“Ya like saying that, don’t ya? Yeah, you’re right. Not to mention the size of the systems package on those flying spy machines.”

“On that subject, did you and the general come to any agreement on getting a C-12 equivalent?”

“Beech King Air? I dunno. A bit much for a single pilot to handle. Not to mention a huge fuckin’ maintenance effort to keep it in the air. If the package ain’t gonna fit in the 414 or a TBM, then the general is gonna have to find a recon package that’s not so complex and huge. Know what I mean?”

“I do. Matty was talking about developing a SigInt package half the size of the current one.”

“Yeah, we been talking ‘bout and working on that shit for almost a year. That’s another thing, we don’t have an engineering staff to do both the computer controller boards plus the airborne sensor processing shit. And I ain’t about to bring anyone else onboard, unless I already know them.”

“Robert Dundron?”

“Bob? Gonna guess not. The boy is probably happy as a gopher in soft dirt, back in Huntington Beach. Between banging Janice and designing test systems, why the fuck would he wanna do this shit?”

“One, he is no longer in SoCal. Two, he is no longer doing Janice Marlborough.”

“Yeah? She kick him to the curb? So where is Bob?”

“Santa Clara. Working for AMD.”

“No shit? Let’s give the man a call ... On second thought, wanna go to California with me?”

“Why would you take me? I do not know Dundron.”

“Geez, Dinky, think ‘bout it. Bob is worse than me. His mind goes to mush around hot babes. With a super-hot babe like you standing next to me, Bob will agree to anything.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mark.”

“Yeah, that and you’re good at explaining this shit so it don’t sound so fuckin’ Orwellian. Pack your trash, lady.”

“So what ya think, Bob?”

“You blank-out on us, then Janice said you went to Mexico or South America, then you pop up with this wild shit. Man, oh, man. This really is some wild shit. So why me?”

“Because you’re my favorite bathtub sailor.”

“Fuck you, jarhead.”

“And you’re a damned good engineer, and ya know what’s going on, and ya don’t get riled over the small shit.”

“So we go into the mountains, live like monks, and pray to Buddha?”

“Yeah, except the Buddha part.”

“I’m in.”

“Just one thing, dude. Ya gotta, like, totally disappear.”

“Disappear?”

“Ya don’t say shit to anyone, then go home, pack a bag, get up, walk away, and get in my airplane.”

“Wow, like I said, this shit is wild.”

“Yep. Go pack your trash, dude.”

“What ya think, kiddo?”

“He’s a good engineer, Mark. Damned good. But a bit too dogmatic on the test shit.”

“It’s all good, Matty. And ya need to learn that DFT and DFM shit from him. He’s been doin’ that stuff for years. And Bob and I designed the fastest multiplexors and scanners in the test industry, back in the 80s. Where ya think the Teradyne shit comes from? ... So y’all are good? No problems?”

“None, Mark. I sorta like Bob. Probably because he’s a bit like you.”

“Yeah? Don’t know whether that’s an insult to me or Bob. Whatever, I got the Montana flight tonight. See ya, kiddo.

“Mark, remember my cousin in Tennessee?”

“The academic dweeb that teaches at Memphis State?”

“Correct. Theresa will retire to Argentina. Her land is now in my name.”

“Yeah? That’s cool. Got some good memories of that place. Ya thinking ‘bout retiring to that place?”

“Never thought about it. And yes, we had some good times at Theresa’s place ... Have you seen the proposed flight schedule, Mark?”

“Nah, not gonna look at it until Matty and Joe are able to give me their spill over it and whine about it a while. What’s that have to do with your cousin’s property?”

“Within six months, General Stewart wants runs over southeast CONUS. Prelim sorties would be over Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and South Carolina. Think about it, Mark. Southwest Tennessee would be an ideal base of operations. And have less exposure than operating out of public fields.”

Fuck me. Going back to the east? That area is crooked as a bucket of snakes. And why the fuck is she offering up her cousin’s land?

“Okay, but ya sure about this, Dinky?. That place is all ya have since your family lost most of your shit in West Virginia.”

“It is the least intrusive solution to operations in southeast CONUS.”

“So guess we gotta start greasin’ the wheels and bribing the local officials?”

“There would be some amount of that, but as it is all rural farmland, there would be minimal issues from neighbors or from zoning regulations.”

“What ‘bout the neighbors?”

“Already looked at that. To the east and northeast is a 600 acre parcel that is essentially fallow and abandoned. To the west and southwest is a 900 acre farm, that has been on the market for a year.”

“So ya want me to spend my money?”

“Other than airplanes and motorcycles, you don’t spend money. Open your wallet and let the moths fly out, Mark.”

“I bought ya that new fishin’ pole and tackle box. I spend money.”

“You are so fucking clueless, Mark. All the more reason we love you.”

“Whatever. Okay, as usual your perfect tits are right. Let’s get this rolling. Send this shit to Jim Salik. Have Joe and Matty pick out a place for the airstrip and hangars ... Uh, what ‘bout Bob?”

“He will be bouncing between here and Phoenix for the next nine, or more, months. Mark, about Bob, he is a damn good engineer, but why do you want him as a pilot?”

“He’s always wanted to fly. So if he likes it, why the fuck not?”

“I have flown with him in Joe’s 180. He does not have that touch that you, Joe, and Matty have.”

“Joe and I have been behind the stick for years. He just needs some hours.”

“Matty does not have much over 300 hours, and she can fly anything with that same touch. Bob has over 200 hours, and per Jane Filingame, has had problems in simple aircraft.”

“Relax your perfect tits, lady. Bob will do okay. Why ya talking to Jane?”

“Working on the schedules with Jackie. We’re attempting to project a five to ten month schedule. So I need Bob’s training status.”

“Project a schedule? Good luck with that. This spook shit is less predictable than tits being bounced around ... Actually, that ain’t true. If we know the moment of the arm, mass distribution, the exact input of energy, we could calculate the inertial force versus the damping force, so using the differential equation for damped oscillation...”

“Shut up, Mark.”

“Ya still working on that noise problem?”

“It has to be coming from Bob’s output choke.”

“No fucking way, kiddo. It’s a single-gapped RM core, so flux flows through the center peg, and out to the two legs. Flux splits evenly between the two legs, because there ain’t mag force making it do otherwise. So it just divides ‘cause the reluctance of the two paths, just as current divides between parallel resistors. This happens when the winding is only around the center limb.”

“But the other winding, the emissions could be coming from there.”

“Nah. Think about this, Matty. Suppose we always connect to a winding with a tightly twisted pair? Then no magnetic field is coming off the leads. It sure as fuck don’t matter how close these leads are to the core, or whether they intersect it somehow or another - flux is always balanced, and the external field from the leads is small. The twisted pair encloses no cross-sectional area of the core. So no effect, nada, zilch. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

“Okay, I will defer to the Great Mark’s engineering greatness.”

“Ain’t ya supposed to bow at an altar and sacrifice a chicken or some shit?”

“Leave the lady alone, Mark. She’s doing some good stuff. I’ll put a few hours in on it before I head back to Phoenix.”

“Whatever. You two knock yourself out. I’m going fishing. See ya.”

Why the fuck is Bob jumping in to defend the kid? Matty don’t need no defender, she don’t mind my shit ... Wonder if Dinky or Tim wants to go fishing?

“Bradford traffic, TBM nine echo charlie on two-mile final for two six, full stop ... Looks like they’re ‘bout done with the second hangar. You and Jim did a hellofa good job, Dinky.”

“Mark, there’s an airplane off to the right side of the runway.”

“What the fuck? Is the runway not marked yet? ... Yep, I see a big fuckin ‘R’ at the end of the runway. What these assholes think they’re doing?”

Dinky sure ain’t fucking around. Damn, that is so fuckin hot the way she pulls out her pistol and racks the slide.

“Where is your revolver, Mark?”

“In my flight bag.”

“I will get it for you. I want you to land further down the runway, and taxi up at an angle, blocking the aircraft into to that side tarmac.

“It’s called a turn-out, it’s for run-ups.”

“Shut up, Mark. Stop with the starboard side towards them, I want the hatch opposite them. I will get out first. You go aft and back-up. I will go forward.”

What the fuck? That’s a T-34. Can’t be mil, the bird ain’t marked for it.

“Dinky, this don’t smell right. That’s may be a mil bird, but has no air farce or squid markings. Civie feds, maybe?”

“Don’t know. Stay with me, Mark. Let’s keep our heads above water.”

There are times when a trusted person issues a notice that is both presage and counsel. Dinky’s advice to ‘stay above water’ was such one. Thus, I shut down my inner dialogue and went into what Dave had called a ‘zen-state’ of superawarness. The moments that followed were viewed, from my perspective, in slow motion, as I listened to the ‘command’ voice of Dianne Santiago.

“This is a private airfield. Did you see the runway markings? ... Gun!”

My resultant actions were fomented by Dinky’s cop instincts. My actions had no such instinctual derivation, I simply flowed with her actions. There may have been five or six rounds fired, or twenty rounds fired, I really don’t know. The end result were holes in my TBM and holes in the two assailants.

Dinky has handcuffs? Sonofabitch. Wouldn’t ya know it. Shit, did I really shoot that fucker? Happened too fast, can’t remember. Damn, sure as shit don’t wanna have to call Jonathon to save our ass, that could compromise...

“Mark! snap out of it! Get the cuffs on them. And get their ID.”

“You’re not gonna believe this shit, lady. They’re both DEA. Holeee shit ... Who ya calling?”

“Give me the IDs. I am calling Stewart.”

“Ya see the wing? It’s got hard points. That T-34 ain’t no trainer, it’s a fucking warbird.”

“You are right, Mark. According to Stewart, the registration belongs to the Venezuelan Air Force.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. General Stewart wants us to get these guys on your TBM and transport them to MacDill, Florida.”

“Not gonna happen. My TBM has at least three holes in it, and I am not about to land my ass in the middle of a special forces base. Another thing, what we gonna do with this T-34?”

“So how about it, hot-shot. Think you can fly that airplane? How different is it from your TBM?”

“Gonna guess similar performance specs. Probably lighter on the controls, and hellofa lot less range. Which means I need to make more gas stops.”

“Less range? How much?”

“Maybe 500 nautical.”

“Only 500?”

“Depends on what’s in the LOX bottles. If ya can get it over flight level 180, maybe 700 nautical. But under twelve thousand, no way I’m gonna get over 500 nautical. But first, I gotta teach myself how to fly this fucker.”

“The general has a guy on-call for this shit, he is in Maryland, and on his way down. You will pick up the medic at the Shelbyville airport.”

“Assuming that place got Jet-A, it looks okay, at least per my sectional. So I gotta figure out a round-about way to get him back here.”

“Fly him down along the Hatchie River, turn south somewhere before I-40, down to the Wolfe River, then fly back west following the Wolf River, then turn north to get back here. That should keep him from knowing the location.”

“Ya really know this area, don’t ya?”

“So should you, Mark. We rode our bikes all over this area.”

“Nah, never knew where we were. I was just following your wonderful ass ... Ya still have that bike?”

“The Katana GSX?”

“Yeah, you wore that bike well.”

“I sold it after I left the Gulfport PD.”

“Ya still ride? What ya got?”

“Not much. My new bike is still back in California. I got a 94 GSX-R1100.”

“Ya like them sixteen valves, don’t ya?”

“That and the almost one hundred sixty horses. It can torque at about any RPM. Stop the reminiscing. Get your butt into the air.”

“The older guy will not make it. The other guy is stabilized. If he does not get to a doctor soon, he will probably lose the use of his left arm.”

“Understood, doc. How long does he need to be on antibiotics?”

“Not certain. Removed the bullet, and was able to remove all debris from the wound. Sepsis is not in his immediate future. But after ten or fifteen days, I have no idea. Uh, I need to call General Stewart, but your pilot removed all electronic devices from my person.”

“Use this, with access code delta charlie three nine two.”

“What the doc say?”

“The old guy is not going to make it. The other guy is good for another ten to fifteen days.”

“So ya think we should keep the doc here or take him back?”

“Mark, he is a retired senior chief corpsman. He was at Lejeune when I was. He might have recognized me.”

“Does it matter if he knows that ya were a Marine? The guy probably worked on a bazillion jarheads. Ya really think he could remember anything ‘bout ya?”

“I think so. Think about it. A female MP. There was not even a dozen of us during the late 70s, sprinkled across mainside, Geiger, and New River.”

“Shit. You’re right. Not likely that any straight guy would not remember you.”

There’s that mona-lisa smile that I remember. Dinky may have gone psycho on me once, but she still has her shit together. Damn, I like that weird smile.

“We need to talk to Stewart before we allow him to return. What do you want to do about the old man?”