Breakthrough (24 page)

34

The small airfield in Homerville, Georgia looked like something out of an old Hollywood movie.  The runway looked nearly abandoned and barely usable.  A row of two dozen hangers lined the west side of the field near the entrance, most of which were empty collecting dust and leaves.  Not far away stood what was left of a small café, boarded up with a crooked sign hanging precariously from the roof that read “Dolly’s Café”. 

Standing alone, near the south end of the field was a small building, the only sign of life left from what appeared to be popular stop-through decades before.  Its sign was still intact and read “Homerville Rotorheads”.  It just grazed Steve Caesare’s head when he walked under it.  Caesare turned the doorknob, noting the peeling paint, and heard the familiar jingle of a bell hitting the other side of the door as it swung open.  He looked around the room and came back to the small desk in the middle.  Loaded with papers, it was the only thing that looked to be recently used.

“One sec!” someone called from the back.

Caesare nodded and turned to a small rack on the wall.  He picked out one of the brochures on chartering.  Most of the others looked about as old as Dolly’s Café.

An old man appeared through the doorway behind the desk.  He was dressed in an old flannel shirt and blue jeans.  His hair was completely white, matching his mustache, and combed neatly.  “You must be the
fella that called earlier,” he said.  “Steve right?”

“Yes sir.”  Caesare replied, reaching out to shake his hand.

“My name’s Charlie.”  His chair squeaked loudly when he sat down. “So what do you want to rent my helicopter for?”

“I work for a movie production company
and we’re scouting the area for locations.”  Caesare answered.

Charlie wrinkled his nose and looked out through the window.  “What kind of movie you making out here?”

“Uh, an action movie.  Military type.  I’m one of the consultants.” 

“I never really cared for those action flicks.  Two hours of someone shooting everything in sight.” Charlie said.  “You military?”

Caesare nodded.  “I’m retired.”

Charlie looked him over.  “You know how to fly a helicopter?”

“Yes sir.”

“Got a license?” 

“Yes sir.” Caesare answered.  He handed Charlie a picture of him standing in front of a large Seahawk helicopter with his helmet tucked under his arm.

Charlie looked at the photo and then handed it back. “Eh, you’re fine.”  He stood up and walked around the desk.  “Let me show her to you.”

As Caesare followed him back out the front door, he said, “How long you been here, Charlie?”

Charlie chuckled.  “Hell I don’t think I can count that high anymore.  Feels like forever.”  He led him around the corner of the building.  “Let’s see, I opened this place up in ’64
, so I guess we’re well over fifty years now.  Wife died nine years ago, and I just ain’t got all that much else to do.  And the rent’s cheap.”  He laughed at his own joke and led Caesare around a small group of trees.  When they rounded the trees, Caesare’s smile disappeared.

Charlie nodded to the small chopper on an old, cracked concrete pad.  “Only one I got that’s worth a damn.” 

Caesare stood looking at it.  It was a small two-seater, but what he was not expecting was the giant bar extending out almost ten feet beneath the skids.  “A crop duster?”

Clay walked calmly down the hall approaching Palin’s interrogation room.  He glanced at his watch as he neared the door.  He nodded at the first guard who looked him over.  “No Keister?” the guard asked.

Clay shook his head.  “Just me tonight.”

The guard grunted and reached for his access card.  As he turned toward the door, Clay was instantly on him.  In one move, he wrapped his left hand around the guard’s mouth and kicked his supporting foot out from under him, pulling him off balance.  In a panic, the guard fired several rounds into the ceiling as he fell back against Clay, unable to breathe or get his footing.  In the same movement using his right hand, Clay pulled a stun gun from behind him and fired two electrified prongs into the right leg of the second guard.  The second guard screamed in pain, dropped his rifle and fell to the ground.  The ten thousand volts ravaged his muscular system causing him to convulse wildly.  The first guard dropped his gun and tried desperately to right himself and regain his balance, but Clay kept taking steps backward knowing the human body’s instinctual reaction is to avoid falling as its first priority.  The guard, still struggling and reaching behind him for something to grab, inhaled deeply the mixture soaked into the cloth glove on Clay’s left hand.  The chloroform was already beginning to confuse his senses.

Clay continued moving backward to keep the guard stumbling, but then made a quick turn in the hallway and began walking backward toward the second guard.  The guard on the floor was trying desperately to fight the seizures and reach his gun with his shaking hands.  Just as he got close, Clay dropped the larger, sagging guard on top of him and kicked the rifle out of reach.  The second guard, now beneath the first, tried to get free but instantly felt Clay’s cloth glove over his own mouth. 
Less than a minute later, they were both unconscious.

Clay pulled out some handcuffs and rags and quickly bound and gagged both men.  He stepped over the first, yanking his access card free.  He looked up and down the long quiet hallway, swiped the card, and opened the door.

Clay stepped into the room and paused, looking up at the cameras and hoping Borger had done his thing with the video feed.  Not hearing any alarms, he moved across the room to Palin who was already sitting up after hearing the disturbance outside.

Clay removed a pair of cutters from his pocket and looked Palin over, but he was not bound. “We have to go.”

Palin looked concerned. “What is wrong?”

“Your people and the ring are in danger.”  Clay said, pulling Palin to his feet.  “Are you injured?”

“No.” Palin said.  “What do you mean in danger?”

“My government is going to launch a submarine strike to destroy the ring.”

Palin’s face looked surprisingly calm.  “It’s okay.”

“What?”

“It’s okay,” Palin repeated, “we have anticipated this.”

Clay shook his head.  “Well if it doesn’t work, they are going to strap a nuclear weapon to a dolphin and send it in that way.  Have you anticipated that?”

Palin’s eyes opened wide.  “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”  Clay looked at his watch again.  “And
, by the way, when that bomb goes off, if we’re even still here, the shock wave may be strong enough to reach the South Pole and trigger the tsunami all by itself.”

“I must get back!” Palin said
a look of panic in his eyes.

“You don’t say.” Clay said sarcastically.  “We have to get out of here.  Can you move?”

“Yes!” Palin was suddenly eager.

“Can you
run
?”  Clay asked.

“I can!”

“Good.”  Clay grabbed his shoulder and started moving for the door.  He suddenly stopped as the door opened from the other side.  Slowly the barrel of a gun crept in and was then pointed at them.  The deadly face of a marine appeared behind it.

Clay did not move.  He watched the marine take a single step into the room.  Both men stood frozen staring at each other.

The marine spoke.  “Clay.”

Clay kept his eyes on him.  “Munn.”

Munn lowered his rifle and looked slowly around the room, and then to Palin.  “Interesting timing.” he smirked.  “Almost everyone is on the other side of the base getting ready for some big UN delegation due to land any minute.”

“No
kidding.”  Clay replied.

Munn looked behind him at the two guards on the floor.  “Are they dead?”

Clay shook his head.  “No.  But the one on the bottom is probably going to limp for a while.”

Munn looked back down at him and shrugged.  “He’s an ass anyway.”

Someone behind Munn passed something forward.  Munn grabbed it and tossed it into the room.  It was a large duffle bag.  He looked at Clay.  “It won’t be long before these two are found.  You’d better hurry.”

Clay nodded and led Palin toward the bag.

Munn gave Clay a farewell gesture and disappeared.  He suddenly popped his head back in.  “By the way, we’re now even.”  And he was gone.

Clay quickly unzipped the back and pulled out a dark jumpsuit for Palin.  “Get this on, quickly!”

While Palin dressed, Clay withdrew an AR-15 and ammunition belt loaded with several high capacity magazines.  He also clipped a holster onto his side and dropped a .40 caliber Springfield into it.  No sooner had Palin zipped up the jumpsuit then Clay grabbed him and shoved him through the door. 

They ran back down the hall and up three flights of stairs.  When they reached the first large set of doors, Clay tried the guard’s access card.  The slot buzzed and flashed a red light.  He tried it again.  The loud buzz sounded again.  Clay turned around and looked up at the ceiling mounted camera.

Will Borger watched Clay and Palin on his monitor.  He quickly typed some keys on his keyboard, and the door behind Clay unlocked with a green light.  Clay put his hand on the handle and motioned Palin to back up.

In one motion, he jerked the door open and trained his rifle through the other side, finger
near the trigger.  The bright entryway was empty.  They proceeded quietly as Clay kept his muzzle trained on the giant steel door at the end of the hall.  As they neared the end of the hall, Clay looked over his shoulder checking for Palin.

At the steel door, Clay tried his card again.  No dice.  He waited for Borger.  After ten seconds of silence, he began to grow concerned, but the electronic lock finally clicked.  Clay slowly pushed the door open and looked outside.  It looked empty.  Clay closed his eyes and listened.  Nothing.  He grabbed Palin and broke into a run, headed for two vehicles on the far side of the open, graveled area.  Palin ran quickly behind him as Clay swept his gun back and forth.

They made it halfway to the first vehicle, a small white Humvee, when the alarm went off. A screeching siren from the building behind them along with a bright red rotating light alerted nearly the entire base.

“Crap!”  He looked at Palin.  “Any chance you can teleport us out of here?”

“I need the brick.”

“What brick?” Clay asked.

Palin made a small rectangle with his hands.  “The small silver device you took on the ship.”

Clay suddenly remembered the object.  He looked around absently trying to remember where he left it.  “Dammit!” he said when he thought of where it was.  “I don’t have it.”

They watched as a searchlight from a watch tower in the distance pointed toward them.  They could hear yelling coming from multiple locations and two pair of headlights cresting a small hill.

Clay looked back to the building.  “Plan B.” 

They ran back to the door, still ajar, and ran back down the entryway.  They reached the stairs and heard faint voices below.  Clay knew there would be men responding from the lower levels.  They were lucky if they had two minutes.

They ran up two flights of stairs and stopped at another door.  Clay looked away and fired three rounds through the lock.  With a hard thrust, he kicked the door open and he and Palin burst out onto the roof.

It was a large roof.  He could clearly see more headlights in the distance and over a dozen men running towards them on foot.  Bullets suddenly flew overhead and hit the wall of the stairwell behind them.

“Get down!” he yelled and pushed Palin down onto the cold roof.  Clay stayed low and ran back to the stairs.  He listened to the voices getting louder.  They were coming fast.  More bullets hit the outside wall, one making it through and scattering pieces of plaster and sheetrock all over the top stair.  Clay looked around the dark roof where Palin was laying quietly. 

The pounding of footsteps grew louder up the stairs.  Clay knelt down and closed the door with only the barrel of his gun visible and pointing downward.  More bullets impacted the wall.  He waited patiently until he saw lights approaching in the stairwell.  He pointed his gun down to the corner where the stairwell made its last turn before ascending to the roof.  The reflection of the lights grew brighter from around the corner.  Finally when the pounding grew loud enough and the lights reached full brightness, he knew they were close.  He fired three shots into the wall on that last corner.  The footsteps stopped instantly.  The bright lights that were reflecting off the walls suddenly went out.

Clay knew they would take the last flight of stairs slowly now.  Being shot at had that effect.  Clay fired one more bullet into the wall and then backed up and let the door shut. 
Staying low he ran back to Palin.  “You okay?”

Palin nodded.  “Yes.  Although our situation does not look good.”

“I know, I know,” agreed Clay.  This is exactly where he did not want to be.  He slowly slid down onto his belly and got into position, propping up onto his elbows with his gun pointed at the stairs.  He was thankful for the raised edge around the roof making it difficult to see them from the ground and for the men approaching the building.  Clay leveled his eye with the rifle sights and locked in on the dark shape of the roof’s exit door.