Wings of Steele- The Series, page 109
part #1 of Wings of Steele Series
“Cape Coral... Florida?” The two people said in unison.
“Yes. Why, where am I?”
“Mister, you're in Georgia...”
■ ■ ■
The FBI had sent agents from both the Tampa and Miami field offices to meet with Sheriff Naywood. The FBI's stated task was to assist the Sheriff's Office with any resources necessary to aid in their investigation. Their official task was to catch the impersonators. The FBI was none too happy with the raid conducted under their banner, and they were more than just a little peeved at whomever was impersonating their field operators. If they found Chase Holt in the process, well, that would be a bonus.
Naywood stood at the end of the table in the conference room filled with FBI agents and investigators from his own office. “Tell me about this operation you fellas botched in my county...”
The agents shared glances. “Sheriff, I can assure you the FBI had nothing to do with this raid... In fact, this guy, Chase Holt, wasn't even on our radar for anything.”
“You wouldn't bullshit a bullshitter, would you boy...?” To those who didn't know him, the Sheriff might come off as a yokel, and at times that worked to his advantage, having a seasoned background and five years in the bureau himself. He didn't find the work to his liking and went back to the police work he loved, moving up through the ranks to become the elected Sheriff. He didn't dislike the Feds so much as he didn't trust them. While local law enforcement simply did its best to enforce the laws and keep the peace, the government agencies never seemed to do anything that didn't benefit their agenda somehow. Whatever the agenda du jour happened to be. “Look, ever since that guy disappeared...” he looked over at his detectives, “what was his name...? Lived on the beach...?”
“Steele?” volunteered one of the FBI agents, jumping in.
“Ever since then,” continued the Sheriff, “you government types have been stirring up all sorts of trouble around here... and making a mess of it. Like when that thing...”
“UFO,” volunteered one of the detectives.
Naywood shot the detective a shut the hell up look. “Like when that thing landed out on Ft. Myers Beach. You started a war on my beach. I won't stand for that kind of...”
“To be fair, Sheriff,” interrupted one of the agents, holding up his hand, “that was the NSA... And maybe a little CIA. We weren't involved in any way in that...”
“Well you damn sure had to know what was going on.”
“No sir. Our two agencies don't communicate too often on things like that...”
Sheriff Naywood folded his arms. “Well that right there sounds like a problem to me... Doesn't it sound like a problem to you? Because Steele disappeared and nobody has been able to find him since. Then his sister disappears during a war on the beach with... well, who knows what...” he waved his arms. “A local news personality was murdered after airing a news special I'm sure you've seen, and her husband, one of my Deputies, took a leave of absence and has since disappeared. Now Mr. Holt, who was friends with both Steele and my Deputy, is abducted in broad daylight by a raid you say wasn't one of yours...” He folded his arms again. “And nobody seems to know a damn thing about anything.”
“Mistakes happen, Sheriff. The FBI doesn't like it, but like everybody else, we're juggling cases and budgets. Things fall through the cracks. It doesn't help when secretive agencies like the CIA and the NSA who think they're above the need for communication with what they perceive as less important agencies, hold back information. That's been a bone of contention for years.”
“I don't want to hear about bones of contention...” waved Naywood. “Falling through the cracks? I know what a turnip truck is... but it doesn't mean I fell off one.” He stared at the men in the dark gray suits. “How about you stop blowing smoke up my skirt and tell me what you really know about what's going on here?”
“The Steele case is an open investigation of national security. The topic is not open for discussion...”
“Bullshit!” snapped the Sheriff. “You opened it for discussion when you spilled it all over my goddamn county...”
“We've already told you this wasn't us...”
“There's so many loose ends and unanswered questions... it's got Fed fingerprints all over it.” Naywood was watching their posture and each of the FBI agents sat openly and casually.
“My assessment, Sheriff, is that this was an NSA move. Now, you could place an official inquiry with them but I don't think you'll even get so much as an email.”
“What do you recommend then?”
“I'm going to put you in touch with an agent who is familiar with the original case... he'll only speak with you off the record, but maybe it will be of some help to you. His name is Phil Cooper. Officially, I will have no involvement in that introduction...”
The Sheriff nodded, “I appreciate the effort.”
“In the meantime we will circulate the information about Holt and your missing deputy, maybe we can generate some movement...”
“I noticed you didn't mention locating Steele who seems to be the crux of this whole thing...”
“At this juncture,” began one of the agents, “Steele is out of the picture, he's out of reach...”
Nawood saw an opening. “So he's someplace without an extradition treaty... you can't touch him?”
“I cannot tell you anything more.”
“He's dead...” guessed the Sheriff.
“Not to our knowledge...”
He's already being held somewhere...”
The lead agent stood up abruptly, smoothing his suit jacket, followed by the other agents. “We're done, this conversation is over. We'll be in touch.”
CHAPTER FIVE
UFW CONQUEST, GEDHEPP SYSTEM: SMOKE AND ASH
“Jack, you have an incoming communication.”
“Thank you, TESS.” Steele opened his eyes and swung his legs off the couch in his darkened quarters, rubbing his face. “Source?” It had been a long day and he'd never made it to bed, falling asleep on the couch still in uniform.
“Air and Space Port, Veloria.”
Jack stepped over Fritz's sleeping form to get to the desk in his quarters and ran his fingers over the gently lit glass keyboard, the screen winking on, its blue glow illuminating the room around him. The logo of the Velorian Royal family in the middle of the screen matched the gold Pegasus silhouetted against a red rising sun on his ring. He glanced down at the ring on his finger and back up again. The logo sat on a black shield framed by olive branches, flanked by outstretched gold wings. Alité had taken the image he'd used for the Freedom and adopted it for Veloria. He was to say at the very least, floored.
The screen flickered for a moment as the Queen of Veloria's face appeared. “Hello my husband...”
“Hello gorgeous.”
“Do you like my little surprise?”
“Which one?” he teased. “The fact that your communications are up, or the new logo?”
“The logo, of course...”
“It's beautiful. I'm stunned... but why?”
“I wanted to show the people that the old royal family was gone. This is about rebirth and a new beginning. A new image seemed to be a good way to convey that. I wanted something that would be totally different, something they had never seen before. Something they could not associate with anything past or present. Your winged horse and your flight wings seemed to fit together nicely.”
“It looks spectacular, sweetie. I hope it works for your...” he stumbled, “our people,” he corrected himself. “So how did you get communications up?”
“The UFW Directorate was kind enough to send a comm satellite on one of their transports. Before coming down to land at the ASP, they set it up in synchronous orbit with the base so we have constant signal. How's your reception?”
“Looks pretty good to me.”
The small screen on Jack's eGo-h lit up, “Jack, we are entering the Gedhepp System in five minutes.”
“Thank you, TESS,” he replied.
“Who was that?” asked Alité.
He held up his arm so Alité could see the eGo-h on his wrist. “TESS, large screen...” The holographic screen lit up, hovering above his wrist, her animated face smiling at Alité. “TESS, this is Alité Steele, my wife. Sweetie, this is TESS.”
“Hello Alité.”
Alité raised one eyebrow, “Hello, TESS,” she said slowly. She shifted her eyes to her husband. “What is she... it, whatever...”
“Sort of an electronic assistant,” he countered. “She's tied into the ship's systems and can feed me live information and communications...”
“So she's not real, then?”
Jack taped the holographic screen in the corner and it disappeared. “No, she's a computer-generated artificial intelligence.”
“Interesting. She looks pretty realistic.”
Jack wasn't sure if her expression was wary or unimpressed. “What's wrong...?” he asked.
“You have a girlfriend,” she pouted.
It struck him seriously which tore at his heart. But only for a moment. “Ooh, you little minx,” he scolded, his eyes narrowing, “you're messing with me.”
She smiled wickedly, “Yes, I am.” Her expression shifted and her eyes changed to a vivid purple, “Do you want to punish me...?” she purred.
It was Jack's turn to smile wickedly. “Lady, if I could climb through this screen, you'd be in big trouble...”
Her head tilted coyly, “What would you do to me, husband...?”
“I um...” Steele looked around in the darkened room, knowing full well he was alone but feeling a pang of nervousness just the same.
“We are on a secure diplomatic channel,” she reminded him. “I want to play...”
“Woman, you never cease to amaze me.”
Alité pointed at him, “But I don't want that bitch showing up and ruining things,” she hissed in mock anger.
■ ■ ■
Commander Paul Smiley was watching the squadron screens in the flight tower, waiting for the Conquest to clear the gate, the ship at yellow alert - a standard precaution when entering a system not considered strongly-held UFW territory. “Two flights ready to go?”
“Aye, Captain.”
Paul listened in on the bridge communications between the ships. “The Westwind is clear...” he announced, checking the roster then glanced up at the vid screen again. “Revenge too. Both ships reporting poor visibility. Tell our flights to take it easy, sensors are impaired...”
“What do we have out there?” asked the launch coordinator.
“Heavy clouds of dust, like smoke. High metallic content,” replied Paul. “Ok, we're clear. Go for launch...”
“Launching...” Two flights of four fighters launched simultaneously, one flight on each side of the ship. The kachunk of the launch sleds could be heard throughout the ship in rapid succession as they hit the end of their rails, ejecting the fighters out into space.
Pappy keyed his mic, “Bridge, do you have any scan data for us?”
“Our scans are severely hampered Captain, the Revenge is pushing ahead looking for a break in the conditions.”
“Copy that.” Paul turned back to the tower controller. “Launch a Zulu to escort the Revenge. Inform the flights on patrol to reduce the distance on their routes by half.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And I want two more flights on standby and two more suited up...”
■ ■ ■
On the bridge of the Revenge, Lieutenant Commander Brian Carter was pacing the bridge watching the big screen. Seeing, well... nothing. “Anything...?”
“Nothing, Skipper.”
“Zulu moving up on our Starboard side, sir.”
Brian chewed on his lower lip. “Anybody ever seen anything like this before?” He got a few glances but it was obvious this was a unique situation for all of them. “How about any ideas on what could cause something like this...?”
Ragnaar turned in his seat, “There are no notations on UFW records or updates on the charts of any anomalies like this in this system, Commander. It may be something relatively recent. It is not a heavily traveled system... it may have gone unnoticed until now.”
“How long to the gate?” Brian squinted and could make out the shape of the Zulu off their starboard side.
“At this pace, Rikovik's Reef gate in about seventy-six hours.”
“This is going to be a long seventy-six hours,” mumbled Brian.
“Direct communication, coming in Commander,” said a decidedly female but artificial voice.
Brian had almost forgotten about the eGo-h on his wrist. “Go ahead, TESS.”
Paul Smiley's face appeared on TESS' holographic screen. “How's it going over there, Commander?”
“Blind as a bat, Pappy.”
“Yeah, us too. We sent you a Zulu escort and we've got two flights out with two more on standby. You've got the most advanced sensors in our group so press ahead, but don't go beyond the reach of our current sensor sweep. The bridge is forwarding you our numbers.”
“We saw the Zulu...”
“Good. It's fitted with the sensor magnapod, so piggyback your sensors - let's see if we can improve our results.”
“Will do, Pappy.”
■ ■ ■
Commander Dar Sloane looked back and forth, out across his wingtips to see the faint outlines of the rest of his flight as they flew through the smoke and ash drifting through the system... so dense he might as well be blindfolded.
“Say Commander, aren't there supposed to be a couple planets in this system?”
His headset chirped as the comm ended. “Several,” he replied. “It'd be nice if our sensors could cut through some of this stuff so we don't fly into one...”
“Am I imagining it, or do I feel buffeting?”
Sloane keyed his mic, “Yeah... seems to be a current of some sort. I can't tell which way it's moving though.”
“Oh good, I thought I was losing my mind.”
Sloane switched over to SPD, Scanned Phase Doppler Radar, and narrowed the beam, slowing the sweep. “I'm getting the best results on SPD, although that's not saying much...”
“Same here,” chirped the speaker in his helmet. “MPB,” Magnetic Pulse Beam Radar, “just shows a wall of white.”
“I've got a blob ahea... WOAH!” Sloane yanked on the stick and kicked his rudder pedals hard, firing maneuvering thrusters as the chunk of rock the size of a building materialized in front of him. The Cyclone reared up and rolled, the left wing catching a massive outcropping of rock, barely missing the cockpit perspex, the screaming sound of crushed, tortured metal and shattering of composite armor vibrating through the fighter's frame. The Commander slammed hard against his harness, his vision going gray as the mangled wing ripped from the fuselage was flung outward. The engines still under power threw the Cyclone into a wild cartwheel, venting the oxygenated fuel gel with quick blobs of flame flying through space in all directions. The cockpit alarms were screaming at him as the confined space filled with tangy, metallic, electric smoke. His visor shield slammed shut and the wash of pure oxygen in his suit snapped him to his senses.
The rest of the flight, in a delta formation had passed the monster rock on either side and they tried to track their crippled flight leader.
“Stay on him!” screamed Santine. “Don't lose him in this stuff!”
“Commander! Commander! Cut your engines! Cut your engines! You have fire!”
Santine switched channels, “Red Flight to CFC, mayday, mayday! We have a midair with debris, we need rescue out here!”
“Conquest Flight Control, copy Red Flight. Launching emergency recovery. Please feed us your flight path numbers...”
■ ■ ■
Captain Smiley was scrutinizing the holo-chart in the flight tower. “Chart, zoom fifty percent.” The table obeyed silently, bringing the flights, ships, coordinates and flight paths closer, allowing a more detailed view. “There it is,” he pointed, indicating the debris location, fed to the tower from Red Flight. “If Rescue follows their exact path, they should be able to walk her around the debris...” Smiley straightened up and looked down through the glass to the flight deck below. “Tell her to take it easy, no hotdogging. We don't need any additional casualties. And have White flight join up with Red, we're calling them back after this...”
■ ■ ■
Lieutenant Maria Arroyo and her copilot Lieutenant JG Myomerr, were strapping into the cockpit of Rescue Two, running as fast as they could through their preflight checks as the medical and rescue personnel raced across the deck toward the boarding ramp.
“I'm in!” called Lisa, beating the rest of the team.
Maria looked over her shoulder, “No you're not, get out.”
“I want to go...”
“No! This is not amateur hour. There's no room for you.”
“But...”
Maria keyed her mic, waving and getting the attention of the Marine on the deck at the base of her ramp. “Get her off my bird. Now!”
Without saying a word, the Marine grabbed Lisa around the waist and hauled her bodily off the ship's ramp, the ramp retracting and the hull door scissoring together with a clank.
“Goddammit! Put me down!”
Maria looked out her side window at Lisa on the deck and shook her head no. “You'll get your turn kid, just not today,” she mumbled.
“Cleared for stern launch,” announced Myomerr.
Maria twisted the anti-grav throttle and Rescue Two went buoyant, bouncing off the deck like it was floating on water, a gentle blue glow under its landing feet.
Lisa stood on the deck with her hands on her hips and watched the craft rotate smoothly under direction of the deck controller and sail out through the shimmering blue stasis field with an electric hiss, moving out over the fantail, with her landing legs retracting as she retreated out of sight.
■ ■ ■
Commander Dar Sloane was wrestling unsuccessfully with his crippled fighter to get her wild cartwheeling under control. Snatching the throttle to zero he toggled off the engines and punched the fire control system button. Fire retardant foam sprayed across her engines and injected into the fuel systems sealing the broken lines and snuffing out the fire. Gobbets of foam and dwindling streams of fuel slung out into space in long ribbons. “C'mon baby,” he breathed, “settle down...” He punched an emergency all-stop button which fired all maneuvering thrusters simultaneously for a long blast, the Cyclone shuddered under the force, her damaged frame groaning. “Mayday, Mayday, can anybody out there hear me?” The fighter rolled slowly, still drifting.
