Let the Music Play - 41. Disputed Authority

In a culvert a few hundred yards northwest of Instinct’s ranch, Dimitri lay shivering in the icy waters of an irrigation ditch. He chanced a peek above the edge of the ditch every few minutes, seeing the flicker of a dozen flashlights as the biker’s search proceeded. He cursed both his bad luck and, his honesty compelled him to admit, an ill-prepared plan. He now understood that he’d been grossly negligent in his reconnaissance. The armed men appearing at the target’s house had been a nasty surprise, one that should have never occurred. They had come, he had seen too late to matter, from the nearby ranch which had been hidden from his ridge-top view. Only the fact that he and Mario had taken separate routes to the target had made the difference between life and death. Dimitri, relying on his military training – something that Mario, for all his skill at killing, singularly lacked – had instinctively kept to any form of cover available during the approach, having the unwitting Mario take the more hazardous lead. The plan had been simple; a simultaneous entry through the front and rear doors. Dimitri’s first indication that something had gone awry had been the biker’s shouted challenge. He’d heard Mario’s AK firing and then the answering firestorm from multiple types of weaponry. He had no doubt that Mario was dead.

Dimitri had made several mistakes and to occupy his mind, he reviewed them. The first was inadequate reconnaissance. The second was not having night-vision gear, and the third was parking the Suburban close to the road, half a mile from the target’s house. That had been a tradeoff; he’d weighed the need for ready access to a getaway vehicle against security, and had made the wrong choice. The motorcycles he’d heard roaring up the road had stopped near the Suburban, and the flashlight beams visible in the area left no doubt that it had been discovered. Dimitri still had his AK-47, a nine millimeter pistol, and a hunting knife, but he was up against what appeared to be a small army. Dimitri was under no illusions as to the likely results of any firefight. His only hope, he knew, was to evade and escape. With many hours of darkness remaining, he knew he had some time, but he was also well aware that putting distance between himself and his pursuers was his only hope. After a fast check above the ditch, which confirmed that the nearest searching flashlights were nearly a hundred yards away, he scurried out, keeping low and moving silently, as he made his way west, away from the road.

One hour and two miles later, Dimitri felt safe enough to shelter behind some bushes and use a pen-light to check his map. He had fifteen more miles of rugged terrain between himself and the main highway. His plan was to reach it and then hitchhike or hijack his way back to Telluride. A second look confirmed that the intervening terrain grew more rugged closer to the highway, so he pressed on, planning to put a few more miles between himself and the accursed ranch, then hunker down and wait for dawn.

At Instinct’s ranch, the sheriff’s deputies were not making a good impression on anyone. After a cursory examination of the body and its weaponry – Mario and Dimitri had carried essentially the same equipment, except for the map – their first demands had been for whoever did the shooting to come forward, but no one did.

The first deputy, a man by the name of McClatchity, had a deep and abiding dislike for bikers, considering them to be little more than a very public form of organized crime. Allowing that opinion to cloud what little objectivity he had, he said, “What we have here is a murder. Somebody better start talking, or I’ll take you all in.” McClatichity’s fellow deputy, a man a dozen years his junior, silently cursed the abject stupidity of that statement, and took a worried glance at the twenty-plus armed bikers in view. The phrase ‘you and whose army?’ came unbidden to his mind.

Helen’s temper, which had been at a slow boil, found a ready target in Deputy McClatchity. “I’d suggest you open your fucking eyes. That man,” she yelled as she jabbed a finger in the direction of the body, “is on our land, armed with an illegal weapon. He was sneaking up on our place in the dark, and he opened up on the guy who shouted a warning. This is as clear a case of self-defense as there has ever been. So why don’t you get that through your thick skull and do what you’re supposed to do, investigate, not act like a redneck cop who bases his opinions on bias. This is the second time in as many days that someone has tried to kill me and my boys, and you’re threatening the only people who were willing to protect us. You’re going to back off, now, or I’ll bring in a legal team and call a press conference that you and your department won’t soon forget! Understood?”

Deputy McClatchity was singularly unaccustomed to being chewed out by civilians, and in an angry voice he said, “Ma’am, you better back off and shut up or you’re spending the night in my jail. I’m giving the orders here.” He dropped his hand to the handcuffs on his belt to emphasize his threat. “Now, I want every gun here handed over right now for ballistics checks, or I’ll be making some arrests.” The other deputy didn’t miss the fact that not one of the bikers made any move to disarm, and fervently wished that McClatchity would shut up.

Jim stepped forward and was about to speak, but Brody beat him to it as he strolled up to McClatchity and said, “First off, there will be no arrests here tonight. Secondly, the lady is right. We’re her guests, we’re staying put, and we ain’t disarming. Now, y’all can either investigate like you’re supposed to, or you can leave. There’s more than just my chapter here, not just the guys you can see. If ya’ll decide to make an issue of it, it’ll be a damn short fight.” As if to emphasize Brody's point, a dozen of the Harleys returned from their excursion up the road, rumbling up to park next to the police vehicle.

Brandon, with his shotgun slung on his shoulder, entered the dimly lit circle that was forming around the two deputies. The second deputy recognized him at once; he’d spent enough time in supermarket checkout aisles to have seen many photos. Brandon told Deputy McClatchity, “I’m Brandon Wolfe and I’m thinking that a press conference is a real good idea. Your department didn’t do a damn thing when we reported our lives may be in danger, but these guys,” he swept his arm to indicate the dozens of surrounding bikers, “came up to help us. They are guests on our land. Like my manager just told you, what happened here tonight was the second attempt to kill us. We’re not going to let you disarm us, not under these circumstances.”

Deputy McClatchity disliked rock stars about as much as he disliked bikers, but he knew that bad publicity would not make his sheriff happy, especially with a re-election campaign coming up in a few months. Looking at Brandon, whom he too had recognized, and then at his three band mates who had appeared by his side, he realized that they could easily call the threatened press conference and have it widely attended. He was also acutely aware that his orders to disarm had been ignored to the point of almost being laughed at. Seething, he considered calling for backup, but he could count; he’d seen at least thirty armed bikers, and reasoned there were likely more. He’d need a lot more backup than he could expect to obtain. Still, he had no intention of backing down to a group of what he considered to be thugs and low-lifes, so he opened his mouth to tell them again to disarm, when the thrumming of what he assumed to be helicopter blades announced a new arrival. Assuming that it was his department’s chopper, he smirked as he called out, “Now we’ll see who’s in charge here.”

On board the Osprey, General Bradson occupied the jump seat just to the rear of the two pilots. One of the pilots, taking a look at their objective via the Osprey’s forward-looking infrared – called a FLIR in military vernacular – sensor system, told the General, “Sir, there’s one hell of a lot of people at that place. I’m seeing warm engines on about two dozen motorcycles. I estimate fifty to sixty people, and at least some are carrying weapons.”

The V-22 Osprey is a very unusual aircraft; in essence, it is a cross between a helicopter and a conventional turboprop aircraft. Two stubby wings protrude from the top of its fifty-seven feet of fuselage. At the end of each wing sits a large engine nacelle which mounts a thirty-eight foot tri-bladed propeller. What makes the Osprey unique is that it’s a tiltrotor; the engine nacelles pivot. This allows the Osprey to take off like a helicopter, and once airborne rotate the nacelles forward, assuming the configuration of a conventional aircraft. This gives it a cruising speed of over four hundred miles per hour while retaining the ability to take off and land like a far slower conventional helicopter.

The sensor feeds and instruments in the Osprey are displayed on LCD flat screens and the pilot had the ability to cross-deck the FLIR feed directly to the General’s station. When he did so, the General frowned as he studied the image, cursing himself for not bringing along a squad of Airborne Rangers. “Landing zone may be hot,” he muttered, as much to the pilot as to himself.

General Bradson considered his options. He could call for reinforcements but that would take time. He knew he couldn’t delay; the band and their manager might be vitally important to resolving a national security threat of unprecedented proportions. He was also painfully aware that he’d let them slip through his fingers once before.

Taking out his cell phone, which he carried in flagrant violation of flight regulations, the General dialed Helen’s number. “Hello, Ma’am, this is General Bradson. We’re closing on your location and we can see a large number of armed men. What is your situation? If you are under duress, cough,” the General said, immediately thinking that his last comment sounded like something out of a bad movie.

Helen, with her phone to her ear, walked away from the seething Deputy McClatchity in order to avoid him overhearing her end of the conversation. McClatchity’s response was to catch the eye of his fellow deputy and indicate that he should follow. The deputy hesitated, and a menacing look from two bikers who had blocked his path settled the question in his mind.

Once she had rounded the corner of the house, Helen said in a hushed voice, “Nice to finally hear from you again, General. We’ve just had another attempt to kill us. The armed men are with us, and we’ve got two sheriff’s deputies here who have taken the wrong side and are throwing accusations at our people, and are telling them to disarm. If they push the issue, those two deputies are about to play the role of Custer at the Little Big Horn. I will not permit the men who are defending us to be disarmed, is that understood?”

Still unsure of the situation, but relieved it didn’t appear to be open combat – yet. Needing to get on friendly terms with Helen, the General replied, “Leave the deputies to me, Ma’am, we’re coming in.”

Walking back to Deputy McClatchity, Helen fought the urge to smile as he nodded towards the approaching sound of clattering rotors and said again, “We’ll soon see who gives the orders here.”

After commanding his two investigators to man the two fifty-caliber machine guns, just in case, the General gave the order. “Proceed to landing, combat profile, but do not fire unless fired upon.”

On the ground, the thunder of the Osprey’s twin rotors kicked up a dusty gale as it overflew the house, its engine nacelles already in the vertical position for landing. The Osprey bore no lights, and barely silhouetted against the starry sky it seemed even larger than it’s already considerable size. Pivoting to keep the nose pointed at the waiting crowd, the Osprey touched down twenty yards from Mario’s body.

Eric broke the shocked silence which followed as the Osprey’s rotors spooled down. “What the fuck is that thing?”

One of the bikers answered with a chuckle, “That’s a military tiltrotor, big sucker ain’t it – but what’s it doing here?”

Smirking at Deputy McClatchity, Helen said, “It’s here to determine who gives the orders. Isn’t that right, deputy?” Without waiting for a reply, Helen stalked off towards the Osprey.

The Osprey’s tail-mounted loading ramp lowered, and General Bradson stepped out alone. Walking forward under the wing, he met Helen and said, with a friendly nod, “Sorry it took us so long to get here, Ma’am. Turns out you were right about your plane. Now, shall we go deal with the two deputies you mentioned?” The General was more than a little curious as to why the many armed men around appeared to be bikers, but that, he reasoned, was not his concern so long as they were protecting the people he’d come to see.

Deputy McClatchity’s eyes opened comically wide as he took note of the general’s stars gracing the shoulder boards on the flight fatigues of the approaching Air Force officer.

Coming to a halt close in front of the deputy, General Bradson was glad he’d had time to make a fast radio call to his base, and they’d given him a piece of useful information. Rank, he reflected not for the first time, hath its privileges.

Smiling, the General asked, “What appears to be the problem here, deputy?”

Flustered, first by the huge number of bikers, and now by the Osprey’s arrival, McClatchity stuttered a few times before replying, “I’m conducting an investigation into a killing. I was trying to get the suspects to disarm.”

Scratching his head as he glanced towards the body, General Bradson replied casually, “You can start by assisting my investigators. They will take charge of the body.”

Standing his ground, McClatchity replied, “This is a police matter; it’s my investigation and you can’t intervene.”

Deciding he had no time to waste on the annoying deputy, General Bradson abandoned his friendly demeanor and said in a low voice, “Not anymore. I’m in charge here now. This case has national security implications and is hereby a military matter. If you need confirmation, I can always call your sheriff. He’s a lieutenant colonel in the Colorado National Guard, as I just recently learned, so I’m sure he understands the protocol here. If not, I’ll have the Pentagon recall his ass to active duty and let him know that he has you to thank for it. You got that?”

McClatchity knew that his sheriff was in the guard, and the General’s threat sounded real. Deciding to take a different tack, McClatchity asked, “What about these bikers? They gunned a man down.” The other deputy cringed, wondering how best to avoid whatever fate McClatchity was earning for himself.

Fully aware that he too had no choice in that matter due to the sheer numbers present, General Bradson replied, “Seeing as they were protecting these good people, they’re staying. I think I’ll have a chat with your sheriff about getting a security detail out here, too. As for you, this conversation is over. Either assist my investigators or you’re leaving, now.” A smattering of slow applause from some of the surrounding bikers greeted the General’s ears.

Deflating, McClatchity stalked off, nodding for the other deputy to follow. He’d chosen to leave; if it wasn’t his investigation, he thought, why the hell should he help?

As they climbed into their SUV, McClatchity heard one of the bikers yell, “Ya’ll come back now, ya hear?”

Biting back his impotent rage, McClatchity put the SUV in gear as the other deputy said, “Mac, you gotta learn when to shut up.”

As the Sheriff’s Department SUV drove away, General Bradson saw that his two investigators were already examining Mario’s body. Satisfied, he turned to Helen and said, “Ma’am, we need to talk.”

Helen nodded, but there was something she knew she had to do first. Deciding to tell everyone at once, she said, “There’s some news I have to give my boys first. Come inside with us, General. You too, Jim.”

Leading everyone to the kitchen table, she waited while they took seats. Remaining standing, and fighting a futile struggle to keep the emotion out of her voice, Helen said, “Jim, when you called I was talking to Barbra. She’d just given me some horrible news. Günter, our security chief,” she added his job title for the General’s benefit, “was found dead in a dumpster back in L.A. He disappeared immediately before the flight that ended on your base, General.”

The four members of Instinct each found themselves stunned by the news. Coming on top of everything else, it left them shell-shocked. Brandon was the only one to give voice to what they all felt, as he muttered, “No,” under his breath, his head sagging forward.

With a somber nod, General Bradson said, “I’ll need all your information. We examined your plane; the damage was caused by a bomb affixed to the exterior of the fuselage. The bird residue and bomb placement was designed to bring down your plane and make it look like an accident. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to make the attempt. Now, tell me about this ‘Jerry’.”

Shaking her head, Helen replied, “First, I need to call Barbra back. I set my phone to vibrate after Jim’s call and it’s been buzzing like crazy. She must be frantic. I’ll let the guys tell you about Jerry; they’re the ones,” she beamed at them with pride, “who figured him out. I’ll call Barbra from the other room.”

Without waiting for a reply, Helen walked away. Brandon led off first, “General, before we tell you about Jerry, there’s something you need to know. I was looking at some news articles and saw a picture of Kryton switches. I recognized them; they were inside a scooter Jerry loaned to Eric.”

Nodding, and taking out a pad and pencil along with a recorder, General Bradson said, “Okay, I need the whole story, right from the start.” The General took furious notes as Jon started from the beginning, when Instinct had been formed with Jerry’s son as lead singer, and Jerry in charge of shipping.

In the bedroom, Helen at last allowed herself to shed a tear for Günter as she finished bringing Barbra up to speed on the events of the evening. Once she’d absorbed the news, Barbra replied over the phone, “Hon, when I was trying to get through and couldn’t, Wilde called me. He’d seen a news report about your emergency landing; I saw the report myself; one of the people at the air charter company told the press all about it. Anyway, I told Wilde about Günter, and Wilde, Steve, and Zeke want to fly out to you. For that matter, so do I, especially now.”

Wanting Barbra by her side, Helen agreed, but then remembering the General in the next room, said, “It’s looking certain that Jerry is behind this. Charter a plane and get here as fast as you can, and bring Joe Clump with you. I’m sure that General Bradson will need to talk with him.”

Helen spent a few more minutes on the phone with Barbra, and then returned to the kitchen in time to hear General Bradson say, “I’ll need contact information for your private investigator, for Joe Clump, and also for your,” he nodded in Jon, Eric, and Chase’s direction, “parents. Given that you say your father was in business with Jerry Clump at one point, I need to find out what he knows.”

There was one key element to the story that had been omitted, but at the mention of his father, Chase decided to get it out in the open. “General, you’d find this out sooner or later, but there’s something you need to know. We haven’t spoken to our father in over a year. He won’t have anything to do with us. He found out I’m gay and disowned me. Jon and Eric wouldn’t stand for that so he cut them off too. I doubt he’ll speak to you once he knows we’re involved.”

Crossing his arms and nodding, a scowl appearing on his face, the General said, “He’ll talk to me whether he likes it or not, or I’ll bring down hell itself on his head. I’ve got a son who’s not much older than you. He made his own lifestyle choice, one I strongly disagree with.” The General let that statement hang in the air for a moment, and then added with an understanding smile, “He joined the Marines instead of the Air Force. That came as one hell of a shock to me and it’s still a bone of contention between us. However, I’ve never had any issue with him for being gay, and he came out to me when he was fourteen.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Chase smiled. Brandon grinned at Chase before saying with pride, “Chase is my boyfriend.”

Helen interrupted to add, “And my girlfriend is flying out to join us. I figured you’d want to talk with Joe, so they’re bringing him along.”

Eric noticed the wording, and asked, “They? Who else is coming?”

“The Shadows are coming out too. They heard about the plane and were really worried about you guys.”

“Excellent,” General Bradson said, knowing what else he needed to ask, but wondering how much he could divulge. Deciding to disregard secrecy in the interests of practicality, he said, “Jim, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to ask you to step outside for a while. I need to say something that’s classified.” Jim glanced at Helen and upon receiving her nod of approval he exited via the back door, wondering what the General was about to say.

As soon as the door closed, General Bradson said, “We checked out that GPS of yours; it did trace to ground zero in Toowoomba. I’ve passed the data on to the Australian Ministry of Defense. They’re going to have a look at the other site it shows. I’m sending a team to L.A. to examine your gear. I have a hunch that we won’t find those five speakers you mentioned. What I’m about to say can go no further than this room. I’m risking time in Leavenworth by even mentioning it; we received a fax from the people responsible moments after the bomb in Australia went off. In a nutshell, we know that whoever detonated the bomb has more and they’re here in the U.S. They also sent us the locations of some dummy bombs to prove they could plant them. We found ‘em in storage lockers in major cities. They also delivered photos to one of our embassies of the nuclear bombs under construction. Their goal is nuclear blackmail. My guess is that some of the bombs fit inside those speakers and they used your gear to ship ‘em. The dummy bombs we’ve found contained just some parts and some scraps of plutonium, but the cases themselves appear to be finely made. We’re assuming that the real bombs would look similar. They would be about a yard on a side–“

Something in Eric’s mind went click. His eyes flying wide open, he interrupted to ask, “Made of heavy steel, real heavy and cube-shaped, right?”

His brow furrowing, the General replied, “That’s right. Where did you see them?”

“I only saw one. Jerry had it, in New York. I bruised my toe when I kicked it. Jerry said it was some kind of construction shoring, but it was in one of our shipping containers, same container as those subwoofers.”

The General felt the icy grip of fear clutching at his heart. Trying unsuccessfully to remain calm, he asked, “Jerry Clump had this, in New York? Where in New York? ”

Brandon remembered what Eric was referring to and blurted out, “Madison Square Garden. We had a concert there that night. We were on the loading bay for the arena.”

“There were some logos on it, electric company logos, I think. I saw ‘em when I sat on it.” Eric added.

Jon’s eyes bulged out even further. “You sat on and kicked a nuclear bomb?” he asked in a horrified tone.

Eric nodded. “Jerry seemed like he didn’t want us there, so I did it to piss him off.” Thinking of the risk to certain precious parts of his anatomy, Eric asked the General, “What about radiation?”

General Bradson shook his head, “I doubt there was any danger at all. You were probably in far more danger from Mr. Clump.”

That triggered another memory, and Eric lowered his voice to say, “When we retrieved the GPS in Brisbane, Jerry was arguing with our old road boss, Adam. I thought I saw them both go towards the shipping container that had the subwoofers in it. We never saw Adam again, he just sent Helen a fax saying he quit.”

Helen’s face paled as they all realized what might have transpired. In a pained, weak voice, she said, “And anyone can send a fax. Oh my God, Günter – and Adam too? Jerry killed them… and it’s my fault. I was the one who brought him back as our shipper. They’re dead because of me… and now there are bombs in our cities too.”

Helen sagged back in her chair, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes. Chase was sitting the closest and reached out to take her hand as General Bradson said, “With all due respect, Ma’am, bullshit. The man is obviously a skilled manipulator and you had no way of knowing. Look at it this way: if you had turned him down, he’d have found another way to ship the things and we wouldn’t have our best hope of finding them. He’s obviously planned this for a long time. Had you said no, he may well have killed you all at that time.” General Bradson didn’t really believe his last sentence, but he felt it was something Helen needed to hear. He was basically right in that regard.

Helen straightened her back, resuming her normal, robust presence, having decided that whether or not the General was right, there was no point in wallowing in self-pity. Also, she decided, better to place the blame were it belonged – squarely on Jerry.

That gave Helen a thought, but Eric beat her to it when he asked in a hopeful voice, “Is the dead guy outside Jerry?”

Now that he had a firm connection between Instinct’s tour venues and the bombs, General Bradson knew what he had to do. He flipped open his cell phone, but before dialing he replied to Helen, “That is a possibility. I’ll have to ask you all to have a look at the body, to see if it’s anyone you recognize.” He speed-dialed the number for the Edwards Air Force Base operations center, switched on encryption, and as soon as the duty officer picked up he barked , “This is Bradson. Contact the Department of Energy and get NEST units,” the General used the acronym for the Nuclear Emergence Support Team, “sent to Madison Square Garden, Dodger Stadium, and Candlestick Park. We have confirmation that there may be nuclear devices in those three locations, including a probable device sighting in New York. I’ll have more for you shortly but get those teams moving NOW!”

Helen answered a polite tap on the back door to find Brody looming in the doorway. “Helen, one of the Air Force guys wants to come in but, like I told him, nobody goes in without your say-so.”

Giving the burly biker a smile, Helen said, “It’s okay, send him in.”

Helen walked back to the table as a slightly perturbed Air Force investigator walked in. Saluting his General, he said, “Sir, we’re ready to bag the body. There’s no ID, but he was carrying a full-auto AK-47. He also had terrycloth bathrobe sashes in his pocket, five of them. The bikers found a Chevy Suburban parked off the road a few hundred yards from here. We ran the plates and it’s registered to a Jerry Clump in Los Angeles.”

“We’ll be right out. Hold off on bagging and loading the body.”

The investigator saluted and left. Standing up, General Bradson said, “I need to return to Edwards with the corpse. We’ve got a forensics lab there, and no way am I turning the body over to the local cops, not after what I’ve seen tonight. If we’ve got the rigging gear, we’ll take the Suburban too. I can leave one investigator here, to interview Joe Clump when he arrives. I’ll also roust the Sheriff and get him to send a protective detail out here.” The General sent word to his flight crew to see if they could take the Suburban as internal cargo.

Helen stood, and crossed her arms, replying in a caustic tone, “That would be the same sheriff’s department that sent out the guys you won’t trust with a corpse?”

With a chuckle, the General bowed his head in Helen’s direction, “You have a point, Ma’am. However, having them assigned out here would make me feel a lot better.”

“General, there are around fifty armed bikers here and at the place next door. They’re here to defend us and so far, they have. They have our trust. After what happened here tonight, the same can most certainly not be said for the local sheriff’s department. I need to make something perfectly clear: our bikers stay. That is not open for discussion.”

Raising his hands in a good-natured surrender, General Bradson replied, “It’s your land and they are your guests. If the local cops give you any grief about it, call me and I’ll sort them out. If you prefer, or if there’s any more trouble, I will send the Osprey back out with a squad of Rangers. If there’s any evidence of a continuing threat to your safety, I’ll relocate you all to a very secure location. Now, Ma’am, if you will all accompany me, let’s have a look at that body.”

Single-file, they followed the General outside. The four members of Instinct still carried their shotguns, slung by straps over their shoulders. Eric caressed the butt of his, wondering how long it would be before he’d feel safe without it.

The Osprey’s pilot intercepted his General a few yards from the body. Snapping off a quick salute, he said, “Sir, the Osprey won’t take the Suburban internally; the cargo bay isn’t wide enough. We’ve got the gear to rig in a cargo sling under the belly hooks, but we’ll have to fly all the way back in helicopter mode. That will slow us to about a hundred miles an hour, and we’ll need to refuel at least twice so we’ll need a tanker.

Not wanting to leave the Suburban behind due to its potential for clues, the General replied, “Set up the rigging, and whistle up a KC-10 from Colorado Springs.” After saluting again, the pilot returned to his aircraft to unpack the cargo rigging.

Coming to a halt a few feet from the body, Helen said, “That’s not Jerry. I’ve never seen that man before.”

General Bradson glanced at the four members of Instinct, to find them shaking their heads. The General was disappointed that no one recognized the corpse. With a nod at his investigators, he said, “Bag and load the body. Phelps, you stay behind and interview Joe Clump and the other band when they arrive.” Turning to take Helen by the arm and walked her towards the Osprey, seeking the privacy to say, “Ma’am, you’ll be hearing from me soon. We have reason to believe that Mr. Clump is in South America so I think you’re safe enough here. If you have any doubts, don’t hesitate to call me.”

Helen was tempted to give the General a dig about dodging her earlier calls, but decided against doing so. “Have a safe flight, General,” she said as the two investigators searched Mario’s body. One of them discovered a set of keys and correctly guessed that they were to the Suburban while wrongly assuming that they were the only set, adding further weight to the theory that Mario had acted alone. After encasing him in a black plastic body bag, the two investigators carried Mario’s body into the Osprey.

The flight crew had the cargo net attached to the belly hooks within minutes, and General Bradson sent one of the investigators to retrieve the Suburban, which the Investigator parked on the cargo net beside the Osprey. The flight crew set to work, and within sixty seconds had the cargo net in place and the carrying straps attached.

One investigator, who Helen assumed must be Phelps, left the aircraft as General Bradson walked up the ramp. With a final wave, he hit the button to close the door.

Instinct, Helen, and Air Force investigator Lieutenant Phelps retreated to the shelter of the house as the Osprey’s rotors began to spin up. Remembering the violent downwash, even the bikers beat a temporary retreat, placing the house between themselves and the Osprey.

The Osprey rose slowly into the night sky, drifting to the right until it was directly over the Suburban before beginning to lift. The noise from the engines rose in volume and pitch as the Osprey hauled the Suburban skyward, accelerating towards the west.

In all the haste and confusion, one minor detail had been overlooked; no one had told the investigators or General Bradson about the possible sighting of a second man immediately prior to the attack.

© 2008 C James

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Many thanks to my editor EMoe for editing and for his support, encouragement, beta reading, and suggestions.

Thanks also to Shadowgod, for beta reading, support and advice, and for putting up with me.

A big "thank you" to to Bondwriter for final Zeta-reading and advice, and to Captain Rick for Beta-reading and advice.

Special thanks to Graeme, for beta-reading and advice.

Any remaining errors are mine alone.