Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 10 (72 page)

 
          
“What
are you talking about?”

 
          
“Got
one,” one of the guards said.

           
“I got one too,” another said, who
had been searching the younger agent who had picked Kelsey off the floor.

 
          
Both
guards brought small devices, resembling small ballpoint pens with wires
attached to them, over to Landow. Landow examined them, then stooped down
beside Willison so he could see what he had in his hands. “Where did you get
these, Special Agent?” he asked.

 
          
“Get
what?” He looked at the objects Landow had in his hand. “I never saw those
things before in my life.”

 
          
“We’d
better read you your rights,” Landow said. “I advise you right now not to say
another word.”

 
          
“What
are you talking about? What are they?”

 
          
“Then
you agree to waive your right to remain silent?”

           
“Don’t fuck with me, Landow! I’ll
close down this facility so fast it’ll make your head spin! Now, cut these
cuffs off and tell those pilots to shut down those engines, and that’s an
order!”

           
“I don’t think you’re in a position
to be issuing orders right now, guys,” Landow said. “You’ve just entered a
secure government research facility operating under ThreatCon Delta with Kryton
nuclear trigger devices in your possession.”

           
“What?”

           
“Our electronics sensors detected
them in your clothing. You’re under arrest for attempting to bring a weapon-of-mass-destruction
component inside a secure government facility.”

 
          
“That's bullshit!”
Willison stared
bug-eyed at the objects. “I’ve never seen those things before! I have no idea
what they are! This is a frame-up! You planted those things on us ... no, that
girl! That girl planted them on us!” He continued his loud protests as the
security officers were hauling him and his men away at gunpoint.

 
          
Landow
met up with Jon Masters a few minutes later. “Good job, John,” he said. “Those
old triggers from the museum sure did come in handy.”

 
          
“It’s
a ridiculous stunt that won’t hold up for a moment," Landow said.

 
          
“But
it sets off the security procedures, and once they go into action, it’ll take
someone in
Washington
to stop it." Masters said happily.
“This is the first time I’m actually
thankful
we have such tight security. How long are they going to be out of the picture?”

 
          
“We
can hold them incommunicado for about six hours,” Landow replied, “unless you
intend on just locking them away somewhere.”

 
          
“The
thought had crossed my mind.”

 
          
“Even
a terrorist with a gun would get a phone call,” Landow pointed out. “I think
you should count on locking them away until just after
five p.m.
, so they’ll have to contact a duty officer
instead of their own office for help— that’ll slow things down a little more.
But once the call goes in, your time runs out fast. The FBI will probably fly a
supervisor or a
U.S.
attorney out from
L.A.
shortly after they hear about this, but they won’t have clearance to
enter, so that’ll delay things another few hours. But they might fly a Hostage
Rescue Team out here to guard the place until the men can be released—that’ll
take them no more than one or two hours. After that, the game will be up. I’m
sure they’ll shut this place down tight and have all of us in federal prison in
a heartbeat.”

 
          
“Plenty
of time,” Jon said. “We’ll all be long gone by then. We’ll have to hope that
Patrick’s benefactor can keep the heat off us so there’s a company to come back
to after this is all over.” He held out his arms when Kelsey Duffield
approached, then picked her up and gave her a kiss on her cheek. Sasha sat down
beside Jon, proudly puffing out her chest. “Good job, Kelsey,” he said. “You
too, Sasha. Kelsey, I didn’t know you were a pickpocket too.”

 
          
“Thanks,
Jon. My dad always told me everyone likes a good pickpocket—but just as a joke.
It’s easy. I never picked a pocket to put anything
in
before, though.”

 
          
“The
support aircraft will be ready to launch in about four hours, fully loaded with
every weapon we can carry,” Jon said. “The bombers should be airborne a few
hours after that. They’ll be loaded to the gills too with external weapons, so
they won’t be stealthy, but we’ll have to risk it. I hope Patrick and
Megafortress Two will be up there clearing a path for us.”

           
“Is this going to work, Doc?” Landow
asked. “We’ve broken just about every federal law in the books already—we’re
going to make it a million times worse by flying those planes to
Libya
.
Libya
is a prohibited country—technology export
and import sanctions, terrorist support sanctions, money sanctions, travel and
immigration restrictions, the works. If we don’t get our asses shot down by the
Libyans, we could all be in prison for the rest of our lives.”

 
          
“Nah.
Everything’ll be okay,” Jon Masters said confidently, giving Kelsey a
reassuring hug. “You haven’t been with the company too long, John. We do this
sort of thing all the time.”

 
          
“And
you’ve never been caught?”

 
          
Jon
shrugged, then gave Landow a sheepish grin. “Well... we’ve always gotten away
with it before,” Jon admitted. “That’s just as good.” He turned to Kelsey.
“Unfortunately, the only plane we won’t have with us is the second Dragon
airborne laser aircraft. We can’t fly it in its current state unless we remove
all the plasma-pumping equipment you’ve put on it and reassemble the diode
pumping system on the laser. You gave it a good try, Kels.”

 
          
“Jon,
I promise, it will work,” Kelsey said. “Don’t keep on thinking in
two-dimensional ways. The plasma generator doesn’t need to be a multimegawatt
monster—all we need is a large pulse for a hundredth of a second to excite the
neodymium lasing amplifier chips. Let’s reassemble the plasma generators we have,
install them, and try it.”

           
“We’re going to lose our lab in
less than eight hours, Kels—”

 
          
“Then
we better hurry, shouldn’t we?” Kelsey asked. “We have a plasma generator we
know will work on Dragon Two right now. Let’s load it up, put the screws back
in, and leave before that angry Mr. Willison comes back.” She smiled and
touched Jon’s hand. “Jon, we’ll have time to write up the documentation and the
engineering later—right now, we have to get Dragon flying, before they come and
take her away. You’re worried that you won’t know how it works if it does, and
so you won’t be able to start preparing marketing plans and prospectuses for
the project. Don’t worry about all that stuff, Jon—let’s see if it flies first,
then worry about selling it later.”

 
          
Jon
Masters looked at Kelsey with a grin. Her enthusiasm was indeed infectious.
“Kelsey, you know there’s no way this should work,” Jon said. “It’s too
dangerous. We still haven’t gotten the right yield out of the singlegenerator
system to be an effective weapon with the proper safety tolerances. We won’t
know if it’s ready to let go until just before it blows up. And all these
unknowns will be going on with two human beings riding on top of it.”

 
          
Kelsey
took Jon’s face in her hands, pulled his head down, and kissed his forehead.
“You’re silly, you know that?” she said. “I know we don’t know all these
things, Jon—doesn’t that want to make you go and try it out?” When he hesitated
in replying, Kelsey added, “Jon, wasn’t there once a time when you would have
given anything— even your own life—for one chance to try?”

 
          
In
fact, there was such a time: Jon Masters put himself in the fuselage of an
airliner loaded with several hundred pounds of TNT to prove his electronic
armor called BERP, or Ballistic Electro-Reactive Process, would protect the
aircraft in case of a terrorist bomb going off in the cargo hold. The
demonstration had horrified the airline and government representatives to the
point that they refused to fund the program, but that didn’t matter—it worked,
and Jon risked his own life to prove it. That BERP material eventually became
the Tin Man battle armor system, which would one day revolutionize American
infantry fighting.

 
          
Kelsey
paused, still holding Jon’s hand, like a brother and sister taking a stroll.
They found themselves standing in front of Dragon One’s open hangar door. There
was a flurry of action around it, with dozens of technicians and crew members
rushing to get it ready to fly. Right next door was Dragon Two—virtually
ignored except for the four security guards stationed around it.

 
          
“Doesn’t
it look lonely?” Kelsey asked her new big brother. “It needs some love and
attention. We can do it, Jon. We put Dragon’s new plasma generators in, give it
some gas, and take it on a trip to help the general find his wife.” She saw
Jon’s smile vanish and his shoulders slump. “I know Wendy is still okay, Jon. I
know she is. But we need to help Patrick so he can go back and find her.”

 
          
Jon
smiled at his little partner, then nodded. When he looked at Dragon Two, he had
to agree—it was a goodlooking bird, and right now it did look pretty lonely.

 
          
He
pulled out his secure cell phone: “Doug? How’s it going ... ? Excellent.
Listen, pull Ken and
Duncan
’s crews off Dragon One and have them start installing the plasma
generators on Dragon Two ... yep, right now. As soon as Joel’s crew signs off
their preflight on One, have them jump over to help, and get the rest of the
crews on Two as soon as One launches. We’re going to bring Dragon Two with us
... yes, and I want it operational... yes,
operational
,
not just flyable.. .. We’ve done all the lab testing we’re going to do. Dr.
Duffield and I are standing out front right now to help. We have about six
hours to do it... yes, I said
six
,
and I’ll be surprised if we don’t get a visit from the feds before then. Let’s
hustle!”

 
          
SKY
MASTERS INC. WORLD HEADQUARTERS,
 
ARKANSAS
INTERNATIONAL JETPORT,
 
RLYTHEVILLE
,
ARKANSAS
 
LATER THAT EVENING

 
          
The
twin-engine Aerostar aircraft taxied quickly off the two-mile-long runway right
up to the doors of Sky Masters Inc.’s main hangar. The pilot wheeled the light
twin around so it was pointing back down the taxiway toward the runway, then
shut down engines.

 
          
In
less than two minutes, two dark sedans pulled over to the plane, blocking it
fore and aft. By the time the pilot opened the split clamshell doors and
stepped out, the plane was surrounded by agents in black fatigues emblazoned
with “FBI” and “FEDERAL AGENT” front and back, all carrying M-16 assault rifles
at the ready.

           
“General McLanahan?” one of the
agents in a simple dark suit and tie announced.

 
          
“That’s
me,” Patrick replied.

 
          
“Special
Agent Norwalk, FBI,
Memphis
office. I’d like you to come with me. Anyone in the plane with you?”
Instead of waiting for a response, another agent pushed past Patrick and shined
a flashlight inside, then shook his head, indicating it was empty. Another
agent checked the baggage compartment in the back—it, too, was empty. He even
checked the wheel wells, but they were too small to hide anything bigger than a
small dog.