Authors: Al Ruksenas
“
This craft could not have been here that long,” he thought. “Everything looks so well
‐
preserved.” But he knew the desert climate could force inaccurate conclusions.
Meanwhile, Major Lee and Captain Stallworth were carefully negotiating the rope ladder.
Major Billingsly played his beam around the body and focused on a navigation map lying on a porthole near the co
‐
pilot’s head. Landmarks were in the Cyrillic alphabet. There were some handwritten notations near Aswan to the northwest, indicating the site of the Aswan Dam—a project still in progress. Another notation in the margin indicated some geographical coordinates and the date:
30.XI.58. The major bent down to get a closer look at the map and noticed the co
‐
pilot’s withered, but well
‐
preserved face. The features did not appear Egyptian.
“
This guy’s not a local,” he said to the other two officers who alighted in the tight space on the bulkhead next to him.
“
Russian?” Major Lee ventured.
“
Most probably.”
Major Lee shone a flashlight upward and aimed it into the face of the pilot strapped and dangling like a rag doll in his seat several feet above him.
The beam created deep shadows in the hollows where his eyes used to be. The rest of his face was tight, dried, but clearly enough Caucasian.
“
Both probably Russian,” Major Billingsly said. He shone his light back on the porthole. “Look at that map. This chopper’s been here a long time.”
“
How long?” Captain Stallworth interjected with rapt attention.
“
Nineteen fifty
‐
eight.”
“
Nineteen fifty
‐
eight?” the captain and the other intelligence officer replied in unison.
“
There’s some coordinates in the margin. We’ll see what our friends have been up to.”
“
What’s in the back?” Major Lee asked.
“
Let’s check and let’s get out of here,” his companion replied. “This thing is starting to give me the creeps.”
Major Billingsly worked his way carefully to the cargo area, playing his beam back and forth with slight movements of his neck. The huge payload area was empty, except for two other figures lying near one another in the dark. The beam of the flashlight could not take in the whole scene in one sweep, causing alternate light and shadow on portions of the flyers’ remains.
“
It looks like two more bodies,” Major Billingsly said. He continued shining his light back and forth along the bulkhead of the helicopter. “Both in old flight suits.” He worked his way closer. “One of them is wearing a shoulder holster.”
Billingsly crept closer along the uncluttered bulkhead towards the figure with the shoulder holster, whose hand—now illuminated in the beam—was outstretched above his head, as if reaching for something. A knife lay loosely in his palm, released from a clenched grip of death. There seemed to be some words etched in Cyrillic on the bulkhead. The major leaned forward with his flashlight and stretched his hand toward the bulkhead to get a better view.
He could not have seen the sand viper coiled under the flyer’s armpit. As he focused his light it struck him on the forearm with a lightning lunge.
“
I’m bit! I’m bit!” he yelled more from surprise, than pain. He dropped his flashlight. “Snake! Snake!”
Major Lee and Captain Stallworth instinctively shuffled backwards in the dark to avoid a strike, pulling Major Billingsly with them.
“
Where did it hit you?” Captain Stallworth asked urgently as he hurriedly pulled his belt from his pants. Major Lee had drawn his pistol and was shining his light back and forth in front of them.
“
My arm! My arm!” Major Billingsly said breathlessly.
“
Stay calm! Stay calm!” Captain Stallworth urged. He tied his belt around the intelligence officer’s right arm as they groped for the rope ladder.
“
Medic!” Captain Stallworth yelled up the hatch. “Snakebite! Get ready with antivenom!”
He guided Major Billingsly up the short stretch of rope ladder and followed him out of the helicopter’s cockpit. Major Lee hurried up behind them.
Below, dimly backlit by the abandoned flashlight in the cargo area, the helicopter evoked the look of a temple
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like tomb of the four mysterious flyers.
Chapter 41
“
Something's come up,” General William Bradley intoned over his secure telephone to Colonel Caine. “Report to Andrews. You and Arie are going back to the Middle East.”
Caine hoped that his General was not fixated on Middle Eastern terrorists again. He had seemed reluctant to accept paranormal scenarios up to now, but he also had not categorically rejected them.
Caine had promised Laura again during his hospital visit with her uncle, that he would investigate the museum connection. His interest was no longer a favor to her, but self driven. Now in delaying it once more, he hoped her vigil at her uncle’s bedside would prevent her from delving on her own. No more coincidences, he thought. There was something dangerous going on.
He would start with his friend, Al Carruthers, the assistant curator. Caine dismissed the thought that he might be involved with something. Carruthers was too trusting, God
‐
fearing. He saw only the best in people. Al would more likely be oblivious to something sinister around him, than part of it, Caine thought with a private smile. Nevertheless, he would not share his suspicions.
“
Our units found an old chopper in the sands,” General Bradley said. “It’s Soviet built. Looks like it’s been there for some time. This is a good change of pace for you—being our expert on everything Soviet.”
“
What about Jeannie?”
“
We’re all working on it. You can come back with a fresh perspective on her case. In fact, while you’re there, see if you can circle around other leads on terrorist connections. It’s Egypt this time.”
“
Yes, sir,” Caine replied perfunctorily. He felt diverted.
“
You’ll get your orders at Andrews.” The General ended the call.
***
Soon Colonel Caine was back at George Washington University Hospital’s Intensive Care Unit. When he walked into Jonas Mitchell’s room again, Laura knew he was leaving for somewhere.
“
Always the vagabond,” she said bittersweetly from his bedside.
“
Hopefully, not for long. Any change?”
“
The same as when you left. It’s been touch and go from the start.”
Caine approached the other side of the bed and took Jonas Mitchell’s hand. Mitchell squeezed it in response. “You’re a spry old man,” Caine said looking at him with a reassuring smile.
“
He’s been through a lot,” Laura said. “His body knows hurt. It remembers physical assaults and years of abuse. That’s why he’s strong.”
“
We’ll get to the bottom of this assault,” Caine declared.
“
It was no accident,” Laura asserted looking probingly at the Colonel.
“
No. It was no accident.”
“
How long will you be gone?”
Caine looked at her.
“
I know. You don’t know.”
“
As soon as I get back, I’ll look into the museum.”
“
With Al?”
“
With Al and whoever. Just don’t try anything yourself.”
She looked at him without responding.
“
Promise me.”
“
Chances are, I’ll be spending most of my time here.”
Caine walked around the bed to Laura. He patted her uncle on the shoulder, squeezed his hand, and then kissed her on the cheek.
“
Promise me,” he urged as he walked to the door. He turned and looked at her somberly.
“
Come back safe!” she answered.
***
Colonel Caine was driving southeast along Pennsylvania Avenue towards Andrews Air Force Base when he noticed a blue sedan half a block behind him. It seemed familiar, like the tails he occasionally had shaken before. The sedan followed him until a highway interchange near the airbase, entered a cloverleaf and turned back towards Washington.
“
Must think I’m going to Andrews,” Caine thought dismissively. “What else?”
On arrival he was escorted to a C
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130 cargo plane and entered through the extended rear ramp. Colonel Garrison Jones was already inside the empty cargo area near the cockpit. As Caine joined him on the bench seat, a black limousine drove up the ramp and into the cargo area, stopping opposite the two officers.
General Bradley climbed out of the back seat with a large brown envelope in his hand.
“
Just in time, gentlemen. Here are your orders,” he said extending the envelope to whichever officer would grasp it.
Colonel Jones took the envelope.
“
And good luck,” the General said. “It looks like that helicopter’s been there more than fifty years. Depending on what’s inside, we may get a better idea of their strategic thinking at the time. And if there’s some link to now.”
“
Do we follow up on anything intriguing?” Colonel Caine wondered.
“
That’s what I like about you, Chris,” General Bradley said with a smile.
“
Always anticipating. That’s part of our intent. Your assignment is good cover. You’ll be near Ras Banas, Egypt’s air base on the Red Sea.”
Colonels Caine and Jones both recognized the drift of their general’s plan.
They nodded their heads slightly in acknowledgment as General Bradley continued. ”Our Joint Special Ops Command for tracking and killing terrorists is operating out of Yemen, just across the Red Sea. Yemeni leaders are still running scared from Al Quaida, so they’re cooperating. I’m sure any intelligence scuttlebutt will spill over among your Egyptian counterparts stationed out of Ras Banas.”
“
So the terrorist angle on Jeannie is still in play?” Caine asked.
“
I know what you’re thinking, Chris, but we can’t discount it. We have to continue to follow all plausible leads.”
Caine cringed a little at the word “plausible,” but said nothing.
“
Yes, sir,” Colonel Jones assured the General for both of them.
“
Very well, gentlemen. Good luck. Keep me apprised.”
General Bradley climbed back into the limousine. The driver made a full turn in the cargo area with a distinctive squeal of rubber on metal and drove down the ramp of the giant plane.
“
Here we go, again,” Colonel Jones said as the ramp started rising to become part of the fuselage. “Too bad, it’s not Beirut,” he added wistfully.
“
The Old Man said we have some leeway,” Colonel Caine replied.
“
It doesn’t say so in the orders.”
“
Orders are made to be interpreted,” Caine said purposefully. “Who knows where that helicopter may lead us.”
“
I
would
like to see her again,” Colonel Jones said.
“
Maybe it can be arranged.”
They sat thoughtfully for a moment, listening to the increased pitch of the engines as the C
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130 made ready for takeoff.
“
How come it’s empty this time?” Colonel Caine asked idly.
“
The pilot said it’s a ‘homecoming trip’. They’re returning with caskets and an honor guard. Fallen comrades.”
Caine nodded solemnly.
“
What about Ramstein in Germany?”
“
With the increase in casualties, the pilot says that gateway drew too many photographers.”
“
If they were as clever in solving the problems…,” Caine started, then let his sentence trail away.