Stray Bullet (9 page)

“Show us around what?” Greg asked Harvey sarcastically.  “Looks pretty simple to me. Pilots live through there and drive, we sit back here and sleep. What’s to show?”

“Yeah,” laughed Harvey
.
“Let’s just remember we’re guests aboard here, Greg.” He was all too aware that these were some of the last civilised people he would see for some time.

They could hear the engines winding up, and the Loadmaster came back aboard having carried out his list of outside visual checks.

“Looks like we’re off, fellas,” he said. “Make sure you’re buckled up. We take off on full power unlike our civvy counterparts,” he laughed taking his own seat.

A few moments later, the hefty VC10 loaded to capacity with jet fuel, staggered across to line up on the runway. There were no other aircrafts queuing and within moments, they felt their transport lunge forward. Greg and Harvey held on to their armrests as this impressive petrol station was launched down the runway before reaching a safe speed to become airborne.

The VC10 glided up through the sky towards its operating altitude and the air loadmaster unfastened his seat belt and started on more checks. In the cockpit, they would all be doing the same in what for them would be one of the most crucial parts of their flight. Harvey and Greg remained seated, not wishing to interfere with the crew.

Greg had watched as Benny, the air loadmaster, kept going to the rear bay. He had not seen what was back there and was becoming curious as to what checks were being performed on such an aircraft.

“Okay, that’s the checks finished for now!” exclaimed Benny over the noise of the engines. “We should level off any minute,” he added.

The one thing both Greg and Harvey had noticed was the increase in noise and smell from that of an average private airline. On entering the plane, Harvey had pointed out to Benny what appeared to be a fluid leaking in the vicinity of one of the engines. His comments, far from being seen as stupid, appeared much appreciated by the crew.

Benny had just nodded and said, “Don’t worry. If it ain’t leaking, it ain’t working!” Harvey had thought the reply flippant at the time but while he was harnessing himself into his passenger’s seat he had noticed Benny pointing the same thing out to a ground technician outside, getting it double checked before the engines were fired up.

“Do you want the tour now?”
Benny asked. Greg and Harvey looked at each other shrugged and nodded.

“Why not?” Greg answered for the two of them. It would help the time pass although neither of them were particularly interested.

They climbed out of their seats and followed Benny to the door of the main fuel compartment. They entered feeling the temperature drop substantially. The compartment consisted of a narrow walkway either side of the fuselage with a metallic tank which spanned the entire centreline of the rest of the aircraft. A number of dials attached to it signified pressure, temperature and capacity. The capacity just read full.

“You mean to tell me this thing’s full of fuel?  How much?” asked Greg nervously?

“Sorry. Need to know!” shouted back Benny, equalling the score.

“Touché” replied Harvey with a smile.

“But don’t worry. We won’t run out. The wings are full of the stuff too!”

Greg swallowed hard. The thought of surfing the skies in a flying petrol can didn’t seem to agree with his anatomy. He took leave to find the lavatory. Harvey looked across at Benny and laughed. “Weak constitution!” he said loudly.

“Hope we don’t hit too much turbulence then,” replied Benny.  “Let’s go up front. I’ll show you how we operate the refuelling process.” And with that, he turned back towards the front.

Benny took Harvey forward to the cockpit and poured out details on how aircraft were coordinated when refuelling took place. He showed him an array of video monitors that assisted the link up process. Harvey was introduced briefly to the members of the flight deck. Tiny and Ferrous chose to wave, the navigator, Graeme looked up and said,

“Hi,” before quickly returning to scribbling furiously on his notepad. The engineer was too busy preparing to accept a group of four Tornados to acknowledge the guest.

“This may interest you. If you go back to the tank and look out of the window behind the wing, you’ll see them hooking up,” shouted Benny.

“Go starboard side, Harvey. There’s a rookie trying to join us,” interrupted Ferrous. “They always fuck it up first couple of goes and give us a heartache.”

Harvey waved a hand to gesture he was off and disappeared down back again. He saw no sign of Greg. He guessed that he must have taken up residency in the toilet.
Probably just as well,
thought Harvey. If what Ferrous said was true, he might be joining Greg shortly.

He looked out of the window to search the skies for the group of Tornados and without warning, they appeared out of nowhere. Harvey gasped at the awesome sight. Their wingtips couldn’t have been more than fifteen feet apart.

He instinctively waved at the pilot and whilst instantly feeling foolish, the pilot returned the compliment. They disappeared out of sight for a moment, dropping back to allow the engineer to wind out the refuelling baskets for their thirsty jets. Moments later, they moved back in. There were two jets on each wing, yet only one basket for refuelling.

I wouldn’t like to be the guy waiting in the queue,
he thought.

The first jet moved up towards the basket, his wingman giving him space to manoeuvre. He swung around trying to connect, but missed.
Oh shit, this must be the rookie,”
Harvey thought.

Benny had explained that the pilot, flying at 20,000 feet and at a speed of 240 knots, had to slot a rod protruding from his cockpit, no more than two fingers in diameter, into a basket containing the supply pipe, whilst countering the effects of crosswinds.

At the same time, he needed to concentrate on not hitting the VC10 or his wingman who was looking out for him. The conclusion to this situation was always a success. It had to be. The result of the pilot bottling out or being unsuccessful would be a doomed aircraft without enough fuel to get home.

Harvey stood in awe looking through the window while for five minutes while the pilot fought for connection, eventually managing it with less than five minutes of flight time left in the tanks. Benny came down the back. 

“Pretty impressive huh?” He added, “Didn’t do his wingman any favours though. He’s reduced his window substantially. But he’s an old timer so there shouldn’t be any problems. Soon as we’ve filled the other two we’ll be on our way. Then I’ll get us some grub, okay?”

Harvey nodded in agreement adding, “Have you seen Greg?”

“He’s chosen the easy option. Sleeping like a baby!”  He continued, “Make sure he takes some liquids on board when he wakes, okay.  Easy to get dehydrated up here.”

“Gotcha!” replied Harvey, but first chose to stick around and see out the rest of the refuelling taking place.

Having refuelled the Tornados, they began the main body of the flight. Benny, true to his word, arrived with some tin trays stuffed with roast chicken, potatoes and vegetables covered in lumpy gravy.

“Greg, it’s time to eat,” said Harvey, nudging his friend back into consciousness waving the tin tray under his nose. Greg looked up and groaned at the realisation that he was still airborne.  They both took their respective trays and started to tuck in.

“I managed to wangle some cream doughnuts for afterwards,” Benny shouted with a mischievous grin. “I know the caterer quite well.”

Harvey smiled back and continued to eat. The crew appeared appreciative of small treats on this long haul flight. It seemed amazing what it did for their morale, and as a result, Benny was a very popular member of the crew.

They finished the food and enjoyed their doughnuts with piping hot coffee before Harvey proclaimed,

“Thanks, Benny. That was better than any in flight meal I’ve had before.”
Benny smiled at the appreciation and Harvey concluded, “I’m going to get some sleep. Give me a shout if I can help with anything.”

“I’ll wake you on our final approach,” replied Benny who himself was rummaging around in his bag for a makeshift pillow.

Harvey tried to get comfortable and rested his eyelids. He would always think of home when trying to sleep. This time, putting away the thoughts of being absent, he thought of teaching Rob how to play football and quite quickly drifted off into never-never land.

Greg looked across at the other two snoozing away and decided to do some work whilst there were no interruptions. He reached for his hand luggage and took out a large file marked, The Phoenix, the profile of a hit man who had gone undetected since the seventies. The authorities thought The Phoenix had gone into retirement, but he seemed to have risen again around 1982 during which time a spate of assassinations, all bearing his hallmarks were carried out. The one lead being that there seemed to be a link with the Giordano cartel, the organisation within which Harvey, would become embroiled.

Last night at 11.30
, a hit man known to the FBI as ‘The Phoenix’ is believed to have struck again. This man or woman…
she added,
continues to elude the authorities after what is believed to have been a career, so far spanning some 17 years, making him as notorious as the international terrorist, The Jackal
.

The latest victim was a high profile Chairman of Patriot Industries Jim Garnish, who was believed to have smuggled weapons to the Argentines during the Falklands conflict with the United Kingdom.
The CNN reporter was cut off in mid-stream as Jack hit the off button on his television set. He had been lying on the couch in his casino penthouse apartment relaxing with a gin and tonic when the news had come on. This had been an unconventional job carried out for the FBI.

They had sought The Phoenix’s services after their evidence against Garnish had been compromised. The FBI had carried out a costly investigation over a period of some six years. On realising the probability that his lawyers would get him off on a technicality, someone high up the chain of command had decided to make a less than conventional example of him to other arms dealers.

They had approached the mafia, supplied the appropriate information and equipment and paid a substantial non traceable bounty. The job passed through a complex network in the underworld before landing on Jack’s doorstep. For Jack the job had been a breeze, carried out at long range, it was easy money. His only worry had been whether
he
was a more important catch to the FBI than the target himself.

“They’ll never catch him,” Stephan called from the kitchen.

“Oh, what makes you so sure?” asked Jack, curious to hear his colleague’s view.

“This guy has been topping people for over seventeen years Jack, and never left so much as a sniff of who he is. He’s the master of the trade. A God damned legend!” said Stephan.

Jack smirked. Stephan had been a good friend to him since he had landed in America some five years ago. But it had been agreed with the Don from the outset that, besides himself, only three other people would know The Phoenix’s identity; Lucio, Don Giordano and his predecessor, Tony.

Jack had taken to his new profession like a duck to water, although in the first year, he still vented his anger on his victims during close kills. This resulted in some quite horrendous crime scenes being found by officers of the law, most of whom were now either in counselling or had become bitter and twisted, turning bad and taking bribes as their disillusionment with law enforcement grew and their principles deteriorated.

Despite this initial lack of panache on Jack’s part, this served its purpose for the Don as it made the police weary and easier to corrupt.  Nevertheless, he was concerned that Jack’s psychotic methodology would eventually lead the authorities to his door and so, weaned him off this form of killing by assigning him to distance kills. He used The Phoenix to tutor him in the arts of the assassin and taking on targets from a safe distance until no distinguishable difference existed between the work of Jack and that of The Phoenix himself.

“Well, let’s drink to The Phoenix then,” said Jack raising his glass.

“The Phoenix!” responded Stephan in salute.  “Long may he reign,”
he added.

“So Stephan, how is your side of the business going?” asked Jack, changing the subject and referring to the ‘legal’ side of the business. “The Don has voiced his concerns to me that profits are down in the casinos. Should he be worried, Stephan?”

Stephan was aware that Jack was a killer, and a fearsome one at that. Most members of the cartel had to kill at one time or another to prove their commitment to the Don. But he was not aware of the extent of Jack’s merciless streak or indeed his newly incorporated and infamous identity.

“What are you insinuating Jack?” snorted his insulted friend.

Jack stared deep into Stephan’s eyes.  “I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time at the track lately. Do you owe money, Stephan?”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going Jack. And no, I don’t.”

Jack persisted. “Stephan, we’ve become good friends these past five years. I can lend you money if you need it.” His eyes never left Stephan’s gaze.

“Jack, if you’ve brought me here to question me about my side of the business and directing accusations at me, then you can fuck off!” he stated arrogantly. “I have blood links to this family Jack. I don’t ponce around like some outsider who thinks he runs the family,” he wailed referring to Jack’s position within the family. “You don’t scare me Jack!” he concluded.

“Come on, Stephan. Calm down. I asked you out here to have dinner with a friend. If you say there’s no problem, then there’s no problem. I’m just concerned for you that’s all,” he said with a smile, putting his arm across Stephan’s shoulder.

Stephan looked up at him, angry but also anxious. There had been more bravado than truth in not being scared of Jack.

“We’ll go and have dinner. They’ve got a great lobster special on tonight and your uncle wants to join us. He said he hasn’t seen you for a while and would like to catch up,” he added, referring to the Don.

“Okay,” replied Stephan, attempting to regain his composure.

“I’ll just get my coat,” said Jack as he wandered into the bedroom.

Jack sat down on the side of his bed and pulled out the ticket. He stared at the numbers and sighed with disappointment.  Stephan’s ticket had been passed to Jack to honour by the bookie, who had received a less than warm response from Stephan when asked to settle up. The sum on the ticket was over $100,000.00. Jack had a decision to make.

This was not a one off debt. It was simply that Stephan had siphoned so much off the casino’s bottom line, that he feared taking any more. The ticket just scratched the surface of how much family money Stephan had gambled away. The question Jack was wrestling with was, whether he would save his friend and put himself in jeopardy or come clean with the Don about his friend’s predicament.

Both Jack and the Don had been concerned that embezzlement was taking place within the casinos and hotels in the region. Stephan might be a blood relation to the Don but, should it come to down to it, he wouldn’t be the first hit the Don had ordered on his own family, and probably not the last. Jack’s concern was that Stephan had been his friend and on more than one occasion had watched his back from other scheming members of the family.

“What’s keeping you?” Stephan called from the kitchen.

Jack did not respond but rose from the bed and walked back out to join Stephan. He could not ponder this any longer.

“I thought you were getting your coat?” asked Stephan.

Jack placed the slip of paper on the side board of the kitchen in front of Stephan. 

“Pour us both a drink,” he said sternly, adopting a father-child stance.

The blood drained from Stephan’s face as he reached for the decanter. Jack’s revolver, which he carried for day to day protection, was holstered under his jacket, loaded and cocked, just in case.

“We have a choice. You come clean and I help you, or I pass this to the Don at drinks tonight and you take your chances. Which will it be, Stephan?” he asked poker faced, watching every tiny movement of Stephan’s body for an indication of a frightened man’s reaction to this awesome blow.

Stephan turned slowly to look at Jack. His eyes had grown swollen in those few seconds, as though already resigned to his fate. His typically Italian bravado no longer apparent, his face bore the appearance of a lost child who didn’t know where to turn.

“Two million dollars,” he murmured with the downbeat tone of a condemned man.

Jack slammed the counter with his fist.

“God Damn it!” he roared. “How the fuck can I protect you against that? You are supposed to be the honest one!” he continued.

Jack paused for a moment’s thought, wondering whether there was any way out for his friend. “Jesus. Who is your greatest enemy in the organisation?”

“What?”

“Just answer the fucking question. Who is most likely to screw you over?” asked Jack, clearly maddened following the revelation and full extent of his friend’s debt.

“I don’t know… err. Lisa Forbes would screw me over for a dime I guess.”

“Could she get access to the finances?”

“Of course. She does the accounts. She’s always insinuating that she knows everything, always looking for some way to get more authority.”

“Perfect. Is this Lisa close to any other family members?” asked Jack.

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied. “Why? What’s this about?”

“Go and have dinner solo, and put it on my tab. Meet with the Don in the bar at 10:00 p.m. if I’m not back. If he asks where I am, tell him our little problem is being taken care of… okay?”

“Okay… What are you going to do?”

“Save your fucking life that’s what. We’ll talk my terms later, okay?” replied Jack.

“Okay, Jack… Okay.”

Jack picked up his coat and left Stephan standing in his apartment while he headed for his office.

Jack had acquired the penthouse apartment above the
Lucky Seven Casino
six months after arriving in America, much to the disgust of many of the Don’s relatives. All were curious why this outsider had been so readily accepted into the family by the Don. They soon realised that Jack was someone to be on the good side of if their relationship with the Don was going to continue in a good light. A couple of ambitious individuals had attempted to go behind the Don and have Jack killed, but this had been expected and only confirmed the Don’s suspicions of where their loyalties lay, and where personal ambitions had overridden their loyalty to the Don. They were spared no mercy.

The penthouse had previously belonged to Tony Aka, The Phoenix. He had taken Jack into his world gladly. His wish to retire to the country was granted and he settled down for the first time in his life to as normal an existence as could have been expected. He was one of very few who would actually stay alive to see retirement, most being unable to let go of the power and the fortune that the family brought them. For some, their lives were ended prematurely.

Many of his close colleagues had found it hard seeing him go and still made trips to the country to visit him discreetly. He enjoyed their company every now and again but didn’t appreciate the attention it brought upon him. After all, the Giordano’s had enemies and in the act of retiring outside of the family’s stronghold he had made himself a fairly accessible target.

It had taken The Phoenix six months of hard graft to train Jack. In that time they performed an astonishing nineteen hits which, even for The Phoenix, had been a formidable task. After six months, he had readily handed over the keys to this lavish penthouse to Jack and slipped away to his retirement retreat. Jack still consulted with him regularly and kept him well versed on the family’s affairs, using the older man’s knowledge of individual family members to judge his own reactions to situations as and when he felt it appropriate.

“Tony, pick up if you’re there,” said Jack to The Phoenix’s answer phone.

There was a rattle as the receiver was lifted from its cradle.

“Jack, is there a problem?  You sound agitated,” came the delayed response.

Jack relayed his current situation in full detail to Tony. If there had been a way to politically manoeuvre through this mire without Jack putting himself in serious jeopardy, Tony would be the only man Jack knew who would be aware of it.

“Do you think I’m right?” asked Jack outlining his potential solution.

“I know you are good friends with Stephan, but keep an eye on the bigger picture Jack. If you choose to do this for him, be careful his problems don’t come back to bite you. I’ve seen it happen too many times before Jack. Don’t get dragged down by the greedy son of a bitch, okay?” These were Tony’s harsh, but honest words of advice.