Test Pilot's Daughter II: Dead Reckoning (19 page)

Suddenly she heard the strangest noise,
click.
Very faint, it was a metallic sound like the cocking of the hammer of a pistol. Startled and tensing once again, she heard another,
click, click,
then
click, click, click.
It was the sound of footsteps far, far away. But there was a difference. She was sure she had heard that sound before.
Couldn’t be.
It was the unique, brisk clink of high-heals on concrete.
High-heals?
Click-click, click-click
in rapid sequence grew louder. It got louder and louder accompanied by more footsteps. Then a mirage, a ghostly apparition floated in the doorway. The image was blurry but it seemed so very real. It hung there the longest time staring at her. Time stopped in the confusion, and she thought she could hear a church choir in the background.
Thank you, God, finally I’m dead.
A hymn floated through her brain,
Amazing grace how sweet.
. .
Holy Jesus, it’s an angel!

“Christina?” the angel called. But the voice was familiar, definitely female. “Christiiinaaa.”

Impossible to comprehend, at first she thought it was her mother dressed in white robes. She squinted trying to focus. Suddenly she recognized the form. Emotion overcame every ounce of her being as she broke into tears, sobbing.
My God, oh my God, it’s Heather!

“Heather?” she could only mumble behind the tape.

It wasn’t just Heather. It was Heather, Billy and
Michael!
She couldn’t speak, only sob. She wailed while they ran to her side and loosened restraints. Footloose and fancy free, she threw her arms around Michael and squeezed him so tightly she feared he might burst. She cried and cried as all three stroked her head and blanketed her with warm, wonderful, adoring love. She had never known such affection, nothing in her life compared to the loving aura of her three rescuers.

Christina thought of her prayers.
Was it a miracle? Yes, it had to be.
She felt culpable for her defiance
. Oh ye of little faith.
Dear Lord,
I’ll never doubt you again. I do believe in miracles!
She fell unconscious.

* * *

She woke up that afternoon in a bed that was so comfortable she could hardly comprehend it. After lying on concrete for days, the lush bedclothes were like clouds in heaven. She stretched beneath the covers and basked in the glory of newfound freedom.
Was it all a bad dream?
A quick look under the sheets told the story, black marks on her breast. The signs were there, marks of terror all over her body. The pain was there too. The events of the past few days flew threw her mind. She had the strangest feeling like she wasn’t alone. Glancing toward the window she gasped in fear when she saw a man. He was sitting in a rocking chair, nodding in a light sleep. When she sat up, he awoke with a start.

“Wha. . .what. . .”

“Michael. How long have you been there?”

“Dunno,” he mumbled, “a few hours I guess. Here, you need to drink some water, Christina, you’re dehydrated.” He handed her a plastic bottle.

“Thanks.” Her mouth felt like a pile of burnt embers. Dying of thirst she emptied half the bottle in several large gulps. “Ahhhh, now, where the hell are we? What am I doing here? Where’s Heather? You have to tell me. . .everything. What happened? How did you find me in just two days?”

“They threw me out of the van with a bunch of bodies. Took me for dead. Left me there in the middle of the street. When they drove off, I identified the pickup and the license plate. That didn’t help much though; the truck was stolen, and the license plate a fake.”

“Well then, how. . .”

“You’re not going to believe this, Christina. Now, try not to get upset. NASA had a homing beacon, well, actually a transponder implanted under your skin.”

“Holy crap! Are you kidding me?” She sat straight up and reached around pressing the fingers of her right hand into her lower back. “It’s there all right; can’t believe I didn’t notice it before. No wonder they were able to track us so easily. Those bastards; I know when they did it too. It was prep for 7-3-3. I vaguely remember a sharp pain when that tech was attaching sensors. But, that doesn’t explain. . .”

“Listen, right after the terrorists took you away, I found a payphone and called the Director.” Michael grimaced preparing for her onslaught.

He grabbed her shoulders and forced her back against the pillows. “Would you just lie down? Let me talk for a bit. Both the Director and Rhani are working with the CIA. Rhani’s a plant. He’s on
our
side.”

“Can’t be! The Quran. . .don’t you remember the Quran?”

“Just shut up; I’m trying to explain. That money came directly from the White House, and it was shuffled through Rhani who is working with the CIA to bribe Iranian contacts. He’s been gathering information about the planned attack. I know it was a lot of money, but how much do you think it would be worth to protect this country from nukes?”

“No, they believe the actual attack date to be a week later. There’s some spooky meeting in Tehran on Eid Al-Adha to give the go ahead. The CIA has the actual launch on December 25, a Christmas present, you might say for their American friends. That gives us a whopping three weeks.”

“Well, what are we waiting for. . .where’s the preemptive strike?”

“It’s not all that simple. We don’t know exactly where their missiles are located. We do know they’re deep underground. The only way we can destroy them is to let them launch.”

“Are you completely out of your. . .”

“There’s more. The CIA says Iran is working with the Russians, so we have to expose both parties to the world by catching them red-handed.”

“But if they launch. . .”

“It’s complicated, Christina. I don’t know all the details, but it’s a multi-tiered defense. We’ll have armed drones in the area along with Patriot. Then we have NORAD and DROID as backups. If we can nail down the launch time, sounds like our defenses are solid, and the whole world will know what they did.”

She had a hard time comprehending his logic, and thoughts started to wander back to her captivity. She put her right hand on his arm and looked in his eyes. In a low, husky voice she asked, “How did you get me out of that hellhole, Michael, and who were those people?”

“Al-Qaida. There’s been a cell tracking your every move for the past two months. Apparently they were about to join us at the lake, but the CIA got there first. Then as we were in transit, they attacked. Some fifteen agents killed along with three innocent bystanders.”

“Oh no!”

“The terrorists were about to go public with pictures of you being tortured, when Rhani worked through channels and made the contact.”

“But how. . .”

“I don’t know. You can ask him when you thank him for saving your ass. The good news is, he was able to buy them off for twenty-five million. He set up the release, and the Director asked me to bring in your friends to help with rehab in a secret location.”

“So, where are we?”

“Memphis. We’re in a four bedroom apartment in a high-rise. Billy and Heather are here too. We’ve been doing shifts waiting for you to come around. The CIA assures us this location is secure.”

Her mind started to drift, thoughts spinning into a mysterious blur. She was having great difficulty concentrating. “Forget all the minutia, I’ll figure it out later, but what are we doing about the attack?”

“My God, I
just
told you that.” He looked worried and put a hand on her forehead. “There’s a plan, all quite complex, of course, and the President needs your help. You’ve got three days to get yourself together, then we meet with the Director and Gleason. Why don’t you drink some more water then go back to sleep, you need to rest. You do need to see a shrink, but we’re not taking any chances, not letting anyone in or out.”

“Apparently there’s a whole group of renegade generals at the Pentagon trying to take advantage of the situation to pull off a coup. They want to declare Gleason incompetent and take over the government.”

“Never happen,” she said as her eyelids drifted shut. She forced them open.

“Don’t be so sure. I know it’s hard to believe, but the military has never been happy with Gleason. They want a huge preemptive strike, and he won’t go for it. Anyway, Wallace is their mole, or maybe I should say, gofer. The CIA knew he was up to something, but had no idea until I told them what he said to us in that conference room. The President wants your help to nail him.”

“But how?”

“Wants you to meet him, go in with a wire and CIA backing. They already have a meeting set. They told Wallace we got scared and hoofed it back to NASA. It was the President who sent in the SWAT team, Wallace knows nothing of it. As a matter of fact, Wallace asked the Director for another meeting with you.”

“Oh goody. After what I’ve been through, I’m going to need a couple of years with a shrink before I’m gonna be able to help anyone.”

“No time for that, too much at stake. You’ve got exactly three days, that’s all. There’s also a shuttle launch, and you and I are both on it. I don’t know all the details yet, but it’s part of the plan to counter nuclear strikes out of Tehran and Moscow.”

“Hey wait a minute. Wallace surely knows we are aware of his plans. He told us himself.”

“Yeah, it’s dangerous as hell, and I’m against it, but they need hard evidence.”

She looked deeply into his eyes, “Michael, I am so sorry. . .you know, about those things I said. . .back in the cabin. I was feeling a little threatened and said some things I didn’t mean.”

“Okay, I got my feelings hurt, but so what,” he said, misty-eyed. “It was nothing compared to what you’ve been through. I’m so sorry you were captured. But I am so goddam happy we got you out of there.”

She choked, reached up to touch his hair and finally whispered, “When I was in that hellhole, I was thinking of you, the great time we had.”

He looked down as he grasped her hand. Massaging the backs of her fingers tenderly he said, “Christina, I want you to know this. No matter what they did to you, no matter how much they screwed up your head, no matter how long it takes for you to get better. . .I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.”

She smiled and drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Twelve

“Hey sleepy head, wake up.” Heather came in with breakfast on a tray. Steam rose from a piping hot cup of coffee.

Christina rubbed her eyes trying to remove the fog. When she focused on her friend, she had to laugh. Heather was decked out in a nurse’s uniform: short skirt, spiked heals and white blouse open at the top.

“I had to go online to one of those, ‘please your husband’ sites. They got all kinds of uniforms from Catholic School plaid miniskirts to Tiger Lady cat-skin.”