The Peacemaker Read online

  No one really knew if we could take out Al-Qaeda once and for all. Or if we were just stalling things so that the military complex could scare more funds out of both Congress and the people to bankroll the next “legal” war. (Whatever that may be.)

  “Much.” My uncle said.

  “Who is it?” I asked—not sure if I liked where this conversation was going. I told my dad and my uncle that if and when I flew the Peacemaker, I wasn’t going to be going on government jaunts to battle the bad guys, or fight crime in downtown L.A.

  I just wanted to be a courier pilot.

  They both agreed then that it wouldn’t be the case.

  Had things changed that much since then? I asked myself—even as my uncle pulled me back from my own self-doubts.

  “When you told me about Conrad Jones, I did some digging and guess what I found?”

  “What?”

  “The guy was a double-agent, working for a shadow group operating out of the Middle East.”

  My ears went a little pink. “Oh-kay. What does that have to do with what’s going on?”

  “Conrad Jones lost his status as an MI-6 agent five years ago under classified circumstances and then went on to pose as British secret service while in the Middle East—supposedly representing the interest of Great Britain itself.”

  “But he wasn’t.”

  “Afraid not,” My uncle confirmed.

  “So what was he doing?”

  “From what we could determine, he’s set up some kind of front company posing as a reputable arms merchant company—”

  My face blanched the moment I heard those words.

  “—Suns Brothers, Limited?” I interjected quickly.

  My uncle’s eyebrows went up. “You know the name of this company?”

  “Operates out of Riyadh.” I said with a furious blush. “I flew a few runs there back and forth over the past couple of years…delivering parts.”

  “What kind of parts?”

  “The kind that usually revolutionizes ground warfare. Five boxes of pins and sliding bolts for the next-generation HR-12 assault rifle, three boxes of ring fittings for the NH-09 anti-tank rocket, and two boxes of magnetic, all-weather timers for the Lewis IFF 1-6A anti-personnel mine.” I told him. “But I didn’t think—”

  “No, you didn’t.” My uncle chided me lightly. “However, we didn’t know either at the time, so it’s not like you were doing anything wrong. How much was the company paying you to have the parts delivered?”

  “$764,000. They were special ordered through a Defense Department supply chain, then boxed and shipped up my way from a military depot down in North Carolina—”

  “So nothing special about that one.” My uncle commented thoughtfully, completely interrupting me. I gave him a dirty look for that one.

  “If it was anything serious, Kee, we would’ve intercepted that without your knowledge.”

  “So why all the questions?” I asked outright. “Am I under suspicion here?”

  “Not in the slightest. We’re just curious as to how well…connected you are to Conrad Jones and if there is any way we can use that to our current advantage.”

  “Mmph.” I snorted. “And how does the prince figure into all of this?”

  “A tragic mistake that will most likely have damning consequences for the entire Royal Family—if word somehow got out that one of their own trusted people turned traitor and tried to have the Prince of Hampton Courts assassinated through proxy means.”

  “You mean, using the Triton-12 Peacemaker as convenient bait.” I said—suddenly vexed.

  “Unfortunately.” My uncle said in sympathy. “I know how much he means to you personally, Kee. But I wouldn’t let your feelings for him get in the way of the mission ahead.”

  “What mission, Uncle? I said owlishly. “You never said anything about sending me on a mission before! Not since we all established the fact that your precious experimental war plane was only going to be used for courier purposes—so that the military heads upstairs wouldn’t have a mind to permanently mothball the Peacemaker.”

  “Yes, well…” my uncle said a little evasively. “That was before we got a new lead on your prince’s former bodyguard and attaché.”

  I stood there and sulked—not happy with the way this whole conversation was going. I would rather stay home and look after Bart, than have to go play Good Cop, Bad Cop with some former hottie whom used me like a wet paper towel.

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Uncle. Ever since I took off for Bowling Greens—I hadn’t seen your mysterious James Bond character anywhere.”

  “No messages of any kind? Or when he would be back?”

  “His Highness did tell me that he would be back to collect him today—and that was almost two days ago.” I answered.

  “Then maybe we can have him come to us. Or rather to you.” He suggested.

  I didn’t like this idea one bit.

  “As much as I love you dearly, Uncle Gary—I am no one’s pawn. Especially to the military.” I told him flat out.

  “You do want this guy—right?”

  “Since he crossed me with his good looks and witty charms?” I ventured. “Yes.”

  “Then you won’t have to worry. I’ll protect you. The US government will protect you.”

  As much as I loved him, I found it impossible to believe that my own government had my own interests at heart.

  Especially when we were dealing with a man whose loyalties were clearly outside of government-accepted boundaries.

  “Fine.” I said with false enthusiasm. “But I’m going to carry my own protection—just in case.”

  “What?”

  “Remember that old Japanese washi that my dad gave me as a present on my 17th birthday?”

  “You still have it?” My uncle said with a bit of surprise in his voice. “I thought the blade had rusted the sheath shut?”

  “It was. I managed to pull it out after a couple hours. I had a professional fix the dings on the blade and cure it of any rust that might’ve adhered to the blade. Now—it’s sharp as ever.”

  “How many times have you used it?” He asked.

  “None. But it doesn’t mean I don’t know what it’s good for.” I answered with a dangerous look in my eyes. “If Mr. Jones tries anything, he’ll soon regret crossing me.”

  “You don’t plan on killing him—do you?”

  “If he’s in any way responsible for what happened to Bart, I’m going to make him wish he was never alive to begin with—to hell with what the government wants with him.”

  “You’re speaking irrationally, Kee. I would advise not taking matters into your own hands until we can sufficiently deal with him on a state-sponsored level.” My uncle said with a great amount of patience.

  “What would you do if any of us were threatened in any way? Or even Aunt Mary?” I countered. “Would you be taking matters in hand with a cool hand and/or rational thought?”

  “No. But I wouldn’t want to try and be a hero either. I know you, Kee. Better than my brother—your father—ever did. I know you have a perchance for wild indecisions and impulsive decision-making processes. For the love of God…just try to let us deal with it. And if we can’t—? Then I won’t stand in your way. You can have free reign for however long it takes—okay? Deal?”

  I nodded. “For Bart’s sake, Conrad better not and try and fucking cross me again.” I vowed angrily. “Because I can be a royal pain in hindsight.”

  My uncle couldn’t help but laugh softly. “I know that all too well, I’m afraid.”

  “Damned straight.” I said with a touch of personal pride in my voice. “And don’t you ever forget that.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

  4:30 AM.

  Six hours later.

  My uncle left to set the trap for Conrad Jones and I was left to my own thoughts and devices for another half hour—where I resumed my pacing back and forth with worry.

  I had nothing better to do but si
t and wait after my legs started to get tired from all the standing—not to mention my feet.

  What I wouldn’t give for a good soak in the tub with some Epson Salts. I thought—making a mental note to do just that after I spent some time checking on Bart.

  But what I really wanted to do was tell him how sorry I was for subjecting him to Shadow Fire and not realizing that a few of the missiles had detonated in close range of my jet.

  So I sat there—thumbing through a few beauty magazines and not feeling all that attractive myself.

  I was a miserable, fucking, wreck on the inside—constantly tearing myself anew for a mistake in piloting judgment that I had made.

  There were plenty of other ways to dispose of those Hammerheads, but I didn’t see any other way at the time.

  Not when hell was practically bearing down on our asses.

  I put down the last mag and looked up at the clock—feeling like time had become my enemy instead of a really close friend.

  So I decided to take a much needed catnap—but as soon as I dropped off, I would hear a sound at the edge of my consciousness and it would tear me awake—forcing me to resettle myself back into a quiet lull.

  It took another 45 minutes before Doctor Shelly Olson came out—with blood-stained gloves and a haggard look—but when she glanced around, all she could see was me quietly snoring with my head down.

  “Kee?” She prodded gently, not wanting to get my uniform caked with Bart’s blood.

  I awoke that instant—my head snapping up like a rifle—and glanced around tiredly. It took me a few moments to recompose myself and wipe the fresh tears from my face.

  I looked like hell and Shelly could see that.

  “H-how is he?” I asked in a cracking voice. “Is he going to be—”

  “It was touch and go there for a bit, but we managed to get him stabilized.” My family doctor and close friend said. “Some of the shrapnel came pretty close to doing some spinal cord damage, but we managed to patch things up without a hitch. His right kidney took a beating, but we made sure that nothing was permanently damaged. A small bit of tearing and a minor laceration, but he should be okay in that department.”

  “Why wasn’t…” I began and then stopped. “Why wasn’t I told?”

  Shelly put a comforting hand on my shoulder.

  “Kee, there is little you could’ve done. The important thing is that he’s going to be okay. He’ll need a week or two to recover, but after that—? He should be ready to go.”

  I nearly broke down again in tears, but I just nodded with a relieved smile on my face.

  He was going to be alive!

  “You should get some sleep, Kee. You look like hell.” Shell pointed out—trying to liven things up a bit.

  I laughed tiredly. “No kidding. But I can’t sleep—when I’m this wired.”

  “You’re going to fall to pieces if you don’t try to get some sleep, Kina. And that’s an order from your friendly-neighborhood doctor.”

  I chuckled a little. “For a second there, I thought you were going to say Spiderman instead.”

  Shelly smiled broadly. “That too. But I don’t allow webbing in any of my surgeries. Gums up the works and makes for a real nightmare.”

  “Says the woman whom used to be afraid of spiders as a little girl.” I joked tiredly, then yawned a bit. “B-but you’re right…I should get to bed. Is it okay if I just hop in and say goodnight to Bart?”

  Shelly nodded. “I don’t see a problem with that. He’s out cold and going to be that way for at least most of the day. He might be coherent later for a little conversation.”

  I nodded—relieved to hear that. Things were finally looking up.

  I didn’t feel so bad then. A little light on my feet, but things were going to be okay.

  I stood up and stretched—feeling every kink in my body go taut and then snap or crack on their own accord.

  “Thanks.” I said to Shelly. “For everything you’ve done.”

  The other woman nodded before she peeled off her gloves, one at a time.

  “Anytime, Kee.” She said. “Now, I gotta attend to my next case. One of your guys decided to take a fall without the benefit of a safety harness and he ended up breaking his leg and fracturing his hip.”

  I frowned. “Which one? Keith? Or is it Tobias?”

  “Tobias.” Shelly confirmed. “Came in this afternoon. But don’t worry: He’s doing okay. Doped up on pain-killers.”

  “You don’t mind if I break his other leg when he gets out—right?” I said with a certain level of malicious intent.

  Shelly chuckled. “That would just add onto the bill, love. Don’t worry, I’ll send him your best wishes for a speedy recovery.”

  “Oy…” I complained out loud. “I swear that boy is not too bright these days.” But there was little I could do—except to give him a ten-minute lecture on using the right safety gear. (And a smack upside the head for being so stupid.)

  But that could wait. I had an important visitor to attend to right now.

  Shelley continued to chuckle as I half-staggered, half-walked my way down the corridor and then stopped—leaning against the wall for a second.

  “Which room is he in?”

  “Recovery Room 3-B. It’s down another twenty feet straight and then take a left. Go another ten feet and it should be right there.” My friend told me.

  I looked around and sighed. “Just my luck—no maps.”

  I heard some giggling coming from my six and I casually flipped Shelly the finger in response.

  The doctor responded with, “Well! I never!” She said in her best Scarlet O’ Hara voice.

  I twirled a finger up in the air as I sauntered off—feeling a little better.

  Shelley was only a couple years older than me, so we often joked around a lot—being best friends and all.

  She couldn’t take offense at anything I did—especially when she was trying to impress this guy she dated around when we were still in our early twenties and so full of energy and drive.

  Some smart ass made a comment about how he would only date girls with big boobs.

  And since mine weren’t as big as this idiot’s fancy, I promptly took Shelley’s halter top off and exposed her slightly larger D-cups to the world.

  Suffice to say, the guy choked on his beer—which was the intent I wanted—and yelled out, “Big enough for ya? Or would you prefer fucking pillows instead?!”

  The guy she was looking to impress turned a few shades of red, but not as red as Shelley’s—as she had shrieked at me and quickly covered herself with her arms and then the shirt I had so expertly yanked up and off without warning.

  I got hammered on it afterwards, but it turned out to be all good: Shelley and the guy she was after started dating and things were going well until that fateful day—three months after I had broken things up with Todd.

  Greg had been killed in a freak snowmobile accident.

  Suffice to say, Shelly was devastated and she tried her best to cope with her horrendous loss. But unlike me, she learned to heal and it wasn’t before too long before she found someone else she liked and they hit it off well.

  And been married ever since—with three kids.

  It didn’t take long for me to find the room and I hesitated only for a moment to clear my thoughts, collect myself, and then put on a brave face.

  “I can do this.” I said quietly. “I can do this.”

  Turning the knob, I pushed open the door quietly and stepped into a room which was more peaceful and relaxing than I was at the moment.

  Bart’s bed was in the far corner of the room—next to a window overlooking a row of neatly-spaced oak trees, connected together by fencing timber in order to form a nice wooden fence—overlooking someone’s quaint little hay field.

  A small nightstand stood to the right of him, with a chair in the opposite corner next to a window with closed blinds.

  And across from his bed, was a flat-screen TV wired for cable and t
uned to a soft music channel.

  There was nothing to interrupt his recovery—save for a few machines connected to him to provide much needed comfort and support.

  I didn’t like the way the small wires and tubes were snaking across his body, or how pale he looked to my eyes.

  I just wanted him whole. I wanted him not to feel the pain I felt inside my heart and everywhere else at the present.

  I wanted…

  “To tell you…that I am so sorry, my love.” I began—which only set off a fresh faucet of tears. “I was only…trying to…” and stopped to wipe my eyes; as I stood just inside the now closed door entrance.

  “I wanted to tell you that I wish…I…that I could take back everything and give you nothing but peace and serenity. It should be me lying there, not you.” I knew then that it wasn’t true—at least, the last part.

  In truth, it could’ve have easily been the both of us. But somehow the explosion temporarily canceled the transconfiguration-phase effect—making the co-pilot the most vulnerable to a deadly ricochet.

  I had been protected out of blind luck and nothing more.

  Bart was the unlucky one and as I went to his bedside, I suddenly realized just how fragile a human life could be—when it wasn’t given enough consideration.

  I gently took his hand into mine, holding onto his cool flesh like nothing else mattered in the whole damned universe.

  “I don’t want to lose you, Bart. Not since I got to know you so well in the short time we’ve been together.” I shook my head and laughed softly. “It’s so damned hard to tell someone you like them—and you would be willing to do anything for that one person; even if it didn’t make a whole lot of sense at first. But I’ve been fighting my feelings for you as much as the emotional roller-coaster—which goes without saying—that comes with the territory.”

  I stopped for a second to stare into his pretty face—with his matted hair drooping forward a little from being washed and then let air dry on its own.

  I reached over to gently brush it back from his eyes with a couple of fingers and stood back to take in the picture of perfect clarity and innocence.