Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1) (2 page)

Jack
glanced at his watch then checked on the antics of his waterlogged
canine, "Hey fuzzball..! Let's go, we got a plane to deliver!"
Tongue lolling, kicking up sand as he ran, the dog raced from the
surf, looking like an overgrown, half-drowned rat. Steele figured
the crazy animal loved to fly almost as much as he did.

They
paused on the deck and Jack thoroughly rinsed the dog with the fresh
water shower attached to the house. Fritz shook himself violently,
dispersing droplets over the deck like a lawn sprinkler. Jack was
always amazed how much moisture he could shake from his coat. He
smiled to himself and finished the carton of orange juice as they
entered the beach house. Toweling Fritz off in the kitchen, Jack
began to think ahead, taking to the dog, "This is gonna be a
sweet run, know what I mean?" Fritz cocked his head
quizzically. Sometimes he paid such close attention, Jack could
swear the animal actually understood every word. In the middle of
drying him, the phone rang and Jack snatched the receiver out of the
charger. “Steele...”

"What
time do we take off?" asked the voice on the other end. It was
his copilot, Brian Carter.

"We
should be at the strip at about nine, I guess. I would think we'd be
wheels-up by about a quarter to ten, doncha' think?"

"Yeah,
I'd think so. How long did you say we were staying out there?"

"I'm
not positive, but we should be back in about four weeks,"
replied Jack.

"Ok
cool, I'll pack a few extra things then. See you at the plane."

“
Roger.”
Jack dropped the phone into the charger, gave the waiting canine one
last rub with the towel, then headed back into his bedroom to
continue to pack the bag he'd started the night before. Though he
had never been and could never be confused with a Boy Scout, he
preferred to be well prepared... probably part of having an Alpha
personality. In his clothing bag, he included his favorite
protection; a satin stainless Kimber 1911 .45acp semi-automatic
pistol. Since the magazines only held eight rounds, he tossed five
extra mags into the bag, along with a couple boxes of fresh 230
grain +P ammunition, a shoulder holster and a right hand, leather
thigh holster that had a quick thumb release. He zipped the bag shut
and on his way to the kitchen, dropped the bags in the entry hall by
the front door. Though it was legal in the state of Florida to carry
a concealed weapon, it was not terribly legal to carry it when
leaving the country... in fact, it was highly illegal. But Jack
tended to be a somewhat of a survivor. His opinion was that he’d
rather be standing in front of a judge explaining why someone else
was dead than standing in front of Saint Peter explaining why he was
dead. That’s not to say that he was a violent person, he
wasn’t... unless he had to be. In which case you didn't want
to be playing on the wrong team.

He
picked up a pen and notepad to leave a quick message on the fridge
for his maid Nina, apologizing once again, for the destruction of
the bedroom. "Sometimes I think she just likes to complain,"
he said to the Shepherd. Fritz barked a short confirmation and Jack
hung the note with pizza parlor magnets.

The
phone rang again, and he snatched up the cordless off the kitchen
counter, "What'd you forget buddy?"

"Hi,
it's mom..."

"Oh.
Hi, mom! What's up?"

"Your
dad and I are planning to come down around the end of next week..."

"Really?
Crap... I'm leaving to deliver that plane today..." Jack had
hoped to spend some time with them this summer.

"Oh...”
her voice dropped in disappointment. “Well, how long will you
be gone?" she asked, sounding brighter.

"About
four weeks I think. They need someone to fly the plane during
filming, so we need to stay till they're done with the plane. I can
try calling before we head back... but I'm really not sure what the
service will be like."

"Oh,
Ok. Well then, we'll postpone for a couple of weeks..."

"Sounds
good," interrupted Jack, "but if you get here and we're
not back yet, don't worry, Ok? Just call Nina and she'll come and
give you a key... she's only about ten minutes away."

Moms
have incredible intuition. "Are you in a hurry Jack?"

Jack
glanced at his watch. "Well yeah, sort of..." Mothers also
have the capability to make a grown man feel like an eleven-year-old
kid again. "Uh, can I bring you or dad back any kind of
souvenir or something?"

"How
about a new daughter-in-law?" she joked.

"Mooomm!"
he groaned, palming his face “let’s not go there, Ok..?”

"Ok,
Ok. I'm just kidding. You be careful, Ok?"

"I
will..."

"Promise?"
she prodded.

"I
promise, honest." Like the dutiful son he was, he told her he
loved her and they said their goodbyes. He looked forward to seeing
his parents when he got back, he didn't get to spend as much time
with them as he'd like to.

"Lets
go buddy!" Fritz followed obediently and eagerly to the front
door. Jack paused at the mirror in the foyer, checking his image.
His dark hair was neatly cut, combed back with a loose curl hanging
on his forehead, his mustache was full but trimmed. Steele's sharp
features came from his father; tanned skin courtesy of the Florida
sun, and blemish-free skin from his mother. Long dimples on each
side of his mouth deepened when he smiled, but his most striking
feature were his eyes, dark and piercing. He decided he looked
pretty decent for thirty-something. "You my friend," he
told his reflection,
"loook
marvelous.
"
Fritz danced impatiently in circles in the foyer his nails clicking
on the foyer's floor tile.
"Oooh
my friend,
you
look marvelous too!" He told the dog.

The
gregarious Shepherd was as excited for the car ride as Jack was
about this trip. Before Steele made it to the back of the Cobra
sitting in the driveway, the dog was through the convertible's open
passenger window and sitting in the front seat. With a wild roll of
his eyes, Jack tossed the bags into the trunk and closed the lid.
When he got to the driver's door, he was confronted by an unlikely
motorist. "Get outta my seat you clown, unless you think you
can drive..." Fritz happily relinquished the seat, jumping back
to the passenger side. Jack opened the door and entered the car the
normal way, releasing the clips for the convertible top and folding
it back, one-handed. Strapping the dog into his harness and pulling
on his own 5-point harness, Jack started the Cobra which shuddered
to life with an aggressive growl. It loped at idle, the side-pipes
burbling, the engine producing a distinct vibration in the wheel and
stick shift. Jack backed out onto the street but didn't bother with
the stereo. Shifting into gear, he rolled down the short side street
to Estero Boulevard, the main road running down the beach.

Jack
made a left on Estero and headed toward the bridge. It wasn't
exactly clogged with cars, but beach traffic always seemed to move
slower than anywhere else - maybe it had something to do with the
beach lifestyle frame of mind. It always seemed that by the time you
had crossed the bridge to the mainland, things started moving
faster. He couldn't really hot dog on Estero, the traffic was too
close with too many sightseers, he'd have to wait till he hit
Summerlin Road. Jack had learned to just be patient and enjoy the
view on the beach. The dark sedan a few cars back never caught
Steele's eye, it rolled on anonymously with the flow. As they
crossed the bridge, boats scooted past on the water below, their
owners enjoying the glassy emerald water of the Intercoastal
waterway. As always, when the bridge fell away in the rear-view
mirror, traffic picked up the pace. There still wasn't a lot of
room, he'd just have to be patient.

Jack
could see the intersection ahead and the steady flow of traffic.
Finally, a place to hustle. Glancing at his watch, he turned right
to go South on Summerlin, and accelerated hard to jump into the
flow. Fritz leaned into the turn and against his harness for
balance. The pipes snarled viciously and the meaty rear tires broke
loose, the Cobra squirreling sideways. Jack felt the shudder in the
seat of his pants with the slack in the wheel almost before it
happened and instinctively steered the wheel into the break,
feathering the accelerator to give the tires a chance to bite. In a
split second, the tires hooked up and the car launched, snapping
straight. A blink later, shifting through the gears and accelerated
hard again, the pipes singing their big-block combustion engine
harmony, he looked for openings and a place to let the Cobra run.
Flipping on the radar detector and laser jammer, a nice hole opened
up in the traffic and he shot through, running free. Fritz sat
quietly, watching the world go by in a blur.

■ ■ ■

“
C'mon,
c'mon!
Step on it!
Don't
lose him...”

The
driver checked his blind spot as he hammered the accelerator on the
Crown Vic and swerved into the next lane. “He couldn't have
seen us... could he?”

“
I
don't know, but he's sure driving like he did.”

“
I
wonder what triggered him...” The driver checked his mirror
and changed back, weaving his way through the slower cars. “Jesus
Christ, that thing is fast...”

“
Next
time I drive, grandpa...”

“
Yeah,
like I'm putting my life in
your
hands... that'll be the day.” He hammered the pedal and the
police interceptor engine launched the heavy sedan ahead.
“Holy
crap,
we're coming up on ninety and he's pulling away like we're standing
still...”

The
other agent was pulling out a map, “he should, that thing's
got like almost six-hundred horsepower...”

“
Holy
shit -
really...?”
The driver let off on the accelerator, “Dammit I can't even
see him anymore... he must've been doing a hundred-twenty at least.
I'm not sure how we're going to explain how we lost a bright blue
car with white rally stripes on it...”

“
The
guy is driving a car that's bullet-fast, we're driving a sled. No
real mystery there.” The passenger looked up, “You can't
tell me you've never seen a guy drive fast before.”

“
Yeah,
but that was more than just fast, I've never seen anyone drive like
that
before - makes me wonder if he's a pro.”

“
I
suppose it's not impossible - but you've read the file, what do we
know about him?”

The
driver shook his head, “Apparently not enough. I'm still not
sure how to report this...”

“
We
might not have to...”

The
driver glanced over at the other man, “Watcha mean?”

“
I'm
pretty sure he's headed to the municipal airport,” he said,
pointing at the map, “Just stay on this, I'll tell you when to
exit...”

FLORIDA,
WHEYLAND MUNICIPAL AIRPORT:
WILD
BLUE YONDER

The
powerful roadster made the drive easy and fun... even though he did
break a few laws. Steele pulled into the gravel service road at only
nine-o-five, minus his sedan shadow and followed the service drive
around the back of the airport toward the private hangars. Slowing
his speed to reduce the dust off the road, he listened to the steady
crunch of gravel beneath the car's tires. A twin-engine Cessna
taxied past the fence to his right on its way to the main runway.
He thought to stop and watch the takeoff, but continued rolling. As
the roadster rumbled toward the far side of the airport near the
private hangars, Jack began to look for Brian's pickup truck. He
smiled to himself, the truck was not to be seen, he had beaten him
there. Jack turned through the gate and pulled up onto the tarmac.