Chapter 12- Exogenesis

Chapter 12

Exogenesis

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

To Major Peter Dalton, it felt like he’d been moving towards the church in the little town forever.  The building was unimpressive and yet Dalton felt greatly intimidated by it, like it was some dread specter rising above the town.

Dalton remembered back in Afghanistan, a different kind of mountain, he remembered a tall spire rising from a small village, equally small and equally insignificant.  Dalton remembered the sort of trouble that had begun in this small town, at this small spire.  Of course there had been a crescent rather than a cross atop this spire but the similarities were telling.

Back then and back there, Major Dalton had been sent to observe another air force operation, another crash investigation.  It had proven to be straightforward, pilot error had seen a chopper crash into the village and lose a crew of four.  They had also killed another fifteen people in the crash.

“Of course, it doesn’t need to be this way does it?” he had said to Dalton.

Dalton remembered the look he had given, the way he had turned his head.

“There’s no way we can rule out ground fire at this time is there?”

“There was no sign of an external explosion on the chopper.  This is a crash, pilot error,” Dalton had said slowly and clearly.

“But it could have been ground fire, conceivably he could have been reacting to ground fire when he crashed,” the other man had said.  He had already clinched his star, already made General, the promotion was a formality.  Dalton, despite his years of service was still awaiting confirmation of his promotion to Lieutenant Colonel.

“I’m not sure what you’re driving at sir,” He had said carefully.

“I’m sure that you do Peter,” The newly promoted General had said to him.

Peter Dalton had never been very good at reading the politics, he’d come up from the ranks by dint of his own intelligence and skill, by his own work rate and it had taken him a little longer than his friend who had a “rabbi” in the senior brass.

“Play the game Peter,” Michael Pays had once said to him, back before he had a star on his uniform.

“This isn’t a game,” He had replied back then, back when he was still a naïve Captain.

In that dusty village in Afghanistan, a crescent was framed against a dark night and Dalton failed to see what he was being asked, failed to understand the situation.

“Peter, this is an important decision you’re making here,” Said General Pays.

“This chopper came down due to pilot error,” He stated, he restated.

“Don’t rock the boat Peter, no one will thank you for it.  Least of all the Hajji’s in this town,” General Pays had told him.

Peter had rocked the boat anyway, out of his own sense of duty, out of his own sense of stubbornness.  What was right was right; the pilot had erred and killed more than a dozen people with his recklessness.  The problem was that he had been the nephew of an important Senator back home.  The scandal was bad for the air force and bad for the whole shop.  Dalton hadn’t been blamed, how could he?  But he was passed up for his promotion to Lieutenant Colonel all the same.

Since then, assignment after assignment had followed and Dalton had refused to change his style.  But he was holding himself back whilst people like General Pays went on to greater success.  And he wasn’t just holding himself back; he was holding Roman Dietz back too.  So he would “play the game”.

He’d been playing the game, step by step, mission by mission and the exhaustion had been gradually welling up inside of him.  Every step took him closer to the church door and the strange noises from inside.  He barely heard the first burst of automatic weapons fire.

“This is Dietz to all units, check in.  Whose firing and at who?” Called out Roman Dietz, Dalton’s oldest remaining friend in the Air Force.

“Harrison here, it aint us,” Came the first reply.

“Chung, we’re clear.  I think it’s McPherson’s team. I’ll move around and cover them,”

Wooderson reached the church door and began to open it.  Dalton wanted to tell him not to, wanted to say leave it.  He wanted to be back at a dry, dead desert, machine parts burning and the smell of fuel.  He wanted to have the pieces gathered around him so he could use that mind that he had sharpened to understand it.

Instead they opened the church doors.  It wasn’t much of a church, much more like a little chapel.  A single large room with pews scattered to all sides and books across the floor.  There was the smell of blood in the air.  Woodersen entered, his pistol drawn.  Dietz followed up, his own side-arm drawn.  Only Dalton had his weapon still in its holster.

“What in God’s name?” asked Dietz, instinctively crossing himself.

At the other end of the chapel, a man stood over another man who was slumped in front of him.  The man on his feet was wearing the black robes of a priest, dark hair hung off the back of a human-shaped head.  There was a terrible ripping sound coming from the two of them.

“Fuck me,” breathed Wooderson.  Dalton wished himself somewhere else; he wished to be anywhere else.  He reached very slowly for his side-arm.

The ‘priest’ turned around his face still human but blood had leaked from his eyes and mouth.  His hands were long, inhuman, clawed.  From the ends of his hands came long thin red tendrils that had wrapped themselves all around the slumped body in an army uniform.

“Fuck, he’s got Barrow!” shouted Wooderson.  In a fluid motion he brought up the pistol and fired two shots in quick succession.  The first round caught the figure in black in the head, knocking him back a step.  His forehead had caved in from the round and the man stumbled over.

“Good God in heaven.” Said Dietz, moving forward.

“Wait,” Shouted Dalton, almost unable to speak.

Dietz stopped just in time.  The priest began to get up again, blooding pouring from a crushed skull.  Wooderson and Dietz both unloaded their pistols, the sound was deafening inside the close confines of the chapel.

The human-shape was blown backwards into the wall, a strange animal wail coming up from it.  It spasmed and raised its clawed hands at them as round after round exploded into its body.

Wooderson reloaded his pistol.  Dalton had finally drawn his own weapon but he held it at his side.  Dietz reloaded too and looked over at his old friend.

“Pete, what the hell is it?”  Dalton thumbed the safety back off the pistol, this too seemed to take an age.

The downed figure of the ‘priest’ was trying to get up, its body wrecked but somehow it was still able to move.

“This is Storm, small arms fire don’t stop em,” came a voice on the radio.

“Peter!” yelled Dietz, looking over at Dalton.

Wooderson was now reloaded; he took a step forward and fired twice at the downed priest.  Both rounds caught him flat in the face.  After a few seconds, the body continued to move.

“Get Barrow’s body out of there,” Breathed Dietz.  Wooderson nodded and moved forward.  Barrow’s face was bruised and covered in small cuts.  Blood had dried around his mouth.  Wooderson dragged him clear of the priest, thin red tendrils trailing all around him.

“Fire,” Said Dietz.  “Fire, we’ve got to burn it.”

“What?” Said Wooderson, dragging Barrow to one side.

A figure appeared in the doorway behind them.  Wooderson raised his pistol instinctively.  A thin man in work overalls stood there in front of them.  He began to speak rapidly in Spanish.

“You speak Spanish?” asked Wooderson.

“A little bit” said Dietz.

“What’s he saying?” asked Wooderson.  Dalton looked back at the priest.  He was still trying to move.  Dalton stared at him, so much blood, so much violence.  The air reeked of cordite.

“He’s asking us what we’re doing, shooting his village up.  I think he’s the Mayor,” Said Dietz.  Dalton turned and waved a hand at the man in the doorway.

“Fuel, kerosene, anything that will burn,” He said.  “We need it in here right now.”
“Burn?  Burn the church?” asked another voice from the doorway.  He was a younger man, dark hair.

“Yes,” Said Dalton.  “We’ve got to burn this right now.”

The man in priests robes continued to move, slowly and sluggishly.  Spent shell cases were scattered across the floor like the after effects of some bizarre wedding.  There were bullets holes punched through his robes in more than a dozen places.

Dalton thumbed the safety back onto the pistol and tried to put it back into his holster.  Wooderson was still dragging Dalton outside, when the storm outside found its way in.

Chapter 11- Flash Point

Book 2

Patient Zero

Chapter 11

Flash Point

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

Hannah took point, leading her little two man team across the village when they heard a terrible scream.  Hannah’s blood froze.  Storm tapped her on the shoulder and took cover.  She followed suite.

“I froze” She said, almost to herself.  There was another scream, longer and more drawn out.

“That’s not a human being making that sound,” Said Storm.

“What?” said Hannah, confused.

“You’re not from farm country right?” he smirked.  “Hogs, someone’s killing a hog.”

Hannah breathed a brief sigh of relief.  Later on, she would remember that feeling that there was a simple and rational explanation, she would remember that feeling that things would be ok, that they would make sense.  She would think of that brief moment as “the good old days.”

Storm moved forward to the edge of the next building.  He leaned out to take a look.  He stayed out in the open for a few seconds and then dropped back.

“What?” asked Hannah.  Storm’s face was pale.

“What did you see?” she asked again.

“Follow me,” he breathed.  The two of them moved quickly and quietly around the back of the pig pen.

Hannah could smell the death and excrement from a distance, a terrible metallic smell.  She could hear a soft, mewling sound, it sounded vaguely pig-like but she couldn’t place it.  Her stomach knotted up.  She hefted her P-90 submachine gun and tired to reassure herself.

Storm reached the edge of the pig pen, a small wooden hut with a covered roof.  There was enough space between two of the boards to see inside and to see the man that was stood amongst the pigs.  He was splattered with blood.

He didn’t hold a knife; instead his bare hands were covered in blood and gore.  With his back to Hannah, she couldn’t see his expression or his face but there was something strange and wild about his hair, about his whole aspect.

Hannah watched as storm lined up his gun on the man’s back, a red spot appearing.  Storm indicated that Hannah should move around to flank the man.  Hannah nodded, her mouth was dry and she felt her hands shaking.

As she came up on his left hand side, she caught a glimpse of his face.  Her finger tensed on the trigger.

Satcom, Somewhere in Virginia

A young officer walked into the main control room.  There was a steady buzz of activity in the room, non-coms rushing around with clipboards and dozens of radio communications going on at once.

A lieutenant was talking rapidly on a radio to someone.  The young officer, sandy brown hair and sharp blue eyes, stood next to her.  The lieutenant, Walker, was speaking quickly.

“Okay we need Giant-killer online.  I’ve got confirmation from command so you need to get that track lit up for us right now.  Don’t make me get the general back on the line.”

The young officer, a full bird colonel, stood next to her and listened for a second longer.

“No, no that wont do.  You get your CO on the line.  We’ve got a mission here with a critical time frame and you’re going to give us what we need.  Do you want to speak to the fucking general?”

The colonel reached over and took the radio out of her hand.

“What the hell?” she began and caught his rank.  “Sorry colonel.”

“This is Colonel Sickles here.  What’s your name?” he asked down the radio.

“Now, you’re going to get Giant-Killer lit up as you were instructed.  Otherwise the next assignment you get will be teaching basket-ball to inner city youths in Baghdad.  You with me son?  I’m glad we got that cleared up.”

Lieutenant Walker looked at the young Colonel but he was already walking away.  He stood near the top of the room and called for attention, a loud whistle.  People turned around.

“People, let’s all take a breath here.  We’ve got an important job to do and a bit of hustle is what we need.  But we are members of a general staff here.  Think first, work it out and stop babbling.  I don’t want to catch anyone else around here negotiating.  We’ve got clearance for an operation.  Let’s get our heads straight and then deliver it shall we?  Like professional soldiers.  That’s all.”

Colonel Sickles walked over to the General’s office and knocked on the door.

“Enter,” came the voice.

Sickles stepped inside.  General Petersen was sat behind his desk reading a report.  Sickles stood instinctively to attention.

“Knock that off.  What is it Colonel?”
“Colonel James Sickles reporting for duty.”
“I didn’t ask for you.  What are you doing here?”
“I’m getting your operation centre sorted out General.” Replied Sickles, his tone neutral.

“Oh are you?” asked General Petersen.  “And who sent you?”

“The Secretary.” Said Sickles, trying to keep the confidence in his tone low.

“The Secretary sent you.” Repeated Petersen.  “So you work for me or him?”
“I work for the United States Army.” Replied Sickles.

“Ok then.  Well, for now we’ve got an op to plan out and we’ve got a lot of materials to use for it.  I need you to just observe for a minute and get to speed with what we’re about here.”

“General, I already did that.” Replied Sickles.

“Did you now?” asked Petersen.

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

There was a burst of light and fire, a man was blown backwards away from the pig pen by a hail of bullets.  Hannah McPherson had never shot anyone before.  The P-90 submachine gun was capable of firing around nine hundred rounds in a minute.  The fifty round magazine had lasted only a couple of seconds of full automatic fire.

Blood had splattered across the back of the fence were the man was now lying.  Hannah stood facing him, her hands locked around the smoking but now empty sub-machine gun.  Incredibly, the man began to slowly, very slowly, get back up.  “No,” Hannah said in a small voice.

The burst of fire had cut a long swathe across his chest.  His body had been riddled with bullets and was bleeding profusely.  But the blood on his hands and face had been there before.  And his face, it was not the face of a human being.  To Hannah, it simply resembled a deep pit of blood and bony shapes.

The long fingers on his hands had previously been hooked into one of the pigs that had been in the pen.  Now he raised them in front of him.  Hannah reached down to her side for another magazine.  She pulled it clear of her belt as he reached his feet.  She could see clean through his body, there were so many holes in him.  It was absurd, like something out of a cartoon.

His face continued to crumble apart and a terrible rending sound came from within his throat.  He took a lurching step forward.  Hannah’s trembling hands found the magazine and slammed it into the P-90.  Then there was a burst of fire to the man-shape’s right and he was hurled bodily aside by another burst of fire.  Storm laid down a field of fire straight at him, stitching a bloody line across his shoulder and neck

He collapsed again, this time lying in the path.  Storm walked around quickly to Hannah.  She pulled the safety on her machine gun and moved towards the thing that had appeared to be a man but was clearly not.  His head, what little of it had remained, had been almost completely cut off by the machine gun fire.

A strange bubbling growl was coming up from the neck and long clawed hands continued to wave ineffectually.  Storm looked down with a mixture of horror and revulsion on his face.

“What the fuck is he?” asked Storm.

Hannah didn’t respond at first, her mind was working.

“What is it?” asked Storm.  He reloaded too.

“He’s going to get up again.  Small-arms don’t seem to keep him down.” She said, her voice coming from somewhere else, perhaps back in America.

“Ok then, “Said Storm.  He reached down and unpinned a grenade.  Elsewhere there was more weapons fire.  “We’re in it now.”

Chapter 10- Ecotone

Chapter 10

Ecotone

Sat-Com, Somewhere in Virginia

“Just how bad is bad?” asked General Petersen.

“Bad.” Replied the voice on the end of the radio.

“That’s not very much for us to go on here.  We need an honest, no b.s assessment of the situation.” Petersen pushed his cap back and massaged his forehead.

“It’s bad.  Arctic blue is compromised, it’s possible that there has been an exposure.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Said Petersen.  An officer with a clipboard had been walking past at that point.  Petersen fixed him with a stare with grey-blue eyes.

“You want somethin’ Captain?” He asked.

“No Sir,” replied the Captain.

“Then get a fuckin’ move on,” Replied General Petersen.  He pulled his cap straight.

“Ok so we’ve got a possible exposure of an unknown biological weapon.  Just how communicable is it, if there is exposure?” asked Petersen.

“Very.” Came the reply.

“I need a bit more to work with here.” Said Petersen, repeating himself.  He picked up a cup of coffee, detected its cold and waved a hand.  A Staff sergeant took the cup out of his hands and went to refill it.

“General, once blue has been exposed to a major civilized area, it may be all but impossible to put it back inside it’s box.”

“You’re exaggerating.” Said Petersen.

“No I’m not.  But no one knows exactly how deadly this thing is.  The air force have been sitting on the report since the early eighties.”

“Perfect.  Ok, I need the files here ASAP.”
“That can be arranged.  They are scanty.”
“Right now that’s not much of a surprise.” Replied Petersen.  “I need to know what sort of containment I can set up.  I assume that a cover story can be generated?”

“Yes.”

“Well at what point am I looking at just throwing a fucking hammer at this thing?” Replied Petersen.  He touched his own dog tags briefly.

“To be honest General, it may be the only way.  Don’t expose any more people to the area than you have to.  We may not get any of them back at all.”

“God damn it.” Snarled General Petersen.  The staff sergeant left a hot cup of coffee in range and got clear of the General.

“General, you have full control over this and the support of the administration.”
“I don’t care about that shit.  Just make sure I have all the resources I need to shut this mess down.” Said Petersen.

“What do you need?” asked the voice.

“I want a AC-130 Spectre, loaded and ready.  I also want a squadron of F22’s fuelled and ready to go.  Finally I may need an extraction force.  I want the 1^st MEU tactical rescue force from Paris Island.”

“Give me five minutes but I believe you’ll get all those toys.”

“And I need one more thing.” Said Petersen.

“Name it.”

“If needs be, I will need the mother of all bombs.” He said, it wasn’t phrased as a request.

“That you can have.  I just hope you don’t need one.”

“Me too,” Replied Petersen.  He put the phone down.  He took a sip of coffee.

“Too hot,” He barked.  “Too fucking hot.”

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

Captain Henry Barrow moved fast through the barn.  He kept the pistol low; he wasn’t here to shoot on sight.  None the less, he felt reassured by the heaviness of the sidearm.  There were three ponies in the barn along with a couple of goats.  But there was no sign of the missing man from the crash site.

            He hadn’t checked the hayloft, however.  He took a deep breath and began to ascend, rung by rung.  He used one hand to hold onto the ladder, the other held the pistol at his side.  If the missing man was up in the hayloft and it he was hostile, then Barrow knew he’d have almost no chance at warding him away.

            He looked up in the hayloft, there was barely even any hay, let alone the sign that someone had been here recently.  He took a quick rest and then descended from the ladder in one swift movement.  He brace3d himself on landing and sprung quickly back to his feet.  Where now?  Where was the second most likely place a missing and potentially wounded man would hide?

            Barrow looked out of the barn’s other door and saw a straight path leading towards the church.  “Yes.” Said Barrow to himself.  He looked to either side and then ran across towards the church.  Barrow was unaware of being followed at a discreet distance.

            Barrow had been trained to move quickly and quietly, trying to keep as low a profile as possible.  He was well aware of how out of place he would seem, army uniform and weapon.  But he also was aware that unless people were looking for him or just happened to be in the right place, they’d not spot him.

            The church was easily the biggest building in Villa Cyranno and even it wasn’t much to shout about.  A white stone building with a slate roof, a stubby tower jutted out of the top of it.  Barrow’s mind drifted back briefly to the old church in his hometown, a huge red stone building with a tall tower.  As a child he had thought you climbed that tower to go and meet God.

“No Heck, you don’t get to meet God while you’re alive” His mother had said.

“When do you get to meet God then?” he had asked back.

“When you die sweetheart.  But that wont be for a very long time”.

            He reached the church’s heavy wooden door and put a shoulder to it.  He caught his breath again and opened the door.  There was a long and loud creak and Barrow closed his eyes briefly.  So much for any element of surprise.  Barrow entered a small church, well he supposed it was probably closer in size to a chapel.  A bare dozen pews sat in from of a wooden cross and a simple dais.  There were a few bookshelves and the expected burning candles.

            There was a damp smell and Barrow felt uneasy.  There was a bible lying face down in the aisle between the two rows of chairs and it was open in the middle somewhere.  Barrow was about to pick it up when the Priest appeared.  Barrow had expected a small town like Villa Cyranno to have a village priest so this did not surprise him.

“Father,” he said, somewhat instinctively.  The priest looked at him impassively for a moment or two, his hands folded behind his back.

“Father, do you speak English?” asked Barrow.  The priest looked at him as if he’d never seen another human being before.  Barrow thought about the gun in his hand.  He moved the side-arm back into it’s holster.

“Father, do you speak English?  I’m a US army soldier,” He said, keeping his tone clear.

The priest edged slightly closer, as if to hear him better.  He shook his head.

“Damn it, my Spanish is terrible,” Said Barrow with a smile.

“That’s ok, I speak fine English,” Said another voice from the right of the priest.  Barrow spun quickly, his gun back in his hand.

            A non descript man in a priests robe was stood there.  There was blood spattered across his face.  The man gave him a reassuring smile. 

The priest collided with Barrow with a sudden violence that threw Barrow all the way back to the thick wooden door.  He pulled the trigger instinctively on the side-arm, a round exploding into the wall.

            The priest reached up with two surprisingly strong hands and grabbed hold of Barrow by the neck.  Barrow had time to turn the side-arm at him and fire.  A 9mm round exploded out of his back in a red cloud but the priest kept his death grip.  Blood was dripping from his eyes and nose in long trails.  Barrow felt his vision swim as the strong, hard hands choked off his air.

            He put the pistol into the mans stomach and pulled the trigger twice more.  There were a pair of muffled reports; a splash and the priest’s face changed.  There was a low moan from him, to Barrow he didn’t even sound human.   There was a terrible crashing sound as Barrow was slammed into the wall behind him, books falling from now broken shelves.  The two hands remained at his throat, sharp nails digging into soft flesh.

            Barrow fired one last time, this round exploding into the chest of the priest who no longer resembled a priest.  Blood ran freely from his eyes and mouth and his face seemed to buckle, to tear apart and separate.

            For Barrow, the nightmare-ish vision became unimportant and seemed to gently float away.  He barely heard the sharp cracking sound, nor the sound of a helicopter.  He didn’t hear the animal sounds in the chapel nor the sounds of tearing cloth.

Chapter 9- Insubordination

Chapter 9

Insubordination

Near Villa Cyranno, Venezueala

Ostrow piloted them in smoothly; the ride was quiet, subdued.  Hannah felt her tension rising.  The memory of the strange and disturbing recording of the last flight of X-Ray Two was still fresh in her mind.

           

Clearly it was still fresh in the other’s minds too as they were all fairly quiet.  Storm was still himself, making the occasional wisecrack.  But the others, even Wooderson, seemed less like himself.

‘One of them wasn’t what they appeared to be.’ She thought.  She looked over at Wharton, a Federal agent.  He wasn’t what he appeared to be too.  She wondered, what did it mean?  That calm southern voice had told them some things they might have taken days to learn.  But there were still so many unanswered questions.

“What’s on your mind Lieutenant?” asked Jones, sat to Hannah’s left.

“Mulling over the recording.” She said back.

“Straight forward wasn’t it?” he said.

“If you say so Sergeant.”

“Why look to make it more complicated than it is?  Why look for trouble?” he offered.

“When it’s our job, we need to find it.” She replied, feeling testy.

“I don’t see the need.  The guy crashed the plane, problem solved.  Next job.” Said Jones flatly.

“Twelve men died in that crash.” Said shot back.  “Show some respect.”
Jones eyes, usually large and expressive, got wider for a second or two.

“Eleven.” He said after a silence.  “One of em just walked away.”
‘Maybe’ thought Hannah.  She looked over at Sergeant Harrison, reassuring and determined.  He didn’t seem fazed by the mission at all.  She wished she could take the same kind of reassurance from Major 

Dalton.  But he had become almost silent since his last radio check in and he seemed pale.

Lt Chung also looked scared too.  His wide, boyish face seemed very much like he had just left College.  Chung, so intelligent and self assured at the crash site now seemed totally lost.  Captain Dietz was sat to Dalton’s right but seemed to be concerned with his CO.  Not just his CO though, thought Hannah, his friend.

Nothing seemed to bother Hunter that much; his face was still set in the normal scowl.  Roburn, sat near him, gazed around nervously.  Newman was still fiddling with dials and trying to clean up the audio.  But she could tell from his body language that he was as unsettled as the rest of them.

 Hannah got up and worked her way to the front of the helicopter where Ostrow was bringing the bird down.

“Hannah, what you doing up here?” he said, a smile on his face.  Hannah felt a little bit better.  At least Charlie Ostrow was still his usual cocky self.

“Have you served with the Major before?” she asked.

Charlie didn’t reply at first.  Hannah thought about rephrasing the question but Charlie finally replied.

“Yeah once or twice.  He’s a solid guy.  When it comes to investigation of this sort of thing, he’s like that Sherlock Holmes.”
“That’s good to know.” Said Hannah.  She mulled over her next question.

“This is Rainbow Three, we’re coming down just outside Villa Cyranno.” He intoned into his radio.

“How about field work?” she asked.

“Field work?  You mean active duty stuff?” asked Charlie.

“Yes.  Like a recovery and rescue operation.” She asked; her tone neutral.

This time the pause was longer.  She began to wonder if she’d asked the wrong person.

“No, not much.  He did a turn in the Five and Dime but that’s about it.  His rep is crime scene stuff, crashed planes and what-not.  He did have a brief run in with the higher ups but nothing seemed to come of it.” Said Charlie.

“I see.” She said back.

“I don’t like this political shit.  Just say what’s on your mind?”

“I think he’s finding the pressure a bit much.  I worry about his performance as a CO.”
“He did fine at the crash site I’m told.” Said Charlie.

“Yes he did.  That’s his element.  But now…”
“Now we’re out of his element.  Problem is sweet-heart that we’re not exactly field marines here.  We’re air force guys.  Leave all that running and shooting, Saving Private Ryan shit to the army.” Said Charlie.

“Yes.  But we’ve got a man to find who may well have been the hijacker.” She said back firmly.  “That makes him very dangerous.”
“No way one guy did all that shit alone.” Said Charlie.  The thought had entered Hannah’s mind but this time it was a more forceful one.

“Well, if this hijackers got accomplices, we’re out of our element and with a CO who I have some concerns about him.  He looks pale.” She said.

“You’re talking some dangerous politics here Hannah.  Be careful.” Offered Charlie. His tone was still friendly but flat.

“If I spoke out of turn then I apologize.” She said.

“Man, you’re going to go far.” Said Charlie, his tone even less friendly. “You got that political shit down.  That’s Dalton’s problem, he doesn’t.  He’s always just played it straight and that’s why he’s still a Major.  You need to give the old guy a break.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Replied Hannah, feeling embarrassed

“I’m always right sweet-heart.” Replied Charlie.

 After the helicopter touched down, Dalton got to his feet and looked around at the team.  “Ok team, this is the plan.  We’ve got to search this village.  Our priority is finding the missing guy.  Second priority is recovering the cargo. Finally we find Captain Barrow.”
“Permission to kick his green ass.” Asked Storm.

“Permission denied, unfortunately.” Said Dietz.

“We’ve got a serious job to do.  We split up into two man teams.  I want everyone armed.  We sweep the village and find….” There was a pause.” Then find what we’re here to find.”

Wharton looked over at Hannah.  She saw the concern in his eyes but then she looked away.

“Ok,   Jones and Ostrow will stay here.  Charlie, I want you to monitor comms.”
“Sir.” Said Charlie.

“Sergeant Harrison, you go with Wharton.”  Harrison looked over at Wharton but said nothing.

“Lt Chung, you go with Newman.  Lt McPherson, you’re with Storm.  Roburn and Hunter.  Finally Dietz, you’re with Wooderson.  I’ll follow you two.”

“Sir, why does the agent man come with us?” asked Roburn.

“Shut up Roburn.” Said Dietz.

“All due respect Captain” Said Roburn “But I think this one needs addressing.”
“If you don’t cut that shit out, we’ll leave your ass here and then NJP you when we get back to base.” Snapped Dietz.

“Straight, a straight…” began Dalton.  He looked around and then shook his head.

“A straight sweep of the village, no heroics.  I want people to be very careful and to keep their eyes open.  Any encounters with the locals, use restraint and be friendly.  But don’t get too close.”

“Ok, you all know what to do.” Said Dietz.  The team got to their feet and began to gear up.  Sergeant Harrison approached Major Dalton but was waved away.

Wharton waited by the small arms locker but Hunter pushed him back with one hand.

“You don’t get a weapon agent man.” Said Hunter.  Wharton said nothing.  Harrison took up an M16 and handed out the weapons to the others.

“Take only what you can handle.  This is detective work, not world war two.” Said the Sergeant.

“Did you see that shit Sarge?” whispered Roburn.

“Shut up man.” Hissed Harrison back at him.

“The fucking skipper is losing it.” Said Roburn.

“Shut that shit up.” Said Harrison.

“He’s not wrong.” Said Hunter.

“You men, keep it quiet.” Said Hannah.  She looked over at Chung pointedly but his face was a slack O of shock.

Wharton had waited for her before following her out.  She hefted the P90 submachine gun.  She was field certified with it but had never been in a real live fire situation before.  She felt incredibly nervous.

“Lieutenant, can I have a quick word?” asked Wharton.

“We’ve got a job to do.” She said back.

“It’ll take like ten seconds.”

“I’m lookin’ at my watch.” She said back.

“Did you see the Major?” He asked her.  “He’s having some sort of mental breakdown.”
“We don’t know that.” She said back, her voice low.

Wharton leant in.  “He’s having some sort of episode and we’re in an incredibly difficult situation.  Hunter and Roburn are idiots but they aren’t wrong here, he’s losing it.”

“You don’t know that.” She said again.

“Come on, open your eyes.  Now I can’t do anything about it, they don’t fucking trust me.  But they do know you.  They respect you.”
“Except Jones.” She said back.

“He’s a non factor.  You need to talk to Dietz about benching Dalton here.  He’s going to compromise this mission.”
“He’s going to?  Do you think all this cloak and dagger shit is going to help us?  Seriously Wharton you volunteer me to commit an act of serious insubordination, no strike that, fuckiug mutiny here?”  She glared at him.  Her heart was beating fast.

“This will not end well if we don’t do something to change it.” Said Wharton.

“Go to hell.” She said back.

The team assembled outside the helicopter, breaking up into it’s two man teams.  She saw Storm and felt a bit better.  He was grinning, a cigarette in his hand, a P90 slung over his shoulder.

“Shit, I guess one of us has got to go home and change.” He joked.  She smiled in spite of herself.

“Ok let’s roll.” Said Harrison.

            They had barely been moving for about five minutes, only just out of eyeline of the others when they heard the first scream.

Chapter 8- FDR

Chapter 8

FDR

Crash Site Designate “Clemens”, Venezuela

Training is supposed to just kick in.  You do something once before and you hopefully retain a memory of it, a knowledge that there is a correct way to respond, a correct way to act.  Training is often a case of doing something over and over again until it becomes second nature.

            In fact it’s possible to train the very muscle that’s makes a person up into responding.  They call that “muscle memory” and it comes after repeating an action hundreds, thousands of times.  At that point, the training will take over and become an automatic response.  It’s like when you tie your shoelaces, do you really think about what your doing?

            Major Peter Dalton had clocked up thousands and thousands of hours of training, along with field experience of the strangest and most bleak kind.  He had sorted through more than a dozen crashed planes and helicopters, sifting through rubble and debris, labeling body parts and coming to a calm and emotionally detached conclusion.

            He’d also listened to dozens of black box recordings, where stricken pilots prayed the rosary as they went down, where two men would argue even as the plane crashed, where some would be able to stay calm and emotionally detached, even as they went down in flames.  That was the training, the experience kicking in.

            But no amount of training could have prepared Dalton for the recording they were just about to play.

Newman had plugged the data recorder into the tech suite aboard the helicopter.  The team had gathered around, all but Jones who was lying on his back on a litter.  They huddled around, Dalton stood up, Newman sat in the chair nearest the machine.

            A voice appeared into the air, calm with a slight southern twang.

“This is X-Ray Two, on approach for Valhalla Vector over.”

“Roger that X-Ray Two, take up your approach vector.  Maintain current altitude.” Came the reply, slightly muted but still audible.

“Ok, let’s come about now.” Said the Southern voice.

“Roger.” Said another voice, his co-pilot. He had a mild non descript American accent.

“This is too early,” Said Dalton.  “Take us forward to the last five minutes.”

Newman fiddled with the controls and then they were assaulted by a sudden noise from the recorder.  It sounded like a huge crashing sound, something colliding with metal.

There was the unmistakable pop of a firearm, it sounded like an M16 rifle.

“Mayday, mayday, this is X-Ray Two!  We need help here Arctic control.” Came the southern voice.  He was panicking but still sounded like he had control of his faculties.

Behind him came the sound of more gunshots, another crashing sound and then an unmistakable sound of a man screaming.  It was a brief shriek and then ended suddenly. There was incoherent yelling, more gunshots.

“Mayday, this is X-Ray Two.  Urgent!  We require assistance.” Said the southern voice.  Dalton looked over his men and saw the disquiet spread across them.  Dietz looked back over at him.

“Where’s traffic control gone?” asked Storm.

“Quiet,” Said Dalton.  But he’d been wondering the same thing.

Another scream, this one longer and higher.  Someone was screaming at the top of their lungs, the screams took on a strange undulating quality.  There was another series of gunshots and then a deafening bang.  There was a whine of feedback and then the scream dropped off, sounding oddly like it was coming from under water.

“Oh Jesus.” Said the pilot.

There was a clang, another clang.

“Someone is trying to break through the door.” Said the pilot.

“Poor bastard.  He’s the last one left.” Said Wooderson.

“This is Captain Marshall Vostovich.  My cargo is about to be hijacked.  Someone in the crew wasn’t what they appeared to be.  Something has gone wrong.”
Another clang, louder this time.  A strange noise from outside the cockpit.

“What the fuck was that?” asked Storm.

“I’ve been told our cargo is very important, that it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.  I’m going to deny it to the hijackers.” Said Vostovich over the recording.

“Brave man.” Said Charlie Ostrow.

“This is X-Ray two signing off.” There was another clang and then another.

The metal shriek of a plane diving could be heard now, along with the groans of the metal as the plane was clearly going into a dive.

            Another clang and then a deafening roar.  Then silence.

The team sat in silence for a while.  Dalton sat there, hands steepled in front of his face.  Ostrow stood up and looked at the team.

“He dived into the mountain.  Brave man.” He said.

“What the hell happened in there?” asked Wooderson.

“I think we heard well enough.” Said Wharton.  “Sounds like Lt McPherson was right about the hijack.”

She said nothing to this.  She simply sat there.

“Let’s listen to it again.” Said Storm.

“Oh God no.” Said Jones.  “Once was plenty.”

“Yeah, he’s right.  That shit was creepy.” Said Hunter.

“Ok, everyone get some fresh air.  Smoke em if you got em.” Said Dietz.  The team broke up and moved away.  McPherson sat in her chair still.  Wharton sat near her.

“What do you think Major?” asked Dietz, sat closer to his old friend.

Dalton said nothing for a while.  Dietz went to repeat the question before Dalton switched back on.   It was a familiar pattern to Dietz, at least familiar recently.

“It doesn’t quite add up does it?” he said.

“No, it doesn’t.  That pilot was something though, wasn’t he?” said Dietz, the admiration clear in his voice.

“Yes he was.” Said Dalton.  “All alone as he was.”

“He wasn’t completely alone.” Said Dietz, a hand unconsciously going to his cross around his neck.

“No he wasn’t.” Said Dalton.  “Mores the pity.”
“Sounded like someone was trying to break down the door something fierce.” Said Dietz.

Dalton shifted to look over at McPherson and Wharton.

“What’s bothering you Hannah?” he asked.

She turned around slightly to look back at him, her eyes clear, her brow furrowed.

“Something he said was strange.”
“It was all strange.” Said Wharton.

“Which part?” asked Dalton.  He guessed she’d come to the same conclusion.

“He said someone in this crew isn’t what they appeared to be.” She said flatly.

“Yes.” Said Dalton.  “Yes that’s exactly what I picked up on.”

“Yeah, one of them was a hijacker.” Said Wharton.  “Except….”

“Except how the hell does one guy do all of that?” Said McPherson.

“Yes. Yes that’s the problem. “Said Dalton.  “Now it’s possible to take out a number of people, close quarters if they aren’t expecting it.  But it sounded to me like a firefight and a fierce one at that.”

“And yet one guy was getting the best of all of them?” Said Wharton.  “He must have been James Bond or some shit.”

“We don’t know what was going on really.” Said Dietz.  “We gotta focus on the facts. We now know that it was some kind of internal attempt to take the cargo.  We also know what crashed the plane, the pilot did.”
“Brave man.” Repeated Wharton.

“Maybe.  Maybe he had no other option left. “Said Dalton.

            Dalton sat outside for a moment.  He wasn’t a smoker but he needed the air.  He took out the radio mic and held it in one hand.  But he didn’t press the button.  He needed exactly the right tone for this.

“This is Dalton.” He said into the mic.

“Ops.  What’s the situation?”

“I need to speak to Briar, secure.” He said firmly.  More than fifteen years as an air force officer had taught him how to speak with authority.  The voice on the other end confirmed.

“This is Briar.  You’re secure.  What do you want Peter?”

“Codenames now is it?” he said, the frustration in his voice clear.

“We’re secure here but I don’t know how secure that is.  What do you need Peter?”

“We just listened to the flight data recorder.  It’s an interesting tale.” Said Dalton.

“Yes?  We could do with a copy of that here, along with the telemetry.”
“You won’t need the telemetry.  The pilot crashed the plane on purpose.”
“Good God, why?” asked General Pierce.

“Someone aboard his flight was hijacking the plane and it sounded like they had managed it quite well.”

“Good God.  It’s worse than we feared.”

“I’ve got a missing man out there, along with a potential hijacker.  I need some questions answered here.” Said Dalton.

“I understand Peter.  Can anyone hear you where you are?” Replied Pierce.

“No sir.” Said Dalton, his spare hand now on his temples.

“What do you need to know?”

“Who was X-Ray Two?  What did they want?  Why did no one help them when they were in distress?” asked Dalton, trying to breathe slowly.

“You already know some of this Peter.  X-Ray Two was an off the books mission, ordered by a Major General.  They were to recover a secret US cargo from a storage facility.  They weren’t helped because they were off the books.”

“What did they, what did they recover?” Said Dalton.

“Repeat your last.” Said General Pierce.

“What was it they were bringing back here?” asked Dalton, more clearly

“I don’t know what it was.  It was called Arctic Blue, a code-word cleared project.  Beyond even my clearance.  Only Sat-Com know what it is.” Replied Pierce.

“But it was a biological weapon of some kind?”  Said Dalton.

“Yes we think so.” Said Pierce.  “It would explain why it was being kept so secure, in a sub-zero location.”
“And now it’s loose.  And potentially in the hands of a hostile element?” Said Dalton.

“Yes.” Came the blunt reply.

“And you want me to recover it?” Said Dalton.

“If you can.  I don’t want to put more men in there, I don’t know who to trust right now.”
“What do you mean?” Asked Dalton, deathly afraid of the answer.

“The Major General who ordered the operation is still a serving officer.  Whatever is going on, it isn’t over .  Not even close.” Said General Pierce.

Dalton felt his vision swim briefly but held it together.

“Ok, I may need some reinforcements.  I’ll be back on the line.  Dalton out.”

Chapter 7- Escape and Evasion

Chapter 7

Escape and Evasion

A mountainside, Venezuela

Captain Barrow dropped down for a moment to catch his breath.  He had done long distance before; ten mile long night marches with full gear certainly pushed a human being to the edge of their endurance.  But this chase was beginning to wear him down.

            It had been easy enough to slink away without causing too much of a fuss.  He’d waited for the others to become distracted and begun to move away as quickly as possible.  He had thought about it, it had been a fairly reckless thing to do.  It certainly would result in him getting chewed out when he got back to base.  But Barrow was not prepared to leave a man behind, especially when it turned out that man was a survivor of a crash that had been caused from the inside.

            Barrow caught up with himself and drew his canteen.  He unscrewed it quietly and drank some water.  It was warming up fast here but it wasn’t like desert heat, this was a much easier heat to deal with.  Barrow took out his binoculars and looked down at the small village that was getting closer to him.  Maybe two dozen buildings, concentrated around a small church.  It was a nothing town but the footsteps he’d been following were leading him there.

            What Barrow couldn’t understand was how the guy was able to keep moving so fast.  It seemed like he didn’t need rest or water.  It also seemed like whatever injury he’d taken wasn’t slowing him up at all.  Barrow began to suspect that the guy, whoever he was, was trying very hard to avoid being found.

           

A few years before, Henry had a run in with the “brass.”  A general officer by the name of Stenham had given him a briefing over a “simple mission.”  It had turned out to be anything but simple.

            Then a simple Lieutenant, albeit one with a very good reputation, Henry had stood to attention as Major General Stenham and his aide had taken him through the operation.

“It’s a simple snatch and grab.  Run into the village here and grab the Hadji that has the intel.  Drag him back to base camp and hand him over to the I and R platoon leader.”

“Yes sir.” Said Barrow.

“I’d recommend a covering unit here at the phase-line.  We’ve not received any fire from the village but you can never be too sure about these people.  Why take a risk?” Said the aide, a colonel.

“Yes sir.” Said Barrow.  ‘Easy for you’ thought Barrow ‘you just ride a general’s coattails up the ranks while people like me take the bullets.  You ever been in combat colonel?’

“Of course if you do receive any fire, then light them up.  But try not to hit the guy you’re trying to bring back to us?” said General Stenham.

“Yes sir.” Said Barrow.  ‘Of course we’ll try not to hit the guy.  We’re not totally stupid.’

“Questions Lieutenant?” asked Stenham

“Is it possible we can leave the vehicles behind and just do this operation on foot?” he asked.

“Why?” asked the aide.

“Because the hummers you’re giving us will draw attention and possible small arms fire.  I’d rather just do this quietly.”

“No.” Said the general.

“No” repeated the aide.  “You need to demonstrate force.  That means hummers.  This is desert warfare. That means vehicles.  Armor when we’ve got it.”

“Yes sir.” Said Barrow.

“Good man.  Get it done and get back here.  You’ll be a Captain by the end of the year.” Said General Stenham.  As it turned out, he was right about that.

            He hadn’t been right about much else.  The firefight had only lasted twelve minutes but two men had been killed and another, Corporal Andrew McLane, had been badly wounded and would have been left behind if Barrow hadn’t personally gone back for him.

            No, he wasn’t going to leave someone behind, not even if they were determined to be left behind.  Dead or alive, they all went home together.

Another look through the binoculars revealed the name of the little town, “Villa Cyranno.”

Barrow mulled it over, Cyranno.  It was a poetic name allright.  He took another quick drink and began the approach.  He was stopped in his tracks by a chime on radio mic.

“Barrow.” He said, gritting his teeth for the chewing out that he was overdue.

“Captain, where the hell are you?” asked Dalton.

“In pursuit of the survivor.”

“Belay that Captain.  Hold your position.  We got a rescue bird and we’ll be with you soon enough.  No need to take an unnecessary risk.” Came Dalton’s reply.

“Sorry sir but I’ve got this far, I’m going to find him.”

“Captain, does it occur to you that this guy may be avoiding you?  That he may well be involved in the crash?”
“Yes of course it does.” Said Barrow.

“Then for God’s sake be careful.  Don’t take any more needless risks and if you can, wait for us before you get involved down there.”

“Yes sir.  Sorry sir.” Said Barrow, genuinely feeling bad now.

“No, you’re not sorry yet.  But you will be later I assure you.” Came the grim reply.

“No doubt sir.” Said Barrow ruefully.

“Dalton out.” The radio went dead and Barrow drew his pistol, checked the magazine and chambered a round.

“Ok, let’s see if we can’t find where you’re hiding then.” He said to himself.

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela.  Population: 215

Captain Barrow moved up quickly to a rough stone wall around a plot of earth.  There were beans or some other crop growing in loose rows.  He took cover behind the wall and listened out for a moment.

            He could hear someone singing softly from nearby.  He also heard the familiar sound of pigs snuffling, his father had owned a few.  Barrow looked around the edge of the wall and saw the first human walking around.

            A stocky man of around forty was carrying a basket of some kind of fruit across the way.  Barrow waited for him to walk past.  Barrow moved around the edge of the building and kept his eyes open.  A new sound hit his ears, an engine, a heavy and old engine was beating into life.  “Tractor.” Said Barrow under his breath.

            Barrow moved around the edge of the village, trying to get an idea of where the better hiding places might be.  There was the church, there was a decent sized barn and then there were the villager’s houses.  He’d never be able to search them all without being observed.

            He decided that the barn was the obvious place to go and look.  It would be large, covered and there may even be some food.  If his quarry was trying not to be discovered, then that was probably the best place to look for him.

            Captain Barrow was about to head around the edge of another building when he collided with a man.  A young man with dark hair and startled eyes fell back.  Barrow pounced on him, placing his hands over the young man’s mouth.

“Listen, listen.  Do you speak English?”
The terrified eyes nodded.

“That’s a stroke of luck.  Listen, I’m a US army soldier.  If I let go, are you going to scream or anything?”

He shook his head, eye still huge with fear.

“Ok, it’s important that you don’t.” Said Barrow.  He let go of the boy.

“I’m Captain Henry Barrow, US army.”

“Oscar, Oscar Martinez Cordoba.” Said the boy.  This close, Barrow figured that the boy was maybe twenty years old.  Rake thin and dark eyed, he looked every bit the peasant farmer.  But he spoke English, that was a good start.

“Oscar, I need your help.  An army man is missing and I think he may well be in this village. It’s really important that you help me find him.”

“Si. I mean, yes.  Sure.  What is this man?”
“He’s hurt from a helicopter crash.” Said Barrow.  “We need to find him.  But he might be confused, loco.  He may fight us rather then let us help him.  So we’d need to be very careful.”

“We should go to Don Brazzo.  He’s the boss around here.  He’d help you find the man.”

“I need to keep this quiet.  You understand?” said Barrow.

“Si.  Si, we can keep this quiet.” Said Oscar.

“I’m not going to hurt you Oscar, we need to be quiet that’s all.” Said Barrow.

“Si.  Thank you.” Said Oscar.

“It’s important that I find this man.  It’s important to me. If you can help me out, I’ll be very grateful.”  Oscar nodded at this.  Barrow hoped he’d done enough to explain the situation to the kid.

“I was going to check the barn.  What’s an easy way to get there without being seen?” asked Barrow.  Oscar thought about it for a moment.

“Follow me.” He said.

            The two of them skirted around some buildings until they were behind the barn.  There was a series of washing lines, clothes blocking the view. 
“Great stuff kid.  You’d make a decent ranger.  Ok, you can leave me to it now.”
“I should go get Don Brazzo?”
“No kid, he’ll make too much noise, too much trouble.  I need to try and keep this quiet.  If you see my man, if you see this army man, you call for help.  Don’t try to deal with him alone.” Said Barrow.

“If you say so.” Said Oscar.

Henry offered a hand and Oscar, after a brief pause, shook it.

“I come with you” Said Oscar.

“No kid, I move faster alone.” Said Barrow.  He moved away fast, keeping low.  He drew his side-arm anyway, just to be safe.  The barn door was open; he could hear the low sound of horses inside.  Barrow entered the barn and continued his search.

Chapter -6 Elementary

Chapter 6

Elementary

Crash Site Designate “Clemens”, Venezuela

Back in her college days, Hannah McPherson had been considered a gifted and highly analytical person.  Her favorite lecturer had been kindly old professor Clarence.  But she had learned a lot from Doctor Galloway too.

            Galloway had always been impressed by her ability to isolate herself from anything that wasn’t relevant to the study she was working on.  He had said she had the mind of a scientist, pure, detached and clinical.  This had made her very proud.

            But up on a mountainside in Venezuela, she found herself feeling more and more like a helpless child.  She couldn’t seem to focus, to clearly analyze what was happening.  What was happening seemed totally and utterly illogical.

            Captain Barrow had left the group to find a missing man.  Sergeant Jones had become increasingly sullen and grouchy and the Major had done his best to keep the group together.  “I’ll waste no man trying to find Barrow.” He had said.

            Hannah supposed that if it had made no sense to find the missing man from the crash, then it made even less sense trying to find a man looking for him.  But this wasn’t just some dish with algae in it, this was real life.  These were real people.  His name was Henry Barrow and she knew his face.  This was real life.

            Hannah rubbed her eyes, the cold and the wind had taken its toll.  She turned away from the others and looked off at the slowly rising sun.  It was a beautiful scene, even with the fire and the wreckage.  She felt strange and slightly disconnected from everything.

“Lieutenant?” said Wooderson.  Hannah didn’t reply.  Wooderson watched her walking very slowly away from him.

“Lieutenant!” snapped Major Dalton.  Hannah’s instincts, her training took hold.  She snapped to.

“Lieutenant McPherson, we need you over here.”  She nodded and walked over to the semi circle that had formed.

“Right, let’s sum up what we know for a fact now.” Said Major Dalton.

“We’ve got between eight and nine dead here.  The crash site shows that the plane came down at angle but not in a straight dive.  This lends towards the idea of pilot error.  The speed wasn’t catastrophic.  We’ve found shell cases, nearly one hundred now.  So it would seem that there was some sort of skirmish aboard the plane and it crashed, either due to a fatal wound the pilots or some other distraction.”

            The team watched Dalton speak, a head nodding here and there.  McPherson listened to the words and began to focus again.  The situation was strange but she was beginning to form a theory about the crash, about the gunfight and the apparently missing cargo.  She wondered at what point she could evidence such an outlandish theory.

“Dig around, see what you can find.” Came the phantom voice of Professor Clarence.  Hannah thought about it, what more could she find that would prove her theory.

“Any one got anything else to add?  Try to stick to facts.” Said Dalton.

“We need to gather more data.” Said Chung.

“Also we need to find Captain Barrow.” Said Sergeant Harrison.  “I don’t like having a man missing from the site.”

“Captain Barrow’s not our concern at this time.  Command says they can spare us a bird in an hour so that’ll do nicely.” Replied Dietz.

“We’ve still got more rubble to sort out but the parts we’ve done so far lend themselves to the conclusion that the plane was destroyed by the crash and hadnt suffered fatal structural damage before the crash.” Said Wooderson.

“All of this leans towards the above theory.” Said Chung.

“All we’ve got is an operating theory, not a proven one.  The plan now is continued the analysis, maybe widen the search so we can cover a wider area.” Said Dalton.

“Ok you heard him.” Said Dietz.  “Let’s get on with it.”

The team broke up and began walking away.

“What are you thinking?” asked Wooderson as Hannah walked away.

“Nothing much.” She said back.

“Typical dumb blonde.” He said.

“Hey, maybe you need your eyes tested old man but my hair color isn’t blonde.”
“You’ve got some kind of theory going round that big brain of yours.  So I want to hear it.”
“I thought you said I was just a dumb blonde?” replied McPherson, sorting through a pile of wreckage.

“Maybe I did but I’m curious as to what it is you think has happened here.  Or what is really happening here.”
“Careful Woods.” She said back.  “There’s a line and we are right up on it.”
“Sorry Lieutenant.” Said Wooderson, looking genuinely surprised.

“We’ve got a job to do here, let’s try to get it done.”  She turned around and look to find Storm.

“Storm, over here.”
“Sir?” said Storm.

“Is it possible to board a plane, mid flight?” she asked him.

“You seen the movie ‘Cliffhanger?’” he asked.

“No.”
“Well they try it in that.  It doesn’t go very well.  It’d be very difficult, nearly impossible to pull off.  No if you want to steal an army cargo from a prop rotor plane like this, the best way would either to be bring it down and steal the cargo or shoot it down.  But that’d rely on not destroying the cargo.”

“Ok, think like you want whatever was in those boxes.  How would you have gotten them?” she asked him.

“Not sure I would have but if I was, well, I’d have paid off at least one of the crew chiefs.  He’d sabotage the plane and bring it down.  Then I’d meet them at a rendevous point and I’d ex them all out.  I’d kill them all.  Then I’d dismember the bodies and hide them.”

“Christ, remind me not to fuck with you Storm.” Said Wooderson.

“I watch too much CSI.” He said back.

“So what went wrong?” asked McPherson.

“Well, I’m not sure you’re theory is right.  I don’t know what happened.  There is some strange stuff around.  I think when we recover the black box we’ll know almost exactly what happened here.” Said Storm, a thoughtful look on his face.

            McPherson nodded.  She supposed he was right, there was still evidence to find and still things that would help shed some serious light on what was going on here.  She had just finished sorting out another random pile or rubble when Wooderson came back over.

“Not now Woods.” She said.

“No, it’s work related.” He said.

“What?” She said, looking at him.  “Come on, spit it out.”
“Wharton, I’ve found out that he’s a Fed.”

“So what?  We all knew he wasn’t a co-pilot.  So he’s a Fed.  What difference does that make?”
“You sure you aitn blonde.  It lends serious weight to your previously harebrained idea about a hijack.”
“Don’t breathe a word about that.” She said

“No, he’s a Fed, a crime scene guy.  He’s here after a hijacker  So maybe you’re right?”

“Maybe.” She said.  She looked over at Wharton who was sat looking thoughtfully at a few scraps of uniform.

            The discovery of the black box was well timed.  The team had finished another hour of work and finally gotten clearance for it’s rescue bird.  Major Dalton had seemed very surprised that they wouldn’t spare him a helicopter for a critical task.  In the end he had to become quite forceful over the radio.

            It had been Roburn that had found the black box.  It was badly damaged, scuffed and covered in dents.  However it was recoverable and would still work. 

“Allright. “Said Dalton.  He took out his radio mic and called up Ostrow at the helicopter.

“Charlie, bring the bird to within about four hundred metres of the crash site.  Park up there.  Newman, prepare to get this FDR working.”

“I already did Major.  Just get it on the bird and I’ll have her humming a tune.” Said Newman over the comms.  Major Dalton smiled.

“Good man, out.”

The team took a quick break and Hannah moved to where Wharton was stood, alone of course.

“Willing to speak to the pariah?” he said to her as she approached.

“You cant be surprised.” She said.  “You lied to us.  And what’s worse, you donned our uniform, we had to earn that.”
“I’ve earned it too, in another way.” Said Wharton.

“No you haven’t.  Agency isn’t the same as service.” She said.

“Well, whatever.  I’m here. The government wants an eye kept on this.”
“They should have asked.” She said.  Wharton said nothing.

“But they didn’t.  Which means there is someone they don’t trust.” She said

“Yes.” He said.  He knelt down again and looked at the torn shreds of uniform.

“What’s that?” she asked him.

“I’m not sure.” He said.  “What’s your theory here?” He looked at her, the intelligence clear in his eyes. He had very sharp, clear eyes.

“Hijack.  Mid air or on the ground.  But it went wrong and the plane crashed.”

“Yeah, that was mine.” He said.

“So you know something I don’t?” she asked him.

“I know a fair few things you don’t.  But in this case, I think we’re about to find out that the truth is even stranger than we expected.”  Something about the tone of his voice made the hairs on the back of Hannah’s neck stand up.

            She turned and looked at the lights as a helicopter landed in the distance.  The team moved towards the helicopter and Hannah walked alongside the agent.  She wondered what else he knew that she didn’t, what else that she had suspecteted would be proven to be true.

“Hustle up over there.” Shouted Harrison to the two dawdling officers.

“We best move out.” She said to him.  “Come on agent man.”

The two of them moved quickly, stepping around wreckage, rubble and bloodstains.

            The sun was fully up now on the field of debris.  The chaos had been reduced but the inherent violence of the crash was still there for all to see.  At the edge of the field were foot prints, army boots, stained with blood.