They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.
-(The Story begins HERE)-
The sound of the landing gear being lowered could be heard beneath us and I tightened my grip on the armrest in anticipation of its contact with the tarmac. The huge military aircraft may have been sufficient for the armed forces, but its attention to passenger comfort fell short of its commercial cousins.
There was a series of jolts when each set of the jet's wheels met the earth. The whine of the engines being powered down resonated throughout the craft as it taxied along the tarmac.
Although Baxter was still training the pistol on him, I was studying Wingate's composure. When he looked about at each of us there was a menacing scowl on his face, except when his eyes fell upon Faye O'Day. When their eyes met, the furrows of his brow became less apparent.
As for Faye, her countenance had remained stoic. Even when the colonel glanced in her direction, she sat in silence and stared straight ahead. For someone who only minutes before had been enraged at the man who would've killed her along with the all the passengers on the plane, she was sitting across from him with a remarkably calm demeanor.
I didn't like it. I couldn't help but think that her actions were all too convenient. While the other passengers up front had been asleep under the influence of Wingate's drug, why had she waited until that precise moment to enter our cabin? Coincidence? I didn't think so, it was too perfect.
In the past year I had experienced more than enough treachery on Faye's part to allow myself to tender any trust in her. Cringing I tried to suppress the memory that I'd even been married to the woman! The memory of that union spawned a pain at bridge of my nose, between my eyes.
After we'd divorced, I'd sworn I would never get married again. Yet, as I looked over at her, I couldn't help but think that perhaps there was a chance we could start anew. She was looking back at me with a warm smile. Maybe, just maybe she felt the same way.
It must have been a middle-aged crisis thing. That young woman, Susan ... she was half my age! What was I thinking? Wait! That was part of my cover. I was working on a story to expose an underground pornography ring, which was operating under the name of Butterfly Blue. I'd seen the scathing video tapes. The participants, unwilling as I had discovered, had been subjected to mind-altering drugs.
Because high-ranking officials had been involved, the Globe was threatened with libel suits. So it was that the paper decided to kill the story, to suppress it. The two whistle-blowers, Mr. Black and Ms Gray, had been summarily discredited.
Brock O'Day appeared in the doorway and announced, "It's time to get off this crate. What are you waiting for?"
I looked around and found myself alone in the cabin. I rubbed my forehead and muttered, "I just had a migraine attack. It must have been all those beers and the altitude."
"Beers?" O'Day said with chagrin. "All we had were some lukewarm colas. We didn't even get any pretzels! Now that we're here, I gotta get some grub."
I pushed myself to my feet and queried, "Just where is ... here?"
He shrugged and shook his head, "Beats me. It's definitely a military base of some kind. When I asked Baxter, all he would say was that the place was classified."
"I don't like the sound of that. I don't think they're going to let us just walk away from here. One thing in our favor, at least we can use Wingate as a bargaining chip."
"What? What are you talking about?" O'Day said wide-eyed.
"Jeremy got the drop on him. That crazy bastard was going to blow up the plane with us on it," I exclaimed.
"How many beers did you have anyway? Blow up the plane? Where did you get that crazy idea? He and Baxter led the others into the hangar. Baxter didn't have a gun in his hand."
I grabbed his arm and pulled him back before he stepped through the door and onto the departure platform. "Bear with me, Brock! Are we the last two on board?"
He wrenched his arm from my grasp, "Yeah. What of it?"
"Who sent you back for me?"
"Colonel Wingate, of course," he replied.
"I don't like this one bit, Brock," I muttered. "I think you and I have been deemed expendable."
"Don't be ridiculous!" he snapped. He turned away and stepped onto the platform. A loud crack echoed across the grounds. O'Day fell back into the cabin clutching the side of his neck.
Pulling him away from the portal I cried, "Brock! Are you hit?"
Still clutching his neck he moaned and sat up. "It just grazed my neck," he growled. He lowered his hand to view the blood in his palm. "Son of a bitch! Who shot at me? ...And why?"
"You in the plane!" boomed a voice outside. "That was a warning. Officer O'Day toss your service revolver out of the plane and onto the tarmac! Then both of you come out with your hands behind your head!"
"Damn!" I yelped. "That's Ferrara ... one of the FBI agents!"
Then Wingate's voice rang out, "Don't make me give the order to my men to open up with armor piercing shells! That's one expensive airplane, gentlemen. I don't want to put any holes in it."
"Sergeant O'Day, do as he says. He will give that order," Jeremy Baxter shouted.
Brock looked at me and said, "It's getting so I don't know who to trust anymore." He reached inside of his jacket and removed his gun. He grinned and added, "Where's backup when I need it?"
"Brock, do as they say. Throw the gun out." I cried.
Baxter shouted again, "Michael, if you don't trust me or the colonel ... then listen to the one who is charge of this operation."
"Please, Michael ... Brock! Do as they say," the all too familiar voice cut to my very soul.
Tears of anger and betrayal formed in the corners of my eyes. She had turned against us! She was a traitor ... my wife ... Michelle!"
There was a series of jolts when each set of the jet's wheels met the earth. The whine of the engines being powered down resonated throughout the craft as it taxied along the tarmac.
Although Baxter was still training the pistol on him, I was studying Wingate's composure. When he looked about at each of us there was a menacing scowl on his face, except when his eyes fell upon Faye O'Day. When their eyes met, the furrows of his brow became less apparent.
As for Faye, her countenance had remained stoic. Even when the colonel glanced in her direction, she sat in silence and stared straight ahead. For someone who only minutes before had been enraged at the man who would've killed her along with the all the passengers on the plane, she was sitting across from him with a remarkably calm demeanor.
I didn't like it. I couldn't help but think that her actions were all too convenient. While the other passengers up front had been asleep under the influence of Wingate's drug, why had she waited until that precise moment to enter our cabin? Coincidence? I didn't think so, it was too perfect.
In the past year I had experienced more than enough treachery on Faye's part to allow myself to tender any trust in her. Cringing I tried to suppress the memory that I'd even been married to the woman! The memory of that union spawned a pain at bridge of my nose, between my eyes.
After we'd divorced, I'd sworn I would never get married again. Yet, as I looked over at her, I couldn't help but think that perhaps there was a chance we could start anew. She was looking back at me with a warm smile. Maybe, just maybe she felt the same way.
It must have been a middle-aged crisis thing. That young woman, Susan ... she was half my age! What was I thinking? Wait! That was part of my cover. I was working on a story to expose an underground pornography ring, which was operating under the name of Butterfly Blue. I'd seen the scathing video tapes. The participants, unwilling as I had discovered, had been subjected to mind-altering drugs.
Because high-ranking officials had been involved, the Globe was threatened with libel suits. So it was that the paper decided to kill the story, to suppress it. The two whistle-blowers, Mr. Black and Ms Gray, had been summarily discredited.
Brock O'Day appeared in the doorway and announced, "It's time to get off this crate. What are you waiting for?"
I looked around and found myself alone in the cabin. I rubbed my forehead and muttered, "I just had a migraine attack. It must have been all those beers and the altitude."
"Beers?" O'Day said with chagrin. "All we had were some lukewarm colas. We didn't even get any pretzels! Now that we're here, I gotta get some grub."
I pushed myself to my feet and queried, "Just where is ... here?"
He shrugged and shook his head, "Beats me. It's definitely a military base of some kind. When I asked Baxter, all he would say was that the place was classified."
"I don't like the sound of that. I don't think they're going to let us just walk away from here. One thing in our favor, at least we can use Wingate as a bargaining chip."
"What? What are you talking about?" O'Day said wide-eyed.
"Jeremy got the drop on him. That crazy bastard was going to blow up the plane with us on it," I exclaimed.
"How many beers did you have anyway? Blow up the plane? Where did you get that crazy idea? He and Baxter led the others into the hangar. Baxter didn't have a gun in his hand."
I grabbed his arm and pulled him back before he stepped through the door and onto the departure platform. "Bear with me, Brock! Are we the last two on board?"
He wrenched his arm from my grasp, "Yeah. What of it?"
"Who sent you back for me?"
"Colonel Wingate, of course," he replied.
"I don't like this one bit, Brock," I muttered. "I think you and I have been deemed expendable."
"Don't be ridiculous!" he snapped. He turned away and stepped onto the platform. A loud crack echoed across the grounds. O'Day fell back into the cabin clutching the side of his neck.
Pulling him away from the portal I cried, "Brock! Are you hit?"
Still clutching his neck he moaned and sat up. "It just grazed my neck," he growled. He lowered his hand to view the blood in his palm. "Son of a bitch! Who shot at me? ...And why?"
"You in the plane!" boomed a voice outside. "That was a warning. Officer O'Day toss your service revolver out of the plane and onto the tarmac! Then both of you come out with your hands behind your head!"
"Damn!" I yelped. "That's Ferrara ... one of the FBI agents!"
Then Wingate's voice rang out, "Don't make me give the order to my men to open up with armor piercing shells! That's one expensive airplane, gentlemen. I don't want to put any holes in it."
"Sergeant O'Day, do as he says. He will give that order," Jeremy Baxter shouted.
Brock looked at me and said, "It's getting so I don't know who to trust anymore." He reached inside of his jacket and removed his gun. He grinned and added, "Where's backup when I need it?"
"Brock, do as they say. Throw the gun out." I cried.
Baxter shouted again, "Michael, if you don't trust me or the colonel ... then listen to the one who is charge of this operation."
"Please, Michael ... Brock! Do as they say," the all too familiar voice cut to my very soul.
Tears of anger and betrayal formed in the corners of my eyes. She had turned against us! She was a traitor ... my wife ... Michelle!"
Out Minded )
№ 2086
2 comments:
Oh my. I'd not expected Michelle to be the traitor. Or is she really? I'm not so sure. Anything could and does happen in your writings so this could be another smoke screen. Okay, I'm hoping it is.
Excellent. Can't wait to see how this turns out.
Have a terrific day. :)
Sandee,
Smoke screen? Perhaps ...
Post a Comment