Wings of Steele- The Series Read online

  So after pulling a few strings and calling in a few favors owed him, he got a job flying and left the department. He and Fritz spent the next three years living like nomads, flying anywhere a job would take them. The freedom was spectacular and welcomed, but he finally realized the need for roots once again. Jack was good with his hands and thoroughly enjoyed refurbishing the beach house. Now self-employed, his time was his own, allowing him to tinker on the house whenever he had the inclination. But the house was pretty much finished now, and it was time to go back to work, in earnest.

  Jack glanced at his watch then checked on the antics of his waterlogged canine, "Hey fuzzball!” he waved, “let's go, we got a plane to deliver!" Tongue lolling, kicking up sand as he ran, the dog raced from the surf trailing saltwater from his sodden coat. Steele figured the crazy dog 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 shaking himself violently, dispersing droplets over the deck like a lawn sprinkler. Steele was always amazed how much moisture he could shake from his coat. Smiling to himself he finished the carton of orange juice as they entered the beach house. Toweling Fritz off in the kitchen, Jack began to think ahead, talking to the dog like most people do with their animals, "This is gonna be a sweet run, dog..." 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, talk to me...”

  "What time do we take off?" asked his copilot, Brian Carter.

  "We should meet 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, sounds about right. How long did you say we were staying out there?"

  "Don't quote me on it, 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... part of being an Alpha personality. In his clothing bag, he included his favorite protection; a satin stainless Kimber 1911 .45 ACP 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 told the Shepherd. Fritz barked a short confirmation while Jack hung the note with pizza restaurant magnets.

  The phone rang again, and he snatched the cordless out of the charger on 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... wanted to check and see if you had room."

  "Really? Crap, I'm leaving to deliver that plane I was telling you about..." Jack had hoped to spend some time with them this summer, maybe get them to look at a few homes in the area and move out of the cold.

  "Oh...” her voice dropped in disappointment. “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 few weeks..."

  "Don't do that," interrupted Jack, "come down when you're ready. If you get here before I'm back, just call Nina and she'll come and give you a key... she's only about ten minutes away."

  "Are you in a hurry Jack?"

  Jack glanced at his watch. "Well yeah, kinda... we've got a schedule to keep." Mothers have an innate capability to make a grown man feel like an eleven-year-old kid again. "Uh... can I bring you and dad back some kind of souvenir or something?"

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

  Open palm, insert face. "Mom!" he groaned, “Can we please not go there?”

  "Alright, just kidding. You be careful."

  "Always..."

  "Promise?" she prodded.

  "Promise." 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.

  "Let's 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 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!"

  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.

  At 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 rumble. It loped at idle, the side-pipes burbling, the engine producing a distinct vibration in the wheel and stick shift. Backing out onto the street he didn't bother with the stereo. Shifting into gear, the Cobra 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 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. Steele had learned to just be patient and enjoy the view on the beach. Thank God for bikinis.

  The dark sedan a few cars back never caught Steele's eye, it rolled on anonymously with the flow. As the traffic crossed the bridge to the mainland, boats scooted past on the water below, their owners enjoying the glassy emerald water of the intracoastal 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 wait.

>   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 traffic flow. To maintain his balance, Fritz leaned into the turn, his harness holding him securely in the seat. The pipes snarled viciously and the meaty rear tires broke loose, the rear end of the Cobra squirreling sideways. Jack felt the shudder in the seat 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 accelerating hard again, the pipes singing their big-block combustion engine harmony, he was looking 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 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, a street racer maybe. 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, “How so?”

  “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...”

  CHAPTER TWO

  FLORIDA, WHEYLAND MUNICIPAL AIRPORT: WILD BLUE YONDER

  The powerful Cobra made the drive easy and exhilarating, especially since he got to break a few laws. Steele pulled into the gravel service road at only 9:05am, 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 nowhere to be seen, he had beaten him there. Jack turned through the gate and pulled up onto the tarmac.

  Driving past the first two hangars, he slowed the Cobra at the third, a well-kept aluminum building, larger than the others in the row. The doors had been rolled open all the way, the segments looking like an accordion folded against the wall. Jack let the roadster roll to a stop and peered into the hangar. Inside sat a beautifully restored B-25D Mitchell bomber from World War II. She looked stunning sitting in the shade of the hangar, looking as mission-ready as the day she rolled off the assembly line in 1944.

  Brian strolled out from under the left wing grinning from ear to ear. "Where ya been Skipper?" Five-foot-ten and solidly built, Brian was a man with a ready smile and healthy sense of humor. His wavy, sandy brown hair, although a bit longer than Jack's, was neat and trimmed.

  Miffed, Jack ignored the question. "I didn't see your truck, where'd you park?"

  Brian was still grinning but not wishing to press the issue... “All the way in the back,” he replied, pointing to the back of the hangar. “With the security system, they'll be safe inside.”

  Jack put the roadster in gear and rolled past his amused copilot without saying a word. Brian knew Steele's competitive spirit - he hated to lose at anything. As the Cobra rumbled slowly under the wing of the B-25, the echo of the car's low burble danced around the inside of the expansive hangar. Jack scanned the left side of the fuselage, his eyes pausing on the artwork of the reclining blonde pin-up girl who had been expertly repainted, her colors bright and crisp. As he passed under the tail and pulled up next to Brian's pickup truck at the rear of the building, Jack unlatched the dog's harness one-handed. Fritz disappeared out over the passenger door and hit the ground at a run before Jack had the Cobra at a complete stop. The pilot stepped out of the car just in time to see Fritz crash into Brian's open arms.

  "Hey you big, overgrown hamster, ready to go flying?" Barking an affirmation, the Shepherd bounded around the inside of the hangar his voice ringing off the metal walls.

  Jack marveled at how perfectly the old plane had been restored. As he lovingly tucked-in his prized roadster with its cover for its four-week nap, he thought about the first time he saw the plane... if you could call it that. Jack had met Stephen Miles, the owner, a year ago through the shuttle service when he delivered a replacement plane to Stephen's commercial seaplane business on short notice. Stephen took an immediate liking to the charismatic young pilot and was eager to share his most impressive project to date... the Sweet Susie. At that time, the B-25D had only been in the hangar about three months. The engines had been removed, the fuselage looked like hell, and the control surfaces were simply worthless. Jack couldn't imagine her surviving a stiff wind much less ever becoming airborne.

  The B-25 "D" model was one of the later versions of the Mitchell Bomber series. A formidable aircraft, she incorporated some improvements with the combat proven standards. While retaining the twin 50 cal. turret on top of the fuselage, four 50 cal. guns were mounted facing forward. These four guns were fix-mounted forward below the cockpit on the fuselage, two on either side, in single mount pods. Two 50 cal. guns in the tail, one in the nose for the bombardier, and one on each side of her waist capped off the B-25D's armament. All the good it'll do her, Steele thought, the only battle this plane is likely to fight is with the rust creeping across her airframe. Jack figured Stephen probably wasn't rowing with both oars in the water but decided to humor him anyway. He thought, what the heck, when you work with unlimited funds, you can accomplish almost anything. And they did. Stephen's enthusiasm was severely contagious, and the next twelve months transformed the old wreck into a masterpiece.

  Jack found out the reason for Stephen's desire; his father who had passed away prior to Susie's purchase was the plane's pilot during World War II. Stephen had paid Jack well for all the time devoted to the project and even gave him shuttles to do during times when they waited for parts. The young pilot became very fond of the B-25, as if it were his own and was extremely pleased when the Sweet Susie rolled out of the hangar for her first flight in over sixty years. All her systems had been completely finished, but the paint work had not yet begun. The B-25 was a patchwork of colors; red primer, zinc green and new, shiny silver wing and fuselage panels, not to mention remnants of her original camouflage scheme. Both Stephen and Jack flew her on the m
aiden rebirth run to test the systems and try out her new power plants. The hardest thing was to get used to the layout of avionics that had been added to supplement the original and updated gauges. As oddly as she looked on the outside, the Sweet Susie flew like a dream, lighter and faster than she had been when originally built. The engines were completely rebuilt and tweaked to wring out every last horse the power plants could provide thanks to Stephen's master mechanics and engineers. If Jack hadn't seen the remarkable transformation step by step, he wouldn't have believed it was the same plane he saw the first time he had walked into the hangar. The finishing touch was the paint, and that had been completed about a week ago.

  Jack, bags in hand, strode towards the waiting copilot. "Damn, this place looks so empty."

  "I was thinking the same thing," replied Brian, thinking back. "It looked so much smaller when all that equipment was in here."

  Only a few months prior, scaffolding surrounded the plane, the engineer's office was filled with blueprints and plans, the machine shop, welding equipment... and of course, all the people filled every corner of the hangar. Crews worked independently on their own assignments, but together as a collective with the common goal to totally restore the historic B-25 to nearly factory-new condition.

  "Is Susie ready to go?" Jack's voice snapped Brian back to present reality.

  "Yeah, for the most part. She's fueled but I'm waiting for our weather report, and George is going to check all her fluid levels."

  "OK, great, let's get George to move her out onto the tarmac skirt and we'll warm up the engines." Brian trotted off to find George.

  "Where's the cooler?!" Jack shouted, as the copilot departed.

  "I put it in the plane already!" Brian shouted back, as he disappeared into the hangar.