Mack Maloney - Chopper Ops

The only vehicles ever seen on the island were powder-pink jeeps. Their sole purpose seemed to be for transporting fishermen from the docks to the restaurant and back, yet rarely did any of these vehicles move from their parking lot behind the boat slips. The pristine beach on the south side also appeared very inviting, with its pearl sand, its field of beach umbrellas, and the waves gently lapping against its straight-as-a-razor shoreline. Yet rarely could any visitors be spotted there, or anywhere on the island for that matter.

This was because Seven Ghosts Key was not what it seemed. First of all, its runway was actually two miles long—four fifths of it invisible, hidden by cleverly painted camouflage and intricately placed fauna. The restaurant, while serving as a mess hall as well, was crammed with millions of dollars of military communications equipment. What appeared to be an air- conditioner vent-house on its roof actually contained a Hawk antiaircraft missile battery. One of the large hangars boasted facilities big enough to house more than a hundred people. A second held enough weaponry to outfit a small army. The third actually served to store aircraft, many of which had never been seen by a civilian eye. The pink jeeps all carried Uzi machine guns or M- 16CGS NightVision-equipped rifles. And the “motels” held even more mysterious things inside.

No, Seven Ghosts Key was not what it seemed.

It was, in fact, another very secret place.

When Marty Ricco woke up, the sun was shining in his face. He hadn’t felt such warmth in months.

Where the hell was he? Certainly not in Thule anymore…

He sat bolt upright, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and it slowly came back to him. He was still on the airliner. The same one he’d climbed aboard in Bangor, Maine, the night before, per his new orders. It was an old, battered, noisy turboprop of a type he didn’t think existed anymore. They’d been hopscotching in it since midnight, setting down at least four times for refueling or bad weather or both. Somewhere along the way, Ricco had fallen into a fitful sleep. Now he was awake and the very hot sun was shining in his face.

He looked about the cabin. Gillis was sprawled over three seats across the aisle from him, sleeping restlessly. The ancient airliner had room for about fifty people. Yet from what Ricco could see, he and Gillis were still the only passengers on board.

He sat all the way up now. Where the hell had they been flying to this whole time? He looked out the window and found himself staring down at a lot of bright blue water. And at this, a smile began to spread across his face. It was a strange sensation; he was by habit a dour man. But now, though it seemed his facial muscles had to break through six months of ice to accomplish the feat, it finally happened. His first real smile in half a year.

But it would not last very long because a moment later the old airplane began shuddering madly. Its engines screaming in protest, it began to fall out of the sky. Panic ripped through Ricco. That clear blue water was coming up at him very fast. He looked over at Gillis, who was still sleeping. Then he looked back out the window and saw the water getting closer… closer… closer .

Ricco lunged across the aisle to shake Gillis awake. There was no way he was going to die alone like this. But just as he began jostling his partner, there was a sudden thump and guttural screech. Ricco put his nose back up to the window and saw they were down and rolling along a runway.

Awakened by Ricco’s panic and the landing, Gillis did a long stretch and yawned.

“We here finally?” he asked sleepily.

“Yeah,” Ricco replied, trying to sound calm as he caught his breath. “You missed a great flight….”

It took a while, but the airliner finally rolled to a stop next to a stairway that had been placed out on the runway. Ricco looked out the window again. They were at a small air base of some sort. One runway, a few buildings. Lots of palm trees. A nice place.

He and Gillis gathered their duffel bags and made their way forward. The plane’s access door opened and they stepped out into the morning sunshine. It was already blistering hot even though the sun was just barely above the horizon.

“We in the Caribbean?” Ricco asked Gillis.

Gillis yawned. “Good guess, I’d say.”

They walked down the stairway and dropped their bags on the tarmac. That was when the airplane started pulling away. This surprised them; they’d just assumed the pilots were getting off too. But this was not the case. The pilots had never even slowed down their engines. Ricco tried yelling up to them, but the airplane had already backed up and was taxiing away. It turned back onto the runway and quickly took off again. In all, it had spent no more than a minute on the ground.

“What the fuck is this?” Gillis roared. “They’re just leaving us here?”

“Where are those a-holes Delaney and Norton, that’s what I want to know?” Ricco asked, looking around desperately.

But they could see no one. The base looked absolutely deserted. Had they been dropped at the right place? Were they supposed to wait here for someone? Or was this part of some elaborate hoax?

“If those two assholes are scamming us, I’ll kill them,” Gillis declared.

They stood there, next to the stairway, for five minutes, trying to fathom their strange situation. The sun got higher and the wind blew hotter, but still they could not see a living soul anywhere. They were both wearing their heavy thermo-wear arctic flight suits and they were beginning to broil in them.

“Let’s get out of the sun at least,” Ricco finally said.

They began walking. The first building they reached was the restaurant. They stopped at the front door and listened. Voices… They could hear a group of people talking inside. Or at least they thought they could. Gillis tried the door, but it was it locked. They both pounded on it for almost a minute, but no one answered. Then they listened again, but the voices had gone away.

Next, they walked to the boat slips, but no one was there either. Then they walked back to the section of the base where the three hangars were located. The stink of aviation fuel was thick there. But all three buildings were locked up tight as well.

“OK, I give up. Where the hell is everybody?” Ricco cursed.

“Still asleep?” Gillis replied wearily. “Like I want to be?”

They finally reached the pair of motel-type buildings. With their long sloping roofs and logwood ranch construction, the buildings looked like they’d be more at home out West somewhere, maybe in Arizona or Montana. They seemed very out-of-place here in the Caribbean.

Both pilots were drenched in sweat by this time. They were tired, hungry, more than a little confused by their long flight to nowhere. Ricco took a deep breath and tried the front door of the first building.

It was unlocked.

“Hallelujah,” he grumbled. “At least we can get out of this heat.”

They walked into the one-story building and were surprised to find it was dark inside—and very spare. It appeared to be a barracks of some kind, or more accurately, a cross between a boot camp and a prison. There were two dozen bunks lined up perfectly along one wall; that was the extent of the building’s contents. There were many windows, but just one door at each end of the building. Everything looked old, yet smelled of freshly cut wood. In many ways, the outside of the building didn’t match up at all with the inside.

“What the hell is this place?” Ricco asked. “A movie set?”

Gillis just dropped his bag and groaned.

“I don’t care,” he said. “If it’s a place to lay my head, then its home.”