Andrew Peterson - First to Kill

Deep down, part of him hoped his son would find them before the FBI did. They had it coming.

Nathan had been on a Lear before and he felt a little underdressed in his blue jeans and white Polo shirt. The sixty-foot Learjet 60 XR was spacious, offering stand-up head room. Two rows of single tan leather seats lined both sides of the fuselage, half of them opposing one another. The rear third of the jet was set up like a small office with a table and two opposing seats facing it. Near the back, a small door opened into the head, a little cramped for a man his size, but manageable. The pilot and copilot introduced themselves as Special Agents Jenkins and Williamson respectively. Jenkins wore captain’s shoulder boards with four chevrons while Williamson, the first officer, wore three. Nathan guessed they were both trained military, Navy or Air Force. As they studied their new VIP’s face, they both betrayed surprise at what they saw.

“I lost an argument with a chainsaw,” Nathan said, easing the tension.

“That was some argument,” Jenkins said. “Where are we going?”

“The airfield at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.”

The two pilots exchanged a quick glance.

“I’ll check it out,” Williamson said. He disappeared into the cockpit and returned twenty seconds later with a black binder. He started thumbing through the pages. “Here we are… Sherman Army Airfield. Looks like… it’s a joint-use military and civilian airfield. Runway’s fifty-nine-hundred feet. We’re good to go, gives us five-hundred feet to spare for our takeoff roll.” He smiled. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Make yourselves comfortable.” Jenkins waved a hand around the interior. “As you can see, there’s no flight attendant so you’re on your own for beverage service. I trust you’ll be able to find what you need?”

“We’ll manage,” Nathan said. “What’s our flight time?”

“Around three hours, depending on the winds aloft.”

“Hell of a job you’ve got here,” Henning added.

“We like it. To be honest, it’s nice to ferry someone other than the director for a change.” He lowered his voice and looked around in fake secrecy. “He’s not real personable.”

“So I’ve heard,” Nathan said.

“We aren’t strict enforcers of seat-belt rules, but it’s best if you’re strapped in for takeoffs and landings.”

“Shouldn’t you at least brief us on emergency procedures?” Nathan asked. “You know, emergency exits, that kind of stuff?”

“Naw,” Jenkins said. “If we crash, there will be lots of exits.”

Nathan smiled. He liked these guys.

“Nathan’s a helicopter pilot,” Henning added. “He owns a Bell Jet Ranger.”

“No kidding?”

Nathan shrugged.

“I’ve always wanted to learn helicopters.”

“Is your father really Stone McBride?” Williamson asked.

Jenkins bumped him. “We aren’t supposed to know that.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Can you… uh… forget I just asked that?”

These two were real characters. Nathan hoped they took their flying more seriously. “To answer the question, Yes, he’s my father.”

The first officer nudged his captain. “Shouldn’t we salute him or something?”

Shaking his head, Nathan took a seat facing forward and fastened his belt.

Jenkins mouthed the word sorry to Nathan and pivoted toward the cockpit, but before disappearing behind the cockpit door, he turned back, his expression serious. “Listen, it might seem like we’re indifferent about what happened today. We aren’t. We use humor to relieve stress. We’re as angry as the next man, but that anger doesn’t belong in here.”

“Understood,” Nathan said.

“We’ve got to file our flight plan into Fort Leavenworth, it’ll take a few minutes.” Jenkins studied him for a few seconds. “Did Lansing bring you in to find whoever bombed us?”

Nathan wasn’t sure how to respond, wasn’t sure how much he could share without violating Lansing’s or Holly’s trust. He hadn’t been introduced as Special Agent Nathan McBride, so they knew he wasn’t with the bureau. They probably figured him as some kind of VIP bounty hunter. He sensed Henning tense behind him. Walking a tightrope, he used only his eyes, moving them up and down in a nod.

Jenkins got the message. Definitely trained military.

Twenty minutes later, during the takeoff roll, Nathan let his head press against the seat as the Lear’s wings bit into the midnight air. Behind him, Henning was silent. He’d been rather subdued on the short drive to the airport. Perhaps the horror of today’s events had finally soaked in. Whatever the reason, Nathan welcomed the silence. Despite the catnaps he’d been taking over the last four days, a few hours here, a few hours there, a deep fatigue had crippled him. He was sluggish, both physically and mentally, and gauged his operational readiness at 50 percent. Not good. Unacceptable in military terms. Sooner or later, preferably sooner, he’d need an uninterrupted slumber of at least eight hours. But for now, another catnap would have to do. Sleep when you can . He reclined his seat, extended the leg rest, and closed his eyes. He hoped his personal demons would take the night off, especially in front of Henning.

The jet’s PA system woke him just after 053 °Central time. “Good morning campers,” Jenkins’s voice announced. “We hope you enjoyed the ride. We’ll be on the ground in twenty minutes. We called ahead for a taxi, should be there by the time we touch down.”

Nathan looked out the window and saw the faint glow from Kansas City to the east. Directly below, a few scattered lights here and there were the only indicators that something other than an empty black void was down there. Kansas. The heartland of America. Somewhere, amid the endless wheat fields and buffalo ranches, was a giant ball of twine. He’d seen a picture of it, but couldn’t remember where, perhaps a travel magazine in his dentist’s office.

Jenkins greased the landing, making the smoothest touchdown Nathan had ever felt. The thrust reversers deployed and Jenkins gunned the engine, gently applying the brakes at the same time. At the end of the runway, the jet turned onto the taxiway and rolled back toward the hangars. After the engines had spooled down, First Officer Williamson appeared and opened the fuselage door. He lowered the steps into place. Cool, damp air carrying burned jet fuel greeted them. Nathan liked the smell.

“There’s our ride,” Williamson offered.

Nathan looked in the direction of the hangars and saw a taxi approaching. It stopped about a hundred feet away. Its Middle Eastern driver got out, but out of respect or apprehension, didn’t approach the jet.

Williamson continued. “We need a few minutes to shut down and secure the aircraft.”

Nathan complimented the first officer on the landing before grabbing his overnight bag from the rear luggage compartment. Henning also retrieved his two carry-ons, an overnight bag and from the look of the other, a laptop. Nathan let Henning take the lead exiting the aircraft. They walked over to the cab and as usual, the driver took a little too long looking at Nathan’s face.

“We need a motel,” Henning said. He hadn’t said hello, or how are you, or thank you for coming, or offered any other pleasantry. Nathan didn’t think Henning’s abruptness was intentional or purposefully rude, the man just had a lot on his mind. If the cabbie felt slighted, he hid it well.

“The Days Inn is only a few minutes from here.”

“That’s fine,” Henning said.

The driver popped the trunk and Henning placed his two carry-ons inside. Nathan dropped his bag next to Henning’s and stepped to the front passenger’s seat. He wanted the front, which offered considerably more legroom. He looked at the Lear, admiring its sleek form. It had no markings identifying it as an FBI bird, which for some reason surprised him. On the way back to Sacramento, he planned to peek over the crew’s shoulders and ask a few pilot-to-pilot questions. What little he’d seen of the avionics package had impressed him. He wouldn’t mind switching seats with the copilot for a spell if they’d let him.