Stephen Cannell - The Plan

Kenetta smiled and gave her instructions on how to guard against infection.

The rabbit farm was just that, a breeding farm for medical supply rabbits in the southwestern part of New Jersey. There was a long, paved runway east of the rabbit coops that could handle most MATS propeller aircraft, including the large C-54 that was currently sitting at the end.

Cole pulled the van out on the tarmac under the wing of the four-engine plane with no VIN or tail markings.

Deke Metcalf turned out to be a handsome, forty-yearold black aviator, tall with coffee-colored skin and a roguish air. He flew planes for Air America, the CIA covert ops airline. He and Kaz had worked more than one federal case together.

Ryan never woke up as they opened the back of the van. "You didn't tell me he was gonna be junk on a bunk," Deke said.

"Drank too much Old Grand-Dad," Kaz said, looking at the plane. "Where'd you get this antique?"

"That's another thing. I can't guarantee we ain't gonna prang it in a cornfield. Bird's a ruptured duck. I volunteered to transport it to Lockheed in Van Nuys for an engine overhaul. Officially, this flight ain't on anybody's board. It's a black ops flight, and to make it interestin', the number-two fan is cooked. This was the only ride I could get my hands on."

"Can you get off the ground with three engines?" "I already did it once but it's a groaner."

Kaz reached out in a strangely formal gesture and shook Lucinda's hand. "You're okay, Miss Alo. Sorry if I came on strong a while back. You take care of both a' ya."

"I accept the apology." And she leaned forward and kissed Kaz on the cheek.

The three men managed to get Ryan into the cabin. He never woke up. Then Deke helped Lucinda in, pulled up the rear door, and secured Ryan in one of the seats, belting him in. He got behind the controls and, one by one, started up the three good engines. The inboard engine, on the port side, didn't turn on. It stayed feathered as Deke made the run-up, looked at his gauges, tapped a few, and shook his head in disbelief. "I get better odds in Vegas," he said to himself as he pushed the throttle forward and eased off the rudder brakes.

He taxied to the end of the runway, crossed himself, and started the roll. He had filed no flight plan and no radio contact. His transponder was squawking on the CIA frequency, so he would be cleared through military channels, but as far as the F. A. A. was concerned, this flight never happened.

Kaz and Cole watched with concern as the C-54 thundered down the runway and finally lifted off. The cumbersome transport barely cleared the trees on the far end of the field, straining up, over a set of power lines, missing disaster by feet.

He knew it was impossible, but as the plane banked to the east, Kaz thought he heard Deke let out a rebel yell.

Mickey sat in his father's office upstairs for two hours running the problem over in his mind, working the angles, exploring options. He was troubled by the fact that Kazorowski had answered the phone. The ex-fed had been with Lucinda and that meant there was a good chance he was also with Ryan. Mickey sat sideways in his father's office club chair with his legs over the arm and looked for solutions. Lucinda might cause some trouble. She undoubtedly knew things she didn't know she knew. She'd lived in the house while her father ran the family. She had to know that Joseph dreamed of controlling a presidential candidate. What if Kaz turned up the campaign funding? Or got to A.]. and scared the wonk into talking? Another unanswered question was, where were the tapes of Haze screaming and pleading in the airliner? If they surfaced, the whole plan could go under. On the other hand, Mickey was beginning to suspect that those tapes were out of the mix. If Ryan still had them, he would have already sent them to a TV station or Kaz would have threatened him with them. The fact that nobody had mentioned the tapes made him wonder if New York Tony hadn't destroyed them before he disappeared. Mickey had to believe Tony was dead.

Mickey finally decided that he needed a front-line mechanic. No more street characters swinging Louisville Sluggers. He needed somebody who wouldn't miss. He'd heard his father talk about an ex-CIA political assassin known only as the Ghost. Silvio Candrate was the Ghost's contractor and booked all his jobs. Mickey leaned over and looked for Silvio's number in his father's Rolodex. When he found it, he closed the office door and picked up the scrambled line his father had installed.

He left a message with Silvio's wife to have the retired gunsel call him once he got home. Then Mickey sat back at the desk and picked up the newspaper with Haze's smiling face on the front page. He remembered how the slick politician had been sweating in the motor home while Mickey bought his soul. He looked down at the picture, finally bringing it up to eye level in front of his face.

"I'm gonna own the President of the United States," he said softly. Power was Mickey Alo's drug of choice.

Elizabeth's phone rang at 2:38 A. M.. She was only in her first REM sleep because the couple downstairs had been doing a headboard rumba on the wall till almost one o'clock. She had rolled over, looked at the alarm clock and thought this had better be good. She fumbled the phone off the cradle.

"Is this Elizabeth Applegate?"' a woman's voice asked. "Who's asking?"

"Did you use to be Ryan Bolt's secretary?"

"Hey, honey, you know what time it is?"

"Ryan is with me. He's not in very good shape. You used to be his secretary. .?"

"What's wrong with him?" Elizabeth said, trying to get her thoughts together.

"We need your help. He said you can borrow your brother's station wagon. We need you to come pick us up."

Elizabeth hadn't heard from Ryan in almost a month. She had a new boss who was a raging pain in the ass, making her punch out, then keeping her after hours at the studio and refusing her the overtime. Now her old boss was calling at two in the morning, asking for favors. Trouble was, she couldn't refuse Ryan anything. He was one of those guys she would always help.

"Put him on."

"Just a minute." There was the sound of the phone being passed, then the whispered memory of her old friend.

"Hi," the voice croaked softly.

"Ryan?"

"Sorry, Liz. . Wouldn't ask if. . Can ya help?" She was suddenly terribly concerned. "Ryan, what's wrong?"

"Zigged when I should a' ducked."

"Don't mix your metaphors," she lectured, trying to sound bright, but feeling dread at the way he sounded. "Okay, I'll get the wagon. Where are you?"

"I don't know. Just a min-" There was a fumbling sound and then the girl was back on the line.

"Sixteen hundred Mountain Road, Valencia."

"That's way out by Magic Mountain." It was at least forty-five minutes away.

"If you have any money, we could use it. I could write you a check, but I'm afraid if you cash it, it could be dangerous for you."

"Why is that?"

" 'Cause when it clears, my brother will see it and. ." Lucinda stopped, not wanting to involve Elizabeth more deeply. "Forget the money, just hurry."

"The Elizabeth Applegate Rescue Wagon is on the way." She hung up, grabbed her sweats, and slipped them on. She was heading toward the door when she spun around and went into the bathroom, where she combed her hair and put on her makeup. "Damn it," she said out loud as she fixed her face, "I've still got a case on him."

She made the trip in thirty-five minutes because there was no traffic. Mountain Street was the turnoff just before Magic Mountain. She rolled down the off ramp and, as her headlights raked the intersection, she saw that 1600 was a sporting goods store. She pulled into the parking lot. She saw a tall, light-skinned black man standing next to a panel truck with government plates on it. She pulled around the man and parked. By then, he had started removing pins, unhooking the tailgate, and through the windshield, she could see Ryan lying on a blanket in the truck bed. She got out of the car, leaving the engine on. Then she saw Lucinda coming around the side of the truck and her heart sank. She was beautiful with long, glossy hair and delicate features.