Jay Lake - Rocket Science

“I need to land on the refinery grounds without being attacked. This aircraft needs to take on oil, and that oil needs to be paid for. Over.”

“ What ?” Pinkhoffer obviously thought I had gone all the way nuts.

“Look, I know it’s goofy. Just promise me that the Army will pay for any oil or lubricants removed from the Mobil refinery. It should only be about a hundred gallons. Over.”

“Then what happens?”

“I’m not sure.” More to the point, I didn’t know. “But I promise you, no more violence, no more destruction. No more criminal acts. But you have to promise me the same. Over.”

I could almost hear him shake his head over the radio. “Son, you’ve got to surrender yourself and that aircraft.”

“I can’t commit to that, sir. All I can promise is a quiet end to this mess.”

Pinkhoffer sighed. “I’ll grant a safe conduct while you’re on the ground. I’ll even guarantee that the Army will pay for the fuel. But son, if you don’t pull out some kind of miracle, you’ll have to deal with me personally. Then there’s the rest of hell to pay. And there will be every kind of hell to pay, I promise. I have that from the highest possible authority, if you take my meaning.”

“Roger that,” I said. “My word to both you and the highest authority, I’ll do my best, sir. Over.”

“Before you land, give me a couple of minutes to give the orders on the ground at the refinery.”

I had to believe that Pinkhoffer was honest, neither bent to the Nazis or just plain trigger-happy. If not, we were probably dead. I tried hard to care, but I was just too darned tired. “I copy. Bandit out.”

Sighing, I closed my eyes. Despite what I’d told Pinkhoffer, there wasn’t much else I could do. Floyd and I would have to surrender once we landed. That wasn’t going to be any fun. I might never see the light of day again, except through a jailhouse window. Before I walked out with my hands up, though, I had to understand what Pegasus had meant about being released for independent operation.

Oil first, though. “Take us down Pegasus. The oil’s all yours.”

We landed with a gentle bump next to one of the distillation towers. Almost immediately Pegasus was surrounded at a distance of fifty feet or so by a ring of jeeps, trucks and police cars. Spotlights and police flashers flickered and glared in the night like Fourth of July fireworks.

“The pursuit aircraft are landing at a nearby facility,” Pegasus said over the cabin speakers.

That figured. We were safely on the ground, at least for the moment. Despite their prodigious range, if they’d flown in from a distance, the Mustangs probably needed to refuel. Not to mention reload.

“What will you do now?” I asked.

“Watch.” On the main screen, I saw a probe swing out from Pegasus toward the tower. It looked like a giant dentist’s drill, long and narrow.

The probe nudged the refinery tower, then swung back and forth. It was articulated, with many joints, a nightmare vision of an insect’s leg. But as it swung, all I could think of to describe the erratic movements of the probe tip was a dog sniffing after a lost scent. The probe worked its way up and down the side of the tower before settling on a spot.

A flaring light sparked from probe, like a welding flame. I felt a slight shudder run through Pegasus’ cabin. “I have found what I require,” said Pegasus.

We waited for several minutes while Pegasus pumped hydrocarbons. The ring of police and soldiers stood unmoving, hidden behind the glare of the spotlights they kept trained on us.

“There are marksmen stationed in the refinery structures around us,” said Pegasus.

Pinkhoffer setting us up? Or just hedging his bets? I had no way of knowing which. Maybe the colonel hadn’t made up his mind either.

Then all heck broke loose outside.

There were lights flashing, shooting, the whole business, as Reverend Little’s flatbed Chevy broke through the cordon and raced toward us. Damn me if Mr. Bellamy wasn’t standing in the back with a rifle, a handful of long-coated Italians with him.

“Uh, Floyd, I think this one’s for you.”

“Colonel Pinkhoffer is trying to reach you urgently,” said Pegasus.

“I’ll bet.” I was fascinated, the same way I would be fascinated by a train wreck. The Chevy shuddered to halt right next to us, though the Army had stopped shooting.

There was a banging on the hull.

“What do we do?” Floyd asked.

“I have taken on what I require. Once conditions permit, I am now able to depart.” Pegasus sounded satisfied.

“He’s your father,” I said.

“What about Mama?”

I’d wondered the same thing.

Pegasus’ loudspeaker crackled to life, bearing Mr. Bellamy’s voice in.

“—in there, boy. Open up right now, damn it.”

“I got to go to him,” Floyd said miserably.

Mr. Bellamy’s voice rattled on, a mixture of threats and requests.

I sighed. “We open the hatch, we’re probably dead.”

“I helped you with your dad, Vernon.”

“Pegasus,” I said, “will you open the hatch?” And why was the Army sitting tight? Had Pinkhoffer not gotten to Morgan yet?

Then there was a jeep outside, an officer pale-haired in moonlight with his arm in a sling.

Ah ha . The bad guys were winning. It was up to us.

“If you ask me to,” Pegasus said.

“What are we going to do, Floyd?”

He was miserable. “I don’t know.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Give me about a minute, then zap their vehicles and weapons like you did at the house. Can you control that?”

“Yes. Are you ready?”

“Floyd…?”

He nodded.

Now Morgan was talking too, his voice low and hard. “…have a few minutes before it all blows open, Bellamy.”

“Open the hatch.”

Floyd went first, then I followed him out into the council of our enemies.

“Well, boys,” said Mr. Bellamy. He looked terrible, beat to heck, singed and angry as all get-out. “You’ve come along nicely.”

Morgan shifted his weight, tight-lipped and cold-eyed.

“Where’s Mama?” Floyd asked.

And Mr. Neville , I wondered. I was more scared of that Red lunatic than the rest of them put together, even if it was Morgan who had tried to do in Dad.

“Sitting with Reverend Little,” Mr. Bellamy said shortly. “Both madder than wet hens.”

The hardest of my fears drained away. All I had to worry about now was Dad making it through and me being killed.

“The aircraft is ours,” said Morgan.

I had my back against the open hatch. “No. Unless you’re going to kill me in front of two hundred witnesses.” I nodded at the ring of troops and cops surrounding us. “It’s all in the public record now.”

Morgan waved Mr. Bellamy into silence. I wondered what deal had been made, behind the scenes, to unite the mob, the Nazis and the Reds. “You have no idea what this is worth, kid.”

“No, you have no idea.” I glanced at the Italians. “The Kansas City boys do, and they know you’re about to take it from them. Same for the Bellamy gang. Your bunch is so far crossed over you couldn’t hold a pencil straight. Jig’s up, and this ship ain’t never going to be yours.” I leaned forward. “Where’s Pinkhoffer?”

“Busy,” Morgan said shortly.

That was when I popped him right above the collarbone with Floyd’s carving knife. “For my Dad, you son of a bitch!” I shouted.

He shrieked, Floyd took a haymaker swing at his dad, and the Italians drew guns on us.

“Drop them, all of you!” shouted a voice over a bullhorn from the surrounding crowd of police and soldiers.