David Golemon - Legacy

At every location from the Pentagon’s Space Command headquarters, to Pasadena, U.S. Air Force personnel started handing out sealed orders to every man and woman assigned to flight control, security, and engineering positions for the mission.

“If, in a military circumstance, the European and American personnel see a viable chance at taking the technology if it falls into Chinese hands, they are to take it regardless of cost. If not, destroy the technology in place. Study the mission parameters, and at this time I will say good-bye and wish each and every man and woman Godspeed.”

Spandau Prison was built in 1876 and demolished in 1987 after the death of its last inmate, Rudolph Hess, Hitler’s right-hand man in the early days of the Nazi regime. The old prison was torn down before it could become a shrine to the neo-Nazi movement across the globe. Today there was nothing left to mark the site where the convicted Nazi hierarchy had tended gardens and made paper.

The lone structure still standing was a brick building. The facade was nothing to write home about as it stood stark against the darkness of the night.

“So, how do we get in?” Everett asked.

“We don’t. The weapons we asked for are meeting us here, along with an old friend of mine. Right now I think we should step out of the car and let them know we’re here.”

Everett, Ellenshaw, and Golding were confused as to Jack’s methods, but they did as he said. A brief moment later they became even more confused when Collins raised his arms into the air as though surrendering.

Everett did the same and gestured for the two professors to follow suit.

“You want to let us in on what’s happening, Jack?” Carl asked quietly, as his eyes scanned the darkness around the building.

Collins didn’t answer. Instead, he allowed their guests to do it for him. Several red laser beams pierced the night air and each man standing around the car had three pin-sized red dots targeting their chests.

“Wow, this is really uncomfortable,” Everett said as he recognized the lasers for what they were.

Ellenshaw saw the three dots on his jacket and swiped at them like they were bugs.

“Doc, hold still please,” Jack said. Ten dark figures stepped from the trees surrounding the lone building.

“Oh, my,” Ellenshaw said as he saw the black-clad men.

“I take it we’re caught,” Pete Golding said. He watched the heavily armed masked men approach them cautiously.

“Easy, Pete. I think these guys may be the result of Jack’s phone calls,” Carl said as he saw one large man take the lead.

The lone figure stood still as he looked Jack and his men over, then took two steps forward and removed his black hood.

“You know, officially I have orders to hunt you down and place a bunch of bullets into your head and face, maybe one in your ass also.”

Jack lowered his hands and smiled. “Oh, I saw you and your unit the moment we drove up,” Collins said.

“Bullshit, Jack. We had you cold.”

Collins walked forward and held out his hand. The other black-clad commandos lowered their weapons and surrounded the colonel.

“How in the hell are you, Sebastian?” Collins asked, holding out an extended hand. “And thanks for not shooting me in the head and face, and especially my ass.”

The two men shook hands and the large German slung his automatic weapon over his shoulder.

“I’m fine, Jack. Better than you, anyway.”

“Mr. Everett, meet Major Sebastian Krell of the German army. He’s the team leader of the elite counterterrorism force GSG 9. He’s an old buddy of mine from the Gulf War.”

Krell shook Everett’s hand and looked him over.

“I smell U.S. Navy in this man, Jack.”

“You don’t miss a beat. Mr. Everett here is a SEAL-he comes in handy from time to time.”

“I’m impressed with Jack’s new friends,” he said to Carl.

“As I am with the company you keep,” Everett said. He released the man’s hand and gestured to the nine commandos around them.

“Ah, I just keep them around for running errands and getting coffee.”

Major Krell held out his hand and two of his still masked men stepped forward and handed him two items, a bag and a thick file.

“Here’s four nine-millimeter handguns stolen from my daughter’s room,” Krell said, joking, while handing Everett the black bag. “There are ten clips of ammunition inside as well. And this is what you specifically asked for, Jack. We just went in an hour ago and retrieved them from the museum.”

Collins took the offered file and looked up at Sebastian. “Thanks, this will help.”

“Your president is a very persuasive man.”

“He can be, but I imagine I’ll still be in hot water when I get home.”

“Who did it, Jack?” Sebastian asked, getting serious for the first time.

“We think James McCabe may be in on it, but we’re not sure.” He looked at the German commando in all seriousness. “We’re still piecing this thing together.”

“McCabe? Jesus, I know he’s dirt, but something like this?”

“Money makes for a good motive. I suspect that’s all it takes with him.”

The large German turned and gestured for his men to back away. As they watched, the commando team blended into the darkness and was gone.

“I wasn’t going to charge you for the file and the weapons, Jack, but now I am,” Sebastian said as he stepped closer to Collins. “I want whoever is responsible for the bombing. No matter what the protesters were doing there, and their reasons, they didn’t deserve that. They are still German citizens.”

“You got it. If it’s McCabe, you can have him. As a matter of fact, there may be something you and your government would have an interest in helping us with in Ecuador.”

“Just call us, Jack,” Sebastian said, turning around and walking away. “Mr. Everett, watch that guy,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Just because he was in on training us doesn’t mean he’s worth a damn.”

Everett smiled and looked over at Collins as he inserted a clip into one of the nine-millimeters.

“I like him, Jack,” he said, glancing over at Golding and Ellenshaw. He shook his head when he saw they still had their arms raised. “It’s okay, guys. The scary men are all gone.”

Ellenshaw and Golding slowly lowered their hands and looked at Everett and Jack.

“Do you two know anyone that leads a normal, dull life?” Pete asked Collins.

“Only you, Pete, only you.”

The hangar was leased to Chan Ri International. The company was a lesser known aircraft manufacturer that specialized in avionics packages for advanced fighter aircraft. The packages were made up of fire control systems and other avionics that were used by the Western powers. Most Asian stock market watchers were a little surprised when Chan Ri stocks suddenly sprang to life after a three-year period when most traders thought the company was on the way out following the introduction by the U.S. of the highly advanced F-22 Raptor, the new fighter for the twenty-first century that left Chan Ri technology far behind. But somewhere along the way the company had received a massive influx of capital, and try as they might, agents of the Securities and Exchange Commission could not uncover where the money had come from.

The twenty-five-year-old Grumman F-14 Super Tomcat sat gleaming inside the small hangar as several technicians checked the hard points along the fuselage of the U.S. Navy fighter jet. As the first of the two weapons was raised into position just below the starboard hard point, the pilot walked over to make sure the job was being done right. He placed a gloved hand on the plastic nose cone of the missile and felt a rush of power course through his hand and then his entire arm. He rolled his eyes and knew he was coming home again. The small pilot almost dropped his black-painted helmet onto the floor of the hangar as he felt the euphoria. The South Korean technicians turned and wondered why this pilot, whom they had just met that morning, was acting so strange.