Rick Cook - The Wizardry Quested

characteristic of all.

"Where are we gonna make pickup and will it be a day or night flight?"

"You can pick us up at the airport," Jerry said. "Day is probably better than night. It’s the destination that’s a little tricky."

"Where you going?"

"Uh, Groom Lake, Area Fifty-One."

"Just outside inner fence toward the end of runway," Kuznetsov added, leaning over from his table.

Charlie looked at the Russian narrowly. "This cargo don’t explode does it? ’Cause as a patriotic American and a veteran of four wars I don’t hold with blowing up US air bases."

"It doesn’t explode," Jerry assured him. Then he thought of the Las Vegas police car. "Well, not unless you get her angry."

"Her?"

"The cargo’s kind of livestock."

"I may charge you boys extra for mucking out the airplane. Can this thing be trusted to use a sick sack?"

"Well, she’s a flying creature anyway," Jerry said, "so I don’t think she’s subject to airsickness."

"What the hell is this critter?" Charlie roared, just as the music ended and there was a lull in the casino racket "A five-hundred-pound canary?" Suddenly half the people in the bar were looking at them.

Jerry turned beet red under the attention. "Uh, something like that," he whispered.

Charlie grinned and leaned back in his chair. "Boys," he boomed, "I think I’m gonna enjoy this little trip."

Looking at their pilot, Jerry wasn’t so sure he would be able to say the same.

The morning was bright, cold and crystal clear. The mountains on the other side of the airport looked like they were only a mile away.

When the truck pulled up to the gate on the general aviation side of the field, Jerry and Taj were in the front seat as the least conspicuous of the group. Moira, the Russians, Taj and Bal-Simba were in the back.

The guard came out of the shack huddled in his flight jacket, his breath leaving little puffs in the frosty air. He kept his hands in his pockets until he needed one to hand the clipboard under his arm up to the cab.

There was a sign by the gate informing them that all vehicles were subject to search when entering and leaving. For an instant Jerry was afraid the guard was going to ask to look in the back of the truck, but he only nodded as he retrieved his clipboard.

They’d be more likely to check them on the way out, Jerry decided. But that didn’t matter.

Jerry pulled the truck into a parking space in back of a row of tan metal hangars. Although there were a number of cars in the parking lot, the place looked deserted. Then he remembered that pilots liked to take off at dawn. Those cars probably belonged to people who were already airborne.

Quickly Jerry and Taj rolled up the truck’s tailgate. ’Okay- We’re here."

"About time," Kuznetsov said as he hopped down. "The dragon is getting carsick." Moira followed him out, gulping deep lungfuls of air and looking decidedly green around the gills, even for a dragon. "I am sorry, My Lord. I am not used to riding in closed conveyances and this body is unwell."

"No harm done," Gilligan assured her.

"But five minutes more:"

"Never mind that," Jerry cut the Russian off. "Let’s go find our ride." Just at that moment Charlie came around the corner of the hangar wiping his hands on a rag. In the light of day his orange jumpsuit looked even gaudier than it had in the cocktail lounge. He saw Moira, did a double take and got his composure back.

"You folks ready to go?" he asked, staying well clear of the dragon.

"All set," Jerry assured him.

Charlie eyed Moira. "Don’t you need a leash for that thing?"

I am quite under control, thank you." Moira said with a sniff.

"Holy shit! She talks! Uh, no offense ma’am."

The dragon nodded. "None taken."

"Well, come on then. I got her gassed, oiled and pre-flighted. She’s right around here."

Charlie led them around the hangar and pointed proudly. Although the ramp was occupied by the usual gaggle of Pipers, Cessnas and Mooneys it was obvious to all of them what he was pointing at.

It was a biplane. A very big biplane with an enclosed cabin, a radial engine and a dull-green paint job. Next to the civilian registration numbers on the body was a large red star. "AN-2 Colt," Charlie announced proudly.

"That’s a Russian plane!" Gilligan almost shouted.

"This one’s Polish, actually," Charlie told him. "Design’s Russian though." Mick groaned. "We’re going to fly into a restricted area in a Russian plane." He looked over at Kuznetsov. "Why -didn’t you get us a Mig 29 escort while you’re at it?"

"No Mig 29s in town until air show next week," the Russian deadpanned. "Besides, we cannot get dragon into a Mig 29."

Mick just shook his head and turned away.

"Be reasonable, Mick," Kuznetsov said. "There are not many planes that can carry all this and still land in dirt."

"Reasonable?" Gilligan yelped. "You’re asking me to be reasonable?"

"Ivan’s right," Charlie said cheerfully. "These babies were made for hauling cargo in and out of rough fields. She’ll land on a dime and give you back a nickel’s change."

"Besides, I don’t think we’ve got much choice," Jerry said. "There’s no time to find another plane and we’re probably going to have company faster than that." Gilligan looked at the others and his shoulders slumped. That thing’s got a radar cross-section like a bam door."

Charlie grinned appreciatively but Gilligan just snorted. "What about you?" he asked Charlie. "Are you gonna come all the way?"

"They don’t have airplanes in this place?" Charlie asked.

"No," Jerry told him. "Just dragons."

"Dragons, hell!" He nodded to Moira. "Uh, no offense ma’am but it don’t sound like my kind of place. I’ll just drop you folks off." He took a map from tie leg pocket of his flight suit and unfolded it on the ground, nailing a corner of it with his knee.

"Okay," he said as the others gathered around, "our best shot is to head north to about here." He stabbed a finger down on the map. Then we drop to minimum altitude, pop over that ridge and run straight for the target."

"How fast can they intercept us?" Jerry asked.

"Fast," Kuznetzov put in. "Once they see us, first fighters arrive in three point five minutes."

Gilligan looked at the Russian oddly, but he was oblivious.

"Now the way I figure it," Charlie went on, "we can get to this place with, oh, two-three minutes to spare." He looked at Gilligan and his friends. "But son, this dingus of yours had better work because there’s no way in hell we are gonna get back out."

"How are you going to explain this?"

"Simple. I’ll tell them I was drunk and I did it on a bar bet." He smiled broadly. "No way in hell they won’t believe me. You people were just sightseers who were along for the ride. You didn’t know what I was gonna do until I did it"

"You know you’re going to lose your license over this."

The old man’s grin faded. "Son, I’m gonna have to give it up when I take my physical next month anyway. When this is over I’ll move to Costa Rica or someplace where they don’t have all these pissant rules for pilots." There was also an excellent chance he would go to jail, but Gilligan didn’t mention that.