Glenn Beck - The Eye of Moloch

“Before we get the tour,” Noah said, “is there a telephone we can use? A landline?”

Bill McCord pointed toward a small cluttered room in the far corner. “Be my guest, the phone’s right in the office on the corner table. There might be a box of sweatshirts in there, too, so you all can shed some of those wet clothes.” He took Molly’s arm then so he could help her up the couple of stairs into the passenger cabin of the C-60. “Now, young lady, you come along right this way.”

Ellen went straight for the phone as soon as they reached the little cubicle in back. She hadn’t spoken in a while, and all things considered, Noah couldn’t blame her for what she must be feeling.

“I’m sorry I got you into this,” he said.

“That makes two of us.”

“Ellen, look—”

“Look?” she snapped. “Look at what? I just ran a damned triathlon across Denver International Airport, I’m apparently a fugitive from justice, and I’ve got men chasing after me with guns, Gardner. I’ve treated more bullet wounds in the last two days than I’ll see in the rest of my career; it’s like a traveling emergency room with you people. I really don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, and I’d do anything for you, you know that. But this isn’t my fight.”

“That’s what I used to think, that it wasn’t my fight,” Noah said. “And if you want to know exactly how we all got to where we are today, that pretty much sums it up.”

With the air transit shutdown in full effect it took more than a few calls and a price that was several times the market value, but at last Ellen had managed to line up a pair of cars from a local service. Once that was done she’d apologized to Noah in her way, and of course he’d understood. Right and wrong aside, in matters of life and death we’d all at least prefer to make our own decisions.

Noah found a box of company sweatshirts and after the two of them had changed he took an extra and they headed back toward the front of the hangar to wait.

When they stopped at the plane they found Molly and her new friend sitting across from one another in the passenger cabin. McCord had wrapped her in a plush blanket and brought her a cup of hot coffee from the small galley near the back. The two were deep in a conversation about the Founders’ Keepers and the state of the world in general.

It turned out that their host was more than a little familiar with Molly’s group and their goals and had been so for many years. By his enthusiasm he seemed to be completely unfazed by the more recent smears against her character and reputation. As she spoke he was looking at Molly as though he were in the presence of a visiting dignitary.

The interior of the aircraft had been lovingly restored with all the style and luxury of a far more romantic era in civil aviation. Wood, fine leather and polished metals adorned every crafted surface where plastics and polyesters were the norm in the assembly-line products of today. Along with all the classy touches it had also been fully appointed with more modern features—including onboard medical equipment stored close at hand—to ensure the comfort and safety of the aging heroes who were to be ferried to Washington on the refurbished plane’s first flight of the present century.

Ellen took a seat as Noah walked up the inclined center aisle. From a spot near the cockpit he saw the first of the cars his friend had ordered. The long black sedan pulled up and then came to a stop outside.

“That was quick,” he said.

He picked up Molly’s duffel bag, told the others to relax where they were for the moment, and then exited the plane and began to walk toward the parked car to let the driver know they’d be along soon.

When he was halfway there a second car appeared, moving more slowly, and soon it made the turn onto the inbound straightaway.

The rear passenger door swung open on the unmarked vehicle parked in front of him, and Noah froze where he stood.

Everything looked right, but something was wrong.

After another moment he thumped his forehead as though he’d forgotten something, made a polite gesture toward the car that said wait just another minute, please, and then turned and walked back into the hangar. When he was nearly to the plane he stole a glance over his shoulder and saw the driver and another man standing by the side of their sedan; just standing there in the rain, watching. A third man had emerged from the other vehicle, which had by then pulled up to park near the first. That guy was also watching, and though it was hard to tell for sure at this distance, he appeared to be speaking into his lapel.

Noah stepped up into the cabin with the others. “We’ve got trouble,” he said.

He went up the aisle so he could get a hidden view out the windshield and Bill McCord followed him forward.

“Those guys in the cars, you think they’re the ones who’re after you?”

“Looks that way.” Noah could feel the seconds passing too quickly to stop and think. Other vehicles were arriving, headlights off, and were easing around either side of the hangar as if on their way to cover any exits to the rear.

The two men hurried back to the set of seats where Molly and Ellen were waiting and Noah told them what he’d seen.

“How can that be?” Ellen asked. “We used somebody else’s phone and I made the calls. They’re not even looking for me.”

“They’re looking for Molly,” Noah said, “and she knows me, and I know you. That’s all it takes; it’s not that hard to make the watch list anymore. They don’t need a warrant and it’s all done by machine. They can monitor every single call that’s made and listen for keywords, listen for voiceprints—I guess I just didn’t realize they’d reached the point where they could do it in real time.”

“So what now?” Ellen asked.

“I don’t know.”

“We’re not giving up,” Molly said. “We can’t.”

“Molly,” Noah said as he knelt down next to her, “we’re surrounded in here. If we don’t come out now they’re just going to come in after us. I don’t think we’ve got a choice.”

“And I don’t think they’re here to take us alive, Noah.”

They all let that prospect sink in as more precious seconds ticked by.

“Well, if they’re not going to let you walk out,” Bill McCord said, “what do you say we fly?”

Half a minute later the two women were securely buckled in and Noah was sitting in the right-hand seat up front.

He wasn’t to do anything he wasn’t told to do by the man in the captain’s chair, not that he would have known where to even begin. With the exception of the add-on GPS, what looked like a radar screen, and a small computer display, there was nothing remotely recognizable in the wall of dials, levers, and lights arrayed in front of him.

“If you’ve got any doubts, say so now,” McCord said.

“No doubts here,” Noah replied, though his heart felt like it was trying to pound its way out of his chest.

“Okay, then. Hang on to your hat.”

McCord put on his headset and motioned for Noah to do the same. Then he flipped a toggle and with a shrill mechanical groan the tri-blade propeller to the left began to turn over. Almost immediately a sharp thud put a hole through the Plexiglas windshield on the pilot’s side as the sound of a gunshot echoed through the hangar. McCord ducked and hit the switch labeled PRIME and then he cracked one of the throttles barely ahead. The left radial engine coughed and spewed a billowing cloud of dirty white smoke but after a few more pops and revolutions it thundered to life.

“Keep your heads down!” Noah yelled to the rear, and new shooting erupted from two positions up ahead.