“Why?”
“Two reasons: I know you guys will be closely examining the Kingfisher, and I don’t really understand it that well anyway; and…well, other than that, I don’t know, except I have a hunch,” Patrick explained. “I don’t believe in coincidences. We’ve got antisatellite weapons flying everywhere; we’ve got China firing missiles, sending troops all over the place, and invading other countries; and in the middle of all that, a very reliable piece of hardware blows up for no apparent reason right after repairs are done.”
“You think China had something to do with Kingfisher-Eight?”
“We won’t know until we see what your sensors saw. Remember anything that happened around that time?”
“We were pretty busy-everything seemed to happen all at once,” Kai admitted, his brow furrowing as he tried hard to remember clearly. “The convoy missing, then discovered heading toward Mogadishu; the Chinese bomber formations we spotted; launching the Stud on short notice to link up with Eight; the repairs; the accident. No, I can’t think of anything else.”
The car pulled into the general aviation terminal and was allowed onto the parking ramp, where a dozen or so bizjets were lined up. Patrick retrieved his luggage from the trunk. “Well, if you think of anything,” he told Kai, “call me anytime.”
“Will do, sir.” He nodded toward the impressive line of jets. “Which one is yours?”
“Not there-over down that way,” Patrick said, motioning way across the ramp to an adjacent parking area. “They don’t park me with the heavy iron, and that’s the way I like it. The blue-and-white twin.”
Kai followed Patrick’s motion and saw a rather small twin-engine propeller plane, sitting by itself along with other smaller planes. “That’s it? The little bug-smasher?”
“It’s small, but I mostly fly solo and I rarely fly with more than two other people, so it’s a good size for me,” Patrick said. “It’s the fastest propeller-driven general aviation plane in the world.”
“Propeller-driven?” Boomer commented. “Why don’t you fly a jet, General?”
“Because they cost money, and I don’t fly that often to justify the expense,” Patrick replied. “Got time to take a look?”
Neither Kai nor Boomer would ever turn down a chance to look at airplanes, so they walked down the ramp. “You…worried about expenses?” Kai asked. “I thought you were a rich retired three-star general.”
“Military retirees don’t make that much these days; the private-military-contractor work keeps us busy but is expensive; and Jon Masters pays hardly anything except stock options,” Patrick said. “This is plenty for me when I travel and Jon’s not picking up the tab. Besides, Jon and I have installed a few gizmos in the plane to pick up the performance.”
The airplane resembled a bullet-shaped jet fighter with a pointed nose, very short wings, large, weirdly curved propellers, and a tall vertical stabilizer. Patrick unlocked the door and opened the split clamshell door. The cockpit looked very snug, and at first Boomer couldn’t figure out how to get in the back. Patrick then pushed the pilot’s seat full forward, creating a narrow aisle. “We usually load the front-seat passenger first, then rear passengers, and pilot last. I took out one of the middle seats to allow a passenger to use the worktable and satellite Internet while in flight.”
“What is that smell?” Boomer asked, hunting around for the source. “Dirty socks?”
“Biodiesel,” Patrick said. “The turbine engines on this plane were modified by Jon’s engineers to burn almost any fuel, from unleaded gasoline to synthetics. They crank out five hundred horsepower a side but burn less than twenty gallons an hour. I can get three hundred knots easily and three-fifty at redline, and its range is about fifteen hundred miles, so I can go coast-to-coast most days with one stop. It has an automatic electric deicing system on the wings, tail surfaces, and windshield, but it can go as high as thirty thousand feet and climb at two thousand feet a minute, so I rarely need it.”
The cockpit was simplicity itself, with three ten-inch monitors, some small standby instruments underneath the pilot’s monitor, and a small keyboard under the center monitor above the throttles. “Two primary flight displays and a middle multifunction display; side-stick controllers; computer-controlled propeller pitch; three-axis autopilot with autothrottles,” Patrick said. “Full automatic digital datalink with air-traffic control-everything from receiving clearances to traffic to weather avoidance is digital. I don’t talk to anyone on the radios unless I use uncontrolled airspace.”
Boomer peered into the cabin. “No potty?”
“After flying bombers for so long, I’ve developed a pretty large-capacity bladder,” Patrick said. “Everyone else…well, it’s a general aviation plane, not an airliner. Either hold it or I’ll introduce you to the kitty-litter piddle pack.”
“Your little plane just lost all appeal for me, sir,” Boomer said, retreating from the entry door with a smile and a shake of his head. He shook hands with Patrick. “You and your SAC-trained bladder have a nice flight.”
“Thanks, Boomer.” He shook hands with Raydon. “If you think of anything, Kai, let me know as soon as you can. You know how to reach me.”
“Will do, sir,” Kai said. He and Boomer headed for the limousine, and Patrick headed into the airport office. He paid his fuel bill, made a stop in the restroom, then headed back to the airplane.
The temperature was comfortable enough, but a light fog was beginning to roll in. Patrick powered up the plane’s avionics and started downloading flight-planning information. Weather was good for the route of flight back to Henderson, Nevada, except for the weather at San Jose. Flying direct, the flight would only take an hour and fifteen minutes, but to avoid the Navy’s China Lake restricted military airspace, the FAA’s air-traffic control computers recommended flying southeast to Fresno, south to Bakersfield, and east to Palmdale before heading direct to Henderson, which added another forty-five minutes. He accepted the proffered flight plan, got an acknowledgment, then shut down the system to do a preflight inspection.
The plane had a computerized preflight system, but this was Patrick’s only opportunity to do a personal, visual check of his machine before takeoff, so he grabbed his little preflight kit-flashlight, rag, windshield cleaning kit, and fuel strainer-and got to work. The biggest areas of concern were the tires, landing-gear struts, fluid levels, and freedom of the flight controls. He had to sample a few ounces of the smelly fuel from nine different sumps-not a very pleasant task, but essential to be sure there was no water or contamination in the fuel. Because he personally supervised the fueling of the plane’s four fuel tanks, he knew how much biodiesel had been pumped-more than enough for the flight home, including reserves-but he visually checked the fuel level in each tank anyway. He had to wash his own windows because fixed-base operators, afraid of costly repairs if a linesman accidentally scratched a ten-thousand-dollar heated-glass windshield, didn’t do it anymore.
After completing the walk-around and satisfied that the plane was ready to go, Patrick climbed inside, strapped in, closed and locked both of the clamshell doors, and powered up the plane again. He started engines, checked the engines, flight controls, electrical, autopilot, and hydraulic systems, then tuned in the Automatic Terminal Information System frequency, which instantly datalinked local weather, active runway, and hazard notices to his multifunction display. He then tuned in the clearance delivery channel, which downloaded his air-traffic control clearance-it had changed slightly since filing it, but that was not unusual. He made sure the updated routing was in the flight-data computer, then tuned in the ground control frequency and uplinked a “Ready to Taxi” message.
At that moment he saw a commotion back at the fixed-base operator office…and he noticed none other than Kai Raydon, waving his arms like crazy, and Hunter Noble running out toward him, followed by a security guard and an FBO employee obviously trying to stop them from going out onto the ramp! Patrick immediately shut down the left engine-the one nearest the entry door-sent a “Cancel Taxi” message to ground control, then shut down the avionics power and right engine.
Kai reached the plane just as the left propeller stopped spinning, and Patrick popped the upper half of the clamshell door open. “What the hell are you doing, Kai?” he asked.
“I remembered something, Patrick,” Kai shouted over the spooling-down right engine. He put his hands behind his back and braced for the security guard to grab him from behind. “Something did happen. Dammit, General, you might be right.”
SEVEN
