A Time for Patriots

exactly how it felt.”

Later that evening

Brad orbited over the Knights of the True Republic’s compound for an hour more; cruised around the area about fifty miles around the town of Battle Mountain in a parallel tracklike pattern for another hour so they could record sensor scans of activity on the ground; then did three takeoffs and landings back at Battle Mountain to log some of his required night full-stop landings. Four hours of flying, three of it at night, and not one rumble whatsoever in his stomach — what a great day.

After putting the Centurion back in its hangar, he phoned his father. “Plane’s put up, fueled up, windshield’s clean, bugs wiped off,” he said. “How do the pictures look?”

“Excellent,” Patrick said. “Better than we expected. The other scans around the area will be stored by the computer, and we’ll compare them to scans we’ll take later to look for unusual activity.”

“Cool.”

“How’s your stomach feel?”

“Great. Not even a big burp.”

“I was a little concerned with you flying at night — I was afraid the loss of a horizon might bring back the nausea,” Patrick said. “But you seemed to do okay when we did our night landings the other night.”

“I’m fine, Dad.”

“Heading home?”

“I’m going to stop by the bowling alley.”

“Drinking age is—”

“I know, I know, no booze until I’m twenty-one. I don’t like the stuff anyway, and with Gia back, I don’t even want to deal with it. I just want to see if anything’s going on, maybe play some pinball.”

“I can’t believe pinball machines are making a comeback,” Patrick said. “We used to play those things for hours when we sat alert in the B-52s.” He was getting into reminiscing mode again, Brad thought — that was happening more and more the older he got. “Have fun. Be back by midnight.”

“It’ll be before then — I’ve got workouts in the morning, and then I want to fly the P210.”

“I’m flying Captain de Carteret and maybe Colonel Spara tomorrow, getting them checked out in the P210. It might have to wait.”

“They’re going to patrol with us?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. It’s like our own secret little Civil Air Patrol squadron.”

“ Secret being the key word here, Brad.”

“No problem. Okay. See ya.”

His next phone call was to Cassandra Renaldo. “It’s me,” he said when she answered.

“I’m so glad you called, baby,” she said. “It has been a long day. I’m still at work.”

“I’m at my dad’s hangar. I just got done flying.”

“You did? Flying at night?”

“I need to log at least ten hours and ten night landings for my check ride.”

“How do you feel?”

“Excellent. No problems.”

“You didn’t have to take any of that medicine I gave you?”

“Nope. I’ve got it with me, but I didn’t need it.”

“You should keep it with you, in case you have to fly in the back of the plane again.”

“Okay. Can I see you tonight?”

“I would love to see you, but I’m still at work.” She hesitated, then said, “But I want to see you so badly… I think it’ll be all right — no one else is here. Do you know which hangar is ours?”

“I think so. One of the hangars on the east side of the field with the big fence around it, right?”

“Yes. You’ll see my car parked in front of one of the hangars, outside the fence. If there’s another car parked there, I won’t be alone, so I’ll see you another time. But if there are no other cars, I’ll be all alone. The gate will be closed, but I’ll leave it partially open so you’ll just need to nudge it a few times to get the gate open. Same with the hangar door — just pull, then push a couple times, and it’ll open. C’mon in. I might be in the comm room, but I’ll be waiting for you, lover. Maybe we’ll do it right here on the… well, we’ll see. Bye.”

Man, Brad thought as he hung up, she had that sexy X-rated phone-porn voice that never failed to make the blood run right out of my brain. He had to be extra careful not to exceed the base speed limit as he headed over to the east side of the field.

He found her car in the parking lot outside the row of security hangars, and yes, it was by itself. It took more than a little nudge to get the gate open, but he wasn’t going to let it stop him. Same with the hangar door, but after putting his shoulder in it a little, it finally came open.

The hangar was dark except for a desk with several laptops on it, illuminated by desk lights. “Cassandra?” he called out. No reply. He went over to the desk. This was definitely her desk — he could smell her fragrance… or was that just chronic horniness and the lack of blood in his brain making him imagine it? “Cassandra, where are you?”

Brad decided to wait. He checked out the images on the laptops. There were electronic charts, diagrams of what looked like the Knights of the True Republic’s compound, and still photographs of people, obviously taken from very long distance. Each image was marked SECRET, but as far as he could tell, he didn’t see anything SECRET about any of—

Suddenly his arms were yanked behind his back so hard he thought they were going to rip off his torso, and his head was slammed down onto the desk so hard that his vision exploded into a field of stars. “Freeze! FBI!” he heard through the sudden roaring in his ears. “Don’t you move!” His hands were being twisted so hard that he thought they were going to pop off his wrists. His legs were kicked out behind him so even more pressure was on his face and head. He felt cold steel handcuffs being snapped onto his wrists, and then rough hands patting him down from head to foot.

“Ow! You’re hurting me!” he protested.

“Shut up!” someone yelled. “Do you have any weapons in your pockets? Any knives or needles?”

“No! Stop twisting my—”

“I said, shut up !” He felt his shirt being pulled out of his pants, and then rough hands searching his body right down to the skin. The guy then started going through his pockets, turning them inside out. “Got something,” he called out, before resuming his search inside Brad’s pants, then right against his crotch. Brad was then spun around and thrust into a chair, and the desk light shined right in his face, blinding him. He felt blood trickling out of his nose, and his shoulder felt dislocated. “Why did you break in here, McLanahan?” the guy shouted.

“I didn’t break in!”

“We got it all on surveillance cameras, McLanahan,” the guy yelled. “You forced open the outside gate, then forced open the hangar door. It’s all on video. It’s called ‘breaking and entering,’ McLanahan, and in a federal facility, it’s a federal crime. You could get five years in prison just for that. What are you doing here?” Brad said nothing. The guy slapped him on the side of his head so hard he almost fell off the chair. “ Answer me, you punk! What are you doing here?” Brad couldn’t tell them the truth — Cassandra would get fired for sure.

“Did you come in here to steal our computers?” the guy shouted. “That’s burglary, McLanahan — that’s another ten years in prison. And you came in here and viewed classified material — that’s another ten to fifteen years, along with about a million dollars in fines. You’re looking at some hard time, bub, and not in minimum security either. There will be some very big, very bad men who will be anxious to get to meet you up close and personal.” The man held up a tiny bag of white powder. “What the hell is this?” he shouted.

“Nothing!”

“What do you mean, nothing?” He handed it back to someone behind him and shouted again, “What is it?”

“It’s nothing. It’s airsickness medicine.”