CHAPTER THIRTY
Beneath the cover of the stealth netting Moose, Ham, and Tobias slowly made their way toward the private jet sitting like a fat cat on the runway. Her wings were sleek, shining silver, her body a vibrant red.
“Bastard isn’t trying to hide, is he?” frowned Ham.
“Nope.”
Moose pointed to the belly of the plane, noticing several communications arms that would be used while in the air for not only verbal or visual communications, but most likely could launch missiles from somewhere.
“Disable that first,” said Tobias. Ham nodded, slowly unscrewing the main outer hood, then cutting the wires beneath.
Moose took the engine, ensuring that everything was damaged, sliced, or removed and placed in his pocket. They wanted no wires or pieces of the plane visible on the runway.
Tobias stepped up into the cockpit and began tinkering with the controls. If they tried to escape, nothing on the plane would work. Absolutely nothing. What he didn’t expect were the plans laid out on the table.
Maps of major military installations around the world, including in the U.S. Dozens more showed countries, once part of the USSR, with circles around major cities, highly populated and vulnerable.
Tobias rolled up the papers, tucking them beneath the stealth cloak. Looking out the window of the cockpit, he saw a man walking toward the plane. He quickly took the steps down and stepped beneath the belly of the jet. Moose and Ham were beside him.
“Why are the steps down?” he yelled back at another man.
“Boss said he wanted it ready in case he had to leave suddenly,” said the man.
“It takes two seconds,” he growled. “Keep the steps up and watch for anyone messing with the engines.”
“No one is here. No one knows where we are and there are no fucking people!”
“Watch your mouth,” snapped the other man.
“Come on. We want women. We need something to entertain us,” he laughed. The man punched him, sending him reeling to the tarmac.
“Watch the fucking plane or I’ll put a bullet in your head right here,” he sneered.
Both men walked away, neither saying anything. For now, the plane was sealed but the damage was done by the Shadow Warriors.
“Fall back to the others,” said Ham.
In the thick forested area around the property, the men watched and waited. True to his promise, River didn’t notify the bureau but he was damn sure there and ready to help.
“How many men?” asked Joey.
“Heat sensors are picking up eleven. We outnumber them but we’re not sure of the fire power,” said Connor.
“Why don’t we give them a taste of their own medicine?” smirked Joey.
“What do you mean?” asked Gator.
“I mean, why don’t we send a little gift through the ventilation system.”
“It’s a great idea, but we don’t have anything,” said Connor.
“We’ve got a gallon jug of rubbing alcohol in the med kit and I see some paint cans over there by the garage. I’ve learned a few things from my future wife. We feed that into the house and they’re gonna feel pretty shitty within an hour or so.”
“Do it,” nodded Christopher.
Cloaking himself, Joey took the ingredients, which by themselves were fine but when mixed and forced through ventilation systems, could create headaches, nausea, vomiting, and possible toxicity.
As he approached the others again, they were all seated, eating something before the fun began.
“Now what?” asked Bo.
“Now, we wait. They’ll exit that house and we’ll be ready.”
Vasily rubbed his temples once again, the headache increasing in intensity, pressing into his skull. Suddenly nauseated and feeling dizzy, he stood, stumbling toward the front door.
“Peter! Peter, where are you?” he called.
“I-I’m here, sir,” he said shuffling toward him.
“You’re sick as well? Headache? Nausea?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. The other men are sick too.”
“Everyone! Out of the house, now!” he yelled. “Someone has done something to our food or the house. It’s making us sick. Get to the jet.”
The men stepped out of the house, stumbling and shuffling. Some bent at the waist, vomiting in the grass as others simply laid back, looking up at the sky, taking in deep breaths.
“What happened?” asked Peter.
“I don’t know but someone did something to make us sick.”
“I’ll get the bags,” said Peter.
“No. Leave them. Let’s leave now. Get to the plane,” he said lifting the younger man by his arm. The others slowly followed, the light of dusk blanketing the landscape in purple and blue.
Vasily lowered the stairs for the men, helping Peter into the jet. When the pilot boarded, he stared at his yellowed face.
“Are you alright? Can you fly?”
“Yes, sir. I’m already feeling better,” he said. He stepped into the cockpit and began checking the engines but nothing was happening. Nothing was connecting.
“What’s wrong? Why aren’t we moving?” asked Vasily.
“I don’t know. The engines won’t fire. Nothing will fire.”
Vasily looked around the plane, suddenly realizing that the plans were gone. The maps that were laid out on the table just this morning were no longer there.
“Get off the jet! Get off!” he yelled. The men did as they were told, practically falling out of the plane. When they stood together, the realized they weren’t alone.
“Hello, Vasily. Nice to see you.”