Brown, Dale - Independent 02 (40 page)

 
          
“That’s
incredible!” Geffar said, shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s just perfect.
Here we are, risking our butts like this, and it all might go for nothing.”

 
          
“Equally
incredible, the congressional leadership has decided not to comment on the
rumor as of yet,” Elliott continued.

 
          
“There’s
a strong precedent to decriminalize certain drugs, Sandra,” Hardcastle said. He
smiled, knotting his fingers together. “It’s amazing how history repeats itself
sometimes. Back during Prohibition, it took the advent of groups such as the
first Hammerheads before most persons started to think that maybe alcohol
wasn’t so bad and the amendment should be repealed. They found out then that if
the people want alcohol, they can get it. No amount of strong-arm tactics were
going to stop them.”

 
          
“Narcotics
are different,” Geffar said. “The drug problem is affecting the youth of this
country. Entire cities are under siege by gangs trafficking in drugs ...”

 
          
“It
was no diflFerent back then,” Hardcastle insisted. “There were lots of
alcoholic kids, infants born alcoholic, gangs running liquor, shoot-outs in the
streets between gangs vying for the black market liquor trade—remember Capone?
Bathtub gin? Speakeasies? Alcohol was liquid poison back then, just as drugs
are considered now. But Prohibition was still repealed, and alcohol was
legalized. They found that society can police itself better than the government
can police society.”

 
          
“You
surprise me every damn day, Hardcastle,” she said. “Here I thought you were
some kind of one-man crusader, launching off in your whirlybird to fight the
forces of evil. Hey, my main reason for getting up in the morning is to see
what the hell you’ll do or say next . . . Anything else for me, Brad?”

 
          
“I
guess not . . .”

 
          
She
nodded and headed for the door. “I’m going down to the
Sunrise
Beach
Community
Hospital
to have a talk with Van Nuys.” Hardcastle
got to his feet. “I’ll fly you—”

 
          
“I
have a car, I’ll drive. When I’m done I’ll go over to
Homestead
and catch a ride back to the platform.”

 
          
After
she left there was silence in the office for a long moment. Then, Elliott said:
“How are you two? Things going okay?”

 
          
Hardcastle
shrugged. “Fine . . . we really haven’t been working together much until today.
And we don’t always see eye to eye on everything. But you’ve known that since
the beginning. I disagree with her w
^?
anting to limit the operational
radius of Seagull drones until the data-transmission problem is solved. I’m not
interested in how the public feels about seeing a drone parachute into the
water. She is, and I understand why. I still . . .”

 
          
Elliott
nodded. “Good. Well, I’m going to spend the weekend in
Key West
, then head back to
Washington
. If you need to reach me

 
          
“I
understand,” Hardcastle said. “Don’t.”

 
          
Sunrise
Beach
Community
Hospital
,
Key Largo
,
Florida

 
          
Two Hours Later

 
          
Sandra
Geffar had taken just enough time to change into slacks and a linen
jacket—which was loose enough to hide her .45 caliber automatic in its shoulder
rig—before leaving her headquarters building and starting the drive to
Key Largo
.

 
          
At
the hospital she found Van Nuys on his feet, pacing around the room near the
window. A neck brace sat on top of broad shoulders, and his movements were very
stiff.

 
          
“Mr.
Van Nuys, I’m sorry to disturb you but—”

 
          
“Miss
Geffar, what a surprise.” Van Nuys moved toward her. Geffar extended a hand but
he took both of hers. “A very pleasant surprise. Please, come in.” He tried to
settle in the chair but an obvious spark of pain caused him to sit upright.

 
          
Geffar,
without thinking, took a pillow from the bed and placed it behind him. “Much
better, thank you. You’ll make some man very happy. Or are you—”

 
          
“Divorced.”
Personal biographies weren’t why she was here, she tried to remind herself. “I
need to ask you some questions about this morning.”

 
          
“Of
course,” all affably. “I thank the Customs Service investigators for being
brief with their questions. I’m afraid I wasn’t very helpful. My doctor pumped
me full of pain-killers.”

 
          
“I
understand you didn’t have your shoulder harness on.”

 
          
He
looked at her in some surprise. Which hardly matched hers that she’d said it.
“How did you know that?” he asked.

 
          
“.
. . Your injuries are common for people who are unrestrained and try to brace
themselves against the force of an impact. I’ve been there.”

 
          
“I’m
sure you have,” smiling.

 
          
“Yes,
well, I understand you filed your flight plan by phone to Chief Hokum here at
Sunrise
Beach
. “Why? Why not file directly with the FA
A?”

 
          
“By
speaking directly with the Chief I was able to accomplish several things. I not
only transmitted my flight plan to him but he was notified of my ETA and other
messages I had him deliver for me. Chief Hokum cooperates nicely in such
matters.”

 
          
That
all checked with her information from past FAA records, which showed Hokum had
filed flight plans for Van Nuys and other Sunrise Beach tenants at various
times. It seemed a strange way of filing a flight plan, but on the other hand
trying to file a flight plan through Bahamian air traffic control or long
distance to Miami Flight Service could result in lost plans.

 
          
“Am
I going to be charged with a crime?”

 
          
“Technically,
you’re in violation. The Border Security Force’s fine is a minimum of ten
thousand dollars and confiscation of your aircraft, unless there are mitigating
circumstances. Next trip I’d suggest contacting the FAA directly instead of
going through Hokum. If he loses your flight plan you’re still responsible.
Turning over the salvageable parts of your plan to Customs, well, I doubt
Hammerheads will levy a fine, this time. But the decision will come from
Washington
.”

 
          
“The
210 was old and not my favorite plane for overwater trips ... You mentioned the
Hammerheads. Exactly who are the Hammerheads?”

 
          
“It’s
our nickname for the Border Security Force. We’re not very big yet, but we can
secure the whole southeast
United States
from unauthorized intrusion and we’ll soon
be able to cover the entire southern flank.”

 
          
“Hammerheads
. . . Like the shark, eh? Sounds very military. What’s a beautiful woman like
you doing—?”

 
          
“Just
lucky, I guess.” She didn’t add a “thanks” for the compliment, but she had to
admit it registered. “Let’s talk about why you didn’t fly the entry corridor
after discovering you were radio-out.”

 
          
“What?”

 
          
“According
to your flight plan you were filed VFR from
Freeport
to Opa-Locka, stopover for inspection, and
then VFR to
Sunrise
Beach
. Yet when you lost communications just
before entering the ADIZ you were detected flying several miles off course
directly for
Sunrise
Beach
. Why?”

 
          
Van
Nuys shrugged. “I suppose I panicked a bit... I thought I was on course but I
found myself drifting south of the corridor. When I saw your platform I knew
where I was and decided to go directly back to
Sunrise
Beach
instead of going through the
Miami
terminal control area radio-out.”

 
          
Geffar
nodded. He was smart. It was the correct reply—the
only
correct reply. Flight through a terminal control area as busy
as
Miami
’s was never recommended for radio-out
aircraft unless he was on instrument flight rules. Unless it was the only
option, the preferred course would have been to land at an airport not inside a
TCA, and since
Sunrise
Beach
was his final destination it was the
logical choice . . .

 
          
“Since
you had deviated from your flight plan,” Geffar went on, “rescuers would have
had a hard time finding you if you had gone down in the ocean . . . And making
an approach at an uncontrolled airport with no radios isn’t a good idea.
But
under the circumstances, your
decision did make sense . . .” Was she being turned around easy? No, she didn’t
think so. Come on, Geffar, stop the two-bit selfanalysis . . .

 
          
“I’m
afraid I wasn’t too concerned about Customs at that particular moment,” Van
Nuys said, looking earnest, “and Hokum did know I was arriving. One pass over
the field without a call to UNICOM would have alerted him that I was having
difficulty. But I take your points. There were other options that I no doubt
should have considered. But I never expected what greeted me. You made a very
impressive show in your flying machine out there, Sandra Geffar.

 
          
Was
that a V-22 you were flying?” She nodded. “The one with the missiles and guns
on board?” A half nod. The smile was back. “Well, I’m very glad you people
didn’t open fire, but Fm also glad I did what I did—it got me a chance to meet
you. ”

 
          
Compliments
again. They made her suspicious or nervous ... As she stood to leave he
struggled to his feet, towering over her. “I’m sorry if I made you feel
uncomfortable,” he said.

 
          
“You
didn’t.” But he did.

 
          
“May
I see you again?”

 
          
She
had been half-steeling herself for that question but it still startled her.
“This incident needs to be cleared up . . . Take care of yourself, Mr. Van
Nuys,” she said, and left.

 
          
She
headed for the exit, but at a last-minute thought she turned up the hallway and
found the room adjacent to Van Nuys’, belonging to Joseph Hokum. Before
knocking she patted the .45 underneath her jacket, knocked on the door, waited
a few seconds, then entered.

 
          
Several
of the chief s deputies and firemen were clustered around the bed. They had a
chart spread out on Hokum’s lap—of what GefiFar could not tell—and several
papers and what appeared to be fax or telex message sheets on the bedstand. As
soon as she came through the door one of the deputies moved quickly toward her
and she could see another pushing the nurse's call button.

 
          
“You’re
not allowed in here ...”