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Correct. She pulled out a small box, flicked it open, and pulled out a syringe.
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What the
She slid the needle into his arm. Coolness flooded the vein, and he didn t even know what to fight
against.
Some kind of truth serum? Or a lethal cocktail? He battled the darkness for once, confused for the first
time by her behavior.
Why had she been so gentle with the shot?
EIGHT
The nocturnal city skyline splayed out beyond Jimmy s windscreen. He manned the stick as the primary
pilot tonight with Vince riding shotgun, the control panel spread in front of them. Chuck waited
somewhere down there, if only the tracking chip could give them a more precise locale than the five-mile
radius somewhere in downtown Istanbul. But the developmental device wasn t large enough to work
as an actual GPS.
At least the reads on Chuck s vitals reassured them he lived. Although his heart rate spiked so high
sometimes they knew bad shit was going down on a regular basis. Chuck wasn t vacationing on the
Riviera.
The weight of what their brother-in-arms must be suffering thickened the air with his presence.
If only tonight could bring Chuck s rescue, but they didn t have enough data and couldn t risk tipping
their hand. So they flew this flight in preparation as an orientation sortie. Jimmy maintained a higher
altitude to aid the cloak of darkness, which made the low-power chip tougher to pinpoint. However, if
anyone could milk more info out of the transmitter, the colonel would succeed.
Lieutenant Colonel Scanlon worked in the cargo bay, undoubtedly hunched over the makeshift console
monitoring the tracking controls. Once they completely fielded the gear months into the future it
would be installed in aircraft flight decks.
For now, the prototype was strapped in back with its mishmash of orange wires distinguishing it from
permanent parts of the plane. Jimmy had lost count of how many orange-wired aircraft he d flown on a
wing and a prayer that everything would work as advertised.
No night-vision goggles this time, given how close they were to the wash of city lights. Instead, they
would rely on the FLIR, the forward looking infrared camera.
Vapor thumbed the interphone mic. Remember the time Chuck saved Jimmy s ass in the Officers Club
bar at Nellis, when those fighter pilots swarmed around the pool table playing crud?
The radio crackled with the heavily accented voice of the air traffic controller. Blackbird two-two, reset
altimeter two-niner-niner-eight.
Jimmy keyed up the radio. Copy, two-niner-niner-eight. Two-niner-niner-eight set pilot.
Vapor reset his altimeter and keyed up his interphone, Set copilot.
Jimmy remembered that evening well. When are they not in the club playing crud?
Vapor chuckled low. No dodging the story, my brother.
Spill it, Smooth coaxed over the airwaves. I haven t heard this one.
Fine. I was minding my own business, drinking an Alabama slammer
Hitting on a smoking-hot babe who flew F-15s, Vapor interjected.
Yeah, whatever. This arrogant fighter dude from her squadron was shooting off his mouth faster than
those pool balls whipping across the table. I managed to press the mental mute button on most of his
bullshit.
But the kicker?
Hey, Vapor? Do you want to tell the story? Jimmy waited until his pal sagged back. He said that
sometimes, late at night, he had to get his wife to remind him he s just a normal man.
Smooth whistled low.
Vapor shook his head. I swear on my favorite dog s grave Jimmy levitated off the floor. Thank God
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Chuck tackled him fast enough for the rest of us to restrain him, or he would have beat the inflated ego
right out of that jackass.
Jimmy adjusted the heading to correct for a wind shift. Chuck always had the coolest head.
Has, Lieutenant Colonel Scanlon barked through the headset. Not had. No past tense.
Silence crackled over the airwaves. Vapor s jaw worked as if he was trying to come up with something
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