PARADOX - Chapter 35

Chapter 35

May 4, 2012 – Dulles International Airport, Chantilly, Virginia



The flight from Munich to Dulles was long and tedious. Not long in the sense that it took more time than usual, but long in that Monday had too much time to think. He realized that he was not living up to his abilities and berated himself for putting most of the work and thinking on Chester’s shoulders. He’d missed some of the obvious clues to Dorbec’s potential moves, and he had been conducting himself like an amateur every since he met Daria.

As soon as he cleared customs and left the secure area, Monday spotted a man waiting for him near the exit. He had no reason to suspect that he was the person whom Huck had arranged to meet him, but the man did have that air about him which bespoke Government Service; clean shaven, ruffled suit, hundred yard stare, and slouchy posture. He was around six feet tall, reddish blond hair, clipped moustache, and, for a man in his early to mid forties, very athletically built.

“Dr. Stiehl!” the man blurted, slowly rising from his slouched position. “Special Agent Lofton.”

Monday returned his cool appraising stare. “Call me Monday. I don’t operate on people and don’t have a medical degree, so Monday it is.”

“Your brother said you were informal,” Lofton chuckled. “If it wasn’t for your close cropped hair I’d have plugged you for Huck. The resemblance is uncanny.”

“Identical twins do have a strange habit of looking alike. You have our next set of wheels ready to roll?”

“Got a wagon waiting to take us to Andrews Air Force Base. Huck mentioned that time was of the essence so I pulled some sticky strings and got a couple of F15 Eagles to drive us to New Mexico. Guard pilots desperately need the flight hours.”

Monday looked closer at the man. “You’re going to Los Alamos with me?”

“My job, should I accept it, is to stick to you like shit on a shingle until Uncle Sugar says otherwise. That not only means New Mexico, but anywhere in the world you may decide to traipse off to. The White House has special interest in you for some reason, which is beyond my pay grade to know at this time.”

Monday liked the man. There was a very refreshing and no nonsense atmosphere about him. “Infantry?” He asked, as they headed for the terminal exit. “And, Agent Lofton does sound a bit on the formal side.”

“Grunt for twenty years and proud of it. Stopped a few rounds in my day, drank a few beers, told lots of war stories which all started with, ‘No shit, there I was.’ Duke will do in lieu of Lofton.”

“OK, Duke it is. Is that from ‘The Duke’ as in John Wayne, or something else?”

“Name comes from my origins,” he smiled. “Lofton derives from the Anglo Saxons of Britain around 900 AD during the time of King Alfred. In Old Norse, Lopt meant loft and Hus meant house, therefore Lopthus’ or those who lived in a loft, respelled later on as Lofton. Only the nobility had lofts in those days, high mucky-mucks such as Dukes and Earls. My Grunts found out about it and dubbed me: His Royal High-Ass” but I settled for The Duke, just like your guys call you, Cowboy.”

“No need to guess, you have read the official dossier on my background?”

“Yep, lock, stock, and barrel. And if I may say, very impressive reading too. The Company likes to collect all kinds of trivia on people. It’s kinda what we do best.”

A sleek black limo with a driver was waiting for them as they exited the terminal. “You even rate a chauffeur.” The Duke smiled as he and Monday slid into the back seat.

“I’ll lay odds that it’s armored too,” Monday smiled back, noticing the thick bulletproof glass on the windows.

In no time flat they were at Andrews Air Force Base. The limo did not stop at the security gate but was flagged straight threw and rolled out to the tarmac where two sleek F15 Eagles were parked.

“We were followed,” The Duke remarked, as they exited the limo. “Two or three cars back, all the way from Dulles. I know now why Huck wanted to provide you with a babysitter.” He patted the lump under his left arm to assure himself that his piece was still riding in place.

“Any chance of a loaner?” Monday asked, pointing at the obvious bulge.

“Beyond my pay grade,” The Duke answered, pulling a small Baretta from a holster on his right leg and handing it to Monday. “I didn’t give that to you. In fact, I ain’t never seen it before.”

“Better than nothing. Bet you’re a Glock man, “ Monday returned, referring to The Dukes choice of weapons.

“Lost your bet Cowboy. I carry a Colt Python .357 Magnum with special loads. You’re partial to a SIG-Sauer, 45ACP P220R.”

“I know,” Monday smiled. “You read my file. What about our tail, you gonna report them?”

“I’ll call it in but I ain’t worried. Unless they have something that can out run a F15 Eagle, we have no problems. We’ll be at Kirtland Air Force Base before they can hump their asses and fart in the wind.”

Within a few minutes the two Eagle drivers, one male and one female captain, climbed into their cockpits to warm the engines. The female officer signaled for Monday to join her and for The Duke to go to the next bird. A technical sergeant helped him into the back seat driver’s position, then signaled with a thumbs up that all was green for go.

Monday had never flown in a jet fighter before. Most of his hundreds of flights had been on the C130 Hercules or C141 Starlifter sitting side by side with the remainder of his Team. The experience was exhilarating. The F-15E Strike Eagle is a twin engine, all weather, tactical fighter designed to gain air superiority in aerial combat. It can reach speeds exceeding 1,600 mph, and has a ferry range of around 3,400 miles. Loaded for bear, its range drops to around 1,200 miles. Their trip to Albuquerque would not require refueling in flight.

Monday looked out the cockpit to his right to see the other Eagle keeping pace with the one he was in. It was so close he could see the green color darkening on The Dukes face. Obviously Lofton was not accustomed to flying, or at least not adapted to military flying, which was much different than the smooth ride of a civilian passenger jet. He gave the thumbs up only to see Loften reaching for the barf bag kept available for those with weak stomachs.

“Have you at Kirtland in time for happy hour,” his pilot said over the radio. “Heard that the Officer’s Club at Kirtland has some of the best chow you can find on any base.” Her voice sounded young and more like a private secretary than a fighter pilot.

“Unfortunately Kirtland is a quick change over,” Monday replied. “We have transport waiting to take us to our final destination.”

“Too bad,” She replied with a very sexy overtone in her voice.

“Was the pilot flirting with him?” he wondered. “Hell! He was old enough to be her father.” But that had never prevented girls younger than her from flirting with him during the lectures he gave.

The flight was over before Monday realized it. From Washington D.C. to Albuquerque was a very long distance in his mind, but not for these war birds. For them, it was more like a trip down to the corner speedy mart. The change from the damp cool weather of D.C to the dry heat of the West was more of a shock than the flight itself. Monday could feel his nostrils starting to dry up. As a ground crew member assisted him down from the jet, the young pilot waved good bye to him. The Duke was staggering towards him, his face still a light shade of green.

“Don’t like flying, Duke?”

“I’m Infantry. If I wanted to fly I would have joined the damn Air Force. If I wanted to be on a boat I would have joined the Damn Navy. And, if I wanted to jump out of perfectly good airplanes like you Special Forces pukes, I’d have went Airborne. I was a happy ground pounder for many years and I plan on staying that way.”

Monday pointed at a helicopter warming up on the tarmac. It was clear that the next jaunt of their trip was back into the air. The Duke glanced in the direction he pointed and let out a deep moan. “They have something against ground transportation?” he gasped, heading towards the chopper.

As soon as they landed at Los Alamos, a squad of security police hustled them from the flight line into a waiting humvee. The ride to a special building took no time at all. In fact, they could have easily walked the distance to stretch their stiff legs. His brother Huck met them in the security office and presented them with special badges to clip onto their pockets.

“Gotta wear these at all times,” Huck remarked as he handed the badge to Monday then hugged him tight. “Security here is pretty damn tight.”

Huckleberry Stiehl was the spitting image of Monday, except he had a thick crop of gangly hair. “You cannot go anywhere without an escort,” he continued. “There are too many areas off limits except to those people working in them and the security personnel here take their jobs very seriously.”

Monday pointed at Lofton who was ruffled at being relieved of his personal weapon.

“My orders are to allow him to be with you at all times,” Huck remarked. “You have any hidden weapons on you?” He gave Monday a sideways glance. Monday removed the Baretta from his jacket pocket and passed it over to the security sergeant. “Not now,” he smiled.

Huck shook his head and motioned for them to follow him.