Chasing Barrett’S Fifty: A Book of Fiction

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

As always, this is a work of fiction. Some of the events are of my personal experience but the locations have been changed.

I would like to thank the following, as he is a flight instructor and gave me the finer points on formation flying.

Clarke ‘Otter’ McNeace, Director of Training & Standards

Fighter Combat International

The characters mentioned in this work of fiction and any resemblance to those living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2010

Previous Book

Chasing Roxanne

My books are dedicated to the men and women that served in the US Armed Forces during the Vietnam War and especially the 48,000 men and women of the Canadian Forces that served, yet never received a thank you from their government.

Contents

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

MCKINNEY, TEXAS -

COLLIN COUNTY COURT HOUSE

INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA - THE WEST SIDE.

HIS ROOM!

SATURDAY MORNING –

OLIVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA

That afternoon

Worcester, Massachusetts - Moving Day

Indianapolis, Indiana

Indianapolis, Indiana

Pastors Study

Cleveland Airspace,

West of Niagara Falls

Cleveland Airport - Three hours earlier.

White Rock, British Columbia

Provincetown, Massachusetts

South of Oliver, British Columbia.

The Retreat -

lake Atitlan, Guatemala

Oliver, British Columbia

Oliver, British Columbia

Palazzo Belmonte Retreat,

Italy – Late Afternooon.

2PM Washington, DC Time

Orange County, California -

John Wayne Airport

Dallas Love Field, Texas

Ft, Hood, Texas.

Residence Inn, Killeen, Texas

Oliver, British Columbia

Dallas Texas,

Oliver to Livingston, Montana

In the bedroom

The Retreat – Guatemala

Their wait was rewarded.

South of Livingston, Montana –

The Shooter and the Spotter.

South of Livingston, Montana –

JT and Hannibal.

The Cabin

Somewhere on the mountain

On the Mountain

JT’s position

Christian and Hannibal

The cabin

EPILOGUE

Oliver, British Columbia

Dallas, Texas

Indianapolis, Indiana

Tacoma, Washington

British Columbia Canada

MCKINNEY, TEXAS -

COLLIN COUNTY COURT HOUSE

All rise. The court bailiff ordered. The honourable Sheldon H. Larson Presiding.

US Air Force General Richard Washington (ret.), call sign Hannibal stood as the judge entered the courtroom. To his right was his new wife, Cynthia Ng, an FBI agent and to his left was US Marshal Clayton Thomas. They stood along with the rest of the court.

Today was the culmination of over 40-years of work to bring down a drug smuggling ring that had used US Fighter aircraft to import an almost pure cocaine, street named Roxanne.

Not to mention the destruction of homes this drug wrecked, but personal lives as well. His wife, Cindy had witnessed her brother’s death and later a friend, a Thai Security officer blown away when she opened an aircraft hangar door in Korat, Thailand.

Their best friend, Jerome Travis and wife Pamela, in an effort to show their deep friendship, flew to Indianapolis and there, they were thrust into this nightmare when in an attempt to disarm a hired gunman who was bent on killing Hannibal, shot Pamela.

The young man, burning with the need for revenge, was given false hopes in a world of smugglers and drug pusher; was killed in return.

Hannibal himself was not without scars. He had crashed an Air Force T-38 trainer into a western suburb of Indianapolis killing three people. The T-38 was found to be carrying Roxanne in a dummy missile.

Later he would be shot in a Texas shootout.

The smugglers lost several of theirs as well.

The shootout at the hangar in Ft. Worth revived images of the old west when guns settled disputes.

The ring leader Mathius Peterson sat behind his attorney. His head still bore a patchwork of tiny bandages where Hannibal had, in one shot, killed Melvin Anderson, an original member of the smuggling team - the bullet continuing on to graze Mathius’s head, taking out a chunk of skull and a little brain matter. He was scheduled to have a metal plate inserted where there had once been bone. As far as Hannibal was concerned he should have had the opportunity to take a second shot.

There would not have been a trial.

His once handsome and distinguished figure was marred with an eye that would be permanently bloodshot, and a scar indicating the path the bullet had taken across his head.

When he dared to look towards Hannibal’s way, it was with pure hatred.

Hannibal smiled. Cindy saw the sneer; wove her arm through Hannibal’s, moving closer and returned his stare.

This was the last case and the last sentencing of those involved.

For his part Sam Foster had received 25-years. The doctors had tried to re-attach his leg without success. It was too badly shattered.

Wendell Clark received the lightest sentence of all. He received 2-years of jail time, 8-years’ probation and had to serve 200-hours of community service in a drug rehab facility.

Melvin Anderson was dead.

Please be seated. The bailiff announced.

The judge picked up a very thick docket; reading some notes. He took off his glasses and pinched his nose, putting his glasses back on. This had been a long trial.

Mathius Peterson, please stand. The judge ordered.

Mathius did as ordered, along with his attorney, who buttoned his expensive dark suit jacket and clasped his hands in front. The murmur in the court fell to complete silence. There had been no live coverage and the courts cleared when top secret information was presented.

Mathius, I served in Panama as a Ranger. When Noriega was eventually captured I became fascinated with drug smuggling and the law so I put down my beret and took up the staff and scale of the judicial system. You held one of the highest offices of respect and trust.

The judge let that sink in

You welded unlimited power over the lives of men and women of the US military. As an Inspector General you abused the office and its integrity. Just seeing you in my courtroom turns my stomach. You destroyed the lives of many and tried to ruin the reputation of others. You are the lowest of the low. I have spent the past week trying to determine just what would be fair justice to those you disgraced.

What makes a person of such influence and power that you held, compel you to step to the dark-side as it was in Star Wars?

There was some small courteous laughter from the court room.

The judge waited for his attempt at humor to subside.

Was it greed or was it the position that made you feel invincible?

Again the judge let it sink in. Cindy took Hannibal’s hand in hers.

Mathius, you were the leader and from you, your office was responsible for the events that took place even if you had not physically given a direct order. It is my duty to insure you do not see the light of day for a very long, long time. I hereby order you to be immediately remanded to a maximum security prison in Marion, Illinois for the next 35-years without a chance of parole.

A buzz went around the courtroom.

Order! The judge said, looking at the spectators.

When the buzz had died down he continued. "I am also ordering that all of your available assets be taken and sold immediately. Your wife will have one-week to vacate the premises. I will allow her to keep her personal valuables, car and a few other personal items, family heirlooms, and property which she can document as being hers before your marriage.

She will be given a fixed lump sum of money, which I’d advice she use wisely once we have sold everything. I am told that the value of your assets equals in the neighbourhood of $6 million. The balance of that money will be placed into a victims fund to help those families that you have directly affected."

Once again the buzz started.

The judge did not say anything, letting the buzz die of its own accord. .

The courtroom got quiet again.

"And finally, I have spoken with the US Marshal’s office and the Pentagon. Your Honourable Discharge has been changed to Dishonourable. How can I let such a distinction and representation of honor go unlooked when in fact you were a disgrace to the uniform you wore? I have also stripped you of all ribbons, medals and awards.

And finally you, members of your immediate and extended family, and your heirs are hereby ordered not to sell rights and or profit from any book and movies rights. Case dismissed. The judge banged his gavel and stood, leaving the bewildered courtroom.

Hannibal was stunned. Holy shit! He whispered.

News reporters ran out of the room to get their feeds in with breaking news. It was still early enough to get live breaking coverage once outside. Cellphones came out of pockets like gangs pulling switchblades at an old fashioned street fight.

Federal Marshal Clayton Thomas turned to Hannibal. We did it! We nailed that son of a bitch! He made a fist, swinging it in the air.

Then he shook Hannibal’s hand vigorously.

Is this what they call throwing the book at someone? Cindy asked.

And then some, but I don’t feel sorry. The bastard used his office to push drugs. He fucked up. He thought he was too big to get caught.

Well they all do at some time. Ours was just longer. Forty damn years too long. Clayton said.

JT and Pamela are going to go ape when I tell them. You don’t mind if I do, do you? Cindy asked Hannibal.

No. Go ahead. Tell them I said hi. If they have their television on, they’re going to hear about it anyway. He kissed her.

She ran out of the courtroom digging in her purse for her Sat-phone.

As Mathius was led away in cuffs, his wife was screaming. What am I going to do? What am I going to live on? Where am I going to live?

Mathius did not bother to look back, he walked or convict shuffled; his posture still held military straight in defiance as he passed through a set of doors and they shut behind him.

Hannibal felt sorry for her, finding it hard to believe that she did not have a clue what had been going on. There is no way her husband could have afforded the means and ways of the life style they led on his military retirement. True with shrewd investments and savings it might have been possible, but Mathius was a big spender from the get-go.

No damn way.

Warning flags should have been going off right and left. Maybe she was enjoying the lifestyle too much and didn’t want to know. Now that the house of cards had fallen; it was too late.

She had to be subdued and forced into a chair to calm down. Her clothing was askew and her hair in disarray; her makeup smudged. She turned, looking in Hannibal’s direction.

She jumped up running. She took the straps of her purse swinging it like a club; her face twisted in rage.

You bastard! You fucking bastard! She screamed.

A fast thinking court bailiff tackled her to the floor. Another jumped in; pinning her down.

Let me go! Let me go so I can kill that bastard! She cried as makeup mixed with tears. Her stockings were ripped as she tried to stand. A high heel went sailing under a table.

Let’s get out of here. Clayton said.

Yeah, that sounds like a good plan.

Cindy had just re-entered the courtroom as they were trying to retreat.

What’s going on? She asked.

You don’t want to know. Hannibal said, taking her arm leading her back out the door.

I hope you rot in hell! They heard as the door shut.

Who was that? Cindy asked.

Estelle, Mathius’s wife and I think she’s slightly pissed.

At us?

Me.

You?

Yep. She wants to kill me.

Bitch. She should have known what was going on. Cindy said.

My sentiments exactly.

Do you think she’ll cause us problems? Cindy asked Clayton.

Hard to say. What is she going to do? We’ll monitor her activities as a precaution. Right now I think she’s in shock over the sentencing. I for one am, just as you must be. I hadn’t expected that.

Everything up in smoke. Hannibal snapped his finger. Gone in 60-Seconds.

INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA - THE WEST SIDE.

Jesse Jefferson looked around his new room. Well, not new but for the first time, but this was his very own room. He had lived in the basement, sleeping on a hide-a-bed sofa. For many years the basement was his haven to hide, eat, watch television, and just chill.

It was also next to the laundry room, thus an invitation to anyone in need to wash clothes at all hours of the day.

The racket from the unbalanced washer kept him from blasting enemy soldiers in Tom Clancy’s Ghost Recon. He’d forgotten how many times he died when he lost concentration.

Sometimes it was far more entertaining to watch the out of balance washer dance around the floor, banging the walls. It would automatically stop and restart when it was out of balance, and sometimes gave up totally; shutting down.

Since he was the only one that seemed to hear the damn thing, he got up, lifted the lid, pulled the clothes about and repositioned them. He had gotten good at this and the washer usually took off in a somewhat more civilized rinse cycle.

He’d return to his game; Game Over.

Now he had his own room. The previous occupant, T-Boy was buried and things had almost returned to normal, except missing the extra dinner plate.

With his father’s blessing he inherited T-Boys Honda, which had been damaged, but no one knew how and T-Boy never told. Next year he was taking drivers Ed and could get his beginners permit.

Jesse suspected that everything was somehow tied up in that jet crash.

HIS ROOM!

He had taken down what few items that had decorated the room by the previous owner except a couple of model cars. He turned on the computer and found T-Boy had put in a password on the Windows 7 login screen. No problem, he wasn’t interested in it anyway as he had his own notebook, unlike his sister who only had a NetBook. He’d download a disk cleaner from the manufacturer of the hard drive, burn a CD and wipe the drive clean. It had over 2 TB (Two Terabytes or 2,000 Gigabytes) of space, so he would use it as a backup or just sell the whole thing.

Walking around the room, he picked up a few things he didn’t want and threw them into the grey decorative wire basket. Then he started hanging his cloths up, at the same time looking at T-Boys to see what he should keep and that which he should throw away.

After an hour he had a medium-sized pile; got a trash bag and stuffed them in. His father called Goodwill and they were sending out a truck to pick it up.

Once he had his clothes hanging, his attention was attracted to an odd sight. He was trying to place his sweater on the upper shelf and noticed a section of wall missing. To get a better look, he got the computer chair and tried to stand on it. It started turning around sending him scrambling for a something to hold on to. He reached up to stabilize the swing by grabbing at a cross board and when he did, money came flying out.

Lots and lots of it.

So distracted was he about the flying money he lost his balance completely and fell.

His father’s voice came booming through the walls. What the hell is going on in there?

Confused, he didn’t say anything immediately.

Jesse, I asked what the hell is going on in there boy?

Nothing dad! He yelled back. Shit!

He scrambled; getting his footing and ran for the door. Opening it, he stepped outside and met his father in the hallway far enough away that he could not see around it. Nervously he looked back to see if the money could be seen from where he stood. He couldn’t see anything.

What are you doing boy? Tearing the house down?

No dad. I fell and hit the computer chair by accident. Everything’s OK now.

What were you doing that you’d fall?

I was trying to hang up my clothes and when I turned I didn’t see the chair dad. It was no big deal. I tripped, that’s all. He tried to mask his nervousness.

His father stood there for a few seconds; eyeballing him. ….Just keep it down OK and don’t be breaking anything.

Sorry dad, I’ll be more careful.

He walked away without saying anything.

Making sure his father had indeed left, heading back into the kitchen or wherever it was that he had come from, he followed him down the hallway, just enough to peek around the corner watching. Satisfied, he hurried back into the room. So as not to cause suspicion, he left the door open, but quickly gathered up the money.

What was he going to do? There was a lot of it.

He searched frantically for something to put the money into. Suddenly he saw an old computer case that he knew T-Boy had stripped the insides to make the one he had now. Quickly he pulled out his Gerber all-purpose utility knife, removing the four screws; one eye and ear on what he was doing, the other watching and listening for his father’s footsteps.

With the side panel off, he was rewarded with tons of hiding space. Quickly he stacked the bills inside. He went back to the closet, this time paying attention to what he was holding onto, felt around in the hole, finding several more bills. Satisfied there were no more, he quickly raced back to the old computer case, placed the money inside and put the side panel back on.

He pushed it back under the desk.

Now what to do?

Where did T-Boy get that money? He had heard when he was taken to the hospital where he was pronounced dead, they found a lot of money in his pockets. Since it was never claimed it was turned over to his father along with the other items they found. Since it had been assumed to be drug money, at first he refused. His wife sat him down and convinced him to take it; get a headstone for his grave and with the remainder put it into the bank for the sake of the kids. Something he would not have been able to do otherwise. He relented, opened small trust funds, and as far as he was concerned washed his hands of the ‘dirty’ money to better the lives of his children.

His head was swirling with ideas. First I’ve got to get the damage to the Honda fixed; a small gold chain……. Oh man! Now I can get that Lil Wayne vest and shirt. If there’s enough left over a diamond stud for my ear.

Dad is gonna freak big time. But it’s my money and I’ll do whatever I want!

He had never seen so many dignitaries: Grant, Benjamin, Washington, and Lincolns in one place.

How was he going to tell Dad?

‘Hey Dad, you’ll never guess…..’

Crap, knowing him he’ll make me give it to the police and they’ll hold on to it forever, or was it 30-days trying to find the owners? It didn’t matter, by then I could be riding in style.

How much money was there? He needed to count it later and find a more secure and permanent hiding place.

He checked the room one more time, shut his notebook down, closed the door and joined the family as if it were just another day.

SATURDAY MORNING –

OLIVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA

JT turned the corner in time to see Elmer J. Fudd turn to the audience; in this case two small children, place his larger than life finger to his mouth and whisper, Be very, very quiet. We’re hunting a Wascally Wabbit.

He stopped to watch a cartoon from his childhood.

Elmer; dressed in his hunting gear, tip-toed across the screen, accentuated by the plink-plink-plink of piano keys.

Eh, what’s up Doc? Bugs Bunny said as he chomped off a piece of his favourite meal; a carrot.

Raising his shotgun to shoot, Bugs was faster and placed his