FIRE ON HIGH
“Fire On High” is a work of fiction, and
any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. All
characters and settings © Tigermark 2003-2018 unless
otherwise noted. Request permission before using them, please.
The characters
of Anatol Altaisokova and Melinda Altaisokova
are my names for characters © Max Blackrabbit. They
appear in this story with his permission. The characters of Brandy, Maxwell,
Tonya and Zig Zag are also © Max Blackrabbit and
appear here with his permission. Events and information relating to Tonya,
Anatol, and their family are presented here, but are not to be considered canon
to those characters or any other story but this one. ZZ Studios, and all
characters associated with ZZ Studios, James Sheppard, and Marvin Badger © James
Bruner and appear here with his permission.
Although characters from and events referring to Zig Zag the Story
appear here, this story is not canon to that one, and the author will disavow
any knowledge of this story. Wanda Vixen © Chris Yost and appears here with his
permission. Sabrina Mustidalae © Eric W. Schwartz and
appears here with his permission. This story is not canon to Sabrina Online the
comic, or Sabrina Online the Story, either. Matt Barstock,
Angie Rockwell, Intermountain Charter, The Bitch, and her crew, and Jerry Kitt
© Silver Coyote. See their story HERE. Gail Rutherford © me and is not canon to any
other story involving ZZ Studios. Gabrielle Ryder and Jean LeBrun
© Aslaug, from her Transitions stories. See them at her site, The Axe Shed,
available from the links page. Aramis Dagaz is© his
player and appears here with his permission.
Author’s Note:
Lewiston, Maine’s airport, identifier KLEW, is actually
uncontrolled. That is, it has no control tower. Poetic license was used
for this story, so Alex and company talk with a control tower whilst aviating
there.
Chapter
111
Interviews
Corrie sighed and
tried to ease a kink out of her tail. It was Tuesday and they were beginning
the series of interviews that would determine who the finalists would be for
their three pilots. She and Billy would interview five each, then switch and
each interview the other five. They’d then compile and compare a final three,
and then hash out any differences between their lists. The final three would be
offered the jobs. They were looking not only for good helicopter pilots, but
also for good personalities to work with each other and their passengers.
Since all ten
would be there, they were going to do both rounds today. The final three would
come in Friday for an orientation and paperwork interview session. It had been
super hectic, as last week had been all travel and flying to get their
helicopters to Lexington. The white and silver Longranger
had come home last Friday, and the second blue and silver Jetranger
yesterday. Alex’s, and yes, she had to admit, her MD-520N had made the trip to
Lexington Wednesday. Allaistor still had it and the
last Jetranger at Bluegrass Aviation making sure all
was perfect.
Rolling her head
on her shoulders, she prepared to start.
“Okay Kath, send in the first one,” the lioness said after
she toggled the intercom.
“On his way, Ms. Patterson,” Kath replied professionally.
Presently, a rakish-looking Doberman in a dark suit walked into the hangar, and then blinked. Corrie could see whoever came out through the line of windows between the hangar floor and the combined lounge and office. Looking around, he spotted Corrie at her desk and made his way into the large room. Corrie stood and held a paw out over her desk.
“G’morning. Have a seat, Mister?”
“George Ballas, the best chopper pilot the Army ever made. Pleased to meet you, Ms. Patterson. It’s certainly going to be a pleasure to see you at work every day.”
Corrie pulled short of the pawshake and arched an eyebrow at the Doberman. He back-peddled a bit.
“Er, that is, a pleasure to come to work here each day.”
She went ahead then and shook paws and they went on with the interview. The fur was sharp on procedures but was very over the top in both his bravado and innuendo. Corrie even prominently displayed her engagement ring a couple of times. It had barely slowed the canid down. She finally ended the interview and sent him out.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she wondered if she was being oversensitive. Billy’s interview with the fur would be in the afternoon. She’d wait to see what he thought of the fur. Setting herself for the next one, she toggled the intercom.
“Okay Kath, send in the next.”
“Right away Ms. Patterson.”
The lioness wondered what the collie was doing to keep cheerful and also keep everyone at bay. After a moment a dark-haired felid femme with pale grey fur stepped into the hangar and around into the room. She was slim, but not skinny, wearing a nice top and slacks, but not overdressed. Her carriage and manner were confident, but not cocky. She approached the desk and smiled. Corrie began the interview.
“G’day, have a seat, Ms?”
The femme smiled broader and extended a paw. “Kate Bishop. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Patterson.”
Corrie shook paws and indicated the chair in front of the desk. The femme sat down as Corrie glanced over her resumé again. U.S. Army trained. Left her commission about three years ago. Flew Jetrangers for a medivac company. She looked up into a pair of warm green eyes.
“Ms. Bishop, what brings you here? Why do you want to fly with us?”
The felid smiled. It had a good, friendly quality.
“Tired of my cargo being folks trying to die. I flew medivac with the Army, right after 9/11 and since, and then civilian medivac. I’d like to have passengers that can load and unload themselves.”
The interview progressed. The felid was plain-spoken, lively without being overboard. She sounded like a good match, so Corrie put a star by her name on the checklist. Rising, she dismissed the femme.
“Thank you, Ms. Bishop, I—”
“Please, call me Kate.”
Corrie gave a nod. “Alright Kate, Mr. Panelli will interview you this afternoon. Thank you.”
The felid femme stood and walked out, leaving a smile and a wave.
The rest of the morning followed the same pattern. The next candidate was a tall beagle named Frank Turner, who was prior U.S.A.F. The fur was so quiet that Corrie had to practically drag answers out of him. She decided he’d be great for cargo, but not for pax.
The next was a bear, literally. Kyle Stanton was a six-foot tall black bear, very gruff and growly. He would also have done well with cargo or even medivac, but he had all the charm of a cactus bush.
Corrie sighed to herself as she called for her last morning interview. The spaniel mix femme named Helena Keener seemed friendly. Civilian trained, she just did meet their requirements for hours and certifications. Medium height, brunette, giving a very perky vibe, but as the session progressed, Corrie almost felt like she was the one being interviewed. The femme talked constantly, with Corrie having to wedge her questions in when the canid took a breath. Most business types or celebrities liked friendly as long as it knew when to shut up. With a breath of relief, she ended the interview and sent the still-talking femme back out. She then toggled the intercom.
“Kath, that’s it until aftah lunch. We’ll staht again in an hour.”
“You got it, Ms. Patterson,” the collie replied.
Corrie again rubbed the bridge of her nose, hoping Round 2 in the afternoon would be better.
# # #
The lioness was in much better spirits when she returned from lunch. Alex had taken her to a small place he’d found in Versailles that served good food and quiet atmosphere. Now it was time to start on the afternoon round of interviews. Corrie had said hello to Kath as she came through. Billy was just returning to his office as well. He gave her a wave as she went by.
Settling at her desk, she pulled the next resumé and checklist out. Bob Lanerton was an Irish Setter in his mid-twenties. He had much more fixed-wing time than helicopter, but he did meet the requirements. With a nod she toggled the intercom.
“Kathleen, send in the next on the list, please.”
“On his way, Ms. Patterson,” The collie replied, still sounding energetic and upbeat.
The canid who came around the corner was about 5’10”, lanky, with a general air of carefree goofiness. Not a bad trait by itself, but it didn’t exactly inspire confidence. He walked up to the desk and stuck out his paw.
“Hi Ms. Patterson, Bob Lanerton, pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Corrie smiled as she shook paws. “Bob, have a seat.”
The interview went okay, except the Setter asked several times if there was any fixed-wing work. At the end of the interview, as he walked back out, she found she liked the fur, but he wasn’t what they were looking for, and they weren’t what he really wanted.
The lioness called for the next candidate. Jaqueline Hernandez was a leopardess, about 5’8” tall. Jet black hair, grey eyes. She was slim and well-proportioned, and her manner as she came around the corner was smooth and confident. Another former Army Blackhawk pilot, she’d listed her current job as corporate pilot.
“G’day, have a seat Ms?” Corrie began her standard intro.
“Jaqueline Hernandez, please call me Jaqi,” the femme replied as she offered a paw. Corrie shook it and sat back down to begin.
“So, I see you’re currently a corporate pilot for Jenco. Sounds pretty sweet, why ahe you leaving?”
The femme’s smile only barely dimmed. “Got a new boss who thought his paw belonged on parts of me it didn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some hair-trigger-think-everything-is-sexual-harassment type. I just had enough. The company fired him, but the work environment was a bit tainted after that.”
“Fair enough,” Corrie conceded. She liked that the femme hadn’t raised her voice or gotten screechy about it. She also gave the femme points for how she was dressed. Stylish but not overboard, and not overly revealing, but not prudish, either. She starred this femme’s name on the list, too. They talked about helicopters and the flying they expected to be doing. If Corrie hadn’t set a timer, they may have talked all afternoon.
She dismissed the leopardess and called for the next fur in line. Jack Panjaabi turned out to be a fast-talking, almost twitchy mongoose. He was only 5’5”, but he seemed to be trying to compress enough nervous energy for someone 6’6” into his frame. During the interview, he seemed very flighty, and that was something that would not set pax at ease. He’d almost made Corrie jumpy as well by the time he left.
Next was a tall 6’3” brown bear named Bill Slater. He was a decorated Chinook pilot who’d worked with Special Forces. The fur came across very reserved, almost taciturn. He answered Corrie’s questions with only yes or no answers. After ten minutes, Corrie was done. She dismissed him, and with a polite nod and a “Thank you,” he left. They wanted to hire veterans, but this particular fur screamed flashback to her. She’d seen several of the same type looking for work from Ben. Of those, two had ended up suicidal, and one had ended up in a mental hospital. It was only by God’s providence that none had died or had their breakdown while in the air. For Corrie’s part, if they’d been hiring for cargo operations, Bill Slater would probably have done great, but he was a big question mark for passenger ops.
“Okay Kathleen, send in the last one,” Corrie called on the intercom, rubbing the bridge of her nose again.
“On her way, Ms. Patterson,” the collie replied, herself sounding a bit less high-energy than usual.
When the puma femme turned the corner, it was like the sun came out. Corrie took note that her walk was smooth, confident, and a bit saucy. There was no one to observe it but her, so she assumed the femme always walked that way. She came into the office and a brilliant smile lit her face. She approached the desk and extended a paw.
“Hi, I’m Farrah Townsend, thank you for the interview. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The femme was a 5’8” blue-eyed blonde on the curvy side. She’d flown Chinooks in the Army and had worked for several civilian operators since. She’d flown everything from Jetrangers to Skycranes. Corrie shook paws and they sat down.
“Nice to meet you, Farrah. I’m Corrinne Patterson. I see you’ve been around a lot since leaving the Ahmy. Any particular reason?”
Her smile never dimmed. “Oh! I love your accent. Yes, there is. No one would take me seriously. I’m a very capable femme, and a very good pilot, but even after I’d prove myself as good or better than anyone where I worked, I’d still get treated like some decorative token. I can see that won’t be the case here.”
The femme still smiled but looked at Corrie levelly. She had the sort of smile that made you want to smile back. Corrie could tell she was a bit bubbly and very upbeat, but also wouldn’t take any harassment from anyone. They talked more about helicopters and operations. The lioness found that with the upbeat attitude came a keen mind. She was easy-going, level-headed, and enjoyable to talk to. Again, the timer chimed, and she dismissed the femme.
After marking her list, she followed the puma out to Kath’s reception desk. She met Billy as he followed Helena Keener out. The femme was still talking. When they met at Kath’s desk, Billy made a brief dismissal.
“Thank you all for coming in, we appreciate your time. Corrinne and I will go over our results and pick a final three. Kathleen will call those three for a Friday final interview and to do paperwork. If you don’t get a call by midday tomorrow, we’re sorry, you didn’t make the cut. Have a good evening, all.”
The ten furs began milling around, gathering coats and bags and heading out the door. After the last one left, Billy and Corrie both blew out a breath.
“That went well,” Billy commented. Both Corrie and Kath laughed.
“Yeah, well, now we know anyway. How does your list look?” Corrie inquired.
“I got three, but you may think I’m being a dirty ol’ fur, cause all three are femmes,” Billy replied.
Corrie gave him a speculative look, her eyebrow slightly arched. “Well, you did proposition me.”
Kath did a double take as Billy rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“I walked into that one. Kath, it’s an in-joke between us that happened when I proposed starting Helipro. Okay you smart-alec, are you ready to compare lists?”
Both Corrie and Kath sat down, Kath still snickering.
“Yeah, I am,” Corrie stated.
“I’m ready to record the results and give input as needed,” Kath added.
Billy pulled up a chair and sat down, too. “Then let’s do this. I’ll start. George Ballas, no.”
“Definitely not. He big-notes himself and he’s a walking sexual harassment case,” Corrie supplied. They both looked at Kath.
“What? Don’t look at me, I didn’t like him either. In fact, if you’d hired him, I’d have likely quit.”
Both Billy and Corrie made a face at that, so Billy went on.
“Kate Bishop, yes. Like her plain-spoken manner.”
“Yep, I liked her from the staht,” Corrie added. Kath just nodded yes.
“Frank Turner. He’d make a great cargo pilot, not what we want, though,” Billy said.
“I thought he was too quiet, too aloof,” Corrie agreed.
“He was a nice guy, but yeah, very quiet,” Kath added as she marked him off.
“Kyle Stanton. Too rough. McCrory would like him, but not most of our potential pax,” Billy stated.
“Agreed,” Corrie simply added. Kath just nodded and marked him off.
“Helena Keener. Oh dear kittens she wouldn’t stop talking!” Billy sounded exasperated. Corrie grinned and agreed. Kath just shook her head and marked the femme off.
Now Corrie led off. “Bob Lanerton. Nice guy, goofy, but he wants to fly fixed-wings. No.”
“Agreed, not a bad guy, but his interest is in fixed wings,” Billy concurred.
Kath nodded. “He was fun and funny out here, but he wants to fly corporate jets.”
“Jaqi Hernandez, yes. If she’s as smooth on the controls as she appears, she’ll be ouah most popular pilot with the pax,” Corrie continued.
“Another who is as pretty as she is competent. I liked her style,” Billy added.
“She was polite and nice to me,” Kath stated as she marked the femme in the yes column.
“Jack Panjaabi. Coo, I thought he was gonna explode. Way too high-strung and nervous,” Corrie said with a shake of her head.
“Yep, too jittery for our choppers,” Billy simply said. Kath just nodded.
“Bill Slater, no. He’s a good fur, but I think he has other issues to work out before he’d be a good fit with pax,” Corrie stated.
Billy nodded. “I’ve seen guys like him. Very quiet and reserved until one day something triggers them. If we were doing cargo or SAR I’d take him, but he’s not a good fit for pax.”
Kath nodded. “He had kind of a creepy vibe going. He was very polite, but he made me feel uncomfortable.”
“And finally, Farrah Townsend. Loved her confidence and smile, and the fact she’s no dumb blonde. Pax will like her,” Corrie concluded.
“Yep, she rounds out my three. Liked her positive attitude,” Billy added.
Kath smiled. “I like her, too, even though I resisted it. She wants this in spite of her looks, not because of them. If these are our three, I’ll call them first thing tomorrow for them to come in on Friday. I have Kate Bishop, Jaqueline Hernandez, and Farrah Townsend.”
Billy snorted and began to laugh, nearly to tears. Both Corrie and Kath looked at him oddly. After a moment he could speak again.
“I know this was before your time, but there used to be a TV show with three beautiful femmes who were private detectives, and they worked for a boss who was just a voice on a telephone. Anyway, the actresses who played the parts had the same first names as these three. Kate, Jaqueline, and Farrah. Oh dear sweet fluffy kittens! Helipro could now be nicknamed Billy’s Angels.”
The two femmes simply gave him a blank look as Billy broke down laughing again.
# # #
Jefferson Mastifson was deep in thought. He was still well ahead of the curve in his FAA duties, so he’d devoted some time to thinking through the flames in his mind. They were like a driving itch that stayed just below the surface. One he could resist scratching to maintain his presence in polite society, but that he looked forward to scratching when he could. Initially, he’d thought any striped fur would do, but after some consideration he decided he didn’t really want to hunt a femme. He may like cruel mind and power games with them, but he found he really liked them and didn’t want to harm one. He also realized that hunting femmes was a poor choice to prepare to ultimately get O’Whitt. He could imagine doing what he was thinking of doing to a series of femmes, only to be squashed like a bug when he finally went after the tiger.
He'd done some internet research, carefully routed through a search browser that kept no record of where it went. He’d looked up serial killers and their methods, and how they were eventually caught. That was another reason he’d rejected femmes. Most serial killers had a sexual component to their need to kill. That passion made them blind to some mistakes they made. There was also the strange habit of taking and keeping trophies. The only trophy Mastifson wanted was O’Whitt dead at his feet.
He was thinking through his targeting. Striped white males weren’t all that common, especially white and black striped. Mephits really didn’t fit the pattern, unless they were wildly striped like that notorious porn star. Zebra’s fit, as shown by his reaction to his waitress that time. They were still rare outside Africa. White tigers, white and striped pattern felids or canids, or hybrids who displayed that pattern. Those were his choices. After a few minutes’ thought, he rejected staying with only striped targets as being too restrictive. These were to be just practice targets, after all.
He thought about methods. Firearms were certain, but also noisy, easily traced, and seemed vulgar to his sensibilities. A knife, also easily tracked and messy. Thinking about his prey, he decided that using most physical means would be unworkable with O’Whitt. He knew the tiger was a martial arts master, and also that he usually went armed. He struck upon the idea of using some type of incapacitating agent. Pulling up his laptop, he did a discrete search and found an article on the incident in Russia where an incapacitating agent was used to liberate a theater full of furs held hostage by terrorists just the previous Fall. Many of the hostages had died from the agent, but it had worked. He made note of what the agent was and continued his thoughts. He thought about killing with a lethal single hit of tranquilizing agent and death dealing drug but decided that would be too easy to find in an autopsy, and also likely as dangerous to the hunter as the prey. It did give him the idea of a two step kill. First a way to incapacitate, and then a carefully faked overdose. That struck a chord with him, feeling it suited his style and his goal much better. What could be better than to see O’Whitt dead at his feet, and then have it come out that the ace war hero had overdosed on drugs.
Mastifson actually laughed. Yes, what the tiger had seen and done had finally become too much for him. It would be tragic, and the Rottweiler would laugh up his sleeve the whole time. That idea also gave him a starting point. He’d learn to hunt the drug districts for his prey. There he’d have to be careful. The police watched such areas, and he’d stick out like a sore thumb. His research and planning would take a while, as he didn’t want to do any of this in Lexington. The more he did his hunting away from home, the better not to get caught in a pattern, and the less likely it was that he would alert O’Whitt to the fact he’d become prey.
Some discrete searches would show him the greatest concentration of drug addicts in a certain city, and a way to lay his paws on the drugs he’d need without being traced or caught. Now, with a plan solidifying in his mind, the flames hissed and sang to him from behind his eyes. Part of his mind was warning him that he was now so far across the line into insanity that he couldn’t even see it behind him. “So What,” the flames hissed. He maintained to himself that once O’Whitt was dealt with, he’d be perfectly fine again.
# # #
It was early Friday morning when Mastifson began in earnest on part one of his plan. He’d stopped the night before on his way home at a home improvement store. He was perusing for things that could help keep him from leaving traces that could be used to link him to his prey. His “kit” came together as if he preplanned it. Black nitrile gloves, two sizes too large to cover protective mechanics gloves so that he wouldn’t accidentally injure or stab himself with the needle he’d determined to use to inject his fatal drugs. Hooded black Tyvex coveralls to make sure he didn’t shed any trace fur or get any traces of his prey on him. Shoe covers for the same purpose. He’d had the idea of wearing shoes of two different sizes, and possibly even modify one so that the print it made was backward. He’d tape the wrists and ankles with black duct tape to insure nothing got out. He’d tried everything on after he’d gotten home. He thought he looked rather ninja-like with it all on, as the hooded suit combined with a face mask to insure nothing from him would be left behind left only his eyes visible. Still too conspicuous to walk the streets, though, so he’d give some more thought to a workable disguise. The suit, gloves, covers, and masks were easily disposable.
Now though, came the first tricky part. He’d located an elderly veterinarian in Georgia who’d just passed away. He’d “borrowed” the fur’s online credentials and signed in to a vet supply company in Iowa. He ordered syringes in diabetic supplies, spray dispensers under analgesic systems, and finally the real test. He ordered both aerosol analgesic containing Fontadyne, and enough pure Fontadyne for his purposes. The doctor was licensed to use it, but if the company rejected the order, he’d have to try something else. The order processed and sent him on to checkout. He’d set up a disposable online account and put enough in it to pay for what he wanted. That account is how he paid now. It went through, and he sent it to a commercial P.O. box in Atlanta. He’d set that up as a drop for notes to a certain married dessert several months back. They’d parted company, but he’d paid for the box for six months, so he had both keys.
Last, he emptied and closed the online account. He’d fly to Atlanta this weekend and seek out dessert, as was his usual pattern. He’d also begin scouting for his first practice target. His last thought before he left for work, echoed in the flames behind his eyes, made him sport an evil grin.
“Beware O’Whitt, and all prey, the hunt is on.”
End of Chapter 111