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
114
Kills
Saturday morning
found Alex going to see Scatcat Higgins. He was
scheduled to fly with the Tigerkahts newest pilot, an
ocelot First Lieutenant straight out of training, that afternoon. A message had
been waiting for him when he’d signed in to the squadron to go see the General.
He arrived at
Group Headquarters, which was the term in use now, and went up to the second
floor. He walked down the hall until he reached the door for Brigadier General
Bartholomew Higgins, Group Commander. The reception office was empty, the
computer screen on the desk dark. At the back of the room was a solid wooden
door. Alex walked to it and knocked sharply. He heard the traditional response
of “come,” so he opened the door and went in. Scatcat
Higgins was at his desk, a little greyer at the temples than the last time Alex
had seen him. The tiger walked up to the desk, stood at attention and brought
up a salute.
“Lt. Col. O’Whitt, reporting as ordered, sir!”
Scatcat, who was dressed rather casually in a flight
suit, looked askance and returned the salute.
“Why so formal,
Ice? It’s just us here. Relax, have a seat.”
Alex relaxed out
of attention as he dropped the salute. “When I get a note out of the blue to
come see you, I’m never sure what to expect. How ya
doing, Scatcat?”
“Great! Chloe
moved her base to Philly, so I get to see a lot more of her. I heard a rumor
you finally got caught, too,” the lion replied in a relaxed tone.
“Yep. Beautiful
lioness, Aussie by birth, Maine until a few weeks ago. We’re engaged.”
Alex thought Scatcat was going to fall out of his chair. He looked at
the tiger, then at something on his desk, then back to Alex. Finally, he
narrowed his eyes.
“Who are you and
what have you done with Ice O’Whitt?”
Alex laughed, as
did Bart. After a moment, Alex inquired, “You didn’t call me here to find out
about my love life. What’s up?”
Scatcat fixed him with a steady gaze. “What’s up
indeed? I got this in almost a month ago now, but this is the first time I’ve
been able to see you to talk about it.”
He pushed the
paper on his desk toward Alex, who picked it up and read it. As he did, his
ears began to turn pink in a blush. He pushed the paper back, looking
thoughtful.
“I didn’t know
they’d go to this extent,” he stated in a quiet voice.
“Ice,” Bart began.
“What’s all this about, if you can say. When were you in combat and working for
the CIA?”
Alex fixed him
with a steady gaze and began to tell the whole story through. By the end, Scatcat was laughing nearly to the point of tears and
shaking his head, setting his mane to flipping.
“Only you, Ice,
could score a kill on a MiG with a drop tank. The report from them is here, and
it goes into the record, but it’s sealed as Top Secret. So, Natasha Shannon,
the tigress you were dating in Germany—”
“Was a CIA agent,
yes. She still works for them as an analyst here at Langley. She’s dating Jedi Foertch, and my fiancée Corrie and I are having dinner with
them tonight.” Alex grinned at the befuddled look on the lion’s face.
“Never would have
guessed. What or who else have I missed?”
Alex grinned even
wider. “Remember that project to pair me with an ROTC cadet? You made me drive
him from Cleveland to Cincinnati?”
Scatcat looked askance. “Yes, why?”
“He’s an AFOSI
agent. That trip was part of his cover.”
The lion looked at
him dubiously. “And you know this how?”
Alex laughed.
“Seems he’s been assigned as a watchkali over Mastifson. With the CIA involved, he was a liaison to the
operation when we landed at Keesler. You could’ve knocked me over with a
feather when he introduced himself by his proper title.”
“Is anyone you
know who they say they are?” Scatcat asked.
“Probably not. I’m
not so sure about you, either. You’re not undercover from the Lolipop Guild, are you?”
The suspicious
face Alex was making caused Bart to burst out laughing.
“Okay, ya got me. Just don’t tell Dorothy. Anyway, I can
officially say you have eight kills. The last one down for the record books as
the most unusual.”
Alex gave a rueful
look. “It was survival only. Desperate times and all that.”
Scatcat shrugged. “In any case, it’s in the record.
Hey, want to give you a heads-up. You might need to be out at Edwards for a
month or so next Summer. The Tigerkahts are slated to
get the new Eff Twenty Twos, and you’ll be part of their transition training.”
Now Alex really
grinned. “As long as it’s after June. That’s when I’m getting married.”
Scatcat grinned back. “I’ll see what I can do.
Chloe’s out of town this weekend. If we can manage it, I’m sure she and I would
love to meet the gal who broke the ice.”
“Ha ha. Sure, whenever we can arrange it. If that’s all, I have
a rookie to fly with.”
Scatcat stood up, as did Alex. The two saluted and the tiger turned to leave.
“Hey Ice?” Scatcat asked.
“Yes?” Ice responded.
“Don’t be such a stranger. I’m never so busy I can’t spare a minute when you’re here.”
Alex tipped his head. “You bet. Sorry to be so busy. See you later!”
“Bye Ice,” Scatcat said with a nod as he prepared to leave for the day.
“Crazy tiger,” he muttered to himself.
# # #
Corrie was wearing a nice brown dress with a short-sleeve tan jacket. Alex was wearing black dockers and a medium blue polo. They were meeting Jon and Tasha at The Monastery, one of the nicer restaurants in Norfolk. Corrie had spent the day poking around Old Williamsburg. She’d met Alex in their rental car after he’d finished the orientation training flight for 1st Lt. Marc Dresden, a young ocelot brand new from fighter school.
They’d gone to their hotel to shower and change and were now arriving at the place for dinner. Walking arm-in-arm, they entered the building and met the maître de, who assigned a short squirrel femme in black slacks and a white server’s shirt to lead them to their table. A couple of quick left and right turns brought them to a semi-private booth off the main thoroughfare.
“Here you are Miss, Sir,” the femme said in a demure tone.
“Thank you,” Both Corrie and Alex replied. The femme smiled and gave a nod of her head as she walked away. Tasha had stood up out of the booth when they walked up, with Jon following suit. They now greeted their friends.
“Alex! Great to see you!” Tasha called, giving him a friendly hug.
“Tasha, likewise.” Alex returned the sentiment and the hug. Then Tasha turned to Corrie.
“You too, Corrie. Can’t hug the future groom and not the bride-to-be, too.”
“Great to see you, too, Tasha,” the lioness returned as they had a quick, friendly embrace. Alex and Jon eyed each other a moment.
“Well don’t look at me, I’m not going to hug you,” Alex stated.
“Likewise, Ice. ‘S against the PDA rules,” Jon mock-chided in return. Alex gave a nod as the two shared a pawshake instead.
“I see you’ve been keeping in practice.”
Jon nodded. “Oh yes. This lady has been keeping me very much on my toes. It’s made me a sharper punster.”
Alex grinned. “Good. Shall we be seated?”
“Indeed,” Jon replied, motioning for Tasha to be seated first. Alex did likewise for Corrie, who had become accustomed to his chivalrous manners and usually didn’t quibble anymore. Then the gentlefurs sat down, too. As soon as they got seated, a tall, slim, lioness stepped up to the table.
“Good evening, I’m Lana and I’ll be your server this evening. What may I get you to drink?”
The orders were given, and Lana stepped way to fill them. Jon started the conversation then.
“Okay Ice, I understand you and Natasha knew each other in Germany. Dated even. Cool, no problem. Now she tells me this wild story of how she works for the Company and you saved her life. She’s told me her take on it, now I want to hear it from you.”
Alex recounted the story from his end, interrupted as Lana brought the drinks and took their meal orders. He wrapped it up by telling of his meeting that day.
“So, when I got here today, General Higgins had left a note at the squadron wanting to see me. He wanted to hear the whole thing, too. Honestly, I was just trying to get us home in one piece.”
Jon was laughing. “I’d say you did a pretty good job! Whatever made you think of that?”
“Actually, just a few days before that, I’d watched a video on the computer of them testing the drop system on the Eff Eighteen while it was under development. The test pod came loose prematurely, tumbled back and tagged the chase plane off to the side behind it. Only thing was, I had to do the roll to impart enough upward and outward energy for it to work.”
Before Jon could start talking vector trajectories, Tasha moved the conversation along. “Corrie, I heard you have a story to tell about your last flight in Maine?”
Corrie grinned and shrugged. “Not much to tell. Some drongo lion crooked the battery hold-downs and throttle cable on the ol’ Huey I was in, and I had to put down in a little clearing in the back country. Spent a cold, wet night theah. Then Alex shows up with the Civil Air Pahtrol.”
“She’s too modest,” Alex interjected. “That clearing was barely bigger than her rotor disk, but she put that chopper in slick as can be.”
“Oh, I talked to Ben yesterday,” Corrie continued. “They fixed the electrical system and throttle cable and flew her out a few days ago. Get this, Rex flew her out. Ben said they worked things out. He’s still a free-lancah, but they agreed he would work with Ben through the Wintah instead of heading South.”
“Good! Glad to hear he’s trying to make amends,” Alex stated. He then switched the subject as he looked at Tasha and Jon.
“So, how did you two meet?”
“We literally ran into each other,” Jedi replied. “We were shopping at the Farmer’s Market in Hampton Roads when we bumped into each other reaching for the fresh tomato sauce. She says it was totally random, but I think it was a CIA plot to steal my meat loaf recipe.”
“His meat loaf is good. I had two helpings that night,” Tasha reminisced.
“That night? Fast move, Jedi,” Alex teased.
“I learned from you. When an opportunity knocks, hesitation leads to loss,” the felid teased in return.
“True,” Corrie added mischievously. “If I hadn’t kissed him first, he might nevah have caught me.”
Both Tasha and Jedi did a double-take and then laughed.
“Okay, I have to hear this story,” Tasha stated. Jon added his interest, too. Corrie and Alex related the whole series of events that led to them dating. Jon gave a shake of his head.
“Wow, you almost blew it!”
“Yep,” Alex replied. “Thankfully my cousin gave me some good advice on how to make amends.”
“She did get that spot on,” Corrie agreed.
“You never mentioned a cousin, Ice,” Jedi said, looking curious.
“You wouldn’t know her. Name’s Zig Zag,” Alex tossed, suppressing a grin.
Jedi’s eyes went wide, and then he stammered, “Er, yeah, never heard of her.”
Tasha laughed and rescued the felid. “So, any update on the wedding plans?”
“June,” Corrie replied. “That’s as fah as we’ve gotten. It’ll be in June.”
Tasha looked at her askance. “That’s it so far?”
Corrie and Alex shook their heads.
“We know bettah,” Corrie stated.
“Between Penny, Jenna, Patti, Joanne, and at long distance Terry and Zig Zag. I imagine it’s already overplanned. Don’t worry, we won’t forget to tell you,” Alex assured them.
The conversation drifted to work and business, and soon the meal was done. Paying their bill, the four friends bid each other goodnight and left, satisfied with a wonderful evening.
# # #
Jefferson Mastifson put his evening’s dessert in a cab and sent her on her way. The sable femme had been fun, sharp witted, and energetic. He felt energized and alert. It was now time to hunt.
His city this weekend was Kansas City, Missouri. He went up to his room and left his cell phone, just like he’d done ever since he learned he could be tracked by the tower pings that told the system where to route calls to his number. He returned downstairs and went to his car. He had looked at it from several angles, and had decided that the best, most common all-night business where he could disappear in a crowd was an adult theater. So far, he’d never failed to find one in the low-end districts he chose to hunt in. Each city he’d looked at for a potential target had proven the same. He now drove to the place he’d chosen to leave his car. There, he passed with the crowd going in and slipped into the alleyway beside it. Once back in the shadows, he carefully dressed. Old clothing purchased at a thrift store and meant to be discarded with the Tyvex suit they covered. Shoes of unequal size and covers for them, taped to the Tyvex suit at the ankles. Mechanic’s gloves with black nitrile gloves over them, taped to the Tyvex suit at the wrists. A large black pea coat over all that. The black slouch hat covered the hood of the Tyvex suit, insuring no hair from his head was left behind. A surgical mask, with a black muzzle mask over it, obscured his face and made sure no traces of saliva were left. Finally, protective eyewear in the form of round goggles, red-tinted to enhance his night vision and make sure his Fontadyne mist didn’t get in his own eyes.
Next, he checked his “cane.” Actually, a compressed CO2 powered injector, modified to deliver an aerosol cloud of Fontadyne tripled in strength by adding pure drug to the atomizer-delivered pain-reliving dose. It would incapacitate any fur who got a full face of it in twenty seconds. His plan was to then use a syringe to inject a lethal overdose of the same drug. In the areas he planned to hunt in, no one would question another overdose death.
Now fully dressed and ready, the Rottweiler moved out, shuffling along using the “cane” at a slow pace. He hunched over, giving every impression of being old and slow. From under his hat, he observed down each alley he passed for potential targets. He’d gone through several streets when he heard gunfire. Down the street he was on, he now saw the refection of blue lights coming from a street that branched off. He saw several furs gather and then move on down that street out of his sight. He moved ahead to where he could look down that street. There, several blocks away, was a collection of police cars with their blue lights flashing. A block back from them, the collection of furs he’d seen had stopped, joined by several others to observe the event.
Mastifson quickly shrank into an alley dark in shadow as an ambulance and a rescue unit came up the street, turned and went on to where the police cars were. Their emergency lights joined the near-painful cacophony of blue lights from the police cars. The crowd had moved in closer to get a better look, attempting to satisfy the morbid curiosity such events generate, leaving the street empty between the scene and the Rottweiler.
Then Mastifson saw it. Alone at the corner of a building, a couple of blocks back from the commotion, a lone figure stood. The movements and carriage told him this was a male, tall and slim. The Rottweiler made note of the location, then went on down to the next street. He counted off buildings, and headed down the alley. When he came back out, he was one alley short. Shaking his head, he went back and then down the next alley. This one was a narrow affair with a dumpster at the end. He slipped around that and up to his target.
“Ay, whut’s th’ deal down dere?” Mastifson asked quietly, doing his best old fur imitation. The Rottweiler had found he was good at mimicking speech and accents. The target nearly jumped out of his fur.
“What th’ hell! Dammit ol’ fur, you like to scared me t’ death! Anyway, looks like sumbuddy O.D’d or sumthin at Farley’s again. I need mah fix bad, but not while d’place’s crawlin’ wit da Po Po.”
Mastifson could now see the fur was a tall Thirteen-Striped Ground Squirrel, very jittery and in need of his drug of choice. The fur was looking wistfully at the place where the crowd had coalesced around the emergency vehicles, turning his back to the Rottweiler. Mastifson lifted his cane and held it ready.
“Yeah? I got sumthin’ at’ll help.”
The ground squirrel whirled so fast it almost caught Mastifson off-guard. Almost.
“Whut you got, ol’ fur?”
He was sprayed full in the face. The fur took a deep breath and sputtered as he rubbed his paws across his face.
“Dammit, I’m gunna kill you, ya weird ol’…fu…”
The ground squirrel slumped forward and Mastifson caught him. Carefully hoisting him into a firefur’s carry, he took him behind the dumpster. Now out of sight, the Rottweiler laid his victim down and pulled the fur’s jacket sleeve up. It revealed an armful of needle tracks. Mastifson pulled out a syringe from his pocket. He’d prepared it earlier. It was a very lethal dose, even for a hardened addict, but not so large that it would arouse suspicion. He selected the spot. There was no turning back after this. The ground squirrel was even now twitching and squirming, his body still craving its needed drug. Without further contemplation, he carefully injected the lethal drug. The fur quieted and lay there, with almost a smile upon his face. His breath got shallower and shallower and then stopped. His body jerked and twitched a few times, then lay still.
He'd been careful not to leave heel drags or any other traces as he carried the fur back. He looked on down the street. The lights and general commotion were still going on. Making sure he left nothing behind, he made his way back down the alley and slowly along the street back to the alley by the theater. There he stripped off the disposable parts of his outfit, saving only the boots, slouch hat, goggles, and pea coat. The discarded items went into a trash bag. The syringe, aerosol spray tip, spray drug cartridge, and the gloves he’d worn to prepare everything went in as well, all to be incinerated at first opportunity.
Now dressed as he normally would be, he waited for the theater to let a crowd out at the end of the current show. He mingled with them and went to his car, and then drove back to his hotel. The flames behind his eyes burned brightly. He’d made his first kill. A successful dessert, a successful hunt. All was going to plan.
O’Whitt’s time was coming.
# # #
Monday found Aramis looking at the surveillance results from the weekend. Playing a hunch, he’d asked for reports each Monday. This weekend, Mastifson had gone to Kansas City. The usual pattern was kept, of hotel, club-hopping, hotel, and home.
“Must’ve gotten lucky,” the felid mused, looking at the charge on his card for cab fare. The time was actually rather early, before midnight, but the cell phone pings said the Rottweiler didn’t leave the hotel after.
He had the feeling something was being missed. Again, he looked at the police blotter report. Again, multiple pages of radio traffic to go through. Again, everything from traffic stops to assaults. There’d even been a shootout while conducting a drug house raid. Two suspects dead, five in custody, two officers injured.
He scrolled through the activity. About an hour after the raid, he was surprised to see another report of someone seeing a figure skulking around the alleys. A figure who looked like the Shadow. He looked further. There were three drug overdose cases, but no fatalities outside the shootout.
Wanting more information, Aramis pulled up the local newspaper for Kansas City. The drug raid and shootout had made the headlines but nothing else of note. He then looked at the TV stations and found a late report from that morning. As the city was collecting the trash, crews had found a body behind a dumpster in the same area the raid had taken place in. Preliminary reports said it was a drug overdose.
Curious, Aramis looked at the police blotter again. The overnight shift was now available. The body was found around 0500 by a sanitation crew. He’d have to wait for a coroner’s report to be posted. The fur must’ve had ID on him, because the report listed a name. Aramis pulled up the name and read.
“Paul Harris, male Thirteen-Striped Ground Squirrel. 6’3”, 195lbs, age 28, brown eyes, black and brown hair. Known drug addict.”
The report went on with a rap sheet of mostly property crimes committed to support a heroin habit. The felid took a breath, feeling frustrated. Mastifson was up to something, but right now he felt like he was chasing shadows, too.
None of what he’d just looked at might be related to the Rottweiler at all. He had a bad feeling about the direction things had taken, but he didn’t have anything to tie it together. The Shadow figure being reported, at the same time Mastifson was in town? He did a search and found Shadow-like figures were reported on a regular basis across the country.
Still feeling very uneasy, Aramis went on with work on his other cases.
End of Chapter 114