“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 120
Duty Calls
Alex was at his desk, working on the hiring of an additional six pilots. Their business continued to expand. The demand for corporate jet travel was still growing. They were adding another two Citations, their most popular charter. Rebecca DeLeon was working full time as flight attendant on their second G-IV. They were considering hiring a third full-time flight attendant if business continued to grow. The next aircraft on the “want” list was another G-IV.
His thoughts were interrupted by the chime of the intercom line. He toggled it on and answered.
“Yes, Loni?”
“Alex, General Higgins, Line Two,” the lynx responded.
“Thank you,” the tiger replied as he toggled off the intercom and prepared to answer the call. It was late February, and things were coming to a head with Iraq internationally. The U.S. had made a case in the U.N. that Iraq was developing Biological and chemical agents and working on an atomic bomb. The President threatened unilateral action if Iraq refused to give up these weapons and plans. He knew the Tigerkahts were scheduled to leave soon for a tour enforcing the Southern No-fly Zone over Iraq, but he hadn’t been tasked to do anything but his normal Reserve duties yet. Perhaps this call would change that.
“Hey Scatcat, what’s up?” he inquired as he picked up the pawset.
“Hello Ice. Hey, hate to spring this on you, but King is in the hospital in Vermont. He broke his leg skiing this morning. The flight surgeon says he’ll be laid up in a cast for six weeks, and not be fit for duty for another couple weeks after that. I need you to take command of the Tigerkahts again for their deployment to Iraq. Once King is back on duty, he’ll come over and relieve you.”
Alex blinked. After a moment, he gave a silent sigh. Another war, another tour.
“Okay, when do I report?”
“Need you here by March Third. Blackie can handle the squadron until then. Tell you the rest when I see you,” the lion answered rather neutrally. He hated playing chess piece with folks.
“March Third. See you then, Scatcat,” Alex replied, his tone also rather flat.
“Yep. Bye Ice.”
The lion clicked off the call. Alex wearily shook his head. Billy was going to love this. Corrie, too.
# # #
Billy was silent, holding the phone to his ear with a neutral expression on his face. He looked at Corrie, who was in his office at Helipro. They’d been going over a plan to get another Longranger and two more pilots. He held the pawset out to her.
“Alex needs to talk to you.”
With no small amount of trepidation because of Billy’s sudden change of demeanor, the lioness took the pawset and answered.
“Hello Luv, what’s up?”
Billy could hear Alex’s voice, but not what he said. He saw Corrie’s expression grow more and more concerned. Finally, she spoke.
“I see, and I understand. I love you, Jet Jockey. See you latah.”
She put the pawset in its cradle and sat down in a chair, her head down and shoulders bowed. After a couple of minutes, she squared her shoulders and looked up.
“Alex is going to Iraq. You’ll be needed more at Kentiger. Kath and I have got this.”
Billy nodded. “Of course you do, but I’ll be in often in case you need me. It’s okay Corrie, we all love him, too. We’ll help each other through.”
Corrie nodded rather absently. She made sure she was composed as she stood to leave. Billy could see how low and still her tail was, though.
# # #
Jefferson Mastifson was frustrated. It was nearing March, and he hadn’t been able to “hunt” since December. Barry Whitlock had surprised him by sending him on a month-long training seminar on recent upgrades to both the GPS Nav system and TCAS. Normally regarded as a nice reward, he’d been a bit grumpy, as he saw it as taking him away from hunting. True, he’d gotten to relax and chase his share of dessert while he’d been in Seattle, but he felt he’d likely gotten rusty with so long a time of inaction.
The first two weekends in February had seen his aircraft in the shop for annual inspection and maintenance, further delaying his return to his hunt. He’d satisfied himself with checking routes from Bluegrass to O’Whitt’s home, as well as to the martial arts school. He’d seen two young white tigers there on different days. He recalled them as Jason O’Whitt’s cubs. So, O’Whitt had taken them under his wing, so to speak. Mister Cub Scout indeed. In his tracking, he’d even seen O’Whitt, his lioness, Jason’s widow and her cubs all going to church. The large grey wolf that the Widow O’Whitt was in the company of caused Mastifson to leave the church off his list of possible hunting spots.
The last two weekends had seen him having to do audits and inspection of the weekend airline operations. Now though, his aircraft was in top shape. He’d thought about Indianapolis for his next hunt, but the Winter chill likely still had most furs indoors. Same with St. Louis. Then he hit upon Charlotte, North Carolina. It was an easy flight, dessert there was plentiful, and it was where he’d begun the idea of hunting. He felt that two or three more successful hunts would properly prepare him to move on O’Whitt.
Now, it was Saturday morning, and Charlotte awaited. Tonight would tell how much of an edge the almost two months’ worth of inactivity had taken from him. The weather enroute and at Charlotte looked good as he started the engines of his Piper Seminole. His gear was packed, his hunting grounds mapped out. It was time to hunt.
# # #
Aramis watched the Seminole taxi out and take off. It was the first time since the end of December that Mastifson had taken to the air going out of town. In early January, they’d determined that the Rottweiler was at an FAA training seminar in Seattle, which he’d flown to on a commercial flight. That had lasted all month. February had seen the canid’s wings clipped for two weeks while his aircraft underwent its annual inspection and maintenance. Inspections for his job he could only do on weekends had kept him home until today. He’d flown in the local area enough to maintain his currency, but that had been it.
They had set it up so that any time Mastifson filed a flight plan, he and Diana would be alerted to where he was going. She was even now enroute to pick Aramis up, as it looked like the hunt was on again. The FBI agent had gone home to Cincinnati for a while since Mastifson hadn’t been flying. Aramis had gotten a bit of a break, too, as the GPS tracker told him the Rottweiler’s movements without having to physically follow him everywhere. With this active case going on, he’d been relieved of any assignment to the Middle East. Five fellow agents from his section had gone to work on counterintelligence. His supervisor, Chief Agent Perez had remained stateside as well, to keep up with the myriad of domestic cases they were working on.
Mastifson conveniently following Lt. Col. O’Whitt around had given them all they needed to keep the surveillance in place. The BAU had told them the enforced hiatus would cause his next attack to be more vicious. They also said he seemed to be moving toward his endgame. If he succeeded in his goal of killing the tiger, he would think he was done, but his ill mind would find a new target, a new reason to hunt. They’d also advised that the closer to his endgame he got, the more dangerous the canid would be to any who might get in his way.
Their destination today was Charlotte, North Carolina. They’d called the local police there, but the detective they’d talked to had been unimpressed by their warning of a Shadow-like figure. Aramis had never been there, so they were relying on being able to track Mastifson to his hotel by his card use, which was now being forwarded in real time to Aramis’ laptop.
The felid agent contemplated the other clues they were working with. The Shadow-like figure had been noticeably absent from the region during the times Mastifson was indisposed. The overdoses from Fontadyne still happened, but the victims were usually inside a house or drug den, not in an alley.
Aramis was surprised to suddenly see Diana’s Baron come in to land. Looking at his watch, he realized a full hour had passed while he mused. Still, she must have been waiting, preflight done and ready to go when the call came. He had been much the same, having an overnight bag ready to go and with him when the Rottweiler departed. He drove over to NexGen Aviation and parked, then walked in to meet his partner at the door. She taxied in, parked the aircraft, got out and chocked the wheels. She then started inside. Aramis opened the door for her.
“Hi Aramis,” she greeted him. “I’m already filed for Charlotte, and we have plenty of fuel. I’m going to use the facilities and check weather. See you at the aircraft.”
Aramis had barely gotten out a hello as the desert cat femme went by. He went on out to the Baron, grinning to himself. Their hunt was on again.
# # #
Monday found Alex beginning his packing and prep to go to Langley. His report date was one week away. The weekend had been a bit melancholy, as Corrie had put on a brave face, but he could tell she was upset at his leaving. At church, they’d prayed over him. He didn’t like all the fuss, but he realized it was because they cared about him.
Tia had also been concerned, expressing the thought that he might miss her high school graduation in May. He’d assured her he’d be there if he could, but such things were part and parcel of a military career. Later she’d hugged him and said she understood.
He'd passed on his evaluations on the resumés they’d received for new pilots to Billy. The rest of the week was reserved for any loose ends. He’d decided to leave Friday and drive over, so he’d have ground transportation for the time he was at Langley and when he got back. The squadron ship-out date was shortly after his arrival. Since he knew all the officers and enlisteds for the 412th, he wouldn’t need much transition time. Blackie had already arranged for all the transports needed to move personnel and equipment, and the F-15’s would self-deploy.
As his thoughts drifted over the coming deployment, he shook his head. He was heading for 45 years old. Not old by most counts, but he certainly felt old at times. After 9/11, the war in Afghanistan had been all ground attack operations, not something F-15C’s and the 412th were equipped to do. The drumbeat of war with Iraq had never really gone away after Operation Desert Storm. The international community had established no-fly zones in Northern and Southern Iraq. The Tigerkahts had been tasked twice before to deploy and patrol there. This would be their third. The duty was jokingly referred to as “burning dead dinosaurs” due to the fact that they mostly just flew around and looked at nothing. The zones had been established to prevent what was left of the Iraqi Air Force from attacking the Kurds in the North and Kuwait and Saudi Arabia in the South. Iraqi aircraft very rarely challenged the allied patrols. Now he was joining them. It should be a cake walk.
Alex smirked to himself. Billy had once told him, “In ‘Nam, we knew that if the brass ever called anything a cake walk, it would be. A cake walk in a mine field.”
# # #
Mastifson was working through the weekend’s on-time flight reports, which he typically did on a Monday morning. It was very routine, and he was now taking a few moments to review his weekend. Charlotte was a wonderful city, with plenty of desserts to be had if one knew the right type of establishments to look in. This was his second visit there, as he hadn’t hunted, per se, on his first visit. He’d started his learning curve, but not actually hunted. An energetic young lapine doe in search of a father figure had been the perfect dessert.
His hunt had then taken him quite a while. It was good that he had learned to use all-night adult theaters as a place to blend in without being noticed as he departed and returned to his vehicle. It had taken several streets and almost an hour of shuffling along to locate his target of opportunity. No stripes, but a target nonetheless. The pit bull had been walking alone, seemingly oblivious and hunched against the night’s chill. He’d again used the tactic of spraying from the alley and waiting for his target to walk into the aerosol cloud. Mastifson had sneered, grinning in his mask as the canid gasped out his last breath. The Rottweiler had been so bold as to put his gloved paws on the fur’s face and pry his eyes open, so he could watch him die. He’d had to apply some pressure on the fur’s throat, as he had tried to come around before the injected drug took full effect.
It had given him a feeling of satisfaction, watching the light fade from the fur’s eyes. This rough-looking fellow was obviously a hoodlum, and he was doing the world a favor as he worked toward his goal.
Feeling well ahead of the game, the Rottweiler decided to go get a cup of coffee and walk around the ramp a bit to hear what he could hear. He got his coffee and walked past the ramp crew’s break room. No one was there, so he walked out and around the ramp. It never dawned on him that he was now evaluating all he met as to their suitability as a target, at least in the back of his mind.
He stopped just before turning a corner, as he heard two furs in conversation.
“Th’ Four Twelve is comin’ in about a half-hour late. We can take a short rest, but we’d best be ready to hustle when she arrives.”
“Sure thing. Hey, didja see the news this morning? Looks like we’re gonna go after Iraq. The President backed up that guy at the U.N. who said they had WMD’s”
“Yeah, more war. Think it’ll ever end?”
“Doesn’t seem like it. Hey, let’s head over so we’ll be ready for that late flight.”
“Sounds good.”
Mastifson heard them walk away. As they’d been speaking, he’d recalled that O’Whitt was still in the Reserves. If the tiger was called to duty, what would that do to the Rottweiler’s plan? He decided that was something that would require a bit of thinking, so he headed back to his office.
# # #
Aramis and Diana sat together eating lunch at a small diner not far from the airport. They were both feeling very frustrated.
“It’s just like Birmingham. We saw him get out of his car and join the small crowd going into the building. He was in there nearly three hours before we saw him come out. Again, always in with a group,” Diana stated.
“And we have reports of a Shadow-like figure being seen, but again no credible witnesses. The victim this time looked like a street tough, if it’s the one they found this morning. Reports say the fur was an up-and-comer in the local theater scene. He sang and danced Saturday in a production and was walking home,” Aramis noted.
“If this was Mastifson, the BAU was correct. This guy wasn’t a known drug-user or associated with street drugs in any way, but the coroner says he died from an apparent drug overdose. They were right in him being more vicious too.”
Diana gave an involuntary shudder, and then went on. “His eyes and mouth were wide open. The forensics team noted it looked like he had strangulation marks on his neck, and his eyes had been pulled open at the time of death.”
Aramis nodded solemnly. “True to pattern, worse and worse each time. Our problem is we have no evidence tying them together. Different cities, different intervals, different victims. Maybe it’s a good thing Colonel O’Whitt will be out of the country for a while.”
Diana looked at him questioningly. “What? Where is he…oh.”
She’d just realized that the tiger was in the Air Force Reserves and would be subject to call-up for the impending military operations.
“What will Mastifson do if his target disappears?” Aramis wondered.
“One of two things. Shift targets and keep hitting, or go dormant until Colonel O’Whitt returns,” Diana replied.
“Great, either more deaths or more waiting,” Aramis mused.
“Worse, he’s left no real evidence. No prints, no fur, no scent, no fluids, nothing for DNA analysis, no good set of footprints, no reliable witnesses, no—”
Aramis looked at the desert cat agent. She’d stopped in mid-sentence.
“What have you thought of, Diana?” he inquired.
Diana blinked and shook her head ruefully. “I guess because of the areas involved, we never thought to check. I bet even if there were any, they’ve been taped over by now. We never checked the businesses near the crime scenes to see if they had security cameras that might incidentally show where the murders took place.”
Aramis blinked, too, and then sheepishly grinned. “I’ll call Birmingham. With them losing an officer, they might have pulled the tapes while investigating the crime.”
“I’ll call Charlotte. It’s recent enough that if there are any, they may still be available,” Diana added with a sheepish grin of her own.
With a fresh idea to follow, they both pulled out their cell phones and got to work.
# # #
Friday morning dawned clear and crisp. The weather was forecast to be good all the way to the East coast as Alex prepared to leave for Langley. Corrie had driven out early to see him off. She was going to fly their MD-520N in to Bluegrass, then fly back at the end of the day and drive back to her apartment. His truck was packed, and he and Corrie were spending a long, lingering embrace before he got on the road.
“Luv, what is Iraq like?” she inquired curiously.
“I have no idea. We’re always stationed in Saudi Arabia. I’ve only seen Iraq from the air. Most likely, this will be the same,” Alex responded with a wry smirk.
Corrie gave him a quick kiss and a smirk of her own. “Yeah, you know what I meant. What’s it like ovah theah?”
Alex thought of how to frame his answer. “Hot. Temps get well over a hundred. Not quite as bad this time of year. It’s warm, dry, and dusty, except when it floods. Sandstorms are a problem. They call them Haboobs. The males are okay, mostly. I don’t think I saw two femmes the whole time I was there. Their laws are very restrictive as to where femmes can go and what they can do.”
Corrie looked at him aghast. “In this day and age? I knew they were strict about alcohol and diet and such, but I didn’t know that!”
Alex simply nodded. “Different culture, different mindset. And they’re the quote good guys unquote.”
“How much do you interact with them?” Corrie asked, shaking off her thoughts on how femmes were treated there.
“Quite a bit. Most of the workers on base are Saudi nationals, and we fly with Saudi pilots pretty often. The Saudi Eff-Fifteen units are very good. One of them shot down two Iraqi Mirages in Desert Storm, and instantly became a national hero.”
There was a moment’s silence as Corrie looked down and away. She then looked up into Alex’s eyes, her eyes shining brightly.
“Jet Jockey, I love you so much. You bettah come back home to me.”
Alex’s smile was warm and tender. “I love you too, Chopper Gal. If there is any way possible, I will. Make no mistake, this is still a war. Things can happen to even the best. Sometimes very stupid things. I will do my best not to be stupid.”
They both pulled fiercely into the embrace and held like that for a long time. Finally, they kissed for almost as long. There were tears in Corrie’s eyes when they eased the embrace. Alex reached up and gently wiped the tears from her cheekfur. Without another word, he released her and went to his truck. He got in and headed out.
Corrie watched him drive out of sight before she moved. She steeled herself, reminding herself that she couldn’t fly with tears in her eyes. She re-preflighted the small white and black helicopter and then prepared to take off. Down the hill she saw Jack, Jenna and the cubs come out of the house, heading for work and school. As she started the engine and then pulled pitch and took off, she refused to let her mind dwell on the fact that Jenna’s first husband had not come home from the sky.
For his part, as Alex drove toward the interstate, he too felt very sad. He’d left to go to war more times than he’d like to count. This time was different. This time there was Corrie.
“I’m getting too old for this crap!” he groused to himself as he drove on.
End of Chapter 120