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:
Chapter 81
Broken Lines
Alex stood there a bit stunned. Sabotage? Mastifson came to mind, but he knew the Rottweiler would not likely get his paws dirty. The first thing to see is if it really was sabotage.
“Okay, what makes you think that?”
Bob pointed to the part in his gloved fingers. “The safety wire has been cut on either side, and the bolt head shows scuff spots in the layer of grime that accumulates on engine bolts between overhauls. That shows someone recently took a wrench to this bolt. Likely they didn’t loosen it very much. Just enough to break the torque on it and it would slowly vibrate out. We found it in the bottom of the engine bay.”
Alex nodded, seeing the scuffs and the crimped ends of the wire where they were cut. “So, what now?”
“I have called the police. They said not to touch anything, so I’m wearing gloves. The Bowling Green police deferred to the State Police, and they referred it on to the FBI as it is a federal offense to tamper with an aircraft. They have agents on the way, but it will be morning before they get here. After they clear it, it will be a simple matter to replace the bolt and wire it back in place. Then we’ll refill the oil and test run it to make sure there was no other damage. With luck, we can get you on your way by mid-day tomorrow,” Bob explained, listing the actions he’d taken and the likely outcome.
Alex smirked. “Good thing I have a hotel arranged. Okay Bob, Dean, I’ll make sure Kelly and Joel at the desk have contact info for me. I imagine the agents will want to talk to me when they get here. Thank you for finding out what happened.”
Bob nodded stoically. “Part of the service. I am glad you made a safe landing.”
Dean added, “Me, too. I’ll see you later, Mr. O’Whitt.”
Alex nodded in return and headed for the lobby. It looked to be a long afternoon.
# # #
Aramis nearly jumped when the intercom line on his deskphone suddenly chimed. He’d been lost in thought about the case of the Rotten Rottweiler, as he had begun to call it. He hit the button for the speaker.
“Dagaz.”
“Aramis, there’s a call coming in for you from an FBI agent named Forsham. She’s with their Aviation Crimes division. Be straight with her, but don’t give away any sensitive names.”
Aramis recognized his boss’ voice.
“Uh, yes sir, I’ll be discrete,” he replied, wondering what now.
“You’re good at that. Use the case name, by the way. Perez out.”
The regular phone line rang just as Aramis shut off the intercom. He picked up the pawset and answered.
“Agent Denver, AFOSI, may I help you?”
A strong alto female voice responded. “Agent Denver, I’m Agent Diane Forsham, FBI Aviation Crimes. I received a call from the Kentucky State Police about a case of sabotage on an aircraft owned by a Mr. Alex O’Whitt. That name came up on our database as a contact-if-involved. Would you like to please tell me what I’m walking into here?”
“Hello Agent Forsham, call me Andy. Mr. O’Whitt is Air Force retired, still in the Reserves. He’s a victim in this case, not a suspect. What was sabotaged?”
Diane Forsham, a femme desert cat and ten-year veteran agent and pilot also, weighed her response. Seeing no harm in describing what she knew, she answered.
“Seems Mr. O’Whitt lost an engine inflight and landed in Bowling Green, Kentucky. The mechanics at the FBO there found evidence the engine had been tampered with, and called it in.”
Aramis paused, also weighing how much to tell. “I think you’ll find evidence of the tampering, but not who did it. It’s part of a case we’re working on. Do what you need to, but folks above our pay grade have already decided who did it won’t be known. Sorry, I know that stinks, but I’m leveling with you. I don’t look for it, or anything like it, from the same operator to be repeated.”
The desert cat’s tone told Aramis she was less than satisfied with that answer.
“Oh great, now I’m on the edge of one of those games. I’m going to go as far as I can with it. I just hope your operator is as professional as you say, and I run into a dead end.”
Aramis gave a mental shrug. “Sorry I can’t be more helpful, but this does put my mind a bit at ease. We knew something was coming, but we had no clue what or where. This puts the operator in question’s part in this ‘game’ at an end. Thank you, Agent Forsham, I wish I could be more help.”
“Well Andy, and you can call me Diane, at least I know what I’m looking at. I know the game, I won’t tell Mr. O’Whitt about the operator unless I find evidence to follow. I’ll look at what I find, and what he says. If you get another call from me, we’ll see what I’ve come up with.”
Diane prepared to end the call. Aramis replied as politely as he could.
“Diane, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye Andy.”
Aramis hung up the pawset and began typing notes on the computer. There might not be proof, but it certainly would help build the case and the profile of Mastifson’s advancing downward spiral. He also found he was very relieved that Col. O’Whitt was safe.
# # #
Jefferson Mastifson was making his way back across the ramp toward his office. He’d done a check inspection on one of the airline ground crews. The scruffy felid in charge had been professional, accommodating, and frustratingly proficient. He’d found nothing to ding them on, so this report would be dull as a hammer to write. He was approaching a corner when he heard voices on the other side, so he stopped and listened. Sometimes he got his best information by subtly eavesdropping.
“Yeah, he’s stuck in Bowling Green while they investigate,” a deeper male voice was saying.
“Wow, really? Who told you that?” inquired a medium tenor male voice.
“Norman over at Bluegrass Aviation. Said Ol’ McCrory was going nuts finding out who over there did maintenance on the plane last,” the deeper voice stated.
“Now, which one was it, the white jet or the orange one?” the tenor inquired.
“Ha! Neither. They’re both still over in the hangar getting’ ready for an airshow this weekend. This is that Riley Rocket Skymaster,” the deeper voice avowed with a laugh.
“Huh, so what happened to it?” the tenor asked curiously.
“Lost the back engine. Norman said they suspect sabotage, and the FBI is comin’ to investigate,” the deeper voice said.
“Geez, tough break. Hey, speaking of, my break’s about over. Talk to ya later,” the tenor said as he prepared to go back to work.
“Yeah, same here, later!” the deeper voice agreed.
Mastifson heard the two walk away as he stood there grinning. So, his plan had come to fruition. Perhaps he could start a rumor that O’Whitt had sabotaged his own plane. After a moment’s thought, he rejected that idea. The tiger enjoyed a good reputation among the pilots, ground crews, and most importantly, the official entities around Bluegrass. No one would believe mister super-pilot war hero would do that, plus he could not think of a motive to pin on him. The Rottweiler would have to hope that the incident would put perhaps a bit of paranoia, and enough pressure on O’Whitt to make him screw up.
As he started on toward his office, Mastifson contemplated his next move. He would need to wait a bit for things to either explode in O’Whitt’s face or settle down. If they settled down, he still had the number for Diablo. With an evil grin on his face, and an internal laugh ringing in his ears, he went into the building and up the stairs to his office.
If he’d thought about it, he’d have realized how maniacal that laugh had become.
# # #
It was about 0700 the next morning when Alex’s cell phone rang. He’d been up a while already, long enough to go down and work out in the hotel’s exercise room and then shower. He’d gone to the nearby mall yesterday afternoon and after a bit of a search, bought clothes and sundries enough to clean up and change for the day. He was ready to go when the call came.
“Alex O’Whitt,” he answered simply. The enthusiastic voice on the other end sounded even more excitable this morning.
“Good morning Mr. O’Whitt! This is Kelly at Co-Mar. Are you ready to come over? There’s an FBI agent here and she wants to talk to you.”
Alex calmly replied, “Yes Kelly. Relax, I knew the agent was on the way. I’ll be waiting out in front of the hotel.”
“Okay great see you in a few!”
As he clicked off the call, he smiled and shook his head. Was he ever that excitable? He made his way downstairs and out in front of the hotel after stopping to tell the clerk at the desk that he wasn’t sure yet if he’d need another night’s stay. Shortly the shuttle van pulled up and Alex went around and got in the passenger side front seat. Kelly was still in full-on excited mode.
“Hi Mr. O’Whitt! Hope you slept well wow I can’t believe all this excitement an FBI agent and everything!”
Alex managed a smile. “Easy Kelly, it’s okay. Tampering with an aircraft is a Federal offense. It only makes sense that the FBI investigate it.”
The border collie femme nodded, and then picked up steam again. Alex nodded politely, knowing it would be useless to try to slow the femme down. It wasn’t a long drive and soon she dropped him off in front of Co-Mar. Alex thanked her and went inside, passing through the lobby and heading into the hangar. As he walked up, he noted Bob and Dean standing beside his Skymaster. With them stood a rather short felid femme. Alex put her at about 5’2”, and he finally recalled her species as a desert cat.
She may have been petite, but Alex’s keen eye from martial arts training told him she was athletic and probably very fast on her feet. She was dressed in slacks and a polo, with a dark jacket over that. If she’d turned her back, Alex guessed she’d have “FBI” in large letters there. All three turned to greet him. Alex spoke first.
“Hello Bob, Dean, and you must be the FBI agent. I’m Alex O’Whitt, nice to meet you,” he stated as he offered the femme his paw. For her part, as the tiger had walked up, she’d found herself looking up, and up, to keep eye contact. When he offered his paw, she took hold of it, planning to gain a measure of the fur by it. The paw rather engulfed hers, but the grip was gentle. Firm, but gentle.
She nodded and replied, “Agent Diane Forsham, Aviation Crimes Division. Wish it was under better circumstances, Mr. O’Whitt. I have physical evidence and pictures, and I’ve got statements from Mr. Foster and Mr. Williams here. Now I need to talk to you. There’s a conference room where we won’t be disturbed.”
She indicated back into the Co-Mar lobby area. Alex nodded and replied, “Before we go, is it okay if they begin repairs? I’m based out of Lexington, and I probably need to get back.”
“Sure, I’ve got all I need here. There were no prints on the engine or bolt that I could find,” the felid femme answered.
She led the way, and after nodding to the maintenance furs to go ahead, Alex fell in step with her. They went through the lobby to the other side and into a large room with a podium and tables. Agent Forsham stopped at a table and indicated a chair.
“Have a seat Mr. O’Whitt, and tell me what happened. I’m a licensed pilot, so don’t worry about slang and acronyms, I’m with you.”
Alex sat down across from her and recounted the events leading up to him shutting down the engine. She had a small microrecorder to take it all down. He then summarized.
“So, I did a quick descent down to ten thousand as I headed for BWG. Memphis Approach brought me straight in. Everything was fine for an engine-out situation, except I had to pump the mains down because the rear engine provides hydraulic power. I’d contacted Co-Mar, so they were expecting me. I parked, and Dean took the aircraft right into the hangar. When I came back, Bob showed me the bolt with the cut wire. That’s when he said he’d called the police.”
Agent Forsham looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you think that you managed to shut the engine down before further damage was done?”
“Yes, I think so,” Alex answered. “As I said, I caught the oil pressure dropping and the engine beginning to get rough as soon as they began, and I shut it down within five seconds or so. It’s a pretty straightforward procedure.”
Alex knew that finding whoever did it was a long shot, but he still wanted all the details in the record. The desert cat continued her questioning.
“Where do you park your aircraft?”
“Bluegrass Field in Lexington,” he replied. “Flight-Stor’s large hangar there, to be exact.”
“Pretty secure place?”
Alex thought a moment. “Yes, they are inside the airport perimeter fence. In fact, the fence attaches to their building. You have to have an access code to get in the door. They have an attendant there twenty-four seven, and you don’t move your aircraft. You call in advance or request it to be moved out onto the ramp for you. If you want it at, say, two a.m. you have to call in advance to set that up.”
The agent nodded, jotting a note down on a pad to go with the recorded interview.
“Final question Mr. O’Whitt. Do you know of anyone who might want to harm you or your property?”
Alex was quiet a moment, considering how to frame his answer. Finally, he spoke.
“Only one, but I don’t want to appear to be vengeful.”
Diane arched an eyebrow. “How so?”
Alex took a breath and began. “He’s an FAA official at Bluegrass. The Airline Ops Liaison. When he first arrived, he leveled some unfounded charges at me. I was cleared, but, well, we have a history going back to when we were both active duty in the Air Force. That’s a long story in and of itself. Suffice it to say that he has it in for me, and beyond that I don’t know of anyone else.”
Diane cocked her head to the side. “So, you think he may have done this?”
Alex actually chuckled. “No, I don’t. He’s not the type to get his paws dirty. Besides, whoever did this is much more practiced with tools. He may have hired it done, but I doubt you’ll be able to trace it back to him. Other than what I just said, I doubt you’d ever have probable cause to check his records and such.”
“You don’t sound like you expect this to be solved,” Diane said with a smirk.
“I don’t. But what I do think is that this is one more point in a paper trail. I keep hoping that he realizes how crazy this is, and just eventually quietly goes about his business and leaves me and mine alone. If he doesn’t, sooner or later he’ll misstep and get himself fired or in trouble. In the meantime, I have more important things to worry about, like a business to run and an airshow to get ready for,” Alex stated evenly.
“I see,” Diane said with a nod. “Does this fur have a name?”
Alex sighed. “Yes. Jefferson Mastifson the Third, but as I said, I doubt you can tie him to this.”
“Alright.” The agent nodded again. “Well, I’d like to see where the aircraft is usually parked for myself. Do you mind if I head over there and check it out?”
Alex could see the agent was ready to stand up and the interview was over. He smiled and stood up as she did.
“I don’t mind, but the hangar owners might. I’d offer a lift over, but I’m a little indisposed right now.”
For the first time, the desert cat outright grinned. “Thanks, but I have my own ride. As I said, I’m a pilot, and my Baron gets me around just fine. I’ll see you there if I find anything. Otherwise, I’ll be in touch.”
Alex nodded, and offered a paw to shake. “Agent Forsham, again, nice meeting you.”
She shook paws and tilted her head to him. “And you, Mr. O’Whitt. Be safe going home.”
She turned and walked away after retrieving her recorder and notes. Alex watched her walk out to the ramp and begin preflighting a maroon and white Beechcraft Baron. With a shrug, he went back to the hangar to check on the progress of his Skymaster’s repair.
# # #
It was late afternoon by the time Alex put the gear on the runway back at Bluegrass. The rear engine had started and ran flawlessly after the bolt was replaced and the oil refilled. Doing the paperwork and paying the bill and going through the cordial goodbyes to folks who’d helped him so much at Co-Mar, took a bit longer. He still had plenty of fuel on board, so the flight back had been uneventful.
It had, however, given him time to think. What gain would Mastifson hope to get by arranging for his engine to go out? Was he hoping it would cause a crash and injure or kill him? Alex shook his head at that. He knew the Rottweiler was obsessed with some sort of vengeance, but he didn’t think he’d gone completely insane. Would he now have to guard against sabotage or vandalism attacks on everything he owned? And how about his friends and family? Were they at risk now too?
He finally snorted and chided himself for getting paranoid. He still doubted the FBI would actually catch the saboteur, and he doubted even more that they would be able to implicate Mastifson in it. He was certain now of one thing, though. Sooner or later this would have to come to an end. He couldn’t see continuing indefinitely looking over his shoulder. Only question was, would Mastifson give up, or would his vendetta implode on him?
Or even worse, would he have to actively go after the canid to stop him?
# # #
Diane Forsham was airborne, heading back to Cincinnatti, the office she was based out of. The hangar owner at Bluegrass had been a bit reluctant to let her examine the hangar without a warrant. She convinced him that since he leased the land from the airport, it was under federal jurisdiction and subject to search at any time. Once inside, she’d been shown where Alex O’Whitt’s Skymaster was usually parked. She looked carefully around using a powerful flashlight to focus her attention. She didn’t see any stray metal slivers or oil spots. She did see some darker dust and fuzz on the floor. Looking straight up, she noted disturbed dirt on the air conditioning ductwork above. Having the attendant bring a scissor lift, they went up and she saw the vent had been taken loose. The beam above had disturbed dirt and scuffs consistent with a rope having been wrapped around it. They went back down, and she was given access to the roof. She found marks on one edge consistent with a grappling hook. There were scuffed and scratched places around the screws that allowed access from the roof to the ventwork.
So, she knew how it was done, but she’d seen no fur, fibers, signs of fingerprints, or anything that might identify who did it. She’d even had the ventwork opened so she could search the inside. It wouldn’t hold her to crawl inside, and whoever had done it had been on a rope from the outside or they would have crashed through.
“Professional indeed,” she mused to herself.
She asked about security cameras. They had one focused on the back door, and one on the ramp in front of the hangar, but nothing inside. The perp had come up the side from outside the fence, away from either camera. After suggesting they might put some more in, she left. So far, Agent Denver had been right. She growled to herself. She disliked the idea of not finding who did this. Perhaps she’d give Andy a call when she got back. She might have lost this round, but perhaps she could help win the war and peg this Mastifson character before he got someone hurt.
End of Chapter 81