by Derrick Ferguson

PART FOUR

Meanwhile     back in Cristobal     

The Navigator roared through the deserted private airfield. It was just one of many that infested Cristobal. Many illegal flights went in and out of Cristobal everyday.

Parked on the furthurmost runway was the flying command post of The Blackhawks, a specially outfitted C-130 Hercules. With the sophisticated communications equipment onboard, McCall and his team could reach any part of the world instantly. The plane also contained an armory, a small galley and room for the Navigator.

Tracy parked the Navigator next to the Hercules and she hopped out to catch Anton Korbel, who McCall shoved out of the vehicle with no more regard for the man if he had been a bag of mud.

McCall and Tracy dragged Korbel into the plane, which was filled with the wonderful smells of something really good cooking.

"Smells like Pasquale's at it again," Tracy grinned. "Good deal. I'm starving."

"You're always starving," McCall observed. "For someone so little, you eat like a truck driver. Scocco! Where the hell are you?"

"Right here, Fortune." Ronnie Scocco emerged from the cockpit. Skinny as a broom handle, Scocco looked as if he wouldn't live through a hard winter. In his case, looks were very deceiving. As long as McCall had known him, Scocco had never been sick a day and he had the stamina and endurance of a Arabian stallion.

"Make Mr. Korbel here comfortable. I've got some questions he's going to answer."

Korbel said wildly, "McCall, you've GOT to listen to me! You're making a helluva mistake! Listen, I'm working for Chan and Sirianni! Contact them! They'll tell you!"

Scocco grabbed Korbel by the scruff of his neck and his belt and dragged him towards the back. "C'mon, you     nobody wants to hear that bullshit."

"Hold it, Ronnie," McCall frowned as he asked, "What do you mean you're working for Chan and Sirianni?"

Korbel spoke in a rush, desperately trying to get the words out before he was cut off. "Chan and Sirianni wanted me to find out for them who was stealing data from Blackhawk International's database. These thefts have been going on for longer than you think! Sirianni put bogus info into the database for the thief to find!"

"Wait a second, wait a second     " McCall's eyes sparkled with hot anger. "You're trying to tell me than my own bosses wouldn't trust me to deal with a situation like this but they'd trust a weasel like you?"

"McCall, you gotta believe me on this!"

"Scocco, take him in the back and make sure he's secure."

Tracy looked up at McCall. "You believe him, Fortune?"

McCall folded muscular arms. "I dunno. I honestly don't know. Chan     I can see him keeping something like this from me. He's never liked me from Day One. But Mr. Sirianni     he's always been in my corner and helped me out. I wouldn't like to think he was in on this, but     "

"Hey! HEY! You guys gonna spend the rest of the night jabberin' or you gonna come get some of this?"

McCall and Tracy went to the small galley, located past the armory, where Pasquale Zollo was working his culinary magic. Zollo was in his T-shirt, which was stretched almost to bursting arcross his barrel chest. His Blackhawk jacket was carelessly tossed on a chair with a Desert Eagle Magnum holding it down. Zollo wiped sweat from his bald head and asked, "So how'd it go, partner?"

McCall shrugged. "The usual. I try to be nice and people start shooting at me."

Tracy was standing on her tiptoes over the stove, breathing in the wonderful aromas. "Oh God, Pasquale, what IS all this?"

"Whole Wheat biscuits, shrimp gumbo, green peppers stuffed with vegetables and rice and for dessert, lemon meringue pie."

"Where's Stephen and the support crew?"

McCall was referring to Stephen Lapinsky, another member of the team and the support crew of twelve who maintained and helped fly the huge plane.

"The boys were gettng restless so I put 'em on extended guard duty and put Steve in charge of 'em."

McCall nodded in satisfaction. "Better call them back in, though. I'm going to get on the phone with Chan and tell him we're bringing Korbel back with us to New York and I want some answers."

"Can I eat something, first?" Tracy asked.

"Get the Navigator back inside     THEN you can eat." McCall went to get hold of a cell phone to call New York.

Zollo wiped his hands and got his headset from his jacket pocket and thumbed it on, settling it comfortably on his head. "Come in, Steve."

******************************************

Stephen Lapinksy looked up at the black-clad man who held an AK-47 pointed right at his left eye. "If I don't answer that, they'll fly away without me."

The man answered in a voice that sounded vaguely European. "You lie."

Lapinksy shrugged. "Might as well shoot me then."

There were other black clad men that stood nearby. Lapinsky was throughly disgusted with himself. He'd been taken like the greenest rookie alive. He han't even been able to get off a warning shot. And if they'd gotten him that easily, God only knows what they'd done to the support crew. Either these guys were VERY good or he was getting old and Lapinsky was beginning to feel that it was the former that was true.

"Go on and answer, then. But no tricks."

Lapinsky picked up the headset and turned it on. "Yeah, go ahead, Pasquale."

"The boss says c'mon in. We're goin' back to New York."

"Understood. It'll take me awhile to round the boys up, with it being so damned dark out here. Lapinsky out."

The leader of the attack group nodded and yanked the. "Not bad. Now, just get us on that plane and maybe I'll kill you quickly."

************************************

Zollo ripped off the headset. "We're in trouble, kids!"

McCall came running as did Scocco. "What's up?"

"Me and Steve agreed on a code phrase before he left. If he was in any trouble, he was gonna use 'damned dark' somehow. We fiiggered that since it IS night, nobody'd tumble to it being a code."

McCall nodded grimly. "Everybody fill your hands with iron. Put your headsets and infra-red specs on. Kill all the lights. We gonna party, people."

Part Five

(©2000 Derrick Ferguson)

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