He did the same with the right and began his ascent. A mental clock was counting down in his head. His worst case estimate was that he had ten minutes before the post engineers would find the Junction box with the “electrocuted” snake jammed into it. It was a rare accident but one that was known to happen.
Once they found that, the power would be back on.
Halfway up, Skibicki had to halt, out of breath. He could hear the Secret Service agents down below, yelling to each other, not overly concerned from the tone of their voices.
They could see out the hangar door that the rest of the post was in darkness. Skibicki would have cursed if he had the breath; he was getting old. He was surprised when he felt the rope jerk and then move upward a couple of feet. He looked up and in the goggles he could see Vasquez reach over the edge, grab a fistful of rope, and pull him up a few more feet.
Skibicki grinned, took a few deep breaths, then resumed climbing. He reached the top and and with Vasquez’s help pulled himself over the edge. Quickly they pulled the rope up and resecured the vent top.
They made their way to the edge of the roof and began the climb back down to the ground on the metal rungs bolted into the side of the building. The outside lights flickered on for a second then went off.
Three-quarters of the way down, the lights went back on for almost ten seconds, and Skibicki and Vasquez froze until the lights went out again.
Reaching the grass at the back of the hangar Skibicki paused, Vasquez bumping into him. Off to the left was the safety of the canal, to the right the E4-B the Joint Chiefs had arrived in sat on the tarmac.
Skibicki hefted the back 9 pack and paused. The lights for the airfield came back on and stayed on. Then he made his decision; he still had time before he had to make the rendezvous.
“Wait here,” he whispered to Vasquez.
CHAPTER 24
“They had some problems at the airfield with the lights, ‘ but they’re back up,” Harry reported.
Trace watched the beach along Waikiki glide past as the pilot descended into his glide path. The hotels lining the shore were well lighted despite the late hour. Trace was, startled as the plane banked hard left, further out over the; water.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Harry didn’t answer. He was busy buckling on a parachute that he’d pulled off it’s place on the wall of the cabin.
“What are you doing?”
“Can’t be landing with you, missy,” Harry said.
“The Secret Service and all those type folks will be waiting, and I killed a few people back there in New York. My job is done. It’s up to you now.” He stepped over to her and | grabbed the seat belt, buckling it in around her.
“You be safe now.”
Trace thought for a second, then reached inside her jacket. She pulled out the pages she’d torn from the diary | and thrust them into Harry’s hand.
“Just in case something I goes wrong on my end,” she said, “here’s part of the diary.
I hope to see Boomer soon, but if I don’t, you get this to him.”
i Harry nodded an acknowledgement and stuffed the pages inside his flight suit and zipped it shut. With a roar the back ramp opened, and Harry stepped close to the opening.
When it was fully open. Harry stepped out into the darkness and was gone. The back ramp immediately began to close, and the pilot turned them back on a heading for Hickam Field.
Trace felt like she was in a vacuum as the plane descended, all alone in the back of the aircraft except for the crew chief who had remained quiet for the entire trip. The velocity of the Rsprey slowed considerably. Trace remembered reading that the plane had to land in the helicopter mode as the blades were too big to allow landing with them in the forward position. She glanced out the window as the ground came up. She could make out military aircraft parked along the runway and several Air Police cars with lights flashing waiting to meet them.
There were also two unmarked cars with darkened windows there.
The V-22 touched down and the engines immediately began rotating down.
The back ramp opened, and Trace unbuckled her seat belt. Two men in three-piece suits stepped up in, stopping briefly in surprise at her condition.
“Major Trace?” the lead man asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Special Agent Fielder,” he said holding out his ID card.
“I’m to escort you.” He paused.
“I understand you have a document.”
Trace held up the diary, but pulled it back when Fielder reached for it.
“I’d prefer to keep my hands on it until I see the President,” she said.
Fielder kept his hand out.
“What you prefer is not important right now. Give me the document.”
A pair of headlights swept up the trail and raked across the open area.
Boomer waited until Skibicki got out before moving. Skibicki must have heard Boomer coming because he knelt and pulled out a pistol, pointing it in his direction.
“Hold it right there.”
“It’s Boomer Watson, sergeant major,” Boomer called out.
Skibicki slowly stood.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Boomer twisted his head as he heard someone getting out of the other side of the jeep. The newcomer was a tall, massively built black man with a completely shaven head.
Skibicki did the introductions.
“Major Boomer Watson, meet Harry Franks.”
Boomer shook hands.
“I’ve heard about you,” he said.
“Thank you for what you did for Trace.”
“My privilege,” Harry said.
“Is she all right?”
“I jumped off the plane before we landed,” Harry said.
“Ski picked me up off shore a few hours ago. Last I saw the lady was fine. She suffered some injuries but she’s in good hands now.”
Boomer looked at both of them.
“We need to do something.
The Secret Service and those close to the President aren’t going to act. They’ve been infiltrated by these fake DIA people.”
Skibicki grabbed his arm.
“You ran away from them?
They don’t know you’re gone?” he asked.
“Oh, they know I’m gone,” Boomer said, remembering the car he’d left in the tunnel.
“You were supposed to warn the President!” Skibicki yelled at him.
“I couldn’t even get close to him!” Boomer said angrily.
Skibicki had no reply to that.
“Have you heard anything new?” Boomer asked in a calmer voice.
“The Sam Houston is lying off-coast. I think they’ll infil tonight sometime. Nothing from the north shore. Trace landed a little while ago, and your friends in the Secret Service have her in tow along with the diary. Hopefully that will make the President act. If not…” He slapped the dive knife he was throwing into a mesh bag.
“There’s a good chance whoever met her isn’t Secret Service,” Boomer said.
“She’s might be in the hands of The Line right now.”
Skibicki shook his head.
“I talked to General Maxwell.
He said he’d make sure she’s safe. Tell me what happened from the time I dropped you off at the hotel.”