Four

Newsflash

'U.S. NAVAL BASE GAS LEAK TURNS DEADLY: NO FATALITIES' screamed the headline of the Washington Times the following morning. The headline came complete with large and detailed photographs of the incident, as well as the beginnings of a long article. Alexis raised an eyebrow at the image of the destroyed hangars but began to read the story anyway. Sometime during the day yesterday, the naval base near southeastern China had sprung a leak in one of the main fuel lines. The dripping fuel had eventually created a puddle on top of an electrical conduit, where one stray spark had ignited a fire that grew several times its original size within seconds, using the fuel lines to shoot up through the walls and straight into a connecting line. Normally, the fire's path would have ended there, but the line had been opened and connected to a F-22 fuel tank… essentially creating a giant bomb. The shards from the first explosion had ripped the second F-22 open, exposing more explosive material. In the end, the entire south hangar had been ripped from the base itself and fallen into the ocean waters below it. Miraculously, there had been no deaths, seeing that there had only been two to three maintenance workers plus a few others in the hangar at the time and they had just gone for an 'impromptu midnight swim' as the paper put it.

There was one little fact that sent up a little red warning flag. Both commanding officers at the base, US Navy Vice Admiral Benson and USAF Colonel Stanton, had declined to comment on the poor maintenance of the fuel lines, or on the entire accident itself. Beyond the news story and the report apparently submitted to the Department of Defense, neither commander was saying anything else.

Alexis sighed and rubbed her head after putting the paper flat on the table. She was too tired to be reading this sort of news and over-analyzing it. After the squadrons had been disbanded yesterday, she and Tyrone had managed to escape to the city outskirts and spent most of the afternoon in a park. She had fallen asleep immediately that night from exhaustion, and so she was still groggy at the moment.

"What's new?" Tyrone asked, slipping into the empty spot across the mess hall table from her. Alexis jerked at his voice, and he laughed at her bewildered expression

Alexis chuckled a bit to humor him, and then could only stare at him in amazement… he actually had his dress uniform on when it wasn't necessary. "You're actually here for breakfast even though you said you hated it?" she asked. "Did the landlady evict you or something because you didn't pay rent?"

"I still do hate the food here," Tyrone said, indicating the Dunkin' Donuts bag he'd just set down. "And no, the landlady didn't evict me… I'm the only tenant she has who is reliable when it comes to rent paying," he added. He sipped his coffee, also purchased, and then asked again, "What's new?"

"Gas leak at a US naval base. Huge unexpected explosion," Alexis replied, pushing the paper towards him. "No deaths, just injuries," she added before taking another bite of breakfast.

"Plus a pissed-off colonel. She doesn't look too happy there… it's as though she's not used to being mad," Tyrone said, pointing to the small photo that Alexis had missed when reading the paper earlier. Alexis grimaced when she recognized the figure as a drenched Stanton. The colonel was still tense, and looked as though she was about to lose her temper with the non-uniformed, unfamiliar man at her side. The caption below the snapshot read that the colonel had been at the hangar entrance when the hangars finally fell into the water, and she had been counted as an 'impromptu swimmer'.

"Actually, she usually looks like that when she's in a foul mood," Alexis said before going back to the last of her breakfast. She looked up at Tyrone and then said, "You know, neither of us are needed today, so that means we can just do whatever we want within the city."

Tyrone visibly perked up at the thought. "That'll be something to look forward too," he said, pulling two doughnuts out of the bag. He looked up at her soberly and then said, "But I have business to take care of first… a necessary meeting."

Alexis pretended to look shocked. "My own second-in-command officer, Lieutenant Tyrone Maxwell, is actually going to a meeting even though he hates sitting through them?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"It's necessary for tomorrow, and no, I'm not going to start anything," Tyrone assured her, downing the last of his coffee in three gulps. "Then we can spend the rest of the day doing whatever, your call."

"Cool," she said, carefully masking her disappointment. Sure she was relieved that Tyrone was taking his duties seriously this time, but did he honestly have to choose the only day they were both free? Tomorrow, she, Mareski, and two others were going to a start a three-day run with two superior officers. It was just going to be two to three hour meetings focused on ensuring that everyone was going to be on the same page the day of the panel. Even though it was going to be short, Alexis couldn't help but wonder if something was going to interrupt what little time they did have. "Lunch at Marco's then?" she asked finally.

"Twelve-thirty sharp," Tyrone promised, standing up. He bent down and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "See you later," he whispered and then turned and walked away. Alexis leaned her chin on her fist and just sat there at the mess hall table ignoring her breakfast, just thinking and staring at nothing in particular

Tyrone tried not to look back as he walked away from the mess hall. He felt guilty for abandoning her and dashing her hopes like that, but this meeting was too important to cancel. Tyrone took a few deep breaths to calm his temper down… in order to conduct this meeting, he was going to have to get past Major Cromwell's mysterious and volatile lieutenant SIC.

The night before, Tyrone and a few other off-duty pilots had a few drinks at a popular hangout in DC. Captain Mareski had been among the three out of the fifteen attendees who had crossed the forbidden line and had gotten somewhat… drunk to the point where anything said aloud was hilarious to them. Then towards the end of the evening, Mareski ended up spilling new information on Cromwell, information that Tyrone had found not only interesting, but useful as well. According to Mareski, Cromwell had the lieutenant for the second-in-command, but also a few subordinates from his Sector Seven days for the other positions in the command structure. Gaining favor from the major for newcomers wasn't hard… usually. Tyrone was on a mission to make amends with the major, and maybe even convince him that either Alexis or himself could be a valuable ally.

The catch however, Mareski had also warned, was that they needed the lieutenant's approval first… the same lieutenant who had caused physical harm to one of Mareski's pilots.

Tyrone straightened his posture, and then continued walking while he pulled out a slip of paper that had the major's office number and the time of the appointment. Alexis would forgive Tyrone for attempting this once he made her time with the major later this week easier for her… her stress levels seemed to have increased significantly ever since the incident in Jordan. She didn't need a temperamental major to make it worse.

Tyrone hesitated once he arrived to the featureless door. He could always cancel; Alexis was right when she said that he hated sitting through meetings… he tended to avoid them at all costs.

Right as he made up his mind to walk away, the door opened. Startled, he jumped back and looked at who had opened the door.

A man wearing a lieutenant's insignia looked disapprovingly at him. He was dressed in a similar navy uniform as the major, complete with the Sector Seven patch on the right armband. But what caught Tyrone's attention was the light blue seal on the top right of the man's uniform.

"He's expecting you," the man said shortly and coldly after his dark eyes had scanned Tyrone. Without another word, the man turned around and disappeared inside the office, Tyrone close behind. Tyrone didn't want to give the lieutenant another excuse to snap at him… this was pretty bad for a first impression already.

The office was just like any administrator's office. The walls were a cool red color, and there were a few prints framed on the wall, images of plants and animals from places around the world. One of the two non-nature images on the wall was of a woman holding a two or three-year old boy, and Tyrone could see what looked like red rock and blue sky behind the pair. The woman had her brown hair pulled back in a braid, and they were both wearing sunglasses although the boy's glasses were clearly too large for him.

Cromwell was sitting at the desk, alternating between a document and the computer. He looked up when Tyrone entered, then exited the program, and then put the document away into the desk. Without a word, he gestured for Tyrone to sit down. The lieutenant disappeared from sight briefly but reappeared behind the major's left shoulder. To be honest, Tyrone personally felt that he was under a powerful microscope at this point.

"So, um, Grand Canyon?" Tyrone guessed, gesturing to the photo on the wall. It was a vain attempt to break the silence and the ease the tension that he had been feeling since he walked in.

Cromwell looked at the photograph, and Tyrone swore that a wistful look had crossed the major's otherwise stone facial expression. "Yes, my family and I went to the Grand Canyon back in 2002, before I went back to duty," Cromwell said softly, suddenly dropping the tough-guy act. "I have not seen my wife or son since."

"Why not?" Tyrone asked, curious despite himself. As he watched from the corner of his eye, he noticed that the lieutenant was watching the speaker, his head turning at each turn of the conversation.

Cromwell sighed, and said, "I never told her about my work with Sector Seven, just to protect her and my son. In 2003, I was ordered to go underground to continue working, so I had to stage the accident at Nellis to escape." He looked up at Tyrone, who was surprised to see a sorrowful look on the major's face. "I attended the memorial, in the back of the audience," the major said quietly. "I almost blew the mission right then and there; I had never seen her so upset before. Leaving her was one of the hardest things I had ever done in my career."

"Why not call her now?" Tyrone asked, feeling like a child who was learning the ways of the world for the first time.

Cromwell shrugged. "I tried. The number had been terminated. I don't know where she is now," he said, straightening in his seat. "Now, what was it that you wanted to see me about ?" he asked, facing Tyrone. The lieutenant behind him relaxed infinitesimally as though satisfied that they were finally getting down to business.

"Just to apologize, sir," Tyrone began slowly.

"Who are you again?" Cromwell interrupted, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Tyrone gulped and then said, "First Lieutenant Tyrone Maxwell, sir. I, uh, bumped into you yesterday and you confronted my captain about it." He was glad that Cromwell couldn't tell how nervous he'd suddenly become lest the major decide to exploit his nervousness.

"If you want to know what I think, I thought it was more of a rude shove," the lieutenant remarked, volunteering his opinion even though Tyrone personally didn't care about it. The lieutenant looked at the major and said, "I also think that you let him off rather easily for that… transgression."

"With all due respect, lieutenant," Tyrone cut in before the major could speak. "I think you're unusually chatty for a subordinate who, traditionally speaking, has no right to interfere with his superior's business."

That struck a nerve. The lieutenant stretched to his full height and went rigid, jaw twitching from the effort of repressing swift vengeance. Tyrone now knew that the lieutenant probably considered himself to be equal to the rank of captain, and took offense when someone reminded him of his lower status. The major on the other hand had found the exchange humorous, and was half-repressing a laugh. Offended by the laughter, the lieutenant finally stalked out of the room altogether, the door closing behind him with a sharp snap.

"So as I was saying, I am sorry for bumping into you yesterday. I did not realize your rank until after you were chasing me, and by that time, I was kind of freaked out… sir," Tyrone explained, remembering the proper address in time.

Instead of reacting drastically, the major merely nodded in acknowledgement. "I accept your apology. You are fortunate to have a captain who is a skilled negotiator, or I would have taken you to Farthingale immediately," he said calmly. He looked at Tyrone and said, "You care for her very much don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Tyrone admitted. "I've known her for about a year and a half, and what you saw yesterday was a much better person when than what she was when she first joined us in March of last year. She was… I don't know, quiet and not very trusting then. Her problem was that she kept over-analyzing anything anyone said to her." Tyrone relaxed in the chair, feeling more comfortable than when he first entered the office.

"In that case, she seems to have healed from whatever has happened the past," the major observed. "She seems to be a lucky find, and if I were you, I wouldn't let an opportunity like that slip past."

"Thank you, sir," Tyrone said, grinning.

The major checked the clock and said, "I hate to cut this short, but I have to be elsewhere in a few minutes." He tilted his head and said, "Thank you Lieutenant Maxwell for your apology. You may be dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," Tyrone said, and stood up to leave. He may have not secured Cromwell's favor or support, but at least he knew that Alexis was a possible candidate for another ally.

Cromwell watched in silence as Maxwell left the room, shutting the door behind him. He sighed and then stood up as his second-in-command materialized from the only dark corner of the room. Cromwell walked to the other side of the desk as his right-hand man took the computer chair. "Not going to mince words… that was painful to watch," the man said, breaking the silence between them.

Cromwell leaned against the doorframe and checked to ensure the door was securely locked before letting the last of his laughs out. He ignored the scowl from the SIC, who had paused in his work on the computer to glare at the major. "You only think that was funny because it wasn't aimed at you," the lieutenant growled.

"Actually, I thought it was entertaining because it may not describe you, but more of one of the missing comrades," Cromwell said, looking at the lieutenant, who nodded thoughtfully.

There was a moment of silence as both men let the insult absorb. The lieutenant scowled again and snapped, "Well, enjoy it while you can. I'll make you regret it later."

This had the opposite effect than the lieutenant intended, and he muttered profanities to himself as he continued working on the computer while the major released the last few chuckles. There was silence between them, and then the major said, "You were right, this is tiring."

"I told you that it was better to stay in the Middle East so we would be in one place and not risking our cover with potential witnesses," the lieutenant shot back. "Perhaps I should have reinforced my opinion a little better."

"I still think it was too risky to stay… he would have expected you to stay in one place and not come here where you already have a track record," Cromwell disagreed, looking at the lieutenant. "In the Middle East, you asked for what I thought, and based upon what you told me, I thought you had a better chance of surviving out here."

"More importantly, you have a better chance out here for a semi-permanent home," the lieutenant reminded him. "I have to go back at some point and put up with him some more. He'll get suspicious if I don't go back soon."

Cromwell reined in his irritation and then asked, "What of the 'allies' you said you had here? Where are they?"

"Not sure. This is the first time I actually came into this facility. I want to use the Air Force database to see who is here, so it will save us both the time and trouble," the lieutenant reminded him. "However, I am sure that they will help."

"How sure?" Cromwell asked suspiciously.

"Damn sure," the lieutenant muttered, accessing another program. The USAF logo suddenly appeared on the screen, and the lieutenant entered Cromwell's username and password into the appropriate boxes, and then continued working. "Did you ever get the captain's name from Maxwell?" he suddenly asked.

"No. What are you doing?" Cromwell finally asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

"Fixing a few things. Did you get any feedback yet from the others?" the lieutenant asked, still working on the computer.

"Yes. Everyone is prepared and everything is in place," Cromwell answered, staring at the photograph of the smiling woman and boy. "How much longer will this be necessary?" he asked, still looking at the woman in particular.

"Not for much longer," First Lieutenant Stryker Davis said, leaning back in the chair seat. Smiling now, he flicked a glance at Cromwell and said, "Tomorrow, the real fun begins… trust me."

Major Cromwell thought about it for a moment, and then nodded.

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The real fun was about to begin for someone else too, someone several hundred miles north of Washington DC.

The Aviator's Café was a bustling place of activity, even in mid-morning. Images of countless types of airplanes and pilots, both civilian and military, adorned the bamboo-hued walls. While it was located in a bustling part of Worcester, Massachusetts, there were plenty of regular customers to the point where the owner, Amalia Roxbury, could greet each person by name and ask about how so-and-so was doing, or congratulate someone else on the addition of a new family member. The café came highly recommended to tourists, so the place was crazier in the summertime.

None of that made any difference to five-year-old Maisy Roxbury as she wandered through the restaurant looking for her mother or her father… whoever she found first, but preferably her father. She paused to look at a vivid image of a wrecked building on the front page of a newspaper that a customer was too busy reading to notice her. Maisy shook her head disapprovingly. Didn't people in the world know how to share and not fight so much? That way, a lot less things in the world would be broken.

She weaved her way in and out of the waiters and customers in the aisle. The waiters were tricky; she was too small for them to notice her in time to avoid a spill, so she had to respect them and get out of their way. She didn't like the waiters… most of them were not much older than herself. Her mother didn't like them either… something about 'clumsy idiots'.

"Mommy?" she asked once she arrived to the cash register. She discreetly elbowed the customer out of the way so she could get to her mother faster. "Mommy, where's Daddy?"

Amalia looked flustered as she found her daughter at her side. "Maisy, I don't know where Daddy is… probably hiding again," she said as she counted the customer's change, the last part of her sentence disappearing into a mutter. "When he wants to, he'll show up. Why do you want him?"

"Because I think his private phone is making that beeping sound again. I think it's either broken or it's going to blow up soon," Maisy said in a serious tone.

Before Amalia could ask for clarification, a shrill beeping sound cut across the din of the restaurant. She swore aloud and abandoned the register, ignoring the shocked customer. She didn't have to worry about the waiters; once they saw the five-month pregnant owner of the restaurant coming, they cleared out of her way pretty fast. She swore again as she picked up her husband's neglected cell phone, which had been sitting on the windowsill. "Hello?" she asked into the phone, her eyes scouring the restaurant for her husband. She knew he was in the establishment… his favorite Jeep was in the parking lot in the employees' section.

"Is Lucas Roxbury there? This is an old friend of his… Tobias Jackson."

"No, he's hiding in the cellar again," Amalia said, guessing that was her husband's location since she didn't see the lazy idiot anywhere in sight. "Gimme a sec," she said, and then lowered the phone. "Maisy! Bring the phone to the cellar door!" she ordered as her daughter came running up to her.

"Yes, Mommy," the child said before taking the phone to the cellar door, which was in the back of the kitchen. She used a tiny fist to knock, and then she shouted, "Daddy, the phone!"

There were a few moments of silence, and then the door opened to reveal her father. Lucas Roxbury looked tiredly down at his daughter before accepting the phone. "Thank you sweetheart… now go help your mother," he said before shutting the door again.

Inside, Lucas walked down the steps as he answered the phone. "Lucas here," he said, running a worn hand through his hair.

"Lucas? It's me, Tobias."

Lucas chuckled at the sound of his old friend's voice. "Good to hear you again Jackson. What's up? You need to come down to Massachusetts and visit sometime," he said, sitting down at his workbench/desk.

"I would if I wasn't in prison," Tobias replied, and Lucas frowned and sat up. Before he could ask, Tobias said, "It's a long story, but to make it short, I helped some comrades push a government administrator out of a C-17… not literally, I just helped by faking engine trouble."

Lucas snorted in amusement, his earlier dark musings temporarily forgotten. "That's ingenious… we've should have faked engine trouble that one time the four-oh-first had to escort Simmons to Los Angeles in '04…" he remarked.

"Look, forget about engine failure for a moment. How much do you know about NEST?" Tobias asked, and Lucas couldn't tell if his friend was irritated or simply impatient to get the main message to him.

"If you tell me what it stands for, then there is an infinitesimally small chance that I have some remote chance of understanding," Lucas said, leaning back in his chair. "In other words, I've never heard of the acronym before. Is it a government group or a new sports team that's just formed?"

Tobias was silent for a few seconds. "You're still wallowing in guilt for something that's long gone aren't you? That's why you're, um, still a bit out of touch with reality, right?" he asked. "Are you still hiding out in that cellar you showed me around the last time we got together?"

"What do you want Jackson?" Lucas snapped irritably. "And I don't hide out in the cellar that much anymore, not after Mission City," he quickly added, an impromptu defense for his activities.

"I need you to do a jailbreak for me, a friend or two… um, maybe a few vehicles, and no questions asked. Do you still remember how to fly a C-17?" Tobias asked, and Lucas heard a shuffling sound in the background.

"Do the cars need to be unlocked?" Lucas asked, his eyes subconsciously straying to the newest addition to the cellar, which was a large wooden partition cutting off a section of the room.

"I don't know how bad security is… why, you think you know how to do it?" Tobias asked curiously.

"I don't, but I know someone who can," Lucas said calmly. "So, bail you out. Got it. Do I get any help, or can I pick my helpers?"

"No. Write the following names down," Tobias instructed, and Lucas pulled out a notepad. He scribbled down the set of five names, and then tossed the pencil off to the side. He studied the names.

"Are they all American and therefore easy to find?" he asked, suddenly wary of the fact that he may have to do some extensive traveling.

"No, and they are all easy to find. Four are American, one is British. The British contact knows the location you'll be flying the C-17 to. I don't know where the specific location of any of the five… Mr. Keller might know."

"Who's Keller?" Lucas asked curiously, knowing that he was probably asking a dumb question.

There was a moment of silence. "Okay, now I know you've been hiding in the cellar too long. Keller was the Secretary of Defense under the last administration," Tobias said dryly. "I have to go… the guard's beginning to look at me suspiciously. Just get those people, get down here, bust us out, and then you can get back to your life… assuming you have one."

"I don't have to come and get you, you know," Lucas reminded his friend crossly. "I have a daughter and expecting wife to take care of."

"Sorry… see you soon then. Bye."

Lucas flipped his phone shut and then sat in contemplative silence. His wife used to fly small planes when she was younger, and took those memories to heart when she'd named and decorated the family restaurant. But what she didn't know was that Lucas himself used to be a pilot, an Air Force captain to be exact. Nobody who frequented the café knew that, they just knew him as Amalia's sometimes absent yet constantly devoted husband. Hell, he used to serve under General Stanton in the infamous 401st. He'd only resigned after Oroville in 2005 after he'd gotten the gut feeling that it was probably better to lay low and duck down for the oncoming years and the approaching trouble. The pilot Thompson had replaced him. Lucas had been plagued with deep guilt after the Mission City disaster, knowing that he should have been out there with his teammates instead of hiding out in the Northeast. After hearing of Thompson's death, he knew he had felt sorry for whoever replaced him… Lucas was convinced that bad things usually befell whoever held the captain's rank within the 401st. Then when Jordan happened, Lucas knew it was almost time for him to come out of hiding and pitch in.

Lucas decided not to dwell on that any longer. Amalia hated it when he was in one of those moods, and he knew the moods put great strains on the family. So he pretended like the past didn't happen the way it did.

There was a loud rattling sound from the partitioned part of the cellar. Lucas grimaced and said, "Sorry about that… I almost forgot all about you. I'll be right back." With those words, he jogged up the steps and slipped back into the kitchen. The few teenagers working in there didn't see him sneak past, steal a few sandwich ingredients, and then dart back into the cellar.

Lucas sighed as he constructed the sandwich, mentally debating if he should bail Jackson out or not. Doing so would probably drag him back into the military, but not doing it meant another six to twelve months of plaguing guilt.

"All right here you go... brunch," he said, walking over to the partition and unlocking the little door at the bottom of the wall. "I know you hate being in here, but it's for your own good." He quickly shoved the plate and food into the partitioned area, and the quickly shut the little door again before the receiver could cause problems. He rolled his eyes as he heard muffled curses on the other side, and then raised the little door so that the receiver could free the three fingers that had gotten trapped underneath the door.

When he went back to the list of people he'd left on the desk, he scanned it again. He was going to have to hire a few trusted helpers for the special cargo, some extra manpower, and another pilot for the C-17, or maybe even acquire a bigger plane. Well, he will do it. Find Keller, and the special five would follow. The others he would have to poke around Washington DC for... he didn't know where else to find pilots or helpers who were up for harebrained missions like the one he was about to embark on.

Lucas walked back to the main restaurant, wondering how the hell he was going to get started.

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A/N: Dunkin' Donuts products aren't mine... belongs to the corporation itself.