"We have them on the run now," Buddy declared, quickly followed by a joyous whoop. He grinned at Matt. "I like the weapon systems."
Matt brought Thunderhawk around to make another pass at the fleeing SUV. The same SUV carrying Miles Mayhem. Through the PNA's local dispatcher, he knew the Paris police had set up a roadblock, but with the weapon systems of the vehicle below them still operational he knew the police would have no hope of stopping them.
As Thunderhawk came out of its turn, the targeting computer homed in on the SUV, while a secondary system focused on a structure not far away.
Matt hesitated. On an impulse, he used the computer to zoom in on the image. His breath caught in his throat. Matt put Thunderhawk into a sharp turn.
Buddy looked at him in surprise as they were pushed back into their seats. "What is it?"
"They hit the Eiffel Tower."
Buddy looked down, "And I see the vehicle that did it. One helicopter down but both ground vehicles are still operational."
"We have to let them go for now. Look at how the tower is leaning. This isn't supposed to be the leaning tower of Pisa."
Buddy manipulated the image as they grew closer. "Looks like two support beams were hit. It's actively collapsing. Good grief, someone is on the uppermost observation level!"
Matt glanced down. His heart sank even further. He recognized the bright yellow hat and gloves of someone hanging over the edge of the railing. "And I sent Scott to the Eiffel Tower for safety."
"That's your kid?" Buddy asked, looking up at him in surprise. He looked back down at the computer screen and shook his head. "Hate to say this, but it's going to collapse before anyone can get to him."
"Which is why we're here."
Matt took one pass by the Eiffel Tower, but the view did nothing to help him come up with ideas. The safety mesh along one entire side had given way. He could see Scott struggling to climb back up over the railing, but the entire top of the tower was collapsing to one side fast.
"Bring us around again, across the area both supports are collapsing," Buddy said suddenly.
"Good way to be flattened," Matt said, even as he brought the vehicle around the Tower to the leaning side.
"If we can do this fast enough, we won't have to worry about that." Buddy worked at the computer and targeting system. "Get us within 30 feet."
Matt's shoulders tensed as he slowed the flight speed. He worked to keep the distance constant. As they drew near, Buddy started tapping the outer metal braces with small pulses of laser, the metal turning red in response. The structure above them groaned, a sound Matt could hear even over the engines of Thunderhawk.
As they flew by, he saw Scott turn his head towards them as he kicked and pushed against the Tower. Ms. Vivant had hold of his coat, her other arm holding onto a vertical brace to keep herself from falling over.
"I think that did it," Buddy announced. "Did I mention I love these weapons? Powerful, but you somehow designed in flexibility. Who designed them?"
Matt didn't say anything, to which Buddy sighed heavily. Matt quickly circled back. The upper portion of the Tower stood still. At the breaks in the supports a section of metal steamed in the cold air.
Somehow, Buddy had done it. Basically welded some of the metal together. Just enough to stop the active collapse. "Good thinking. It should be enough they can get down if they hurry."
He made a wider circle around the Tower. Scott's flailing feet found a footing. Ms. Vivant braced herself and with both hands heaving on Scott's coat he managed to get his stomach over the railing. He fell safely to the other side the railing keeping him from a deadly fall to the ground.
Matt breathed a sigh of relief.
"Bulldog to Mask Leader, please report," a male voice said over the radio.
"Mask leader?" Buddy asked.
Matt looked down at the computer, flipping a switch while bringing Thunderhawk to an altitude just above the Eiffel Tower. "This is Mask Leader. Go ahead."
"We have two armed SUV's escaping the city. Do we have any other targets out there?" the voice asked.
"Negative, main threat has been neutralized. You'll find the transmission device in the wreckage of a helicopter at the bottom of the river. Prepare for coded transmission of wreckage coordinates," Matt answered.
"Roger that, Mask Leader. Thank you for your assistance. Bulldog out."
Buddy looked at Matt with narrowed eyes as Matt transmitted the GPS coordinates of the wreckage and then severed the connection. He said in an accusing voice, "Bulldog is an office at the PNA."
Matt made another pass around the tower. He remarked, "The weld is still holding. Let's hope no strong winds hit soon before the evacuation is finished."
Buddy shook his head, giving Matt a disgusted look. With Scott and Ms. Vivant now gone from sight Matt turned Thunderhawk away from the Eiffel Tower. Flashing lights along the roads showed emergency vehicles quickly converging on the grounds of the Eiffel Tower.
He landed Thunderhawk in an ice fogbank next to a wider section of the river. The vehicle switched to civilian mode, the doors coming down and the weapons tucking into their hiding places. The color on the hood changed from glossy black to glossy red. The heating system began pumping hot air into the cab, quickly warming the sub-freezing temperatures to something more bearable. Matt pulled off the dark face mask with one hand and dropped it on Buddy's lap.
"How would you know a PNA codename?" Matt asked as he seamlessly entered civilian traffic in one of the busier boulevards.
Buddy snorted. "I'm good at what I do. Matt, what have you gotten yourself into?"
Matt felt a vibration in his pocket. He flipped on the computer, patching the cell phone signal through it.
"Dad?" Scott's voice asked, sounding excited.
Such a relief to hear his voice. Matt took a deep breath. "I'm here. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. We just got down to the second level through the emergency staircase. Are you okay? Wait, Ms. Vivant wants to talk to you."
The sound muffled and then Ms. Vivant's excited and breathless voice came over the speakers. "Mr. Trakker, you will not believe what just happened!"
"I can't imagine," Matt said with a bland voice, but grinning at Buddy.
"The Eiffel Tower, it has been attacked! Scott and I are fine, but I see police arriving. Perhaps you should come."
"I'll be right there," Matt said.
He ended the call a moment later. He took the next turn to head back towards the Eiffel Tower. He could still feel the adrenalin rush. He took several deep breaths to calm down.
"You can let me out anywhere along here," Buddy said.
"Don't need a ride back to your car?"
"I'll take a bus. Go, take care of your son. I have business of my own to take care of."
Matt brought Thunderhawk to a stop near a bus stop. Buddy opened the door when on an impulse Matt put a hand on his shoulder. Buddy stopped in the process of pushing himself out, looking back at him.
"If you ever decide to retire from your business, perhaps you'll talk to me about something a little different. Something just as challenging, using your skills to help the world," Matt said.
Buddy smiled wryly. "I'll keep it in mind."
It took several hours before Matt was allowed into the area surrounding the Eiffel Tower. By mid-afternoon the police permitted him access to the police station Scott had been reported to be waiting. The moment Matt walked in and found Scott he enveloped the boy in a big hug.
"Dad, I can't breathe," Scott immediately complained.
Matt loosened his embrace and helped him pick up the gloves he'd dropped. His inspected his son from head to toe. No bruises to be seen, not even a tear on his coat. Despite his nearly deadly trip to the Eiffel Tower, Scott seemed relatively unaffected.
Matt smiled. "I'm just glad you're okay. I hear you had quite the adventure on the third level. Hurt?"
Scott made a face and shook his head. "But now we can't go up to see the lights at night. When will the tower be fixed?"
Someone in the back of the waiting room snorted at the question. Matt ignored him. "I'm afraid the tower will be closed for a long time. It didn't quite collapse, but it came close. It's just not safe right now.
A moment later the local Sergeant himself came out to ask Scott a few questions. Scott listened to the questions carefully, but gave only simple answers. Not once saying anything about what he'd seen in the skies other than it had looked like two helicopters fighting. Nothing about Thunderhawk, Matt noted proudly. Good. Scott could keep a secret.
The Sergeant nodded, satisfied, and dismissed them.
Scott looked back at Matt and whispered so softly Matt could hardly hear the words, "I didn't say anything. Promise."
Matt ruffled his hair, "I know you didn't."
Ms. Vivant joined them from one of the other offices, raving, "Most amazing, Mr. Trakker. It looked just like a car, flying! You would be so proud of your son. So brave! Too bad no one knows who flew to our aid. No one saw their faces!.Even the police don't know!"
"What a mystery," Matt mused, taking hold of Scott's hand as they went out into the cold.
"Can we have lunch now?" Scott asked.
~x~~x~~x~
"The government promises to have the Eiffel Tower repaired and open in time for the summer tourist season. In the meantime, the rumors surrounding the new terrorist group known as Venom continues to circulate. While their attempts to extort a billion dollars from the people of Paris ultimately failed, a further investigation has shown the threat could have succeeded. A series of operational bombs dating back to World War II have been found and defused and pieces of a triggering device recovered from a helicopter crash site. The findings have other cities previously occupied by the Germans scrambling to see if they might also have unwelcome remnants from the war. Another mystery centers around the unusual flying object seen in armed combat with vehicles identified as belonging to the Venom group. The only official word as to the identity of the vehicle comes from the PNA, who have acknowledged it belongs to an unnamed PNA-sanctioned specialist group. Requests for further details have been denied."
Vanessa reached over and turned off the radio. She sat back in her chair, cocking her head at Miles Mayhem. "So close. I'll admit, the plan had potential, but in the end what do we have?"
Miles reached into a duffel bag at his feet and tossed a bag across the table to land in front of her. "The bank robberies did succeed. I won't fail again, not with the new vehicles coming online. The PNA car will be blown out of the sky."
Vanessa opened the bag. Inside sat several bundles of high-denomination French and American currency. She flipped through a few of the bundles. Good condition, all previously used and nothing in serial number sequence. She estimated she had before her close to forty thousand.
She closed the bag and leaned back again. "You've now made a very public name for yourself, one that will cause anyone to pause. What do you have in mind for next time?"
Miles smirked. "Curious?"
"When money comes into the equation I always am."
Miles studied her as the whine of a metal drill prevented all conversation. When the sound died down Miles asked, "Just how interested are you?"
"It depends on what you ultimately have to offer."
Miles nodded towards the garage. "A solid group dedicated to making serious money, perhaps spreading a little fear now and again to get across the point we mean business. Money and power are the only things that matter in this world, and I plan to grab a lot of both. This isn't a transitory group. You are either in or out."
Both money and power appealed to her greatly. She'd tired of jewelry heists anyway. She wanted something that would challenge her skills. Vanessa asked, "Is this an invitation?"
Miles nodded. "I need intelligence, people who can think on their feet. Skills you've always been well known for. You would be a good asset to my organization, and I reward good work well."
Vanessa fingered the bag of money for a moment. People had been waiting for them as soon as they crossed from France into Spain. With their escape vehicles safely hidden, they'd then transferred to a warehouse and garage in an industrial complex on the other side of the mountains. Safe, without an indication that law enforcement knew a thing about their location.
As usual, Miles proved himself a good organizer.
She said suddenly, "I want a better vehicle. The one today had power, but it needs more."
Miles began to chuckle. He pulled out of his bag a thick roll of wide paper. He rolled it out on the table. Vanessa left the money to come to look at it. On the paper were drawn the new plans for a heavier SUV modeled after the popular Bronco. The transformed version showed a larger upper laser turret towards the rear, heavier armor over the grill and wheels, a stronger chassis, and several additional weapon systems.
"Not bad," Vanessa admitted. Before Miles could react, she reached over and flicked the page to the next sheet. What she saw made her suck in her breath. She tapped her finger on it, "That one."
"Dagger has already claimed it. Wish to fight him for it?"
Vanessa narrowed her eyes. "Dagger is better with a tank, anyway. You really want him up in the air buzzing around you? I'm a better pilot than he'll ever be. If you want support in the air then put me in this."
She could tell Miles was swayed by the argument. Her flying skills weren't in doubt. She smiled to herself. She would win him over to her side. Manta would be hers.
She continued, "Now, about the masks."
~x~~x~~x~
Buddy walked up to the large hand-crafted desk, light filtering into the darkened office through closed blinds at the window. He set the wrapped bundle on the desk. The swarthy man on the other side reached over to pick it up. Carefully, the man unwrapped the folds of cloth. The glitter of the gold and gemstone studded earrings twinkled in his eyes.
The man smiled. "You did it."
"You hired the best," Buddy said simply.
The man set down the bundle and opened a desk drawer. He reached over and put several bundles of cash in front of him. "And I pay promptly. Thank you for returning them. They are priceless."
Buddy picked up the bundles and slipped them into a large pocket on the inside of this jacket. He didn't bother counting it. He'd done his research on his client and knew every dollar would be there.
"I have a colleague who has need of your talents," the man started to say,."Similar situation: an irreplaceable item taken from their home at a gathering. If you wish, you can work through me."
Buddy shook his head. "I appreciate the thought. However, I am now retiring from the business."
The man started, repeating in disbelief, "Retiring?"
"Yes. I have family obligations to take care of. I intend to have a very boring life from this point forward."
The corners of the man's mouth tilted up. "Boring? I cannot see this holding you for very long."
"I can be very determined when I choose to be. I would appreciate it if you would quietly spread the word."
The man inclined his head while looking down at the earrings. "Family obligations I understand. I wish you well in your new life. If you should so wish to return to what is your passion, you will surely find work."
An open invitation to contact the man again, obviously. Buddy quickly left before the offer for more money started to sway his decision. A decision he hadn't come by easily.
He took his time with the money deposits and other efforts to hide his tracks. He hid his custom car in its usual hiding place, ready for use the next time he was on the continent. He didn't find anyone tailing him.
A week later he stood in the international airport in Rome, Italy. No disguises or fake names. This time he traveled as plain "Buddy Hawks". Only one ordinary person among the hundreds of passengers waiting for their flights.
He managed to sleep a little bit on the flight to the United States. He rented a car to get to his father's ranch, at which point he returned the rental to a nearby branch. His father looked surprised to see him, but didn't press where he'd been.
Buddy spent two days at the ranch, helping the old man with general repairs. His father didn't say much, but Buddy could feel him continually glancing at him with a confused expression on his face.
At a Sunday dinner it came to a head.
Garret Hawks set down his fork after devouring a meal of steak and home-canned vegetables. Looking straight at his son with his piercing pale blue eyes, he simply asked, "What are you doing here, son?"
Buddy took a sip of water before answering. "I'm home for good. You have plenty of things around here that need fixing. A working ranch can always use an extra hand."
"The Doctor says my heart is fine. The pacemaker is doing its job."
"It's not just that, Dad."
His father looked around the tidy kitchen. "I recall you as a youngster. Always under a car, always getting into trouble. The ranch wasn't big enough to hold you. What makes you think its big enough now?"
"You need help, Dad. You can't live alone any longer. So, now I'm here." Buddy answered. He should feel thankful it took a few days for the conversation to come up. Much as he'd dreaded it coming.
No matter, he was determined to stick it out. He'd retired. He was staying.
"Sheila might have something to say about that."
Buddy looked up in surprise at the mention of that name. "Sheila Hamilton? From the square-dancing club?"
Buddy's eyes narrowed as Dad's weathered cheeks blushed. "And still dancing circles around the young'ins."
Buddy eyed him suspiciously. "Dad, are you trying to tell me something?"
He sighed, looking at Buddy with a sheepish expression. "I was thinking of poppin' the question."
At first he could only stare as his father's flush deepened. Buddy started grinning. "You old hound-dog."
His Father pointed a finger at him. "And that means it's time for you to make a place of your own. Not that I approved of you roving all over the world, up to who-knows-what. But, you need your own space. Find it!"
Buddy grinned, feeling a weight lift from him.
He spent the rest of the week on top of the roof, repairing an area of weathered shingles before the next snow storm. He met up with Sheila at the hardware store while picking up a few ranch supplies with his father. The way the two carried on Buddy had no doubt something would be happening between them in the near future.
With snowflakes in the air and Dad and Sheila waving him off, he got into an old weather-beaten truck he'd kept in the barn. Instinctively he headed south, stopping only for fuel and eating breaks.
The sun just dipped behind the Rocky Mountains when he arrived at his destination. Surprisingly, he found the gates open. He drove up the long drive, bringing his truck to a stop in front of a flight of grand stairs leading to heavy ornate double doors leading into the stately mansion. He turned off the engine and leaned up against the steering wheel. He studied the looming building. A mixture of architecture gave it the appearance of old-world charm along with the efficiency of modern design. Lights shined through several of the ground-floor windows.
Reaffirming his decision to himself, he pushed open the truck door. Climbing the stairs, he rang the bell.
The door opened almost instantly, a young boy calling out from somewhere deeper in the house, "Is the pizza here?"
Matt Trakker stared at Buddy, opening the door wider. Neither said anything as they sized each other up.
Buddy took a deep breath, and plunged forward, "What did you have in mind?"
Matt slowly started to grin. He stepped back and motioned Buddy inside. "Let's talk about it."
The End