DIVISIBLE MAN--THE THIRD LIE by Howard Seaborne

Author:Howard Seaborne [Seaborne, Howard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Trans World Data LLC

37

I dropped Lillian off in Madison where, she said, she planned to crash with Doug Stephenson for a while.

“He will come after your skinny ass,” she warned me after I shut down the engines on the Wisconsin Aviation ramp. She sat for a moment in the copilot’s seat, regarding me with sharp concern. “Lewko.”

“Me? I doubt it. I was the dumbest guy in the room.”

She shook her head. “Lewko was the second smartest guy in that room—after me. Which means he won’t underestimate you.”

“Did you just compliment me?”

“No. You’re still a dumbass.”

“Do you think he really believes all that UFO…stuff.” I nearly said crap.

“It’s not a question of him believing, Will. It’s a question of everyone else refusing to believe. That includes you, dumbass.”

That strange, brilliant, fervent woman gave me a hug after we stepped from the airplane to the ramp. She hurried to the glass FBO building without looking back.

I nearly followed her. Haggis notwithstanding, I was hungry and the Jet Room restaurant that shares space with the Wisconsin Aviation FBO serves one hell of a hamburger. But I had not yet reassembled my phone and called Andy. I decided the short hop home to see her in person made more sense than an awkward conversation via cellphone.

Less than half an hour later, I rolled off Runway 31 and onto the main ramp at Essex County Airport. In an unusual fashion, half of Earl’s air charter fleet stood nose to tail in front of the hangar.

I taxied past the three aircraft, then killed the Navajo’s engines and rolled to a stop facing the Foundation hangar. A few minutes later, driven by curiosity, I strolled across the grass toward the air service office, mindful that Rosemary II might have a bounty on my head.

While I schemed a way to avoid Rosemary II, a stream of SUVs swerved off Highway 34 into the airport parking lot. The gate to the ramp had been locked open. The parade, led by Chief Ceeves’ big SUV, shot through the gate and disappeared around the hangar. Five vehicles followed. A moment later, the caravan pulled up beside the waiting aircraft. Doors flew open. Men and women from the ranks of the visiting FBI spilled out. Special Agent Janos climbed out of the Chief’s SUV and began directing his agents to line up to board Earl’s small fleet.

I diverted to the ramp as Earl Jackson and three Essex County Air Service pilots emerged from the hangar and met the FBI teams. Dave Peterson waved at me, then headed for the King Air parked in the lead. Janos ordered seven of his team to follow Dave.

“Pidge!” I called out as she hurried toward the Piper Mojave parked behind the King Air. She held up one hand with five fingers splayed.

“I can take five!” she announced to the armed and body-armored agents on the ramp.

“Pidge!”

She turned to me without stopping. I trotted to catch up to her. I blinked when I spotted a yellow and purple bruise on her cheek, starting at the eye socket.

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