Coffee (49 page)

‘American
advisors,’ he realized on seeing the uniforms. The hotel stood
four stories. Bordering the building lay the park, an office
building, another hotel, and a vacant lot which was now filled with
military vehicles and a few large tents - presumably for the MP’s.

Bryce
eyed the empty looking five story office building next door. Only
the first floor lobby showed any sign of light. He took a
circuitous route to the back side to have a look in the windows. He
found an angled view into a guard station where a single security
guard sat, simultaneously reading a magazine, watching TV, and
eating a sandwich. The building must have once been a spectacle,
with ornate brick and terra cotta facade. The salt air had taken
its toll, pocking and dulling the clay to a bleak ashen hue.

The
bottom of a fire escape dangled a story above the street. Many foot
and hand holds made easy climbing for Bryce, who scaled the wall and
climbed onto the first fire escape platform. He tested each step on
the way up, avoiding the rusted iron spots.

Once on top, he could see down to the top of
Hotel Suica
. A
newly constructed heli-pad illuminated by four halogen lamps stood
in the center, where a Bell UH1-M Iroquois ‘Huey’
helicopter sat with engines idling. They’d removed the doors,
so the pilot and co-pilot were clearly visible chatting in the front
seats. Two American officers also stood on the roof, looking out
toward the ocean, carrying on loudly. Their clumsy gestures made it
clear the night’s drinking still held its influence. They
soon disappeared down the stairway.

Rocket
pods hung below each stub wing on the heavily armed Huey - nineteen
missiles on each pod, quite an armament for metropolitan area
transport. The Americans wanted no interference.

The
view from his perch spread from the blinking airport towers in the
south to the northeast horizon he assumed to be Clorice’s
island. He uncrumpled Etty’s map. He wondered if the storage
building would be as obvious from the air as her little drawn box.
He admitted that the cloudless sky and the first beams from a
gathering sunrise made perfect conditions.

His
developing idea depended on getting to the other roof. He’d
never make it past the MP’s, but since his building was a
story higher, maybe he could swing across. A water tower, erected on
scaffolding-like beams, sat in one corner of the roof, offering
places to secure a line. But where to find a rope?

In
the center, an outhouse-like structure with a small door offered
roof access from inside. He tried the heavy door but it wouldn’t
budge, even after pounding it with his shoulder.

He
spotted a building under construction a few blocks away, and decided
to look there. The access door suddenly crunched open. Bryce
darted behind the structure, angry that his banging probably alerted
the guard. Bryce flattened against the wood siding. He heard
strained grunts, some shuffling, then faint whistling - not the
sounds of a guard in pursuit of a prowler. Bryce peered around the
corner, and watched the security guard’s rotund bottom bobbing
along toward a folding chair propped in a corner of the roof. The
guard lit a cigarette, and settled into the chair, with his feet up
on the short perimeter wall.

Bryce
continued slowly around the stairway structure, with one eye on the
guard. He had propped the door open wide with a brick, allowing
Bryce to look down the stairwell that screwed through the center of
the building. He noticed a canvass fire hose neatly folded in a
glass covered cabinet. ‘A rope!’ he thought.

With
jack knife in hand, he carefully descended the stairs. He cut the
canvass hose near the valve, and pulled its length off the short
metal feeder trolley. He returned to his hiding place, unseen, until
the end of the guard’s smoke break.



The
guard closed the door behind him just as the sun broke through the
horizon. He waited a few seconds to see if the guard noticed the
missing hose. All quiet. He reviewed the hose and the water tower,
and took a final look down at the street. Once he jumped across,
there was no turning back. The Huey was a lucky break - they were
known for emergency evacuation, and firepower. Bryce could land it
easily in rough terrain when it came time to ditch it.

He
roughly estimated the hose length needed to swing across. He tied
one end to the base of the water tower and pulled the large brass
nozzle end with him along the side leading away from the hotel. His
plan was to jump off the building holding the nozzle, swing over the
street, and let go onto the adjacent roof. But the risks of not
testing it first were high - if the line was too long, he’d
smash into the wall of the hotel, too short, and he’d miss and
come swinging back into the brick wall of his office building.

He
devised a test. Pea sized stones covered a tar base to form the
roof’s surface. He weighed down his boots by filling them
with the little stones, and tied them to the hose end. He pulled
the top laces as tightly as possible to pinch off the laden boots.

He
pulled the hose back to what would be his jump off point. He shoved
the shoes out into the darkness. He ran to the edge facing the
hotel, and watched the shoes sail down, then back up to the opposite
side of the street. He could see the tops of MP helmets below. The
shoes missed the other roof by a good fifteen feet, making his hose
far too short.

The
shoes swung back, and whacked into the wall of the office building.
A few stones jostled out through the opening at the top, and
sprinkled to the street, peppering a row of tin trash cans. The
tinkling sound caught an MP’s attention. He slowly looked up
the side of the office building, leaving Bryce just enough time to
pull the hose around to the other side out of view. Bryce quickly
hauled it up, hand over hand, and then peeked over the edge to see
the result of the unfortunate noise.

Although
unable to see anything specific, the MP must have been sufficiently
spooked. He blew a whistle, and five more MP’s assembled
rapidly in front of him. Some terse words, a single gesture, and off
they trotted toward the doors of Bryce’s office building.

No
more planning, it was now or never. He sprang to the water tower,
and retied the hose with extra length. He slashed off the boots
with a slice of his knife - no time to empty the stones. He ran to
the jump off point, and clutched the nozzle. Although the street
remained silent, he imagined the thundering of military boots on his
building’s stairwell.

He
jumped, and swung down. The water tower creaked from his weight.
In the split second he was below it, the full vision of the water
tower tipping over and falling to the street on top of him played
out in his mind like a movie. He swung back up the other side and
waited until the pendulum switched direction. He released and fell
to the roof top, landing sideways off balance, and slipped hard onto
his left arm. He cringed, waiting for the nozzle to ping on the
brick of the office building.

Still
no sign of the MP’s. The occupied hotel had a similar
stairway access hutch in the middle of the roof, which conveniently
screened his ungraceful landing from anyone in the helicopter. He
wiped off the black roof dust and stepped gingerly around the hutch
to see. The pilot had hung his helmet on a hook, and leafed through
a magazine. The copilot in the left seat worked the instrument
panel.

Not
in uniform, Bryce knew he would be an easy catch for anyone who
found him wandering around on top of a high security building. His
only chance, in the last seconds before the soldiers burst through
the door on the office building, was to even the odds and lure the
pilot away from his seat. Bryce stepped into the stairway, then
leaned back out so only his head could be seen from the helicopter.
He noticed the pilot’s Second Lieutenant stripes, he yelled
out, “Hey you!” He gestured wildly for the pilot to
come, knowing the engines might drown out some of the words. “The
Captain wants you in the lobby! Bust your hump soldier - some big
transport job coming up!” Then he dodged back and hid around
the corner of the top stairwell platform. No sooner had the pilot
zoomed down the stairs, did Bryce hear shouting from the other roof.

Bryce sprinted to the helicopter. He circled around the far side,
out of sight of the copilot, who was looking back toward the
stairway for his returning pilot. Bryce reached around the
unsuspecting soldier, and yanked the 9 mm hand gun from his vest.
“Get out. Now. Move it.” Bryce clicked off the
safety.

The
young flyer obeyed, and scampered toward the stairs. Bryce flung
himself at the controls, jamming up the throttle he hit the seat.
After a few seconds to bring the rotors to takeoff rpm while he put
on the helmet, he pulled up the collective. The craft shot off the
roof into the air.

Some
MP’s fired warning shots while others stumbled down the
stairway to come back to the hotel. Bryce lifted, then tilted the
aircraft forward to gain the maximum thrust. Even with heavy loads,
the Huey could reach 100 knots in ten seconds.

He
counted on a few minutes before the MP’s could call the base
and begin defensive action. But only a few blocks away, his helmet
radio shouted the alarm. “All aircraft land immediately!
Interceptors inbound!” He knew it would be moments before a
squadron of jets hit the air.

He
headed roughly toward the island. He pulled down the reflects
sight, two glass squares for aiming the substantial 2.75”
rockets. He buckled down his two shoulder harnesses, and clenched
the cyclic stick.

Three
hornets produced fiery tongues behind them as they blasted off the
tarmac. Top speeds for the F-18 Hornet surpassed that of the Huey by
nearly ten times. But Bryce had the advantage of a short trip to
Clorice Coffee. Bryce flipped up the arming button protective cover,
and prepared his rockets to fire. He also readied the centerline
twenty five millimeter cannons.

He
followed the coast line. Clorice Island stood out clearly - its
lush, sparsely populated island setting a sharp contrast to the
congested streets to its west. The sun, now well above the horizon,
brightened even the deep ocean.

More
radio communication, “Huey pilot! Return to base! Return to
base! You are in violation and will be treated as a hostile threat.
Confirm immediately or be shot down.” Bryce clicked off the
radio.

His
first pass over the storage facility took him less than 20 feet
above the tree tops. He kept a low altitude to discourage haphazard
missile shots from the pursuers. He clearly noticed the
multi-colored square made by Warren’s bedspread. “You
hot dogger. Not bad for a city boy.”

Now
with supreme confidence, his calm surprised even himself. For once
in his life, he thanked the long line of overbearing drill
sergeants. They trained his natural reflexes to stay clear and
calculating, even while embroiled in life threatening chaos. And
here he was. His next actions seemed as logical as if he had
planned them for weeks.

Bryce
could now see three distinct “X’s” of the
approaching Hornets. They were fanning out to gain multiple
perspectives on his helicopter.

Bryce
banked hard left, just skipping over the tree tops with the rotors.
He pulled a full circle so the storage facility again lay straight
ahead. He quickly aimed and fired five rockets each from both pods.
Perfect hits totally destroyed the building in a ball of flames.
He had to tilt sharp right to avoid flying through the
conflagration, but this also gave him a few seconds of screened
flight to change direction and disorient his attackers.

He
had hoped for more time to ditch the craft in an inland jungle, but
the Hornets closed in too fast. Tall mango trees covered the north
east corner of the island. The reefs did not extend to the last
point of land, allowing ocean surf to pound out extremely tall
dunes. Between the mangos and the dunes, a salt water inlet had
formed, filled with a few feet of stagnant, murky water. Bryce used
the few seconds he had left and quickly halted the helicopter in the
air above the inlet. He lowered to ten feet above its surface,
below the level of the trees and out of sight.

With
frantic hand movements, he set friction locks on both the cyclic and
the collective, then set the Force Trim button. He reset and
tightened down the pedals so the craft headed slowly up at an angle
to above the tree line. Then he pulled off his helmet and dived
into the water.

The
helicopter hovered upwards like a huge insect. Bryce splashed down
into the rippling water. He turned onto his back, and sank down a
few inches to keep out of sight. With his eyes open, he could still
make out the blurry Huey through the water. It crashed through the
jungle canopy, sending an explosion of leaves into the air. Bryce
worried that the lopsided flight would give away its pilotless
control.

Two
missiles hit the helicopter at once. A pair of connected fire balls
filled the sky above him. He ducked further into the water.
Chunks of burning metal rained all around, sending up plumes of
steamy smoke as they extinguished.

Jets
crisscrossed the area repeatedly as they inspected the site. Bryce
stayed under the cloudy water until the sky settled, allowing only
his lips to surface for air.

- Chapter Twenty Eight -

Warren
spied on the two remaining guards from his roof top perch. One
barred the door into the storage facility while the other stood more
centrally in the parking lot area. Things would only get worse when
the team of searching guards returned empty handed. He reviewed his
props - a gun and a camera. The thought of simply shooting the two
guards seemed repulsive, plus he had little faith he could hit both
of them in time to avoid being shot himself on their retaliation.
He needed them separated.