DAWNS LIFE
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Dark Days 2: Dawn's Early LightChapter 11 free porn video
The bathroom was small, but well-arranged and was more like the ones I had seen in movies shot in Japan and China. It was a ‘wet’ bathroom in that the sink was on the back of the toilet so that gray water then was used to flush. The shower was a hose that would spray water over everything and a drain was set in the floor.
Curious, I looked for, but couldn’t find, any way of opening that drain to let the water out. It wasn’t until I turned the water on that I found the drain opened up and a slight suction could be felt through my bare feet.
On the wall was one of those plastic organizer things and, in the various sealed pockets, were a hairbrush, a shower cap, soap, shampoo and even after shave. If I had a lighter, I could probably break the safety razor and melt the blade to a toothbrush handle, make a prison shiv or something.
Hurrying in case they came back before I got clean, I let my mind run through possibilities. I was pretty sure I could give the two guards a good fight if I could get in the first strike. So far, they had been pretty cagey, keeping me off balance, but I only needed one second. I needed to be ready mentally too, and I hadn’t been. I had been letting them dictate everything.
My mind was dancing from one object to another as I showered. The mirror? Plastic and damn near unbreakable. The brush? Even with the bristles taken off, it was blunt plastic and I had no way to sharpen it. As I brushed my teeth, I eyed the toothbrush itself and the handles was slim ... slim enough?
I looked everywhere, finally seeing the drain holes in the floor for the shower. The cover plate the dropped underneath to allow the under-pressure below to suck the water out, had remained open for about thirty seconds after the shower was shut off. That would give the water enough time to drain out, I guess.
I turned the shower back on for a second and, when the cover dropped, I pushed the handle of my cheap toothbrush through one of the small holes, then angled it as I drew it back again. The metal on the bottom, where no human would come into contact, was not smoothed off. It was a cost-cutting measure, I am sure, but it was exactly what I needed. It was shaving off plastic as I drew the handle out again.
Two minutes furious labor later, I had a very sharp shiv to use and, along with my belt, the beginnings of a plan. One thing was absolutely certain; I was not about to go easily. I would not be delivered to some raghead potentate to be tortured and murdered just because his bastard was a disgusting animal. I was going to go on my own terms.
Dried, dressed in the coveralls, my old clothes in one hand and covering the shiv while my shoes were in the other hand, sitting on top of the leather belt I had wrapped around my fist. I took a deep breath and unlatched the door, opening it slowly so as to not alarm the guards.
Through the slowly opening door, I could see one guard standing aft of the restroom, his hands on his hips and a sneer on his face. The door, half-open, was pushed hard by the second man, standing forward of the bathroom. The door bounced off my shoulder and I let it stagger me, earning me a feral grin of pleasure from the forward guard.
It also allowed me to ‘accidently’ launch the shoes in his direction as I lunged at the rear guard, burying the shiv in his unprotected throat. Spinning to the right, I unloaded a haymaker into the throat of the other guard, the tang from my belt buckle standing proud through the top layer of leather and backed by two more.
A punch to the throat, then another to the eye even as I was holding the back of his head with my other hand. Two, three, four punches and he was down, his face in ribbons and both of his eyes a viscous mess.
From his belt I pulled his sidearm and checked to make sure it was loaded, then grabbed the stun gun from the belt as well. The first guard was still alive. He had pulled the shiv free and it lay, covered in blood, on the cream-colored carpet. The man was on his hands and knees, violently coughing his life away as his body tried to eject the blood that had filled his lungs. A sharp blow to the base of his skull with the handgun was enough to put him down for good.
I looked forward, worried about what the reaction was going to be from the others aboard. There, cowering in their seats, were Mohammad and Catriona, their eyes wide with fright. The two flight attendants were nowhere to be seen and that worried me.
I liberated the handgun from the second guard and checked that one as well. The guns were loaded with what looked like frangible rounds. Dean had gotten some for us to try out. They were pretty hard hitting against soft targets but disintegrated when fired at something hard.
They were the preferred rounds for Air Marshals since they would not, in most circumstances, pass through a human target and put a hole in the aircraft. Fired point blank against a window or even the side of the aircraft however, all bets were off.
Reassured, I stripped the slide from the pistol I had used as a bludgeon, sliding the magazine into a pocket and tossing the rest down the aisle behind me. Then, gun at the ready, I moved out from behind the seat where I had crouched and moved forward, the pistol leading the way.
Mohammad and Catriona had left their seats and were in the small galley. Mohammad was banging on the bulkhead that opened into the crew quarters, but it seemed like the crew had decided not to take sides in this fight. The door, bullet-proof by law, was closed and locked.
“Have a seat, Mister Damji, and you too, Mata Hari.” I ordered, gesturing towards the first set of open seats with the taser. My handgun never wavered though, I wanted them to see how big the barrel looked when you were on the receiving end.
“Now, put your belts on like good little passengers and make sure they are snug.” I ordered. Catriona was watching me closely, her face a mask, and I had the feeling she was the more dangerous of the two. Mohammad, on the other side, was getting his courage back and was blustering.
“If you give me that gun, I will be sure that the prince is lenient with you, my family has much influence ... AAAAHHHHGGGH” his demands cut off with a scream when I fired the taser, aiming a bit lower than was strictly kosher. One of the barbs was either in his upper thigh or his junk, but either one meant it would be very, very painful.
“SIT DOWN.” I ordered forcefully, giving him a second jolt just because it made me smile.
Oh man, he pissed himself. Didn’t he know that made him an even better conductor? When he didn’t buckle himself in as I had asked earlier, I gave him another jolt and laughed. Catriona, if anything, looked even colder. Her belt was obviously buckled so I waved at her husband and she assisted him in getting his own buckled as well.
“Mata Hari, you are obviously the more dangerous of the two of you, so if I even think you are doing something you should not, I will just kill you. Do you understand?”
My voice must have told her something because her eyes widened for a moment, then looked away.
“I understand” she said softly, but loud enough to be clear.
I watched her for a moment, wondering if I would have to kill her, then mentally shrugged. She should be dead along with that asshole beside her. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over putting her down.
I backed up until my shoulder was against the bulkhead and picked up the phone there. A glance at the handset showed three additional keys at the top of what looked like a standard telephone keypad.
I pressed the first one and there was a soft bong sound, the ‘Please fasten your seatbelt‘ signs began to glow. The second button caused a very slight static pop sound and then the movement of my hand across the lower microphone made it obvious that this was for inflight announcements.
The third button produced a ringing sound that was quickly cut off when it was answered.
“We cannot open the door. International law...”
“Enough. Listen closely. I don’t know where your sympathy lies, but you will turn this aircraft around and land back in Hawaii or I will start shooting holes in the skin until I hit something vital or I blow a hole in the aircraft big enough to kill us all. Do you understand?”
one voice asked in a panicked tone.
a voice chastised the first speaker.
”
“Or you could all be shark food when this aircraft crashes into the ocean after I start shooting holes in the wings. The engines are on the rear of this craft, right? How much do you want to bet that I can put a bullet into both of them before we hit the water?” I interrupted, shocking them to silence.
Catriona looked shocked too, her head snapping up and her eyes wide. Mohammad was still staring at his wet trousers, lost in his own misery. I don’t know that he would have recognized the significance anyway.
After more than a minute of silence, a voice came back over the phone.
“Sir, we cannot return to Hawaii. Our families are hostages whose safety depends on our behavior. We cannot go against Mr. Damji’s wishes. As much as we appreciate your position and as much as we fear for our lives, we fear for our families even more.”
“So you are willing to die rather than disobey this kidnapper? This criminal?” I asked, surprised at this turn of events.
“I am very much afraid that is true. Please, we don’t want to die but, even more fervently, we do not wish our families to be tortured and executed.”
“I see” I told them over the phone, a new plan percolating to the top. “I’ll be back with you in a moment.”
I don’t know if it was the look on my face or if she was just taking a chance, but Catriona was out of her seat and moving when I shot her. I fired twice and both shots hit her in the chest, the frangible rounds opening a massive temporary wound cavity and dumping all of their energy in the first four or five inches of her body.
It was enough energy to pulverize her breastbone and send shards of bone to skewer her heart and lungs. The second round, just a fraction of a second behind the first, hit one of the larger shards and sent a second wave of fragments that, had the heart not already been shredded, would have vaporized a three-inch circle of heart muscle anyway.
The look on her face was one of surprise as her knees buckled and she fell back, the back of her head slamming into Mohammad’s and knocking him against the skin of the aircraft.
I picked up the handset and hit that third button again. When someone picked up, but before they could speak, I made my position very clear.
“Mr. Damji. The aircrew are very much afraid of what you would do to their families if they turn back now. You have one chance and once chance only to keep from ending up like that scheming bitch at your feet. I will hand you the phone and you will order them to turn around. Do you understand?”
Mohammad had lifted his feet to keep the blood from staining them and was staring down at her, weeping quietly. It smelled as if he had shat himself, the stench wafted up from his seat.
“For fuck’s sake, man, have some dignity!” I snarled, getting him to look at me. His eyes were full of hate, but the fear was even stronger. “Answer the damn question. Do you understand?” I snarled, tapping him on the forehead with the end of the barrel.
He looked up at me, his eyes wide, and he nodded frantically, inching as far away from the pistol as he could get.
I really didn’t have a lot of choice here.
I picked up the phone and pushed the third button again.
“Yes sir?” I heard, then passed the handset to Mohammad Damji.
I had heard enough; the asshole had no idea I understood what he was saying. He thought he was getting one over on me. His words were cut off by a strangled scream when the electric shock from the taser probes still buried in his skin made him bite down on the end of his tongue.
the voice of one of the crew was frantic on the phone that had dropped from Damji’s unresponsive hand.
I snarled into the handset.
the crewperson said, though I wasn’t sure if he thought he was talking to Damji or not.
I hung up the phone and looked down at Catriona. Her lifeless eyes were already dulled and the blood had exited her body in record time, leaving a huge puddle on the cream-colored carpet. Turning to look at the weeping Damji, I had to resist the idea of just shooting him as well.
“Get up, you coward. Go, back to the bathroom, clean yourself up and be quick about it. Leave the door open and, if you try anything at all, you will end up just like her. I don’t give a fuck if you live or die. In fact, the only reason you are not dead, is that I hear they really love people like you in American prisons. Even in our prisons, we hate terrorists.”
While he cleaned himself up, I pulled the guards’ bodies away from the doors rather than tempt him. I searched them and got a trio of replacement cartridges for the taser along with a pair of cell phones. Unsurprisingly, there was no service, but...
I checked and yes, there was a business station where a computer was concealed behind some nice cabinetry. It also contained a phone! My sudden hopes were dashed, however, when the message, no matter what I dialed, was the same.
“We are sorry, satellite telephone service is currently unavailable. Please try your call again at a later time.“
I wasn’t sure if it was switched off somewhere up there, in the locked down crew compartment, or if it really was a satellite issue. I didn’t want to push the point right now, not sure what the crew would do if I did.
The wooden cabinets opened up and a flat screen, keyboard and mouse combination were displayed. The screen saver cleared when I nudged the mouse and the screen was displaying the home page for the charter service. “Royal Saudi Charters”
I typed in the web address for my mail service and, much to my surprise, my hopes shooting through the roof, it came right up!
I had to pause long enough to deal with Mohammad the asshole, it seemed he was done cleaning himself. In just a couple of minutes, with Mohammad once again seated and secured, I had him lie down and use three seatbelts to hold himself in place. His hands were cuffed behind him with a set of restraints, courtesy of the dead guards.
The belts holding Mohammad down would give me a second or two more warning if he wanted to try something. I loaded a new cartridge into the stun gun and made sure he saw me do so. If the blood draining from his face was any indication, he was going to be a good boy for now. I moved back to the seat by the computer screen.
One of the features my email provider supplied at their site was an email to SMS function as well as a telephony function where you could voice chat or even video chat with other users of the same system.
I used the email to SMS to text Dean, first, hoping he was in a place he could hear his phone.
From: [kidnapped by Saudi, aboard jet. Fuel stop in Sapporo JP. Need help @ airport.]
I only had to wait a minute and a half before I got a reply!
From: 305-555-8981 [What kind of jet. Any idea where you are right now? You okay? Injured? Can’t call? Details!]
From: [Unknown, unknown, yes, no, no signal for cell. Using satellite internet. Log into to QQ Mail.]
In just a moment, there was a tone from the computer and Dean was showing online! I felt kind of foolish and quickly checked to see if there was a microphone, there was, and a camera? Yes!
I clicked on the video chat function and then on Dean’s name.
The image, when we connected, was not all that great. There was a picture-in-picture that showed a small view of my own face in the corner, but that was okay. I could see Dean and, behind him Lisa and a couple of folks who I didn’t recognize but who looked like Feds.
“Jack, what the fuck is going on? No, wait, you got something for me first?” There was some serious lag, but the voice was clear enough, if out of sync with the video.
“Serendipity, Dean, Serendipity.” In the pixilated image, I saw Dean sit back and nod. Serendipity was a word we had arranged that said, ‘I am not being coerced or forced to make this call‘ Like a safeword, but less sex involved. We prayed.
“Dean, Catriona lured me out to the delivery van to help with a large package and I got suckered, hit with a sap or a pipe, whatever. I woke up in the bilge of a fishing boat and was offloaded to a yacht, then a helicopter to the airport. Finally, a private jet belonging to a Saudi business man, Mohammad Damji. Catriona is his wife, Dean.”
“Fucking cunt! God damnit, this whole fucking thing has been a nightmare from day fucking one.” He was really, really pissed off. Dean did not cuss very often and to have him ranting like that was rare. I could see him take a breath and get a hold of his temper.
“Okay, the feds are already on it. You said Sapporo? How do you know?”
“The crew refuses to deal with me, saying their families are hostages against their behavior. They did tell Damji that we are past the point of no return and have to continue to Sapporo for their first fuel stop. I can get off there, stop the plane from taking off again, but I will need a friendly face there to cover me. There are two dead guards, Catriona is dead as well, but I have Mohammad Damji alive still. None of the crew have been harmed.”
“Hang in there, these guys behind me are marshal and FBI suits, they are working on it as we speak. Any idea how long until you land?”
“An hour and a half? Two hours? Can’t be too much longer than that, I would think, but I really don’t know how fast this bird is.”
I spent the time well, questioning Mohammad Damji. I had to shock him three more times before he quit trying to hold back and told me everything. He was an opportunist and a shitbag, but he really was well acquainted with several of the princes including the crown prince.
I wasn’t to find out one little wrinkle until later, but the pilots had lied again when they said we were landing in Sapporo, Japan. It had been a test I failed. We had been headed, instead, into Taiwan where Saudi money would have guaranteed the aircraft was refueled quickly and privately and was back on its way again in a jiffy.
Instead, FA-18s from the USS Ronald Reagan, an aircraft carrier stationed at the Fleet Activities base in Yokosuka, Japan, intercepted the G600 over the Philippine Sea. The aircrew refused to answer until the pilot, acting on orders from the CAG (Commander, Carrier Air Group) put a warning shot across the aircraft’s bow.
The aircrew of the jet changed headings according to instructions and was landed, an FA-18 on each side, at Kadena Air Force Base, Nakagami District, Okinawa, Japan.
I couldn’t have missed the FA-18s off our wings, so I wasn’t all that surprised when we landed to see a lot of military aircraft on the ramps. The Hummers with mounted fifty-caliber machine guns, manned by armed and armored US Air Force security personnel were a surprise, but a welcome one.
To prevent there being any chance of a disagreement, I set the pistol aside before I opened the door, then stepped back as armed men with very serious faces stormed the aircraft. I was hustled off the jet and laid, face down, on the ground while they sorted out what was what in the jet.
It must have been fifteen minutes before anyone even spoke to me, other than the orders to put my hands on my head, then the order to lay on my face!
“Deputy McCoy, I assume?” I looked left, away from the activity at the jet, and saw a highly polished pair of low-quarter shoes topped by a sharply creased pair of blue pants. Looking up, I could see a man with silver rings on his cuffs, some of that braid stuff on his hat and silver on his epaulets too. He looked curious more than anything and had bent, slightly, at the waist to peer down at me.
“That would be me, sir.” I answered politely.
“Uh huh. And then it would be fair to assume that the bodies on that aircraft are your handiwork?”
Again, he seemed more curious that accusatory, and everything I did fell under self-defense, so there was no reason to be wary ... but I was.
“That would be a fair assumption, sir. Can I ask who you are?”
He seemed surprised for a second at that question, then grinned at me. He stood tall and made a gesture to someone on the other side of me. I tensed, thinking I was about to be ‘punished’ for impertinence or something like that. Instead, two sets of hands helped me to my feet.
The man, now that I was standing, was a general, I knew enough about military ranks to recognize the star on his shoulder, anyway.
“I am the Base Commander, General Paul Briggs, Deputy, it is good to meet you.” The general said, reaching out to shake my hand.
“Jack McCoy, Sir, pleasure is all mine, believe you me!” I said with feeling, grinning back at him. “Things were a little chancy for a while up there.”
“So I have been led to believe. I suppose I should do this formally. United States Deputy Marshal Daniel Jackson McCoy, it is my understanding that you were taken against your will, kidnapped by a foreign national and secreted out of the country. Is that a correct statement?”
“Yes, General, it is.”
“And it is my understanding that as both a United States citizen and as a federal law enforcement officer, you are requesting the assistance of United States military forces?”
“That is correct, sir.” I said, still smiling, but shaking my head now. This was obviously some formula that had to be completed, with ‘I’s‘ dotted and ‘T’s‘ crossed.
“I see. As the commanding officer of the United States Air Force 18th Wing and commander of this base, I will order my men to assist you in any manner covered in the applicable regulations governing cooperation with law enforcement personnel. In addition, since it was requested by the US State Department, we will be providing you with quarters on this base until such time as you, in your opinion, are ready to depart my area of control. Does this suit your needs, Deputy McCoy?”
“Yes, sir, General. I appreciate your cooperation.” I said formally and saw more than one grin from the Security personnel surrounding us.
The general snorted and shook his head.
“I got a call from the Commanding general for US Forces in Japan, yanking me out of a meeting, and telling me to shag ass over to meet up with a plane full of kidnappers. Then, when I get here, I am told the Ronald Reagan has jets forcing a plane down here, and to be ready to assault the aircraft if needed to assure your safety. How about you tell me what the hell is really going on here, Deputy?”
“I would be happy to, General, though I would prefer it was somewhere a bit more private. While I would never question your need to know, I would rather not blurt it out here on the runway, sir.”
The man looked at me for a long minute, then shrugged. He turned to a man with an eagle on his epaulets, a Colonel.
“Tom, take him to the BOQ, get him cleaned up. He’d cause even more rumors traipsing around base in blood-stained, prisoner’s overalls. Get him some BDUs and boots, then bring him over to the club, no, that won’t work” he paused, thinking, and glanced at me again. “ ... shit, bring him to my house. Mary will feed him.”
With that, the general, having done what he came to do, turned without a word and marched over to a sedan and got in the back seat.
I watched, amused, as he drove off without a look back. The same could not be said about the colonel, however, he was definitely not amused. He was taking his lead from his boss though and, with a civil tone, he gestured towards a Hummer.
“If you would come with me, Deputy, we’ll get you cleaned up. If you would give my aide your clothing and shoe sizes, we’ll get you out of that coverall as well.”
The BOQ the general mentioned turned out to be a sort of motel for single officers; married ones got houses on base or lived off base, on the economy. The Bachelor Officer’s Quarters was laid out like a Motel 6, with rooms all facing outwards on three different levels, each room a small suite with a bedroom, a living area plus a small kitchenette and a full bathroom.
I gave my sizes to an earnest Air Force captain, a sort of ‘aide to the aide’, and was shown to an empty room that was right next to the administrative office. There were some signs of occupancy and if I had to bet, I would guess that this is where the folks who ran the place came to catch a nap when they could. The lack of alcohol in the fridge and the abundance of half-eaten takeout, when I peeked, seemed to confirm that.
Showered and dressed again, this time in some digital camouflage, but with no name, rank, branch insignia and no headgear, I was once again seated in a hummer and we were taken into a section of the base that was more like a suburban residential area than a military outpost. The houses got nicer, the lots bigger, but there was nothing ostentatious. Even the house where we stopped, the general’s quarters, was only a little nicer, the lot a little bigger. I had expected, I don’t know, a mansion, I guess.
The colonel stopped me when we got to the front door, but before knocking.
“Listen, son. I don’t know who you are and I don’t care, but you will mind your manners in there. Not only is the General a fine man and an outstanding officer, his wife is the kindest, gentlest woman I have ever met and if you upset her, I will see that you regret it if it means using the entire PJ company to see to it. Do we understand one another, Deputy?”
On one hand, it was amusing that this thin, forty-something pilot (according to his wings, anyway) was threatening me with bodily harm. On the other, he obviously had a lot of respect for the folks inside and I had no plans on upsetting anyone, so I simply nodded and said, “I understand, Colonel. Even without upsetting anyone, I would love to work out with your Para rescue guys. My mentor tells me that they might even be able to make it through Marine boot camp.”
He looked like he was going to cloud up for a second, then shook his head. “Okay, well, you keep that thought in mind when they come to get you in the morning.” He said with an evil grin.
I wasn’t worried, they wouldn’t actually kill me. Right? They wouldn’t, right? Hmm...
The colonel didn’t even bother knocking, he simply tucked his cap under his arm and opened the door. Inside, he set his cap on a small table in the hall and sat on a small, padded bench to remove his shoes. The bench had small compartments underneath that held some generic looking slippers in clear plastic bags.
I followed suit, remembering reading somewhere that many western people, living in Japan, followed the customs. Not only was it polite when having Japanese visitors; staying in the habit meant you did not mess up when it was important and you were at their houses!
Once we were both properly shod, he led me through the house to a room with an open door. Inside, in a very nicely appointed office with floor-to-ceiling bookcases that covered most of the walls, sat the General. He had gotten rid of his jacket and tie and had his sleeves rolled up. He was sipping from a tumbler of dark liquid and reading a report with a red and white striped cover.
“Come in, come in. Tom, take this and lock it up, will you? Then you can take off. I am done for the day. I’ll call the OD and have his driver come and get the Deputy when we are done.” The general said, handing the folder to the colonel. The colonel looked like someone had just kicked his puppy though, obviously not happy about being dismissed. The look he shot me did not bode well for our long-term friendship.
“So, Mister McCoy,” the general said after the colonel had gone.
“Please. General, its Jack, if you would. Never liked being called Mister.”
He paused and gave me a look that made me think he was out of practice being interrupted. I guess generals don’t get much of that.
“Okay, Jack, you can call me General.” He said with a straight face. “Want to tell me how a pair of Navy fighters are forcing a civilian luxury jet to land on an Air Force base?”
“I don’t know the specifics about the jets or their choice of airfields, general, but I had a chance to get a message to my people back in the US. Even if I wasn’t a federal officer, there are a couple of federal judges who took a great interest in me early in my life, and they have the pull to arrange something like that.”
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