Rendering

By Donald Kemp

Nothing is ever as it seems.

Ted Monroe’s life changes in the blink of an eye. Privy to a fatal airplane crash, his job as a pilot ends several days later. When the NSA shows up on his very doorstep, Ted begins to wonder what he’s gotten himself into. A suspected smuggling ring has been found in a small southwestern town. It’s up to him to find out as much as possible about it in the hopes of bringing it to an end.

Out of work and hoping for a better tomorrow, Ted leaves Michigan, hoping to find something that will give his life meaning once more. Deep inside, he knows he should walk away. Unfortunately, he has no other choice but to do as the NSA demands. If he’s to succeed in doing exactly as they ask, he’ll have to put all of his acquired pilot skills to good use.

Determined to follow through with the orders he’s been given, Ted soon sets foot in Cartia. The town looks like just like any other town, though appearances can sometimes be deceiving. When attempts on his life are made, he soon realizes he may be in way over his head. He’ll have to dig deep to get to the bottom of things if he’s to survive unscathed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LDB Press
• Release date: Apr 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310593048

Donald Kemp

Donald Kemp claims he was born and raised in Southern Michigan and lived in North Carolina for over thirty-five years. He graduated from a combination of high school and aircraft mechanics school. Two years later, he became the supervisor for the Michigan National Guard Air Section Maintenance Shop. He then married his beautiful wife, Gerry, and has three children, eight grandchildren, and nine great-grandchildren.Serious writing began with thirteen weekly articles in the Rochester City newspaper about his heart bypass surgery in the very early days of the procedure. Donald later published the book, I Live With A Mended Heart, and distributed it to doctors and hospitals all over the United States.Donald wrote and directed three stage plays for a senior acting group in Southern California.” He has also written numerous short stories about his relative’s blips and/or accomplishments for the family archives. Several children’s books will hopefully soon be on the market. Nowadays, airplanes, helicopters, furniture building, and consulting for interior decorators have given way to writing novels and short stories based on his varied life adventures.

Book preview

Rendering

Copyright © April 2016 Donald Kemp

Published © April 2016 Alegos Press

Cover Art Design By: L. B. Cover Art Designs

Formatted and Edited By: S. H. Books Editing Services

All rights reserved.

The author retains sole copyright to his contributions to this book.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher.

For information and inquiries, please contact: Donald Kemp, via: [e-mail].

This book is a work of fiction and any similarities to any persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To my loving wife, Gerry, who gave me sixty-three years of wedded bliss.

To our three children, Janet, Jim, and Kathy.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Cover

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1: Detroit City Airport

Chapter 2: The Waitress, Nancy Cord

Chapter 3: The First Flight With Caps

Chapter 4: Madison Calls Chicago

Chapter 5: Geraldine

Chapter 6: Caps Falls

Chapter 7: Solo To Grapa

Chapter 8: A Clandestine Flight

Chapter 9: Fat

Chapter 10: South America

Chapter 11: Worth Buys A Learjet 45

Chapter 12: Dallas

Chapter 13: Canada

Chapter 14: Dating Nancy

Chapter 15: Explosion At Hexilite

Chapter 16: Nancy Meets Miss De’Von

Chapter 17: Another Date With Nancy

Chapter 18: Taking Henry Home

Chapter 19: Return To Cartia

Chapter 20: After Taking Henry Home

Chapter 21: The FBI Shows Up

Chapter 22: Sabotage

Chapter 23: What To Do About The Oil Hose

Chapter 24: The Sting

About The Author

Acknowledgments

To Writers Helping Writers, who gave me support, advice, and critiques of my humble endeavors over the past six or seven years.

To my editor, Nancy, who struggled many long hours to bring this book to its final conclusion.

CHAPTER ONE

DETROIT CITY AIRPORT

TED MONROE, laid off from his pilot’s job for the company’s Learjet, is barely getting by with odd jobs at the airport. The company jet is sold and the management is closing the plant. He holds both a multi-engine commercial license and an aircraft and engine mechanics license. His friend, James, was his copilot on the company jet.

Tall and well-built, Ted doesn’t have bulging muscles. He has what the ladies call, a handsome face. His blue eyes often draw comments, and curly black hair crowns his presence.

The large T-hangar door is open. Ted and James are working on the engine of a J-4 Piper Cub. Both have rollaway tool chests standing nearby. An amicable silence surrounds them as they work.

James, I’m finished on this side. Need any help over there?

No. I’m almost done. Just a few more minutes.

Ted wipes his hands on a rag and walks toward the front of the T-hangar. He turns and faces the other end of the airport. The control tower stands tall in the distance, and he can see a row of parked aircraft parallel to the 4-right.

I can’t believe this. That neglected, cobwebbed old twin Beech is lining up on the 4-right for takeoff. The Beech is cleared for takeoff and begins to roll down the runway. Hey, does that thing sound right to you?

Maybe a little out of sync. You know some pilots adjust while rolling during takeoff, and others after they get in the air and climbing.

The Beech roars down the 4-right in front of the row of T-hangars. Climbing six or seven feet into the air, the pilot raises the landing gear. As the wheels fold into the wings, the right engine bursts into flames. The right wing momentarily dips down and strikes the ground. The plane levels off, but loses altitude and drops down onto the runway. It continues rising into the air and falling back to the runway like a bouncing rubber ball. Each time it touches the runway, showers of sparks fly behind it.

James rushes to the open T-hangar door just in time to see part of the right engine and propeller tear away from the wing.

The debris spins in wild circles across the airport grass. The rest of the Beech continues its crazy flight, crashing through the fence at the end of the airport. The Beech finally comes to a rest across the street between two houses before it explodes in a ball of fire. People rush out of both houses and run away, the flames soaring upwards. Others along the block step out of their houses to eye the alarming sight.

For a brief moment, Ted can see a figure through the Beech’s cabin windows, scrambling for purchase, trying to reach the exit door. The smoke and flames soon obscure the view.

James falls to his knees in shock. Some of the smoke starts to drift in their direction. He stands up and tries to get out of the way of the drifting smoke, while rubbing his nose and waving his arms about.

What is that awful smell? he asks. I’ve got to move. That is horrible.

They move away from the smoke to watch the burning crash site.

Sirens wail in the distance as the Detroit Police and the Detroit fire trucks race to the scene. Police start to block the crowd running toward the crash. Firemen have three hoses pointed at the plane and the sides of the two houses, and begin to spray water on the fire.

They won’t be able to put that fire out with water. They’re just making more smoke, Ted says.

Right, and we have to move again. That smoke smell is awful. Here comes the airport fire truck. I can never understand why they need to use the siren inside the fence. They even do that during practice runs. Why do they do that, Ted?

You can’t go to a fire without a siren. That’s un-American. All the fire departments do that.

The airport fire truck passes in front of them. It breaks through the gate at the end of the runway instead of using the gaping hole left by the Beech in order to approach the crash from upwind. The large CO2 boom swings toward the fire. In one slow, single pass, the chemical puts out the fire.

Wow. That was something to see. Have you ever seen that, James? One pass and the fire is out.

No, just in movies at the flight school.

What idiot would try to fly that Beech without a thorough ground check? It sat there for at least two years. Birds building nests, condensation in the fuel tanks—that fuel would be stale by now.

I wonder what caused the fire in the right engine.

Probably mice chewing on the fuel lines, or they were just plain rotten and leaking.

IT’S VERY cold and a light snow is falling. Ted and James are standing outside a diner. Across the street, a CLOSED sign hangs from a fence in front of the factory.

Well, James, I guess I will be going. Nothing left here with the company folding the factory. I’m just taking money that you could be earning for your family.

James smirks at Ted with amusement. Ted, go find some rich dame and make her buy you a Learjet 45. Then, the two of you can fly all over the world together and have a great time. Forget all of this mess here.

Ted offers his friend a hand to shake and a warm smile. I won’t forget our good times together.

I won’t either.

The two shake hands, and Ted gets in his ‘92 Lincoln Town Car.

James stands there, watching Ted drive away. Steam billows from his mouth as he calls out a goodbye and waves to his friend.

Ted is already rounding the corner, however. He soon drives the vehicle onto the freeway’s ramp, leaving James behind.

TED IS sitting in a roadside café, drinking tea with honey and a dash of cinnamon instead of coffee when a man approaches. He is staring out the window. His mind focuses on the fact that he is now unemployed, and is not quite sure what he is going to do with himself. He is so lost within his thoughts that it takes him a moment to realize that someone is speaking to him.

Mr. Ted Monroe? Mr. Monroe?

He looks up and wonders, Who is this skinny little man with a bald head? Damn, he looks funny with those thick glasses that fall down with every other step. He is carrying a briefcase and an umbrella. Who carries an umbrella under blue skies in this heat? And how would he know who I am?

Ted feels apprehensive, though he does his best not to show it. With caution, he says, Yes?

Do you mind if I sit and we talk a while? My name is Captain Frank Beaty. He shows Ted an ID wallet and badge. I’m a federal agent from the NSA.

Ted frowns. I didn’t do anything.

The agent sits down on the other side of the table. Oh, we know that. In fact, that’s one of the reasons we chose you. Relax. I know you are out of work and looking for a job. I’ve got the perfect one for you.

Ted sips his tea. Go on.

The NSA has a problem in a little town west of here that appears to be part of an international smuggling ring. We would like you to go there and just hang out a while with your eyes and ears open.

Why me? Don’t you have agents that can do that?

Not with the skills and background you have. Everything about you fits right in with what we need. You were Air Police in the service, and had some law in college. You’re also a commercial pilot, and have flown the de Haviland Beaver these people are using. You are single, out of work, and a mechanic. Therefore, you have everything to blend in.

So you want me to be a spy, here in America?

Not exactly. Beaty pauses, taking a moment to formulate his answer. We want you to be a special Deputy Federal Marshal and go undercover for us.

Ted glances around the café, trying to see if anyone is laughing. He thinks the man must be pulling his leg. There is no way a job like this could come along so unexpectedly.

Come on. Who put you up to all this? Is it some kind of joke?

This is for real, Ted. You sort of slipped away from me up in Michigan before we could talk. I had to get police involved to locate you.

How did . . . ? Oh, my Lincoln with Michigan plates.

Beaty nods. So what do you say, Ted? Want to work for your country again?

Maybe. How much?

It’s quite a nice salary. Plus expenses, of course.

Ted’s mouth thins to a tight line. How much?

I am authorized to offer you fifty thousand dollars on an annual basis plus expenses. When you get to Cartia, I want you to find a bank so we can direct deposit your money every two weeks. I’ll set up some sort of fake company, so even the bank won’t know where it’s coming from. I expect you to contact me anytime you have information. Try to touch base with me at least every two weeks.

That’s it, for fifty grand? No wonder the country is going broke.

Plus expenses. So you are with us?

Ted takes a moment to consider his options. Though it seems too good to be true, he knows he has no other option but to take the man’s offer. He is now out of work and refuses to sit around doing nothing, day in, day out.

Why not? I’m out of work, so I guess I’ll give it a try. When do I get my fifty grand?

Beaty grins. You can start right now, but you won’t get your twice a month paycheck until you open a bank account. I put an agent’s briefcase together for you. He slides the briefcase across the table toward Ted. There’s some cash in it for expenses. I think you’ll find enough to open a bank account, as well as enough room and board money for a few weeks. Your ID, badge, and the gun’s in there.

Ted’s eyes widen with surprise. Wait a minute, a gun? What do I need that for?

It’s just a part of the issue kit to all agents. I don’t think this job will give you any cause to use it, or even show it. I want you to keep your ID, badge, and that gun you’re worried about undercover. Only reveal who you are in a dire emergency. Here is a special cellphone for your use with my direct contact phone number. Just hit the one or two.

So I just go to this town and say . . . what?

That’s going to be the easy part. You are out of work and looking for a mechanic or a pilot’s job. There is a nice motel right on the airport. The owner is the special pilot for the Hexilite Pharmaceutical Company we think is a part of this smuggling ring. So just hang around, offer to wash airplanes, help with routine maintenance on the planes, or work for room and board. Do whatever happens to come up.

Ted chuckles and shakes his head. Well, like you say, I need a job. Why not do it for fifty grand?

Plus expenses. There’s an agent’s book in there you might want to read, but I don’t think you will run into any of the things it covers. When you have a problem, just call me.

Beaty stands and offers Ted his hand.

Ted rises and they shake hands to seal the deal.

Good. It’s settled, then. I’ll let you get back to your tea.

I don’t have to sign anything, or fill out some paperwork?

No. We have special arrangements made to offer you this job. I’ll handle all of the paperwork and get you the money when the time comes. You are officially hired for this.

Just like that I make fifty grand?

Yep, just like that. No mess. Nothing but our handshake. There’s a few forms to fill out for your payroll information, social security, and stuff like that. Isn’t this a nice way to do business? Just like years ago. So . . . I’ll be going. Beaty turns and walks down the aisle.

Hey, wait. You forgot your umbrella.

Beaty turns around and returns to the table. I’d forget my glasses if they weren’t on my nose.

Ted can’t contain himself anymore and bursts out laughing. Two steps. Push up the glasses. Two steps . . .

Beaty leaves the café with the umbrella tucked under his arm, like a British Army officer, without taking a backward glance in Ted’s direction.

Ted takes his seat once more. His mind races as he takes the offer into consideration.

Hey, he begins. Where is this town?

To his dismay, Beaty has already left. Through the diner’s window in the distance, he can see the man getting into his car. Ted decides to test the cellphone number he has been given. He presses the number one.

Hello, Ted. Chicken out already? Beaty asks with amusement.

No, but I need to know where this town is.

It’s all in the briefcase, Ted. Get a motel room and open the case. Everything you need to know should be in there. Bye.

TED FOLLOWS the map to Cartia, and finds himself on a secondary road. A sign with a large red arrow over the blue-colored words, CARTIA AIRPORT, and MOTEL 11 MILES, appears before him. He turns onto the road and stops the Lincoln, taking a moment to consider his options.

No turning back now, Ted, he thinks. Beginning a new job. Like the man said, this will be the easy part. Get some work, and even if I don’t get a job, there’s that fifty grand. So what are you worried about? That gun? I wonder if room and board are plus expenses. I guess so. He said some of the cash in this case was for it. Well, here we go.

He takes a deep breath and drives down the road. Soon, the road is parallel to a small airport. Ted stops the car in front of a sign that says, AIRPORT MOTEL. A red VACANCY sign flashes nearby in the late afternoon light. The buildings appear to be quite old, but everything is well-kept. The grounds are clean, and the grass is mowed.

Ted steps out of the car and enters the door with a sign that says, OFFICE, above it.

A man wearing overalls sits behind the counter. He is in his 60’s or so. He notices Ted and gets up to turn on a light. Standing straight and tall, his physique suggests a fit and lean military past. His hair appears to be a little thin, but is still dark brown with very little graying.

Ted peers into the man’s eyes and thinks, I bet this man is a pilot. Blue eyes with that certain sparkle that says, I’m a pilot.

Good evening. Just one? the man asks.

He nods. Just me. For now, one night.

The man pushes a registration form toward Ted.

He fills it out and pushes it back across the counter.

Do you mind paying now? I have some flying to do tomorrow and won’t be back until almost dark. There’s no one here to check you out until I get back.

I win. He is a pilot.