Mirrored Man: The Rob Tyler Chronicles Book 1 (45 page)

Covington noticed June’s movement. “Now,
Doctor—”

She dropped and rolled under the tail,
narrowly avoiding smashing her head into the fin that she hadn’t
seen under the rudder.

Covington lunged after June, only to have
Rob's full weight crash down on him.

Rob’s timing was perfect. He slammed his
knees into Covington’s back just below the shoulder blades,
throwing him into a toolbox near the tail. The pistol sailed into
the darkness.

Rob landed on the balls of his feet and
tucked into a roll, coming up in a defensive crouch.

Covington regained his balance and grabbed
the heavy toolbox. He used its weight to pull himself away from his
attacker. Using it as a shield, he pushed it toward Rob.

Ever alert, Rob was on Covington’s heels,
jabbing over the box and connecting with his cheek. But it was
only a glancing blow, as Covington flinched at the last second.
When he did, he noticed an oversized box wrench on top of the
toolbox. He grabbed it and back peddled, launching it at Rob’s
head. Rob ducked, and the missile sailed harmlessly past.

“You killed my friend,” Rob accused. “Now
it’s your turn.”

“I was doing my job. Protecting you,”
Covington snarled, unconvincingly.

June was making her way to the back of the
hangar, hoping to find the pistol, when she saw the next best
thing. She picked up a chemical fire extinguisher and pulled its
metal pin, spinning to face the combatants.

Rob had used the element of surprise to his
advantage, but it was less effective than he had hoped as Covington
regrouped and went on the offensive. He wasn't clumsy or reckless.
This was a man who had training. His eyes were focused as he
fiercely came at Rob in an elegant state of controlled
violence.

Rob found a clearer spot in the floor, away
from the plane.
I may have underestimated this man
.

In a blur, Covington launched a flurry of
kicks and punches that the SEAL was able to deflect, even returning
a few of his own. But the assassin had thrown Rob off balance and
had him on the defensive.

An instant later Rob darted sideways,
putting the strut of the wing between himself and Covington. Using
it as a pivot, he kicked out with both feet, catching Covington in
the midsection. Covington doubled over and staggered back, but
remained on his feet. Rob charged in, grasping him around the waist
and lifting him in an attempt at a body slam. As he did, Covington
clubbed Rob’s back with his doubled fists. The two went down in a
heap, but Covington used their momentum to roll on top. He was
unable to find firm footing so he carried through bringing his
elbow down hard on Rob's sternum. Rob heard an unmistakable
snap
and felt an explosion of pain within. The air was
blasted from his lungs. Remarkably, he maintained the presence of
mind to rear back and kick at the assassin's face. This time, the
blow was solid. Covington, who was not yet on his knees, rolled
heavily away from Rob.

Rob rolled on his side toward his assailant.
Every attempt to breath was excruciating, but his training had
taught him to ignore it. All in one motion, he jumped to his feet
and found his opponent on one knee facing him. He watched as
Covington spat blood and teeth to the floor. Wiping his mouth with
his sleeve, he glared up at Rob.

“Had enough?” Rob asked, the simple act
making him wince.

Covington’s smile was bloody. “Wow! I am
impressed. You really turned out well. Muscle memory, reflexes,
self-control. I bet the professor could never have imagined that
you'd be this … this … whole. And a real challenge to boot!”

“That's what clean living and a good
exercise regimen will do. It requires discipline though. And
perseverance,” Rob said indignantly. He had his back to the open
hangar door. In the dim light, June crept up behind Covington, the
extinguisher's nozzle pointed at his head.

The assassin stood slowly, revealing a .38
caliber revolver. He pointed it at Rob. “They want you alive. But
they failed to mention whether they cared if you had a hole or
two.”

Rob smirked. “You know, June's right behind
you. I'd …” His sentence trailed off as he watched in horror as his
ploy backfired. The sergeant spun around, the .38 leading the way.
June reacted without thought. She squeezed the trigger and shot the
chemical powder into Covington’s face, blinding him. His eyes
burned and he couldn't breathe, but he still managed to pull the
trigger.

Rob couldn't see through the cloud of white
that enveloped the scene before him. He rushed to the place where
the assassin was standing and crashed into him as the gun went off.
The two went down again, but this time Rob was on top and had his
knees firmly planted. Ignoring the pain in his chest, he clenched
his hands into a double fist and raised them above his head. With
his remaining strength, he slammed it into Covington's face. He
knew he had hit home when he felt the crunch of the man’s nose as
it snapped. The force of the blow sent Covington's head into the
concrete floor hard, and he stopped moving.

Rob found June lying next to him. She had
dropped the extinguisher and was clutching her right bicep.

“June, are you alright?” he asked, checking
the assassin for life.

“What do
you
think? He shot me!”

Feeling Covington's weak, but steady pulse,
he turned to June. “Let me see,” he said, grimacing with every
word.

June moved her hand and looked away. “Oh,
I'm gonna puke. Why did you tell him I was behind him?”

“Sorry,” he said, checking her wound.
Thankfully, it was just a graze. “Just broke the skin,” he said as
he tore the sleeve from her blouse to make a bandage.

“Ohhh,” she moaned.

“Go ahead and throw up. You'll feel
better.”

June readily complied with Rob's suggestion
as he finished wrapping her arm.

Looking back at Covington's motionless form,
Rob became aware of the sound of sirens in the distance. “Time
to go.”

June looked up at him and wiped her mouth
with her sleeve. Her stomach felt marginally better but her arm
throbbed with every move. “What’s the matter?”

“Listen.”

She focused her senses through the pain.
“You think they’re coming here?”

“I don’t know. Somebody could’ve heard the
shot. Doesn’t matter, I can’t take the chance.” He grabbed the last
few items from the trunk of the car and tossed them into the
plane.

“That was like fourteen-and-a-half seconds
ago!” June protested. “They can’t be that close already.”

Rob ignored her. “I gotta go.” He paused
long enough to make eye contact. “Take care of yourself, June.”

“Wait!” June said as she tried
unsuccessfully to stand. “How will I find you?”

Without turning back he shouted, “I’ll find
you.”

With that, he removed the wheel blocks and
climbed into the cockpit. Looking back at June, who had managed to
regain her balance and was standing beside the plane, he wondered
briefly if he would actually ever see her again.

As the engine roared to life, June thought
about waving but decided against it as Rob taxied out of the
hanger. It was then that she first noticed the flashing blue lights
of the police cars through the window, the sound of their sirens
getting closer and closer. A wave of regret and fear washed over
her. She looked at the bloody, powdery mess that was Covington.
Seeing he hadn’t moved, she relaxed and began to wonder again about
the fate of the others. How were her babies? And how about
Professor Yeoum, Don, Jimmy, Tiong, and even Greg Mathers. They
were her only friends, the only people besides her parents she
really cared about. She looked back at the plane that continued
toward the runway.
No,
they are not my only
friends
.

She thought about Commander Rob Tyler. In
some ways, she felt even closer to him. He seemed more like family.
Her emotions welled up within and she felt tears streaming down her
cheeks as she watched him maneuver the plane onto the taxiway. She
wanted desperately to go with him, but the pain in her arm and
another wave of nausea wouldn’t allow her to move.
What's going
to happen to him?
Will they hunt him down? Will they kill
him?
“Please take care of him, God,” she prayed.

With her arm throbbing, she glanced over at
the blue lights flashing through the trees and then back at the
plane. She leaned against the hangar and slid down to a sitting
position. Feeling queasy with her strength waning, she glanced
lazily over at the patrol cars as they emerged onto the tarmac,
their lights flashing and sirens blaring. She smiled weakly and
closed her eyes. “I think I’m just gonna let you guys come and find
me.”

* * * * *

THROUGH THE STARBOARD
windows, Rob
saw the headlights of the police cars closing in behind him. They
were passing the hangers and fanning out in pursuit. He gunned the
plane down the taxiway towards the runway and turned to the north
so violently that the plane’s starboard wingtip nearly hit the
concrete. He straightened the plane out and when the port wheels
touched down again he realized that he had left himself less than a
third of the runway.

“Lord, please don’t let me fowl up!”

As he checked his speed—fifty knots,
fifty-five, sixty—he started to believe that the old Beaver still
had the guts to get him into the air, even in the shortened
distance.

“C'mon! You can do it, baby!”

Sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five …

He could see the plane’s shadow from the
patrol car’s headlights cast on the trees that towered above
directly in his path. Looking to his left and right, he saw the
deputies maneuvering around the plane in an attempt to block him.
Turning his attention back to the fast-approaching trees, he
prayed, “Please, Lord! Please don't let me kill me!”

Using his remaining strength and fighting
through the pain in his chest, he yanked on the yoke so hard that
he feared it might snap off. To his astonishment the plane lifted
easily off the ground and began a rapid climb. By a much too narrow
margin, the plane cleared the treetops and he banked port,
descending to an altitude of fifty feet just as soon as the terrain
would allow on a heading that would take him toward the Gulf of
Mexico.

“Now, let’s just pray they don’t have
anything to follow me with.”

* * * * *

JUNE WATCHED THE PLANE
disappear
behind the trees. Closing her eyes tightly, she prayed it wouldn’t
crash. When she opened them again, she saw three of the patrol cars
racing in her direction. The first one stopped next to the Mercury,
but the other two slid to a screeching halt next to the Torino. As
the deputies climbed out, they didn’t immediately notice June where
she was sitting next to the hangar.

With her remaining strength, she shouted.
“Hey! I'm over here.”

The deputies trotted over with guns drawn.
“Let me see your hands!” one shouted.

She tried to lift them, but the pain and
weakness had her too close to passing out. She dropped them to her
lap instead. Seeing she was injured, the closest deputy asked, “Are
you alright, Miss? What in blazes is goin’ on here?”

June was fading fast and didn't hear the
question. Groggily, she mumbled just loud enough for them to hear.
“My name is Doctor June Phillips and I have information concerning
the murder of a captain in the United States Navy.”

THE SENATORS WERE
having a very bad
day. Kingsley and Kitchens sat at the table in a private dining
room of the Sou'Wester restaurant at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in
Washington D.C. They finished what they could of their lunch. Their
more-than-efficient waitress had cleared the dishes away and they
found themselves staring at one another in utter silence. The
project that was so important to them, each for their own very
different reasons, had fallen apart and lay before them like the
carcasses of the animals that died to provide their meal. A mere
three days ago they were receiving very favorable reports from
Professor Yeoum concerning the experiment. Success seemed assured
and they were preparing to celebrate.

That is, until the inconceivable had
happened.

An agent or agents of some unknown entity
had compromised the project. There were seven dead, including an
NCIS agent and Captain Benny Walsh. Professor Yeoum, Doctor Tiong,
Doctor Phillips, the clone, and Security Chief Sergeant Covington
were all missing. The CIA, the Air Force, the Navy, the FBI, and
local civilian authorities in Georgia were conducting
investigations.

“So much for my new medical research
complex,” Kitchens sighed, breaking the silence.

“So much for our careers. Kingsley shot back
with a disgusted look. “Seriously, what are you more concerned
about, your community or your job and reputation?”

“I think those two go together.” Kitchens
glared across the table. “I got suckered into all this for the good
it would do for
my
community,
my
state. You told me
it'd bring seventeen hundred new jobs to middle Georgia. And you
assured me that everything was under control.”

“
I
assured you?” she scoffed. “No,
Professor Yeoum assured us both that everything was on track. Not
me.”

“Lower your voice,” Kitchens whispered.
“Reporters eat here too. And can we please stay on topic?”

“Well, aren’t you just the quintessential
man of noble character? Such concern for your community’s well
being
and
being diligent in keeping me safe from prying
eyes, all at the same time,” she spoke through clinched teeth.