Cyclops One by Jim DeFelice Read Free Book Online

respect. He was responsible for developing the most important weapons the United States had developed since the hydrogen bomb.
    An exaggeration, surely, and yet, one with some justification. When fully implemented, a Cyclops battle element could destroy anything from a hardened ballistic-missile complex to a terrorist one-man basement bomb factory, with minimal collateral damage. The possibilities were endless and, without exaggeration, revolutionary.
    One of the crewmen standing in the rear of the helicopter with Bonham tugged at him slightly as a reminder that he was leaning across open space. Bonham glared at the young man, though the crewman had only been concerned about his safety. The helicopter settled into a hover; Bonham was out on the ground before the wheels hit dirt. He trotted across the road to where an Air Force major from the first team in waited to make his report. The major was flanked by a Special Tactics sergeant with an M16, as well as a civilian whom Bonham didn’t recognize.
    “General,” said the major, bobbing his head in an unofficial salute.
    “What do we have?”
    “Piece of fairing from a large aircraft, very possibly a 767 type, though we’re still not sure.”
    “Definitely a 767,” said the civilian.
    Bonham glanced at the man, who had a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. The general liked definite opinions, and so gave the civilian only half the scowl he normally would have for interrupting. Obviously the man was one of the experts brought in by the Air Force to help with the operation.
    “We’re going to airlift it out, get the technical people to take a look at it,” said the major.
    “Waste of time,” said the civilian.
    “This way, General,” said the major. He walked up the road about twenty yards, then began hiking up a short embankment. Bonham and the others followed. The metal had definitely come from an aircraft; it appeared to be one of the underside flap track housings that ran front to back on both winds beyond the engines on the 767. While it was certainly possible for an aircraft to lose one and remain airborne, as a practical matter, finding something that had been part of a wing meant the rest of the aircraft was somewhere nearby.
    In a lot of pieces.
    The civilian walked to one end of the metal and kicked it. “Dropped just about flat,” he said after a long drag on his cigarette.
    “I can’t recall your name,” said Bonham, turning to him.
    “Probably ’cause you don’t know it.” He blew a wad of smoke in Bonham’s direction.
    “Well, let’s share it.” Bonham put his hands on his hips.
    “Andy Fisher.” He waved the hand with his cigarette. “You’re going to find this piece of aircraft was dropped here. It didn’t come from a crash. It’s proof there wasn’t a crash.”
    “Andy Fisher is with who?” said Bonham. “What company do you work for?”
    “I’m with the FBI,” said Fisher. “And it’s with whom . Nuns were sticklers for grammar.”
    “What are you doing here, Mr. Fisher?”
    “At the moment I’m looking for a cup of coffee.”
    “I don’t have time for bullshit, Mr. Fisher.”
    “Yeah, neither do I,” said Fisher. “I’m kind of interested in that plane part, though. Figure out how it got here and we figure out who stole your plane.”
    Bonham suddenly felt a cold chill on the back of his neck. Stole?
    He jerked his thumb to the side and the FBI agent followed him a few feet away.
    “Why do you think the plane was stolen?” Bonham asked.
    “Well, where is it?”
    “Obviously it crashed further north than the, uh, experts thought it did. In these mountains, with the weather we’ve had and are having, it can take quite a while to locate. We have a vector now; the search can take shape.”
    “Yeah.” Fisher took a long pull on his cigarette. “You think your guys ran into each other?” asked Fisher.
    “Of course not.”
    “So what else could’ve happened?”
    “Crashes happen for a lot of