Justification For Killing Page 2

  The Captain shut his eyes contemplating Mr. Walker’s report and their current situation, after a couple of seconds he spoke, “Good advice Don... leave them on the plane. That is the better of the two evils. We can’t survive out there, you’re right. Good... that’s good. Tell the flight attendants to have everyone bundle up - put on as much clothing as they can, and when the sun comes up maybe we’ll be able to assess our situation better.”

  A few of the passengers had scrapes, cuts and bruises from the rollovers, but luckily a couple of doctors were onboard as passengers, and they immediately began first-aid treatment. Approaching one of the doctors Walker asked if any of the passengers seemed critical. The doctor replied that the worst cases were nothing more than a couple of cuts and scrapes, which they handled with the aircraft’s first-aid kit, and a couple with mild concussions. But, surprisingly, everyone was in reasonable decent shape. No one had any broken bones. This was good news. Turning from the doctor he informed the flight attendants of the Captain’s decision to keep the passengers on board.

  Standing at the intercom station, Walker spoke, “Attention everyone! Attention! I am Co-pilot Donald Walker. Captain Haskell Hunter is still in the cockpit assessing our situation.”

  At the mention of Captain Hunter and Donald Walker’s name the passengers all broke out with enthusiastic applause in appreciation for their handling of the plane. Especially since they were now on the ground, alive.

  “Thank you, thank you very much. I’m sure Captain Hunter would appreciate your show of appreciation, but right now I need to fill you in on our situation. To begin with we almost had a catastrophic encounter with another passenger airliner. To avoid a head-on collision Captain Hunter had to take emergency evasive maneuvers, which I’m sorry to say you had to suffer through; however, we are on the ground... the bad news is we do not know exactly where we are, but the good news is we ARE on the ground, and still in one piece.”

  Another round of spontaneous applause broke out.

  Trying to raise the passengers spirits he offered a bit of humor, “Well, we may not know precisely where we are, but I assure all of you we are not lost... we know we are somewhere in Russia.” That brought a slight under the breath chuckling and more applause by the passengers.

  “Seriously though, we should be able to better evaluate our situation when morning comes. Until then, Captain Hunter wants you all to bundle up the best you can. It’s going to get cold in here, and without the engines, we have no way to provide heat. Try to eat and drink as much of the food in, or lying around the galley. In a couple of hours, it will be frozen solid and of no use. The Captain and I will be in the cockpit, so if we can be of service, please let us know. We have a couple of doctors on this flight. They have been considerate to offer their services, and we appreciate their help. If you need their assistance they said they would be more than willing to attend to your medical needs. Until morning try to stay warm and I will talk to you if we have any further news.” Replacing the microphone on its cradle he turned and re-joined Captain Hunter in the cockpit.

  Needless to say, they were in a quandary. Captain Hunter turned on the auxiliary power, which only supplied battery power to the ‘glass cockpit’ when the engines were not operating, and checked all the instruments on the front panel. He then checked the fuel gauge and saw they still had about half of their initial fuel load. He reasoned, could they restart the engines if the cold became unbearable. He also thought, what if we are here for days, maybe weeks. What will we do for food? Speaking to Walker, who had returned to the cockpit, the captain ordered, “Donald return to the galley section and find the emergency kit. We will need to go outside and set off one of the flares if we hear the approach of an airplane. We may not be able to get our bird back into the sky, but possibly another aircraft such as a helicopter could rescue us. Meanwhile, I’ll try to get an SOS out. I know the radio is not working, but I’ll see if I can find out what’s wrong with it; regardless, we can’t give up.”

  MORNING... FINALLY!

  Captain Hunter had finally drifted off for a few hours of much needed sleep - the interior of the aircraft was extremely cold, but fortunately the airline had provided plenty of pillows and blankets for all the passengers, so there were more than enough to keep everyone bundled up during the long, cold night.

  The following day came and went without incident, everyone stayed wrapped up and made the most of the available items they could salvage. Most had placed containers of edible food and bottles of water inside their garments. The heat from their bodies kept the items from freezing; therefore, no one was being deprived of food or water – yet. Food was not as plentiful, but the water was more than adequate to supply their needs. The restroom facilities were another matter. Sometimes necessity IS the mother of all inventions. One of the passengers, an electrician, unhooked the heater in one restroom from the planes’ normal power source and redirected it to the emergency, battery-powered circuit. It did not perform at peak efficiency but was warm enough to allow passengers to ‘attend to business’. When not being used for ‘official business’ individuals took turns inside the tiny room warming themselves. It might not have been a dainty sight, but it allowed for a few minutes of warmth – there were no complaints.

  No news of rescue today!! No sounds of a rescue plane had been heard either. The temperature outside was still in the forty to fifty degrees below zero range, so trying to walk to find civilization and help was out of the question. The life of anyone leaving the confines of this downed aircraft would be measured in minutes, surely not as long as an hour. The extreme low temperature was just too brutal.

  The morning of their third day, a bright light suddenly awakened Captain Hunter! His first thought was fire, but it was not fire but snow! Blowing, drifting snow had totally covered the cockpit windows. The brightness was... was... it was the sun’s rays penetrating the blanket of snow lighting up the interior of the cockpit.

  “Donald! Donald! Wake up. The sun is shining. And listen, the wind is beginning to diminish its howling. Come on let’s get outside and see if we can determine where we are?”

  “Huh? Huh, what’d you say? What time is it?” Were the co-pilots muffled responses from underneath the blanket and coat he had used to cover his head. Removing his wraps he was amazed. “Is it Captain? It is! It’s really sunlight! You’re right, we need to get out and see where we are.”

  “You are correct Don, but how? How are we to get outside? We can’t use the doors to get out; opening those exits would let the forty below air on the outside come inside. My side window is useless it is frozen tightly shut. The emergency batteries are providing power to our communication system, I could not reach anyone, see if you can try to contact the International Airport at Hong Kong again. While you are working on that I will try to figure out how we can get outside.”

  “Captain, as you know, the radio frequencies are on a digital display. The display is not on the emergency battery circuit, so I cannot view it!

  “Right you are Donald, okay, use the manual setting and adjust to the 135.37 MHz frequency.”

  Setting the radio’s frequency Don squeezed his headset microphone and tried the radio one more time before he and the Captain tried to get outside, “Cathay Pacific 6073 declaring an emergency... come in Chek Lap Chuc... Mayday... Mayday... Cathay 6073 calling Hong Kong... Cathay 6073 calling anyone... anyone reading this station! Respond, please!” Sorry Captain, I’m not being received, or I might not be broadcasting. It appears we are... but I have no idea.”

  “Thanks, you can try again later.”

  The time was 8:04 a.m. local, Thursday morning.

  Chapter Two

  A FEW HOURS EARLIER

  The time was 7 a.m. Eastern Standard Time Wednesday November 21, 2012. Brothers Sam Lin and Si Lei Kim, both members of the secret black ops program in Washington, D.C., known only as SCAR (Studies Concerning Antiquated Records), were snuggly buckled into their seats on American Airlines Flight 4446 sche
duled out of Washington, D.C. to New York’s Kennedy Airport. At New York, they were to change planes and depart on Cathay Pacific 6073. This flight was scheduled to arrive the evening of the 22nd at Hong Kong. Hong Kong is thirteen hours ahead of New York’s Eastern Standard Time. After a two-hour layover, they were to depart Hong Kong heading to their final destination: Bangkok, Thailand. Total travel time approximately eighteen hours twelve minutes.

  Sam Lin and Si Lei seated in the Business Section of the Boeing 777-200LR waited anxiously as the jumbo jet gained speed down the tarmac of the Kennedy Airport. The two enormous turbofan jet engine’s whine began to change to a lumbering moan as the twelve gigantic Goodyear tires lifted from the black asphalt. The monster of steel, plastic and rubber began its eastward and upward ascent towards the towering cumulus clouds 16,000 feet above. The morning was cold but pleasant for a November day in New York. At least, thought the Kim brothers, it’s not snowing.

  Si Lei turning to Sam Lin asked, “Can I open my eyes yet?”

  “For goodness sakes Brother, you’re a grown man, act like it!”

  “I can’t help it, I’m terribly afraid of flying.”

  “Well you should not be afraid of flying. This plane does a very good job of ‘flying’. You should be afraid of this airplane falling out of the sky.”

  “Now you’re getting the picture Sam Lin! Seriously tho’, I know Captain Scarburg is head of SCAR Operations, but why do you suppose he decided to send you and me to Bangkok to investigate Mr. Ryan Rousseau?”

  “It’s simple - he knew we worked with Rousseau in the Bangkok CIA office, in the ‘60s. Besides we know the lay of the land, and still have a few contacts we might be able to use.”

  “But, Brother, Mr. Rousseau is Chief of Experimental Design at SCAR Headquarters. He has been with the Captain since SCAR was established in the ‘60s, isn’t that right? I thought he was the Captain’s friend.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, but Captain Scarburg knows what he is doing, just trust his judgment. There is something about Ryan Rousseau that is bothering the Captain. We’ll get to Bangkok and do the job we were assigned. Now don’t worry about our mission, and for goodness sake quit worrying about this steel bird falling out of the sky.”

  Sam Lin was still chuckling as the massive aluminum skinned machine turned its nose from the direction of the rising sun and began a slow, deliberate, left turn. It was beginning a northern flight path. “What’s happening? Why are we turning? Is something wrong?” Asked Si Lei.

  “No, we have to turn north since we will be flying over the North Pole to Hong Kong.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding - we’re flying north to go west to Hong Kong?”

  “That’s right, it’s the shortest route.”

  “But won’t we be flying over Russia?”

  Sam Lin knew Si Lei was confused, so he explained their flight route. He began by saying the flight will skirt the eastern edge of Canada, go across the tip of the Hudson Bay, past the western end of Greenland and up and over the Arctic Ocean. They will fly a few thousand miles across the Arctic Ocean then slowly turn south across eastern Russia, Mongolia and pass over China and finally the plane will land in Hong Kong. This route will cut a twenty-one hour flight to only fifteen and one-half hours. “Simple huh? Asked Sam Lin?”

  “Simple? Simple? What does this pilot think? That we are a flock of geese migrating back north? And you say this is the shortest route? What if this sucker runs out of gas somewhere up there in the Godforsaken frozen north? I just believe I wouldn’t like whale blubber!!”

  “Run out of gas? Are you kidding? This thing holds over 52,000 gallons of fuel and has set a flight record of 11,000 miles, non-stop, from Hong Kong to London. Running out of gas is the least of our worries.”

  “Okay, Mr. Know-It-All, I’m not asking you anything else. When do we eat?” replied Si Lei.

  “Thought you were not going to ask for anything else?”

  “Gentlemen,” said the attractive young flight attendant. “Could I get you anything?”

  “Yeah, how about getting our pilot a map and a compass!” exclaimed Si Lei.

  With a surprised look, the flight attendant slightly tilted her head, frowned and was about to question his response, but was quickly stopped by Sam Lin...

  He asked the attendant for coffee, just a plain cup of black coffee. He also asked if she could, please bring Si Lei a cup of hot tea and some type of pastry? He explained Si Lei gets irritable if his blood sugar drops. Looking to the young lady taking their orders he added grinning, “More irritable, that is, than usual.”

  In a few minutes, the coffee, tea and a cinnamon bun were sitting on their tray tables. Knowing their flying time from New York to Hong Kong was over fifteen hours, Sam Lin was in no hurry - he sat sipping his coffee looking out his port window at the soft, fluffy clouds miles below slipping slowly beneath their wings.

  A while later, Sam Lin had finished watching the latest Hollywood blockbuster as Si Lei sat enjoying a pleasant lunch, consisting of salad, a main course of beef, potatoes and asparagus. Watching Si Lei shovel food into his mouth Sam Lin decided he could eat a bite too. He placed his order for the lighter serving of cantaloupe, melon slices and strawberries. Si Lei finished his meal with a slice of cheesecake while Sam Lin tried the non-alcoholic Cathay Delight, a kiwi-based drink that turned out to be rather pleasant tasting. Both with stomachs full and eyes heavy with sleep grabbed a few hours of shut-eye. The pilot would come on the intercom from time to time and point out fascinating features on the ground. “Off to our left, ladies and gentlemen, you’ll notice a large body of water, that’s the Hudson Bay.” A couple of hours later, “Just wanted to let you know we are now over the Arctic Ocean. Temperature outside is a warm minus fifty-two degrees below zero.” With a slight grin, both brothers fluffed their pillows, pulled their blankets up snuggly and resumed their naps.

  Chapter Three

  A TIME MUCH, MUCH EARLIER

  This unbelievable story must begin, in the past – No! Not the past. Then it must begin now, the present – No! It isn’t exactly in the present either. How can this be? It surely cannot be the future. No! Thank goodness it isn’t. It began with him of whom much is known, but an explanation is still needed. Who? The Captain, of course – Captain Robert Edward Scarburg, Junior!

  CAPTAIN ROBERT EDWARD SCARBURG, JR

  Captain Scarburg had a nickname ‘Little S’. This had been his handle since his days in Vietnam when he held the rank of Captain in the Intelligence Branch of the 5th Special Forces. His father, Master Sergeant Robert Scarburg, Sr was also in Vietnam. He too, with the 5th Special Forces Group, but he was a medic. He was known as ‘Big S’. The family just called him Papa. No, they weren’t Big and Little S because of the Scarburg name.

  Papa Scarburg had long been gone when this story happened, and everyone connected with this story had sworn himself or herself to remain silence on the matter, but the fact was clear – this extraordinary saga had to be told.

  Also, going public with this information could be an embarrassment to our government. Some of the things are criminal if the Statutes of Limitation have not expired; however, there are no time limits to murder. Finally, the public has a right to know if the truth hurts so be it.

  Robert Edward Scarburg, Junior, a.k.a. Little ‘S’, the one called Captain or Grandpa was present and participated in it all; he was a witness first hand.

  Even today parts of this story are hard to believe, but he certified to the truth of it all. If you doubt for a minute what is about to be told is not factual, quit reading, for what follows will forever haunt your memory. If you think what you are about to read will make you feel terrible just wait until you have read this entire chronicle, you are right - you will feel even worse! You will think about it while awake, and it will be the last thoughts you have before Mr. Sandman arrives. If you decide to venture on, good luck in the future! You may need meds only available from your local physician. All right you have been
warned, if you are ready lets proceed.

  Robert Edward Scarburg, Junior – yes the Captain; to his grandchildren he was just Grandpa; to his old Vietnam Special Forces buddies he was known as Little S - sat facing the rear wall of his office. His left hand gently rubbed the short stubble of the beard on his chin, contemplating – was he daydreaming or did he have something particular in mind?

  He brushed the smoke from his latest Cuban (he would insist Puerto Rican) cigar from the air. With the right hand he reached for a book in his bookcase as he began to spin his red Corinthian leather chair back around to face his office. All things in his place of business seem to convey the prestige of his position - it tended to accentuate the Captain’s stature.

  Was the Captain unquestionably an influential person? Directors of the FBI, CIA and the NSA would tend quickly to agree. The Captain was head of a most unusual group called the Studies Concerning Antiquated Records (SCAR). Was it a Department, a Bureau, a Division, who knew? SCAR was not on any governmental organizational chart. No, it was none of the above. SCAR was a black ops type operation buried deep within the National Security Agency or was it the Department of Defense? Even personnel within SCAR were not quite sure who their bosses were. Why so clandestine? Well most people don’t need or want to know what their missions were. They were known simply by the acronym ‘SCAR’. All covert operations within the U.S. Government knew the name - enough said.

  ANHUR

  Retrieving the book from the bookcase, the Captain spun around to face his massive, mahogany sea captain’s desk. A pint-sized, not quite five-foot tall person startled him. This small ‘person’ was standing directly in front of his desk. Where did this mysterious person come from? Captain Scarburg’s office door had not opened, nor had his Chief of Staff announced any visitor on the inter-office Personal Communicator System.