Speer - Natural Born Angel

NATURAL
BORN
ANGEL

AN IMMORTAL CITY NOVEL

SCOTT SPEER

An Imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

Published by the Penguin Group

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Copyright 2013 Scott Speer

ISBN 978-1-101-60419-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Published simultaneously in Canada

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To my hero, my dad.

CHAPTER ONE

T he massive blood-red disk of the sun sank into the ocean just ahead of the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln . The sky seemed to catch fire and burn as the sun set along the horizon; it appeared almost close enough to touch.

The tremendous nuclear-powered navy vessel was an impressive sight as it powered its way through the darkening waves deep in the middle of the Pacific. As the sun continued setting, the ships formidable form was silhouetted against the blazing sky. On the flight deck, navy personnel wearing large white earmuffs scrambled. A pilot was maneuvering a fighter aircraft on the thick steel surface, setting it into the football-field-length, steam-powered catapult that would hurl the jet off the carriers short runway.

The fading light radiated off the silver skin of the supersonic fighter jet, an F/A-18E Super Hornet. Inside, First Lieutenant Troy Showtime Jenkins began the normal course of checking his instruments and ensuring his rudder and ventral flaps were operational. Everything seemed good to go.

Behind the plane, the crew lifted the wide jet blast deflector. As soon as he saw it was safe, Lieutenant Jenkins turned on the powerful jet engine. The roar was incredible as it fired to life. Steam rose off the flight deck as the crew made last-second preparations for liftoff.

The voice in his radio crackled: Raider one-one-two, this is Giant Killer. You are cleared for takeoff. Ready when you are, Showtime.

Roger, Giant Killer, this is Raider one-one-two. Looks like a beautiful night for a Sunday drive, Troy said, looking out on the sunset. The jet engine whined as it reached full power, ready to thrust at the right moment.

Giving a thumbs-up to the catapult operators on the flight deck, the lieutenant used one hand to clutch the handle in front of him. His hands ached with the tight grip. He said a quick prayer.

The steam catapult activated like an enormous gun. The pressure was unbelievable as it slung the fighter jet forward at 165 miles per hour.

One moment, the F-18 was sitting on the flight deck. The next, Lieutenant Jenkins and the jet were flying 165 miles per hour above the dark, cresting waves of the Pacific. Just clocking in for another boring day at work, Lieutenant Jenkins thought to himself with a smile as the fighter screamed along the ocean.

Giant Killer, I am outbound at one-one-four SE, ascending to one-zero ten thousand feet. Clear skies as far as I can see, over.

Copy Raider one-one-two, thats affirmative. Proceed to one-zero ten thousand.

Pulling back the center stick, the pilot began making his climb toward the clouds. Suddenly a strange blip appeared on his green heads-up display screen in front of him. Something very low. And then, just as suddenly, it disappeared.

Giant Killer, did you just see that on radar? Lieutenant Jenkins asked.

Affirmative, we are checking if there are any bogies in the area.

The pilots concentrated gaze focused on the screen. Nothing. For a moment there was a small blip again. But then it vanished.

Showtime, were showing no activity in this area, and the bogey has disappeared. Probably just a fluke. Proceed to one-zero ten thousand feet, over.

Lieutenant Jenkins looked out over the endless horizon, where whatever he saw on the radar had been.

Negative, Giant Killer, the pilot said. Im going in for visual.

Tilting the stick forward and to the left, he steered the jet closer to the ocean again, screaming toward the setting sun. The exhaust on the back of the fighter jet burned the same fiery orange as the horizon.

Showtime, proceed with your original flight plan. Raider one-one-two, do you copy?

Roger, getting visual on unidentified bogey. Lieutenant Jenkins smiledwhat were they going to do, fire him? He was one of the only guys around who knew how to do this. Well, do it this well, at least.

The lieutenant tried not to listen to the series of curses from the control tower coming over his radio.

Within moments he was nearing the position of the unidentified object on the radar. But he still didnt have visual contact. He craned his neck around, looking through the glass as the fleeting light darkened the sky. He saw nothing, not a trace.

Where are you? Whered you go? Jenkins asked the unknown object.

Dropping down even further, the nimble jet roared to just barely above the rolling, deep Pacific waves. The lieutenant scanned all around. Still, he saw nothing.

Suddenly, his radar beeped. It was right in front of him. But he couldnt see it.

Giant Killer, unidentified bogey at my twelve, within range but I do not see anything. Pretty spooky, over. There was a taste of fear in the pilots voice this time.

Where the hell are you? the pilot said aloud.

Showtime, get out of there now. That is a direct order!

The pilots eyes grew in terror and shock. He saw it: just ahead of him, emerging from the waves, was some sort of enormous, terrible, black, smoking object. It seemed to be on fire. And he was heading straight for it.

Showtime, youre on a vector for collision. Take evasive maneuvers. Now, now!

The cockpit erupted in alarms as all of the F-18s instruments suddenly began failing. With all his strength, Jenkins pulled on the stick to pull the jet up, but he was helpless: it wouldnt respond. There was no changing course. He was being drawn in.