Sources of Corruption

(Source)

"...preserving our Constitution from its natural enemies, the spirit of sophistry, the spirit of party, the spirit of intrigue, the profligacy of corruption, and the pestilence of foreign influence..." From the inaugural address of President John Adams, Saturday March 4, 1797. (Source)

The flight attendant, who also doubled as security, walked down the narrow aisle of the executive jet. The man seated at the small table near the tail of the aircraft looked up from his computer as the man approached him, his eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Herr Schwartz, we are ninety minutes off the coast of Canada. There has been some turbulence reported and the pilot requests that you fasten your seatbelt."

The older man nodded and fastened his belt. At his age it didn't pay to gamble with one's health, being tossed around a small aircraft certainly counted as being unhealthy. He sighed and looked out the small window, it was still cloudy but he didn't really care, out over the Atlantic there wasn't much to see.

He noticed that he had an email from one of the men he was flying in from London to meet. Personally he didn't care for the man, something of a nerd he believed his grandchildren would say, but his money paid for a number of politicians which he, as a foreign-born man with dual citizenship, couldn't hope to buy. So he had his uses.

Some thirty kilometers aft of the small executive jet, two fighter aircraft broke through the overcast. They had been airborne for over an hour now and they would need to think about refueling before too long. Fortunately their tanker was orbiting not far away, once they accomplished their mission, they would tank, then head home.

"Goose Two, bogie at my eleven, estimate range thirty clicks."

"Two."

With that simple radio call, the wingman slid out to combat spread formation. Though they didn't anticipate any trouble from the unarmed aircraft ahead of them, there was always the possibility of an escort coming to meet the jet as it flew towards land. Not all of the armed forces were in rebellion. A number of units were straddling the fence, waiting to see which way the wind blew.

But the two men flying the pair of upgraded CF-18 Hornets were all in. Major René Dubois, the leader of Goose Flight, had joined the rebellion shortly after the woman he was dating, and planned to marry, had been arrested at a protest in Toronto. He had not heard from her since that day. His wingman, Lieutenant Jasper Conningham had held conservative views his entire life and was no fan of the current progressive Canadian government.

As the two fighters closed in on the civilian jet, Dubois recognized the tail code, it was the aircraft they were looking for. "Goose Two, confirm hostile."

"Two."

Dubois advanced his throttle until he was flying off the Gulfstream V's port quarter, his wingman waited well behind and a thousand feet higher, off to the Gulfstream's four o'clock position.

He advanced the throttle until he could see the cockpit of the other aircraft, when its pilot turned and looked at him, the surprise on his face was evident, even across the short distance between the two aircraft.

Schwartz looked up from his computer when his aircraft abruptly banked to the right. Through the window he caught a brief glimpse of another aircraft, it appeared to be a Canadian Hornet. Looking up he called to the security man. "Andor, what is the pilot doing? Surely that is our escort."

"I don't know Sir, I will ask."

As the security man made his way to the cockpit the aircraft steadied. Leaning into the cockpit he asked, "Herr Schwartz wants to know what you are doing, isn't that the escort we were told to expect?"

The pilot said, without turning around, "We weren't contacted by air traffic control, nor by this aircraft. It just popped up on our wing without warning!"

Andor leaned in and looked to the left, the aircraft was definitely military, but he didn't know what kind, he thought it looked American. Though he was completely unfamiliar with the world's air forces, he did remember that the American Navy's flight demonstration team flew a similar type of aircraft.

"I think they're American." he said.

The pilot hesitated, he had been about to contact Gander when the security man had said that, "No, I think they're Canadian."

As he said that, the sleek fighter pulled up and fell behind the Gulfstream. The men in the cockpit lost sight of it at that point.

The copilot asked, "Do you want me to raise Gander or not?"

Dubois had thought about using a missile to down the Gulfstream, thought for a moment about going for a guns kill, then changed his mind. A missile was safer.

"Goose Two, are you armed?"

"Two, affirmative."

"You're clear."

"Roger, fox two."

The American designed missile, built under license in Canada, left the launcher cleanly. Conningham had had a good tone and he had seen his lead fall back aft of his own aircraft, the missile was locked onto the executive jet.

The Sidewinder tracked cleanly and homed in on the heat from the engines of the Gulfstream. As the two engines produced nearly the same signature to its robot brain, the missile went for the center of the heat source.

The roughly nine kilogram explosive charge in the missile went off precisely when it was supposed to, blowing the tail off of the executive jet in a blinding flash.

The two occupants of the executive jet's main cabin were both killed instantly when the missile detonated. The aircrew survived the initial hit but both men were now desperately struggling to regain control of the aircraft. Neither man had time to make any radio calls.

They fought the jet all the way to impact in the Atlantic, some four hundred miles to the northeast of Newfoundland.

The woman monitoring incoming traffic from the Atlantic noticed that one of her contacts was losing altitude rapidly. Zooming in on that part of the screen, she saw the aircraft callsign.

"Quantum 512, Gander Approach Control, state your intentions."

"Quantum 512?"

As she called the aircraft she watched it fall off her screen, the aircraft's transponder could no longer be detected by her system. She notified her supervisor. After explaining the situation, he checked his book. Ah, Quantum 512 was an executive jet, owned by one of the most powerful, and wealthy, men on the planet. Those people were a law unto themselves, they didn't follow rules, they made the rules.

"Pass the report up the chain Betty, they probably wanted to fly lower to see the icebergs off the coast. Lot of 'em this time of year."

"Sir?"

"It's a billionaire's jet, they do what they want, when they want. Just report it, nothing to get excited about."

As the two Hornets touched down then taxied to their hangar, Dubois undid his oxygen mask. He was drenched in sweat. He wondered how Conningham felt about his first "kill," rather like shooting fish in a barrel, he thought. But a kill was a kill.

As Conningham watched his crew chief give him the cut signal, he braked and chopped his throttles. As the engines spooled down, Conningham popped his canopy. Not waiting for the crew chief to put the ladder up, he popped the jet's internal ladder, hurriedly undid his straps and oxygen hose, then scrambled to the ground as fast as he could.

His crew chief waited while the young lieutenant vomited up the contents of his stomach. He was puzzled until he noticed that one of the jet's Sidewinder missiles was gone.

Though Master Corporal Paddy Wilcox couldn't be positive, he was certain that the man who flew his aircraft had killed someone that day, perhaps more than one someone.

"The bloody world has gone insane," he muttered to himself as he helped Lieutenant Conningham to his feet.

"Yes Sir, bit of a bug going 'round. I've felt off all day, let's get you inside where it's warm."

Dubois watched from his aircraft as he waited for his crew chief to climb up the side, he felt bad for Conningham. But what they had done was necessary. It was time that those with the money to make everyone's life miserable paid for their sins.