Chapter I

illiam finished packing the little Piper, closed the door of the cargo hold and walked around to get the fuel drain with which to do his pre-flight inspection.  Sharon was parking the car in the hangar and making a last minute visit to the ladies room.

"Ahhh," he thought to himself.  "It's sure gonna be good to get away from all the stress and strain I've been under the last few weeks.  And here comes the purtiest girl in the world!"

Sharon had stepped out of the hangar and was walking toward the plane, the light behind her catching her hair.  He could partially see her gorgeous silhouette through the skirt she'd chosen for the flight.  They were going back to Las Vegas for a week end, then back across to San Jose, CA for some business deals in the 'soon to be famous' Silicon Valley.

With his mind on the pre-flight inspection, he did not take much notice of the heavy (large jet), coming in for a landing, nor the markings on it.  His mind was on his own business.  Had he taken the time to check out the plane, he would have noticed it was an FBI jet, with a nifty little hand painted logo that said "Special Investigations."

As he finished his round, he checked the dip stick once more, buttoned up the cowling on the engine, and checked the tanks to see if they were topped off.  He then climbed onto the wing and crawled into the cockpit of the little plane.  After he was seated, he motioned for Sharon and turned his attention to his checklist and arranging his kneeboard, the frequencies on the radios and other equipment.

He turned to check on Sharon and watched her as she climbed the steps to gain access to the wing.  He was so impressed at the way she handled herself.  The ultimate in grace, style and beauty.  God, he loved that girl!  His woman, his lady, his wife, his life . . .  

He placed his headphones on his head, adjusted his mike, and reached for the checklist.  He started flipping switches, adjusting frequencies, opened the little side window by the left seat, hollered "clear," hit the starter and felt the little plane settle forward onto it's tricycle gear as the engine coughed to life and began the forward pull on the little aircraft.

He let it idle a minute or so then keyed his mike and said "Stillwell Municipal, this is Cherokee niner niner three Foxtrot Mike taxiing from Wright's Aviation to runway 34."

William liked the phonetic alphabet the aviation industry used in the place of letters.   Too many sound alikes; like b's could get mixed up with c's, g's, d's, v's and z's.  It was an efficient way to keep the confusion down as to which letter you actually said.

During the run-up and checklist with which Sharon was now comfortable, she sat quietly and patiently with her hands folded on her lap.  She trusted William and his ability to safely fly the plane.  In times past she had been known to hang onto the handle of the door with both hands.  She was now an old hand at flying in the small plane.

With the run-up finished, Will keyed the mike again.  "Stillwell Municipal, this is Cherokee niner niner three Foxtrot Mike, I have information Golf and ready for departure.  I will be making an upwind departure and then a right turn."

"Cherokee niner niner three Foxtrot Mike, cleared for takeoff, make extended run prior to making right turn.  Have a safe lift off," the tower responded.

William increased the throttle, released the brakes and the little plane moved toward the runway.  As he came around and lined up on the center line he pushed the throttle wide open.  The plane accelerated quickly and at 85 knots he eased back on the yoke.  The little plane glided gently into the air.

"This is Cherokee niner niner three Foxtrot Mike, clear the runway."

The tower responded with "have a nice flight niner niner three Foxtrot Mike.

"Goodbye problems!" he yelled.  Sharon looked at him and smiled broadly, showing off that perfect set of pearly whites.

Will climbed the little plane up and at altitude, turned toward the string of mountains just off the coast, and headed NE toward Bakersfield, CA.  From Bakersfield he flew straight east over the Tehachapi mountains.  The ride was rough across the east edge of the mountains.

It was a little windy over Tehachapi, and they could see the valley as it stretched out below them.  The light glinted off the top end of each blade of the windmills as they turned lazily in the steady wind below them.

Beyond the edge of the Tehachapi mountains the vastness of the Mojave desert stretched out before them and they were awed at the beauty of it.  That's one of the reasons Will liked flying the small planes so much.  You were still flying, but low enough you could make out many details of the landscape over which you were flying.  Most of the heavies flew at thirty thousand feet and above.  At that height you lost most detail of the terrain over which you were flying.

They continued on east toward Barstow, then turned north up the I-15 toward Las Vegas.  Will was flying VFR (visual flight rules), and flew low enough to follow the roads and enjoy the beauty of the high desert.  

Finally as they neared Las Vegas Will swung the little craft to the east again, giving the huge McCarran airport a wide berth, coming down to the minimum of a thousand feet to get under the flight patterns five miles out.  He then lined up onto the municipal airpark a couple of miles north of McCarran after contacting them and going through his landing checklist.

Will touched the little plane down on the runway and taxied to the guest hangar at the municipal airpark of Las Vegas.  He didn't want the hassle of trying to land amidst all the heavies and the large amount of traffic for which McCarran international airport was notorious.  Had he landed there, he would have seen the same heavy (huge airplane), that was landing almost simultaneously as himself.  It was the same plane they observed landing in Santa Barabara when he and Sharon were taxiing to the runup area before lifting off.

"Where are we gonna eat first?" Will asked his beautiful bride.

"At the MGM!" Sharon responded.  It was their favorite place in which to enjoy one of the monster buffets in Las Vegas.  Little did they know how close trouble was following, and how far away help would be when they needed it the very most . . .

What Gilroy Hastings created was not just a computer program; it was a monster.  And now, it was out of its cage.  Not only that, William and Sharon were walking right into its jaws.

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