Brown, Dale - Independent 02 Read Online Free Page B

and stepped into
his little eggbeater. Starting the little Super Scorpion was no more
complicated than starting an automobile, and soon the engine was at idle power,
warmed up and ready to go. He copied a weather report from Miami Flight
Service—warm temperatures, clear skies, balmy breezes—then switched frequencies
to Miami International’s control tower. Since he’d be popping up in the tower’s
airspace as soon as he lifted off the roof he wanted to get clearance
beforehand: “ Miami tower, Scorpion two-five-six X-ray on Victor, departing Brickell Plaza helipad, destination Pompano Beach at one thousand five hundred. Over.”
                 “Scorpion
two-five-six X-ray, Miami Tower , good evening, Admiral.” Hardcastle had
been doing this now for three years and was well known to most of the FAA
controllers in south Florida . “Sir, hold your position for zero-two minutes, departing Omaha traffic from Opa-Locka will be turning over
the city after takeoff. Looks like one of your boys, Admiral.”
                 “Two-five-six
X-ray, holding position at Brickell Plaza helipad.” Hardcastle shook his head, mildly
exasperated at the casual slip of established radio procedures by the tower
controller—their short thirty-second conversation could have yielded
information to a smuggler. The only admiral that might be leaving Brickell Plaza Federal Building had to be Coast Guard. Now the smuggler
would know that Omaha meant a Coast Guard plane was airborne out of Opa-Locka
heading southwest over the city. Anyone with a fifty- do jlar Radio Shack VHF
scanner could provide intelligence information to drug smugglers.
                 But
such thoughts were quickly overshadowed by another—where that Omaha jet from Opa-Locka might be going. He
wished he had a descrambler on the Scorpion so he could listen in on SLINGSHOT
or BLOC, the maritime radar-patrol center, but not all the brass in Miami could get one of them for a civilian
bug-smasher. What was going on? A drug bust? Routine ops? A rescue?
                 “Two-five-six
X-ray, cleared to depart Brickell Plaza helipad, remain clear of the Miami TCA,
proceed VFR to Pompano Beach . Over.”
                 “Tower,
I’d like to change that clearance,” Hardcastle radioed back. I d like to head
on over to Opa-Locka. Can I get a clearance through the TCA?”
                 “Stand
by, sir.” The Terminal Control Area was a place of high- density air traffic
around busy airports where air traffic was tightly controlled. It was asking a
lot, Hardcastle knew, to send a small helicopter right through a TCA at night,
but things quieted down significantly at Miami International right around nine P.M. and he figured he might get lucky.
                 “Two-five-six
X-ray, Miami tower,” the controller began, “if you can
get your whirlygig off the roof and over to the airport right now, and I mean now, you are cleared across the TCA at
one thousand feet. You’re going to be head-to-head with a very big, very nasty
747 in about five minutes. Over.”
                 Hardcastle
had the rotor clutch engaged on the Scorpion when he made his request, and the
blades were spinning up to takeoff speed shortly after the controller issued
the new clearance. “Two-five-six X-ray is off at this time, leaving one-fifty
for one thousand feet,” he said as he set power and gently eased up on the
collective. “Thanks, Chuck.”
                 “Don’t
mention it, Admiral.” Three minutes later Hardcastle was racing across the
brilliantly lit airport, heading north toward Opa- Locka Airport . .
     
                 Miami Coast Guard Air Station, Opa-Locka Airport , Florida
     
                 The
CQ was completing his duty log when Hardcastle trotted into the operations
center. Flustered, the Coast Guard lieutenant stumbled to his feet. “Admiral
Hardcastle ...”