Out of the Fire

Part 4 - Sanctuary One

The loud banging on the door to his suite dragged Mike back to consciousness.

"Are you ever going to wake up?" called an impatient Rodge through the door.

"What is the time, Fuck?" Mike cursed back at him. 

He shuffled to the door, unlatched the safety lock and pulled the door open.

Noticing Ruth, fully dressed in travelling clothes standing next to a similarly dressed Rodge, bags at her feet, "Shit Rodge, you could have warned me,"

Still wearing pyjama shorts and tee, Mike, sure he had been exposed through his gaping fly, made to cover up. Ruth attempted unsuccessfully to muffle a giggle as Rodge just turned an embarrassed Mike around and pushed him towards the shower. Dragging their bags into the room, Ruth set about the electric coffee machine while Rodge extracted suitable clothes from Mike's luggage and passed them through the bathroom door.

"Well what time is it?" shouted a more composed Mike through the door.

"About nine thirty," answered Rodge. "We have a plane to catch, remember?"

"Shit, we'll be stuck on the runway again, hang on."

A few minutes later, Mike, back to normal, burst from the bathroom juggling his shaving gear and pyjamas. Shoving the lot roughly into his luggage and leaving it to Rodge to close, he pulled his socks and shoes on and tucked in his shirt. Retrieving his bag from Rodge, he headed for the door. "Coming or what?" he called back.

The limo was parked at the front of the hotel with the driver, yet another fit, watchful young man, waiting in the foyer. He gallantly relieved Ruth of her bags and led the way to the car. Two hours later they were in the air heading toward San Francisco where a helicopter was waiting to take them upstate to the Sanctuaries, located west of the township of Fort Jones. In the confines of the plane, Mike, noting Rodge's and Ruth's new friendship, for once managed to repress his usual undiplomatic observations, restricting himself to a knowing smile and wink, eliciting in return, a scowl from Rodge. At San Francisco, they transferred to a chartered helicopter for the trip north. As the pilot strapped them in and handed each a headset, Rodge asked Mike why the owner of Axell Corp didn't have a helicopter.

"Who would want one of these things, they're made of recycled coke cans, see how thin the doors are, no thank you. I hate the things," he revealed.

The pilot reassured them that it was very safe, much safer than a plane at least, and that they would be on their way in a minute or two.

Mike just pulled a face behind the pilot's back. He mouthed "Bullshit" to Rodge and Ruth.

"Anyway, Axell Security has a couple of attack copters, but they are deployed at the moment so we had to rent one," Mike relented. "I have used these guys before, they are very good."

The pilot returned and handed each of them a white box containing an apple, a fruit drink, a small cake and a surprisingly fresh ham and salad sandwich. "We will be in the air over lunch," explained the pilot brusquely as he firmly slid the door closed.

Rodge and Ruth enjoyed the next couple of hours, looking out at the changing landscape, from the dry San Francisco Bay area it gradually morphed into green forested hills and clear grasslands. The pilot followed the inland highway North, with the mountains to the West, though not yet snow covered, looking spectacular in the afternoon sun. Throughout the flight, Mike, who really did not like helicopters, kept his head down studying design documents on his tablet, and only occasionally looking out the window in response to comments or exclamations from his colleagues. At the three hour mark, they passed over a small untidy looking hamlet.