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Chapter 3: Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
Written by Michael Erickson
Copyrighted Columbia Pictures, 1983 - 2002

Based on characters and events by Dan O'Bannon and Don Jackoby

The drive home from the helipad was not that long. One of the many advantages of living in the city was the fact that people could get to a certain destination downtown in a short period of time. Even at 2am in the morning, there was hardly any traffic. Ralston was worried the least bit about traffic and other obstacles. He just wanted to get home and crash for the evening. He was pleased with how efficient his new partner was. Holt seemed to know the job fairly well. However, his probationary period still had some sixty days to go. Ralston cleared his mind and proceeded to drive his 1999 Ford Escort down South Third Street.
He did not live very far from where the Middle Eastern family had been attacked. The fact that it happened did not bother him. What bothered him was the fact that police officers were injured. And another fact that a terrorist may be lurking about. He fought Saddam Hussein's army during the Persian Gulf Conflict and it had left a bad taste in his mind towards middle easterners. He even had to deal with a few Islamic fanatics when he was stationed in the U.S. Air Force. He found it hard to understand how such passion could drive terrorists to commit suicide and cause death like they do. He tried to look at the big picture, to think about how America and its culture and attitudes towards trade and putting its nose into other peoples' problems often could upset them. But he always concluded that the terrorists needed to be made powerless before correcting other problems, even within his own country and the way the eastern world sees it.
"We should have nuked them," he said to one in particular.
Parking his car along the left sidewalk of Third Street, he switched off the car, got out and locked it. Walking down a couple of houses, he reached his apartment in an old Victorian pink brick house. His apartment may have been a studio effectively, but it still had all the comforts of home.
Walking into the building and unlocking his apartment door behind him, he switched on the light switch, and checked his answering machine.
"Hello, sweetie!" came Annette's musical voice. "Don't forget about the Cambron's party this Saturday. Call me at lunch tomorrow. Love ya, bye!!!"
The machine gave off another beep.
"Michael, this is your godmother calling," came another female voice. "I haven't heard from you in about two weeks. I know you are busy, but give me a call or send me an e-mail, when you have time."
Finally, there was the last message.
Which was nothing. Nobody left one.
Wrong number or they had no bother for a message, Ralston thought.
Sitting at his computer desk he checked his e-mail. He did not have any messages. That was okay with him. He did not care to get any e-mails. Especially those that were listed in the spam category.
Logging off the internet, he stared at his desktop that displayed one of the old Huey helicopters from work that is used for heavy lifting work. He turned the screen off, walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice, taking a drink from it.
That was when the phone rang, nearly startling him. Snorting his disgust at being called this late of night, he let the machine pick it up.
"Hi, you have reached the Ralston residence," came Michael's recorded message. "Leave me a message and tell me something I don't already know."
After the beep, Michael listened in. Nothing but silence. Then there was a click. He thought that it was either a wrong number or the caller didn't want to leave messages.. Ralston shrugged and sat in his chair. About two hours later, he was stretched out in bed, sound asleep and snoring.

Snapping his cellphone shut, the still streetlight shone a line across the mysterious man's mouth as it formed a grin. He started his car and slowly drove off down the road toward toward the University Of Louisville campus.

It was around 12pm the next afternoon. Michael woke up, thankful that it was his day off. He needed the off duty time, and he had some things he wanted to do. Rubbing his gummed shut eyelids, he took care of his usual business and took the usual shower. After getting dressed, he checked his e-mail again. No new messages had been sent through cyberspace overnight.Sometimes he wished that computers were as artificially intelligent as some science fiction films had imagined would be the case by the year 2001.
Ralston's beeper started to go off on his computer console. He checked the number and dialed it on his phone. Frank Murphy would not be calling him unless it was something seriously important.
"Frank, what's going on?"
"Sorry to call you on your day off," Frank said, over a bit of static."But, can you come over to apartment complex on Cherokee Road?"
"What the is so important about Cherokee Road?"
" We found something and need you here."

What was so important about Cherokee Road finally became crystal clear to Ralston after arriving at the entrance to the apartment. He found at least three other officers questioning some apartment tennants. He saw Murphy speaking with the landlord of the building. A rather old man who had distinguished looking features, burning eyes, silvery-gray-white hair, and a soft, gentle voice. The old man was also tall and bony.
"Michael, this is Mr. Busby, the landlord of this building," Murphy introduced. "He's got something interesting to show us."
"Just how interesting are we talking?" Ralston said, a bit sardonically. He did not like having his day's plans interrupted. Be it police business or otherwise.
"It's right over here, officer," Busby pointed out. "I was having some maintenance done on this tennant's apartment, we stumbled across this."
Entering into the well-furnished apartment room, Ralston noticed the usual furniture and other basic house hold antiquities. Obviously, the person living here had a very well paid libe of employment.
It was when he turned and saw some newspaper clippings and other questionable photographs, did Ralston realize how much the apartment truly reflected the owner's personality.
On the large bulliten board of the apartment's northern wall, were clippings of air show disasters, scenes from 9-11, a picture of Osama Bin Laden with several bullet holes in it (very appropriate in Ralston's point of view), and clippings from twenty years ago concerning one helicopter named Blue Thunder, and how Frank Murphy had blown the whistle on certain government officials who were misusing the heavily-armored aircraft. There was even a picture of the late British mercenary, Colonel F.E. Cochrane himself. Someone that Frank knew and disliked immensely. Cochrane had been part of the conspiracy, and had paid the price for trying to do things illegaly.
"You never did say what F.E. stood for in his name," Ralston looked closely at the worn photo of Cochrane.
"Fuck everybody was how I viewed it," Frank half-joked. "As Jack Braddock once observed, he was an irritating little cocksucker."
"Who is the current resident here?" Ralston questioned Busby.
"His name is Xavier Horton," Busby answered. "Been here over a year. Never caused any problems. Always paid his rent on time. Pretty much kept to himself."
"It's always the quiet ones you have to worry about," Ralston quoted. "No disturbances of any kind?"
"None whatsoever," Busby confessed. "However, when I saw most of this, I became a little worried. I also found some other clippings on that coffee table there."
Both Frank and Michael looked at two other clippings. One was of an air show accident in Dayton, Ohio. The other was something about the former deputy mayor of Louisville being harrassed by a disgruntled city worker. From the now defunct Operation Brightside division, no less.
Ralston blew a small breath between his teeth. "I'd say that we have a gun nut running loose."
"I checked with various sources," Frank stated. "Even with the FBI. There is still no word yet on who this person is."
"What about the CIA?"
"I've had the information laser-faxed to the people in Washington," Frank said. "I should hear something within the hour."
"This could be one of the people responsible for that attack on that family last night." Ralston suggested.
"Maybe," Frank said, glad that Michael had refrained from showing any attitude. "Somehow, it doesn't fit, though."
Michael looked over at his boss with a curious expression. "You're getting another one of those hunches, aren't you?"
"That's how the shit hit the fan in LA," Frank remembered. "Mr. Busby, are there any other people who know this Horton pretty well? Did he have any visitors?"
"None at all," Busby admitted. "Nobody in the building knew him that well, either."
Michael looked at the clippings once more. "Obviously, he has interest in what you did, Frank."
"Don't remind me," Frank snorted. "With the possibilities of this world, I wouldn't be surprised if he was a leftover from Project THOR or involved in what Cochrane was up to."
"Somehow, I think we'll know the answer to that soon enough," Michael said, looking at three books from the Farscape series set in between two book holders. There was even a well preserved collection of Shakespeare's works on the polished oak book shelf. "I'll say this much for him, he's got good taste in literature. And bad taste in other activities."
Frank noticed that Michael was pointing at another picture that had bullet holes in it.He had found a series of characters from TV with holes through them, some of them from science fiction programs and some from drama programs. This guy sure was crazy and Murphy found it extremely weird.

Related pages:
1. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
2. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
3. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
4. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
5. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
6. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
7. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
8. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
9. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
10. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
11. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
12. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder