Fallout

17

The Pakistani ordnancemen had finished loading the thousand-pound laser-guided bomb aboard the third F-16 and were putting the last Sidewinder missile on the wing rail. Rashim stood by the fourth jet, the last one in the line. He watched the operations intently and glanced around anxiously every few seconds. They began lowering the steel cables into the fourth truck. The drivers and riders formed a perimeter with their assault weapons, watching for any movement, any new guard. They were well aware that there were other guards on the base who were there to guard the MiGs and the missiles. They expected them to come to reinforce the jeep guards, who might have radioed for help before being overpowered.

It was still thoroughly dark. The Pakistanis were growing restless. They had estimated fifteen minutes to load the bombs onto the F-16s, and they were now approaching twenty-two minutes. Major Khan strode up and down by the F-16s, growing more aggravated and anxious each minute. He knew exactly what time the sun would rise and exactly what time it would start getting light enough to drop. It was at that moment he wanted to strike. With each passing minute it would be brighter at the target, and the advantage would go to those who would undoubtedly come to stop them.

The lift bent again under the weight, and Rashim’s bomb was pulled from its cradle in the last truck, placed gently on the dolly, and hooked to the bomb rack underneath the F-16. It was slowly cranked up against the belly of the airplane, and the Sidewinders were carefully placed on the tips of both wings.

Khan nodded vigorously at the other pilots as the loading of Rashim’s armament was nearly complete. They scrambled quickly into their airplanes and closed the canopies.

Raymond speed-dialed Vlad’s BOQ number and listened while it rang. It went from the fifth to the tenth ring with no response. Raymond began cursing under his breath when Vlad picked up the phone.

“Da… yes?” Vlad answered, barely awake.

“Vlad! This is Raymond—”

“Raymond who?” he asked angrily, his head pounding.

“Area 51 Raymond.”

“What do you want?”

“Mr. Henry told me to call you. I’m sitting on a hill outside the base, and the Pakistanis are up to something. They’ve killed the guards and are loading bombs on their airplanes. Mr. Henry told me to wake you up and tell you to get the MiGs with the missiles on them started and ready. He’s on his way. We’ve got to get Stamp and Thud up and go after them.”

“What? The Pakistanis? Where did they get bombs? Chort!” he screamed. His anger was suddenly aggravated by a chilling fear as Gorgov’s words came back to him.

“A whole bunch of guys with assault rifles. They have night-vision goggles and are armed for bear—”

“How did they do this?”

“Sir, I’m just telling you what Mr. Henry told me to tell you. He asked that you get those MiGs started.”

“They will hear us! They will send their armed guards over to the MiGs!”

“I don’t know about that, sir. I’m just following Mr. Henry’s instructions. I have to call Thud and Stamp right now, sir.”

Vlad gathered his wits. “I will get Stamp.”

“He’s in a different building—”

“I am going over there now.”

“Yes, sir,” Raymond said. “Here’s my cell phone number if you need anything from me.”

Vlad hung up.

Raymond wasn’t taking any chances. He dialed Stamp’s BOQ room anyway.

The Corvette’s tires protested as Luke wheeled onto the highway and accelerated at full throttle heading south. The car quickly passed through eighty miles an hour, then a hundred. Luke’s headlights were nearly useless.

He picked up the cell phone lying on the seat next to him and dialed the tower at Tonopah. There was no answer. He hadn’t expected anyone to be there but tried on the off chance some of the tower employees who’d be working the missile shoot in the morning might have come in early. He dialed Thud’s number. It rang several times, and then Michelle answered. “Hello?”

“Michelle?”

“Luke?”

“I’m headed to the base,” he yelled over the loud air rushing by. The top was down, and the wind was thundering past his head. “Is Thud on his way already?”

“Yes. Raymond called him a few minutes ago and told him to get to the base right away. What’s going on?”

“How long ago did he leave?”

“About three minutes.”

“I’ll catch him there.” He hung up and immediately dialed another number. It was Vlad’s room at the BOQ. There was no answer. “Damn it.”

He dialed 411.

“Directory assistance, may I help you?”

“Get me the Federal Aviation Administration.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I do not have access to Washington, D.C., numbers—”

“Local FAA. Local flight service station. The local anybody affiliated with the FAA.”

“I have the Federal Aviation Administration local office in Reno.”

“Fine.”

“Here’s the number, sir.” She got off the line as the automated number was read to him by a computer.

He tried to steer while flying along the Nevada highway and dialing the phone. Finally it rang. He watched his lights bounce up and down on the highway as his tires went over minor bumps and changes in the road. The phone continued to ring at the Reno FAA office. A machine picked up after about ten rings: “You’ve reached the offices of the Federal Aviation Administration. Our business hours—“ Luke hung up.

He redialed 411. “I need the number for the Air Force. Try Nellis Air Force Base.”

“Yes, sir. Here is the general information number for Nellis Air Force Base.” The computer read the number to him. He dialed it as he angled around the sharpest curve of the entire journey. His tires squealed slightly through the turn, but he felt stable. “Come on, come on,” he said out loud.

“Nellis Air Force Base, Sergeant Matthews. This is a nonsecure line. May I help you?”

“Sergeant! My name is Luke Henry. I’m the owner of a fighter school at Tonopah. We have a serious problem that you need to get somebody on immediately. Four of the students at my school, Pakistanis flying F-16s, have gotten hold of some laser-guided bombs and are taking off now from Tonopah. I have no idea where they’re headed, but they’re going to drop them on somebody. It might be Nellis—”

“Is this a bomb threat, sir?”

“No. I don’t have a bomb. I’m telling you about some people who do have bombs. They’re in airplanes. F-16s. We need to get some fighters airborne immediately. You’ve got to help with this.”

“Where are you calling from, sir?”

“My car.”

“Have you had anything to drink, sir?”

“No, you idiot! I haven’t had anything to drink! There are four F-16s loaded with laser-guided bombs and Sidewinder missiles that are going to be launching out of Tonopah soon, if they haven’t already, and they could be heading your way. I need your help in stopping them. We need to get your alert fighters airborne, if you have any. Does Nellis have alert fighters?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m not at liberty to discuss our alert posture or what steps we might or might not take in response to any threat that does or does not—”

“Shut up! Put an officer on the telephone now!”

“There is no officer here right now, sir. I’m afraid I would have to wake him—”

“Then wake his ass up right now! I’m ordering you to do that!”

“Are you a military officer, sir?”

“No. But I was.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have the authority to order me to do anything, sir. Now, if you’ll send me a letter asking me what it is you request from Nellis, I would be happy to pass it on to our public affairs officer. I’m sure she would respond to your request—”

“You’ve got to be shitting me! Have you heard anything that I’ve said?” Luke screamed.

“Sir, I don’t need to—”

“You listen to me, Sergeant! Get an officer right now, and put him on the telephone.”

“The duty officer is not here, sir. I’m the only one here.”

“This is an emergency!”

“If you don’t start controlling yourself, sir, I’m going to hang up.”

“If you don’t start controlling your brain, I’m going to have to get somebody who’ll do it for you. Get an officer now!”

“I’ll see what I can do.” The line went dead.

“Hello? Hello? Shit!” Luke yelled. He dropped his cell phone onto the seat as he put both his hands on the wheel of his flying Corvette. The sky was pitch-black. He was on the ragged edge of catastrophe. He was driving much faster than was safe even in his own inflated opinion of his driving skills. His entire professional life was going up in smoke right in front of him, and he didn’t know who to call or what to do about it. He needed to get the government officially involved, and he thought that his chances of making that happen by driving the speed of sound on the highway talking on his cell phone to people he’d never met was zero. There were too many nuts out there crying about the sky falling all the time. Still, he had to try. He picked up the cell phone and dialed long-distance information for Washington, D.C.

“What number, please?”

“Pentagon. The duty watch officer.”

“Here is the Pentagon’s general number, sir.” She immediately connected him to the computer-generated number without waiting to find out if that was what he wanted. He listened to the number and dialed it immediately.

“Pentagon, Captain Hargrove. May I help you?”

“Are you the watch officer? Who deals with military emergencies?”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Luke Henry. Formerly Lieutenant Luke Henry, United States Navy. I now run a private fighter aviation school in Nevada, and four Pakistani pilots—who were approved by the Department of Defense—have laser-guided bombs and are about to take off with them. I don’t know where they’re going or what they’re going to do, but it’s bad. We need Air Force help right now!”

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Luke Henry. I’m calling from my car, driving in excess of a hundred miles an hour and heading toward that base now to try to stop them myself. I need help. I need the Air Force’s help. If there are any fighters on alert anywhere in the southwestern United States, they need to get airborne now and head toward southern Nevada.”

“I don’t know that we’ll be able to do that, sir. We’ll need to authenticate you, your story, your concern, and the risk. We don’t simply launch fighters at the request of a citizen on his car phone.”

“Do whatever the hell you have to do. Just start doing it. Wake up the person who’s going to be really mad at you for waking him up. Wake up a General, or an Admiral! Get somebody responsible on this, and get them on it now.”

“I don’t know that I can do that, sir, based just on what you’ve told me. Who was it you said had authorized it from the Department of Defense?”

“Undersecretary of Defense Merewether.”

“I’m afraid he is no longer the Undersecretary of Defense. That doesn’t help you.”

“What if everything I’m telling you is true? What would you do if you were me?”

“I don’t really know, sir. I can’t say I’ve ever been faced with such a situation where I’m responsible for foreign fighters being in the United States ready to attack a target and nobody knowing about it.”

“People do know about it! You know about it! I know about it! I just can’t get anybody to do anything about it!”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to do?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know you, and you’re not a member of the military, and you’re not with the United States government. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“You asshole! You personally are going to be responsible— What is your name again?” The line went dead. “Shit!” Luke cursed again. The phone rang. He pressed the talk button. “What?”

“Mr. Henry?” It was Raymond.

“What?”

“They’re starting their jets. I think they’re going to be taking off.”

“I’m eight minutes away, Raymond. You stay put. Did you get hold of Vlad?”

“Yes. He’s over at the hangar. He was worried they might have people over there waiting for them, or may have already disabled the MiGs.”

Luke suddenly recalled Brian’s fears about Vlad, about his being in tight with the Pakistanis, about his getting thrown out of the Russian Air Force. And now Vlad was the one getting the MiGs ready to go. “I didn’t even think of that. They get those guards, too?”

“I didn’t see any shooting from there. They might not have thought to look at the outlying hangar. I don’t think they’ve ever seen you use it before.”

“What about Thud and Stamp? Did you get them?”

“Yes. They’re both on their way. They should already be on base. Vlad was supposed to talk to them and meet them at the hangar.”

“Okay—I’ve got another call. Later.” He pressed talk again. “Yes?”

“Luke? Vlad.”

“Vlad! We are in deep shit. Can you get the planes started?”

“Yes. The Pakistanis have started their jets, they will not hear us. The doors of the hangar are open. Thankfully, they face away from the other hangar. I’m going to start the jets in the hangar, which will ruin the hangar where the jet blast hits it, but I don’t want to taxi until they make their move—”

“Do it,” Luke said immediately. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Are Stamp and Thud there?”

“Not yet. They are on their way. I have two mechanics who are helping me start the jets. They will be ready to go when you get here. Wait—I hear the F-16s taxiing. They are moving away from the flight line.”

“We’ve got to know which way they’re going. Did you find anybody for the tower? Or to operate the radar?”

“There is no one here. But I did not check every room. I don’t want to get shot.”

“I’ll come right to the hangar.” Luke tossed the phone onto the seat. He concentrated on the road, accelerating slightly more, pushing even his own limits. There was more adrenaline than blood in his veins. He felt as if he could rip the steering wheel off the car. He came around the corner, the last curve in the hills out of which he descended toward Tonopah, just in time to see the afterburner of the first F-16 light on the darkened runway. He couldn’t see the airplane at all, just a long blue flame as it rolled down the runway for three thousand feet, then lifted off into the night sky. Then a second blue flame illuminated the runway where the first one had been, and then a third.

Luke accelerated still more and drove in furious frustration toward Tonopah. He suddenly knew without any doubt what had happened to Sluf. He’d stumbled onto Khan and his men doing something that morning he had flown in and disappeared. They’d killed him, rather than let him warn the others. Luke’s anger grew even hotter. The fourth F-16 lifted off the runway as he approached the gate to his base with its floodlights in his face.

Luke slowed at the gate. He saw the dead guard’s bloody body lying where he’d been shot, then run over. He floored the Corvette as he made a hard left and tore toward the southern end of the base and the auxiliary hangar. He could hear the MiGs. Luke ignored all the stop signs, curves, and anything that might slow him when he suddenly remembered there were additional men with assault rifles on the base. They might be setting up an attack force to prevent anyone from going after the F-16s.

His heart pounded even harder than it had been as he thought of a couple of dozen men with automatic weapons charging his MiG as he taxied. He would just have to take whatever came. May as well go out in a blaze of glory, he thought, whether here or in the air. He skidded to a stop next to the hangar and saw Vlad taxiing the third MiG-29 out to the tarmac with its engines running and canopy opened.

Luke jumped out of his car and ran toward the MiG nearest him. The first two were waiting for their pilots with the ladders on the side. The third was about in position and then stopped as Vlad put on the parking brake, hurried down the ladder, ran toward the fourth one, clambered up its ladder, jumped into the cockpit, took off the parking brake, and taxied forward in the darkness. He was about to throw the ladder down on the tarmac when one of the two Russian mechanics appeared from nowhere and stood underneath the airplane waving at him, indicating that they’d handle the ladder.

Vlad had retrieved their flight gear and hung it on the ladders, waiting for the pilots to arrive. Luke saw his helmet on the closest ladder. He jumped into his Russian-made harness and scrambled up the ladder, Vlad right behind him. Luke yelled into his ear over the jet noise, “Turn your radio to squadron common plus point-five! I don’t want them monitoring our radios to see if we’re up.”

Vlad nodded and hurried back down the ladder. Suddenly Thud and Stamp drove up. They jumped out and raced for the other two MiGs. Vlad pointed Thud to the third MiG and Stamp to the second. They grabbed their flight gear, jumped into it, put on their helmets, and ran up the ladders into the cockpits. The Russian mechanics pulled the ladders down as soon as Thud and Stamp were in their airplanes. The pilots closed the canopies and began to taxi away from the hangar.

The old man checked his watch, then pushed open the door of his dilapidated Buick. It was still dark, and he was the only one in the entire parking lot just west of Interstate 5. He popped open the trunk and got out his gear. He slipped headphones over his dirty old Dodgers baseball cap and let them rest around his neck. He carried the metal detector in his right hand as he threw his ratty backpack over his left shoulder.

He closed the trunk quietly and began walking to the beach. His gait was painful and difficult, as if he were about to surrender to a lifetime of fatigue, his skin dark brown and deeply wrinkled from years in the sun. He was the first one on the beach that morning, long before sunrise. The moon, now approaching the ocean to the west, gave him just enough light to see his way.

The worn-out leather backpack had a drawstring at the top and shiny edges on the side. His headphones were attached to a device on his belt that had input wires from the long-handled metal detector that searched endlessly for coins and other valuables that had made their way into the sand on the coast of California.

The old man pulled the tired Dodgers cap down over his eyes to protect him from the coming sun. It settled into the comfortable position of a hat that had been worn for years in exactly the same place.

He headed south down the beach, sweeping his detector from one side to the other, occasionally sifting some sand through a can when he came across something. After a mile he turned around slowly, shuffling his bare, flat feet in the fluffy sand away from the hard-packed sand, and pulled his face up as if listening for something. He held the headphones to his ear with his hand as he looked north. He turned south again. Ahead of him, on the water line, he could just make out the two huge rounded shapes outlined against the dark blue sky.

He continued his long, slow walk toward them as he searched for something of value on the way.