7

Luke walked down the passageway of TOPGUN toward the glass doors to the parking lot. He had just left Commander Beebe’s office. The letter of reprimand, the copy of which Gun had given him with no explanation or ceremony, no softening apology, was smoldering in the pocket of his flight suit. Gun had given it to him as if it were next month’s watch bill.

Gun had finally shown some surprise, though, when Luke handed him his letter of resignation in return, without even looking at the letter of reprimand. He’d said he understood. Would have done the same thing, he’d said. Right, Luke had thought. Gun had said he would approve Luke’s request and forward it up the chain of command. “Great,” Luke had said, not even attaching a “sir” to the end of his sentence. He couldn’t possibly. He had no more respect for Beebe.

As he headed out the door to his car in the hot parking lot in front of the building, he saw Brian Hayes, almost completely masking his ongoing fight with MS. “Hey, Spy Man,” Luke hailed. “What’s up?” Luke could see that Hayes had been standing by the door of his car without moving for some seconds. Hayes’s face was filled with emotion. “What’s the matter?” Luke asked as he walked over to him.

Hayes’s eyes were swollen and pink. “They’re giving me a medical discharge.”

Luke knew that would be the result. The Navy wasn’t about to keep someone with MS on active duty. “I’m really sorry, Brian.”

Hayes spoke quietly. “This is all I’ve ever wanted to do, Stick. This is where I belong. I’m good at this.”

Luke nodded. “The best.”

“What are you up to?”

“Just submitted my letter of resignation.”

“From what?”

“The Navy.”

Hayes looked over his shoulder to make sure no one else had heard the heresy. “Are you crazy?”

“I can’t stay in with a letter in my jacket. You know that.”

“I figured you’d appeal it or something. Everybody in the Navy loves you, Stick! They can’t let you get out.”

“Apparently not everyone.”

Hayes let the truth of that sink in. “Now what? Airlines?”

“I’d rather die.”

“So what’ll it be?”

“I’m going to start my own TOPGUN school.”

Hayes frowned. “You serious?”

“Serious as a heart attack.”

“How?”

“Lease some MiGs and an airfield from the government and hire former TOPGUN instructors as pilots.”

“You’re not kidding. How you going to finance that?”

“I’ve got an appointment with Thud’s dad—”

“The billionaire?”

“The same, on Saturday, and if he’s interested, I’ve got an appointment with the Undersecretary of Defense on Thursday to explain it to him. Thud and I just got back from checking out the MiGs.”

“Unbelievable.”

“You want to come work with us?”

Brian didn’t want to look desperate. “Seriously?”

“Sure. We’ll need an intel officer to do the same stuff you do here.”

“Classified?”

“Don’t know yet. Could do it a bunch of ways. May be classified, may not be. You could be the admin officer, too, setting up the classes and all kinds of stuff. You interested?”

“I don’t know really, how long…”

“Do it as long as you want.” Luke smiled. “I’ll keep you posted. Keep your fingers crossed for us with Thud’s dad and the DOD.”

“Does Thud know you’re going to ask his father?”

“He’s going with me.”

“I didn’t think they were on speaking terms.”

“They’re not.”

“Is he going to get out, too?”

“Gun doesn’t know it yet, but if I get the money and the DOD approval, Thud is going to put in his letter.”

“The skipper will go completely postal!” Hayes laughed.

“Yeah. That would really rip me up,” Luke said as he headed toward his Corvette. “I’ll call you.”


One week later Luke stood at the pay phone in the cafeteria at the Pentagon. He finally pressed his home number into the pad, then his credit card number, and listened to the phone ring at his house. Thud stood behind him and listened in on the conversation.

Katherine picked it up after one ring. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“How did it go?” Katherine asked.

“I don’t know what happened,” he said, trying not to sound as discouraged as he felt.

“Did your computer crash?”

“The Undersecretary’s a train wreck. All disheveled. I didn’t even get to do my whole presentation. He didn’t want to have anything to do with it.”

“He didn’t want to hear it?”

“Completely uninterested. He had the time set aside, and we had a conference room, and his staff was there. Everybody seemed enthusiastic except him. He’s just a bitter guy.”

“What did he say?”

“He said it wasn’t happening on his watch. Said it sounded like a waste of U.S. assets.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. We’re finished.”

“But it’s a fabulous idea. Especially since Thud’s dad signed on!” Katherine knew what it would do to Luke if he could never fly fighters again.

“I think the Undersecretary is one of those guys that hates it when other people succeed. It makes him feel better about himself to bring down other people.”

Katherine sighed. “I guess we’ll just have to regroup, find other airplanes and a different airfield. They can’t really stop you from doing this.”

“Yes they can, Katherine. This is the guy who would approve the contracts to use our school at all. If he doesn’t want us out there competing with TOPGUN and Red Flag, he’ll just make sure we don’t get the contracts. He can sink us!”

She didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, Luke.”

“I guess it’ll have to be the airlines,” he said bitterly. “Our flight leaves from Reagan in about three hours. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay,” Katherine replied. “I love you. And it doesn’t matter how these things go. I always will.”

“Yeah, I know. See ya.” He leaned back against the pay phone and closed his eyes. All he could think of was sitting in the cockpit of an airliner, trying to sound cool as he made an announcement to the passengers about how they were going to try a different flight level because it would be smoother… He didn’t want smooth air. He wanted to scream through the sky and across the desert floor, and pull on the stick of a jet until vapor trails ripped off the wings, and zoom straight up into the sky so the only way he could see the earth was through his rearview mirror, and get his radar to lock up another airplane, and hear the growl of a Sidewinder missile in his headset, and watch the sun set—upside down—and look at shooting stars in the night sky through his bubble canopy, and head to the O’ Club full of the piss and vinegar and exhilaration of a day of air combat maneuvering. He couldn’t imagine life without it.


The Undersecretary wrestled with the lock on his apartment. The key didn’t fit perfectly, and unless he jiggled it just so, the door wouldn’t open. It was the perfect end to a very aggravating day. Now he was prevented from even getting into his pathetic apartment. The apartment he hated. He became so annoyed that he put too much force into the key, and it started bending inside the lock. He took his hand off and backed away and began breathing heavily. He wanted to kick the door open and rip it completely off its frame. He closed his eyes, continued to breathe, then tried the door again. He forced himself to the grab the key lightly and turn the lock gently. It finally opened, and he stepped through the door. He threw his raincoat onto the wooden dining room chair and dropped his briefcase on the floor. It was full of memos and papers from work that he knew he wouldn’t touch all night. He just took them home so the others in his office would think he was being diligent.

He had only two things to look forward to that evening—a basketball game on television and a refrigerator full of beer. He could lose himself in the game. Merewether walked into the living room to switch on the television and noticed for the first time that something was amiss.

“Good evening, Mr. Undersecretary.”

Merewether felt the chill of pure panic race through him. He spun to his left and saw Yushaf. “What the hell are you doing here? About gave me a heart attack! How did you get in?”

“It was open.”

“No, it wasn’t. I just used my key!”

“You just used your key to lock it, and then you got frustrated and unlocked it.”

What are you doing in my apartment?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Why couldn’t you talk to me at the office? Or set up another one of those lunches at one of those fancy stupid restaurants?”

“I could have. But I wanted to talk to you tonight. I drove over to your house to see you, forgetting that you didn’t live there anymore. I saw your wife. It’s a very nice Lexus that she has. And that house is so beautiful. It’s too bad you had to give all that up.” Yushaf stood. “Would you mind if I got myself a glass of water?”

“No. That’s fine.” Merewether’s mind was immediately fixated on his huge brick colonial house in northern Virginia, where he’d lived with his wife and their one daughter. The Lexus was the car he’d bought for himself last year. He’d been successful in financial matters, and had invested everything they owned in the stock market during the nineties, the greatest bull market in history. In 1999, when it seemed to peak, he’d pulled out his money, invested in treasury bonds, and bought himself a new car. And then he’d lost it all in the divorce, the cause of which was his own juvenile, sexually driven behavior. One of the young secretaries at the Pentagon was far too willing to play around for him to resist a temptation that he had not faced before. Throughout his life women simply hadn’t looked his way. It was what he was accustomed to. When this one had, it had been too much for him to handle.

He thought of the fireplace that almost certainly had a fire in it, as his wife, also a basketball fan, settled in to watch the basketball game with his daughter. Without him. And it was all his fault. And he knew it. He hated himself for it.

The Pakistani came back into the living room and found Merewether sitting on the couch with his head back. He was sprawled out, his soft belly pressing his shirt over his belt. “Are you all right?”

Merewether sat up. “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Don’t come in here without permission again. I’ll call the police.”

“I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have waited in the hallway, but I cannot stand long. My legs began—”

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. Whatever.” Merewether looked at Yushaf and his thousand-dollar Italian suit. “What do you want?”

“Yes, right to business.” Yushaf sat down in the threadbare chair across the coffee table from Merewether. “I understand you had a meeting recently. About starting a new TOPGUN school. It would be called the Nevada Fighter Weapons School and would use the U.S. MiG-29s from Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. They would fly out of Tonopah airfield in Nevada.”

Merewether’s eyes narrowed. “How the hell do you know that?”

“A friend told me,” he said innocently. “It is my understanding, in fact, that the two naval officers are planning on resigning their commissions for the sole purpose of starting the school. I didn’t know it was secret.”

“It’s not secret. But it just happened last week. I’m surprised you heard about it.” Merewether studied him. “How exactly did you hear about it?”

“Let’s just say that you are not my only friend in Washington.”

Merewether was annoyed. “What’s your point?”

“It is my understanding that you turned them down and told them it would never work.”

“It’s impractical. They haven’t even thought it through well enough yet.”

“I must differ,” the Pakistani said. “It sounds brilliant to me, and it would alleviate the pressure that currently exists on TOPGUN and Red Flag to get more people through the school.”

“Why does it matter to you?” Merewether demanded.

Yushaf shrugged, then paused. “I simply want you to make the best decisions you can,” he replied. “But of course I do have an interest of my own,” he continued, “and perhaps, one day, it could all work out. As you know, I want to get some of my pilots through your schools. It is not asking much. It is asking only what you have already promised, but so far…”

“You continue to remind me.”

“So maybe this could be the solution we both need. Let my pilots come through this new school instead of TOPGUN.”

“How do you figure I need this?”

“It could solve some of your problems, with people like me. And if you help me, your good friend… who knows? Perhaps I could help you, too.” His hand went up as if in sudden recollection. “In fact, you’ve mentioned to me that you dislike this apartment.” He looked around and nodded with understanding. “I’m sympathetic to that. A man of your stature should have a residence worthy of his position. Sadly, that was taken from you in a way that was outside your control. One of our embassy staff has been called back to Pakistan. Unfortunately, he just entered into a very long-term lease on a beautiful American house. He is no longer there, and the house sits empty.” He looked at Merewether to evaluate his next sentence. “Who knows? Perhaps you could house-sit it until he comes back. And who knows when that will be? It could be a couple of years.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Merewether asked.

Yushaf realized he had miscalculated. “Of course not. Why would you ask me that?”

“Lunches are one thing. A loaner car is one thing. But the use of a house for two years? That’s worth thousands of dollars!”

“It is yours if you are interested. I certainly do not want you to feel obligated. I know that house-sitting can be a burden when the house is furnished with Persian rugs and a state-of-the-art home theater system and the like. You’d have to take care of all of that. I understand it might be asking too much.”

“Cut the bullshit. You’re trying to influence my decision.”

Yushaf smiled. “Of course I am. That is my job with the Pakistani embassy, to influence America to be a closer friend than it already is. What is wrong with that?”

“Nothing, until you start offering me things.” Merewether was angry and tempted.

“Consider all that I have said withdrawn. I do not understand the American culture as well as I should. I did not intend to offer anything, simply to exchange conveniences.”

“This private TOPGUN school would be nothing but a headache for me. A bunch of contracts, new applications for quotas by Navy and Air Force pilots. I’m sure it would cost the government money.”

“I thought they would be paying the U.S. government leases on the airplanes and airfield.”

“Yes, but they’ll be charging for each American student that goes through.”

Yushaf smelled an opening. He sat forward on the chair edge. He gestured enthusiastically with his hands. “But if those numbers are equal, it will cost the government nothing.”

“What?”

“If you charge them enough to lease the airplanes and the airfield to put the military officers through the school, the net cost to the government would be zero. And then charge double—or triple—for the foreign students. Make up the difference and then some. You could lease the airfield and the airplanes to the school in exchange for a certain number of American pilots to go through. Even even. Then have foreign aircrew come through and charge them two or three times what the equivalent rate was for Americans. They would understand that. They would be willing to pay. The school would be profitable as a going concern, and the United States would be putting out no money at all.”

Merewether looked at him unenthusiastically. “It would still be a pain in the ass.”

“I don’t think so. You could delegate to the right person, who could handle most of the details. You might look like a hero for finding a way to relieve all the pressure to get more aircrew trained. Everybody wants to go through the school, but very few ever get to. Open it up a little bit.”

Merewether shook his head vaguely. “How would your pilots even get there? Would they fly all the way from Pakistan?”

“No. I have been in touch with several states about leasing four of their F-16Cs from their Air National Guard units for our pilots to fly. They were more than willing.”

“Which states?” Merewether asked, stunned.

“California has already agreed.”

“Before we have even agreed?”

“I have to make many plans.”

“Whatever,” Merewether said, losing interest.

The Pakistani decided to fire his last arrow. “It might also alleviate another looming problem for you.”

“Like what?”

Yushaf stood up and walked around his chair as if he were about to leave. “I have heard that ever since those MiGs were bought, the United States has been anxious to test the missiles.”

Merewether was startled. “What missiles?”

“The five hundred Russian-made air-to-air missiles that were bought from Moldova with the MiG 29s—”

“How did you know that?”

“And when the MiGs were purchased, there was a guarantee issued that those missiles would be test-fired, and the Navy and Air Force would know, from the telemetry, every last thing there was to know about them.” The Pakistani spoke slowly, as if quoting a document that he had seen.

“How in the hell did you get that?”

“As I said, you are not my only friend.”

Merewether was dumbfounded.

“Don’t you see?” the Pakistani said encouragingly. “The reason the missiles have not been test-fired is that there are no airplanes in the United States that can fire them as they were designed to be fired. It takes the MiG radars as well. No one has flown the MiGs since they have been purchased.

“If you allow these Navy Lieutenants and their new TOPGUN school to be your test facility, to keep the radars up, to load the missiles and test-fire them for you—you could even pay them for that—you would be a hero in the intelligence world, and everyone would then have access to the telemetry, and the Russian missiles would be known by United States military.”

Merewether frowned. “Those Navy Lieutenants said they would disarm the MiGs. This would mean that they would have to keep them as legitimate fighters, capable of firing missiles.”

“What is wrong with that? You can guard the missiles at all times. It should be without risk.”

Merewether’s mind spun through the possibilities. It actually might solve several problems. “You have any other cards? Anything else you got hiding out there that you want?”

The Pakistani smiled knowingly. “There is always something, isn’t there?”

The Undersecretary nodded.

“We want the results of the missile tests.”

“Is that it?”

“We are your strongest ally in South Asia, and you know it,” he said with too much emphasis. “We need that information, because India flies the MiG-29 and has those same Russian missiles. We need to know it for the safety of our pilots.” Yushaf lowered his voice. “And we need four of our pilots to be in the first class at that school.”

“I think that’s enough for me to think about tonight,” Merewether said, standing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“No, I need to know, I’m sorry,” Yushaf said, seeing the anger on Merewether’s face. “I would like your commitment tonight. I am getting pressure from my home office. They don’t believe I can produce results. If I don’t, I will be recalled… I—”

“So what?”

“Thomas,” Yushaf said, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, “your country owes this to my country.”

“How the hell do you figure that?”

“Do you not remember the largest battle the Americans have been involved in since Vietnam?”

“What?”

“Eighteen American Rangers and Delta Team members killed, five hundred to a thousand enemy killed, with thousands more wounded…”

“What?”

“Mogadishu. Somalia. You Americans were pinned down. Three of your Blackhawk helicopters were shot down. You were completely surrounded. The city was teeming with armed people who hate Americans. And who came to your rescue? Who charged into that city and pulled the Rangers and other Army men out?”

“Who?”

“Pakistani armor led the column back into Mogadishu and into the fight to rescue the Americans.” He paused. “Can you not allow a few of our pilots to train here? Is that too much to ask?”

“I don’t know much about Mogadishu…”

“You can look into it. I am not making it up.”

“When was that?”

“1993.”

“Well, I don’t know…”

Yushaf was in deep trouble. There was only one acceptable answer. He couldn’t leave any cards unplayed. “I have been listening to you over the past few weeks. I detect that you are in some financial trouble. Perhaps I could arrange a loan…” He watched Merewether’s face for any offense. There was none. “It would allow you to take care of all your problems.”

“Yushaf, I can’t pay back a damned loan. Every cent I make goes to my wife and her house and her car—”

“It would need to be paid back only when you were able to pay it back at one time, in one lump sum, in cash. Until then no problem, no interest.”

Merewether thought of what he could do with money. It would solve everything. He could quit his job and finally go do whatever he wanted to do. “How much of a loan did you have in mind?”

“Without knowing your needs, I could only estimate, but I thought something around two hundred fifty thousand dollars might help.”

Merewether tried not to gasp audibly. It was ten times his current net worth. He looked at Yushaf and noticed that he was sweating. “How soon could you get the… loan to me?”

“Tomorrow.”

“If I have it tomorrow, I’ll approve the school and get you your quotas. How many?”

Yushaf took a breath. It felt like the first one he’d taken in days. “Four.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

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