James Huston - Fallout

“Then in ’96 this Pakistani guy walks into an intersection just outside of CIA headquarters at Langley. Whole bunch of CIA commuters. Pulls out an AK-47 and starts shooting people. He killed three or four CIA people. It was an incredible move. And he actually escaped! But the CIA wasn’t just going to let that happen. They tracked him down in Pakistan two years later and pulled him out of his bed in some fleabag motel. They brought him back to the United States, where he was convicted of murder.”

“I remember that,” Thud said, nodding.

Hayes went on, “So right after he’s convicted, some unidentified men attacked a bunch of American businessmen in Karachi. Murdered them in their car on the way to work in broad daylight, right in the middle of a busy street. Just machine-gunned them to death. Oil workers from Texas. The Pakistani government said they were really sorry, but of course they had nothing to do with it. They promised to work real hard to find out who did. And nothing ever came of it. The people were never captured, and no one was ever put on trial, and the Americans are still dead.

“Then India tested a bunch of nuclear bombs in 1998. Something like three or four underground explosions. Pakistan said, ‘Oh, yeah? Watch this,’ and tested something like eight of them underground. So the United States jumps up and starts condemning people left and right. Remember?”

Luke half shrugged, indicating he didn’t have much other than some vague memory.

“The United States condemned Pakistan. Said they were renegades and were in violation of the nonproliferation agreement. We sanctioned them both. We turned on them at the most critical time of their military development. And Pakistan has supported the Taliban militia in Afghanistan—which we condemn for hiding Osama bin Laden. Lots of people in Pakistan probably think we’re dogshit.

“So that’s the background. Now all of a sudden, out of nowhere, out of all the countries in the world that could come here as foreign students, Pakistan shows up. And it was greased by the Undersecretary of Defense. I don’t know,” he said, sitting on the counter by the coffeepot. “It just makes my hair stand up. But that’s my job.” He smiled.

Stamp didn’t like what he’d heard at all. “Well, shit, Hayes. Now you’re making my hair stand up. We’ll have to keep our eye on these peckers.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” Thud asked. “How do we keep our eye on them any better than we keep it on the other students?”

“That’s what we’re going to have to—” Hayes said, but he stopped in midsentence as he had the inescapable feeling of being watched. He turned his eyes toward the door and saw Khan, who had obviously been standing there listening.

The others turned toward the door, following Hayes’s gaze. “How long have you been standing there?” Hayes asked.

“Long enough,” Khan answered loudly as he stepped slowly into the ready-room door, blocking it.

“Were you listening to our conversation?” Hayes asked.

“I could not help but hear,” Khan answered. The other three Pakistani pilots appeared behind him in the hallway and peered into the door that Khan was blocking. “You were talking about us, although I’m not sure what a ‘pecker’ is or how that might relate.”

Luke started to respond, but Hayes cut him off. “We thought it was kind of extraordinary for foreign students to land, introduce themselves, and demand a change in the curriculum. We were trying to imagine what it was that would cause someone to do that.”

“It is simple.” Khan crossed to the other officers. “We have some concerns with the syllabus.”

Luke tried to stay cordial in spite of the elevating tensions. “Well, that’s why we’re here. So come in, tell us what your concerns are, and we’ll tell you what we think.”

Khan nodded, as if he knew what Luke was going to say before he said it. He then looked each of the four Americans in the eye before he began to speak. “First of all, as you know, our sworn enemy is India—”

“Potential enemy,” Luke corrected.

Khan stared him down. “Our sworn enemy is India.” He paused, then went on. “They fly the MiG-29. It is why we’re here. To see that airplane in action. But better than seeing it is flying it. Since you have a two-seat version, I would like each of my pilots to get enough time in the MiG-29 to know how it flies, how it operates, where the visibility problems are—everything.”

“Major, I understand,” Luke said. “That is something that would make sense. We will try to accommodate that request. I don’t know about hours, but we’ll get each of you into the airplane to see how it flies.”

Khan nodded. “The other thing is that we were told when we first agreed to send officers to the Navy TOPGUN school in Fallon, Nevada, that a good deal of the syllabus was air-to-ground. It is an area that interests us greatly, as we feel our training in Pakistan is weak—”

“Look,” Luke cut in, “I don’t know who told you you were going to get to go to TOPGUN. They don’t let foreign students in there at all. It is strictly for Navy and Marine Corps. I was an instructor there six months ago. We never had foreign—”

“We were promised.”

“You may have been promised, but I’m telling you that whoever told you that doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Khan ignored him. “We were pleased when we learned of this new TOPGUN school with equivalent instructors and even MiG-29s, the premier fighter of our enemy. But then”—he glanced at his other pilots—“we received your syllabus by e-mail and noted that there was very little air-to-ground training in it. We were concerned at the time, but it would not keep us from coming to the school. We are here. I do not now demand a change in the syllabus; I came simply to ask you if you could modify it or supplement it for us,” he said, looking at the faces of the instructors for reactions. “We want to get to your level of skill in air-to-ground. That is all. Nothing that would require you to have a meeting early this morning in anticipation.”

“Nobody said anything accusatory, Major,” Thud responded, annoyed at Khan’s entire delivery.

“Really.” Khan stared at Thud. “So what is the answer?”

Luke shook his head slightly. “We really are not inclined to change the syllabus. We haven’t even gone through the first class yet. We want to keep it all uniform, and we want to do the best job we can. So I think the short answer is no. But I will say this: If we have the time and the jets stay up, then we will give you two or three extra air-to-ground sorties. How does that sound?”

Stamp looked at Luke. He didn’t know how Luke was going to fit that into the syllabus. Every day was accounted for. They might be able to do some flights on a weekend, but it would put a strain on the pilots and the maintenance personnel. “Luke, I’m not sure—”

Luke interrupted, “Like I said, assuming availability of pilots and airplanes—and availability means proper crew rest and everything else—assuming all that, we’ll see what we can do.”

Khan nodded, understanding Luke’s position. He slowly scratched his closely shaven face. “I understand. But that is not good enough.” His eyes bored into Luke’s. “We’re paying you an amazing amount of money. Probably too much. We made arrangements on our own for airplanes, our own maintenance personnel, our own transportation, our own logistics. All you are providing us is the instruction. I had hoped that you would be more responsive.” He paused, clearly for effect. “I do not accept your answer. It was apparently arrived at in some haste based on a meeting this morning that was, from what I could tell, unfinished. Why don’t you meet again with your fellow officers in charge of this new school and reconsider that idea? Perhaps we can talk about it again on Friday, at the end of this week.”