James Huston - Fallout

She shuffled across the square toward a street vendor who was selling unidentified meat on sticks, and out of the corner of her eye she saw her contact. He didn’t recognize her and stood waiting at a table where a woman was selling small rugs. He chewed on a tough piece of meat and sipped a drink as he pretended to examine the rugs. There was a sign on the table telling prospective patrons the woman vendor was deaf.

Renee walked to the end of the table and poked at the cheap rugs. She spoke to the man softly in fluent Urdu. “Thank you for coming.”

He replied, “I told you I do not like meetings. Why is this necessary?”

“Did you find anything?”

“Some. Why does this matter?”

“It may not.”

“Then why do you want to know?”

“I don’t.”

The man bit down angrily on the dry meat. “Then why did you ask these questions?”

“Have you found anything?”

“The records go back only five years. Before that, nothing.”

“Is that unusual?”

“They’re very careful about military records. His are incomplete.”

“If you’re writing false records, wouldn’t you be complete?”

“I would.”

“Who is he?”

“An Air Force Major.”

“Is there more to it?”

“Not according to the records.”

“Where is he from?”

“The records say Islamabad.”

She listened carefully. “You don’t think so.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. If you were hiding your origins, you would say you were from here. It is easy to disappear in Islamabad. Our records are poor. We don’t have—what do you call them?—social numbers.”

“Social Security numbers.” She coughed as if she were tubercular, then paused, leaning over the table in apparent pain, still hunched over. Those around glanced at her, then looked away. “But you found other things. What have you found?”

He looked at her in disgust. “Are you ill?”

“No.”

He went on reluctantly. “He seems to be well known. He is thought to be many things by many different people.”

“Explain.”

“Those who are in favor of the government believe he is a threat to the government. Those who are against the government believe him to be a threat to them, and pro-government. The Islamic fundamentalists believe he is an intelligence agent who will be their undoing. Those who are the secularists, and afraid of the Islamic militants, fear he is an Islamist.”

Renee thought about what he was saying. It troubled her deeply. He sounded like a professional intelligence operative. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. It sounds disturbing. He sounds like someone that you do not want to be on the wrong side of, and an awful lot of people believe themselves already to be on his wrong side.”

“Does he have a particular cause?”

The man finished his drink and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “If he does, it is unknown. You can find someone who will tell you what he thinks this Khan’s cause is, but it will just be whatever the person telling you most fears.”

“Any associates?”

“Many associates, but few of them are known. Even fewer are recognized.”

“Anything else?”

“One thing.” The man fought with himself as he debated whether to tell Renee what he had learned. “It doesn’t make sense to me, so I hesitate to repeat it.”

“What?”

“He was seen in Karachi recently.”

She was surprised. “That’s a long way.”

“It is a long way, and his Air Force base is up here, near Islamabad, flying F-16s, I’m told. He was not in Karachi on behalf of the Air Force.”

“What was he doing there?”

“He was seen with other men. Near the docks.”

“The docks?”

“Yes. Near some ships loading.”

“Why?”

“No one knows. He seemed out of place.”

“Do you know when?”

“Six weeks ago.”

“Exactly?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you find out?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“He must have been there for a reason. If we know the date, we might somehow learn what he was doing.”

“That’s all I know. If you want something else, you’ll have to get it from somebody else.”

“You don’t think he’s related to the head of Pakistani intelligence?”

“No.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I just am.”

“Where did you get the information that he was in Karachi?” She waited, but there was no response. She waited, then glanced up and saw that he was gone.

Renee had noticed his growing restlessness and nervousness. She wasn’t sure of the cause, probably that he was feeling awkward standing with a woman at a table selling rugs. She did not look for him and did not look up from the table. After a minute or so she grabbed her bag and shuffled out of the mandi in the direction of a poor residential district.

Luke and Thud leaned on the hangar door as they watched Vlad and Dr. Thurmond climb down from the two-seat MiG-29. They looked for a bulging pocket in his G suit indicating a newly filled barf bag, or that green, peaked look people had on their faces that they tried to smile through to convince others that flying in a jet is really fun. They didn’t see anything on Dr. Thurmond’s face. They pushed away from the door and walked to meet them.

“How did it go?” Thud asked his father.

“Incredible,” Dr. Thurmond replied, a huge grin illuminating his face. “I’d forgotten how great that is.”

“Did you let him fly it?” Luke asked Vlad.

“Yes, of course. As soon as we got airborne, I gave him the controls. He did wonderful. Natural pilot.”

“How did you think it handled?” Thud asked.

“Great turning ability, incredible acceleration. When I’d get the nose pointed up for a long time at slow speed, I’d get real anxious. If you do that with a 105, you’ll find yourself in a hole in a hurry. With this airplane the speed just doesn’t bleed off. You can point the nose anywhere you want. Amazing airplane.”

They entered the hangar, and Vlad started over toward one of the MiGs that had an engine out of the bay. “I must check on the engine replacement,” he said, then stepped under the wing.

Dr. Thurmond pointed toward the paraloft. They walked in while he removed the borrowed flight gear.

“I want to keep flying here. I want to get back up to speed and get checked out in this jet.”

“You weren’t a TOPGUN instructor, Dad,” Thud said. “You can’t fly in the syllabus hops.”

“No, but what about postmaintenance check flights? Maybe just fly when I feel like it. I own the company, don’t I?”

Luke replied, “Yes, sir, you sure do. We’ll see what we can arrange.”

Dr. Thurmond finished hanging his flight gear, something he was clearly relishing, then turned to Luke. “How well do you know Vlad?”

Luke was surprised. “I don’t know, why?”

“He had alcohol on his breath.”

“Seriously?” Luke asked, troubled.

“Seriously. What do you really know about his time in Russia?”

“We’ve got copies of his records. I reviewed them…”

“I’d check into him, if I were you.”

Luke nodded. “Brian’s got the records. He was going to check them.”

“I’d follow up.”

“Yes, sir,” Luke replied.

“Good. Can I talk to Quentin alone?”

“Sure,” Luke said, glancing at Thud as he walked out of the room.

Thud was dreading what was coming. He expected another lecture.

Thurmond looked at his son. “Quentin, I think I owe you an apology.”

Thud felt awkward and cornered. “Dad, you don’t—”