James Huston - Fallout

Raymond’s shaking hand reached down to the ever-present cell phone hanging off his belt, one of the large, fat, older-style phones that he liked because they most closely resembled a radio, which gave him some sense of security or authority. He pulled the phone off his belt and hit speed dial “1.” He waited anxiously as the phone rang. Finally it connected. “Mr. Henry? Mr. Henry?”

Luke answered groggily. “What?”

“Sir, it’s Raymond.”

“Raymond who?”

“Raymond Westover, sir, from the air base. The café.”

“What do you want?”

“Sir, there’s something terribly wrong at the base.”

“Like what?” Luke said, sitting up and clearing his mind.

“Somebody is shooting. It looks bad. There are a bunch of automatic weapons being fired.”

“What? What did you just say? Repeat what you just said,” Luke demanded as the adrenaline coursed through his body, bringing him into a state of instant alertness.

Raymond studied the picture through his binoculars. He found himself whispering. “I don’t know. Somebody’s shooting. I think the Pakistanis—they’re by their airplanes with a bunch of trucks—and they’re shooting at the security jeep. They killed the guards, Mr. Henry, sure as hell—”

“What?” Luke cried.

“Looks like they’re loading something onto their airplanes. I think they brought something onto the base in those trucks. And more men, with a lot of guns—”

“Can you still see them?”

“Yes, sir. Looks like they’re done with the first two airplanes and are working on the third.”

“What are they doing?”

“Loading something on the planes.”

“Can you tell what? Where are they loading them?”

“Underneath. It’s long, has a funny nose, and it’s kind of thick at the back.”

“Missiles?”

“Can’t tell.”

“Is it fat or thin?”

“Fat, sir. Way fat.”

“Shit, Raymond. Those are bombs!” Luke’s mind raced. “Can they see you?”

“No, sir. No way in hell. I’m on a hill off the base. I was just watching the night sky. Like I always do.”

“Call Vlad and Stamp—they’re at the BOQ—and Thud. Do you have all those numbers?”

“Yes, sir. They’re all programmed into my cell phone.”

Luke jumped out of bed and began putting on his flight suit. “I want you to listen carefully to me, Raymond. I want you to tell Vlad to find whatever men he can and get the four airplanes set for the missile shoot this morning ready to go. They’re already gassed and armed, but we need to get them started. I have no idea where the hell these guys are going, but we’ve got to stop them. Tell Vlad I’ll be there as fast as I possibly can. We may not have much time after these guys get airborne. I’ll be there in twelve minutes.”

“Sir, I thought your house was twenty minutes away.”

“I won’t be going the speed limit.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll call them right away. How can I reach you?”

“Let me give you my cell phone number.”

“I have that, sir.”

“Call me as soon as you’ve called everybody else. And let me know what they’re doing. Can you still see them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What are they doing now?”

“They’re loading something on the wings. Out at the end.”

“Are they skinny or fat?”

“Skinny.”

“Sidewinders. Shit! Where the hell did they get Sidewinders?”

“Probably out of the same trucks.”

“As soon as we hang up, and as soon as you call those other pilots, call me right back. I’ll be in my car.” Luke quickly slipped on his flight boots and wrapped the laces around them as he cradled the phone awkwardly against his shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Katherine asked sleepily.

Luke looked at her quickly. “The Pakistanis are going nuts on us. They’re loading bombs aboard their airplanes. They just killed the guards.”

“God, no,” she said, throwing back the covers and jumping out of bed. “Can I do anything?”

“Yeah. Just a second. You got that, Raymond?”

“Got it. I’ll call you right back. And if you need me, here’s my cell number.”

Luke wrote it down. “Tell Vlad to call me on my cell phone.”

“Will do, sir.”

Luke hung up. He grabbed his watch and his wallet and turned to Katherine with the lamp now on. “Call the FBI. Call the FAA. Call the Air Force. Call the Navy. Call anybody you can think of who has any ability to get in front of these guys. The Pakistanis have gotten laser bombs onto the base and loaded them onto their F-16s. They have Sidewinder missiles and are going somewhere. I don’t know where. Just get the conversations going. Nobody’s going to believe you. But I want them to start hearing this so that when I call them on the radio or talk to them on the phone, they’ll have heard it first from you. Tell them we are not shitting them. Something real bad is going to happen very fast. If there are any Air Force fighters anywhere on alert within five hundred miles of Tonopah, tell them to get airborne with missiles and start looking for F-16 radars. I’ve got to go.”

He dashed out of the room, grabbed his cell phone from the recharging cradle, and headed toward the garage.

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.”