James Huston - Fallout

“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.”