James Huston - Fallout

“I don’t know that we’ll be able to do that, sir. We’ll need to authenticate you, your story, your concern, and the risk. We don’t simply launch fighters at the request of a citizen on his car phone.”

“Do whatever the hell you have to do. Just start doing it. Wake up the person who’s going to be really mad at you for waking him up. Wake up a General, or an Admiral! Get somebody responsible on this, and get them on it now.”

“I don’t know that I can do that, sir, based just on what you’ve told me. Who was it you said had authorized it from the Department of Defense?”

“Undersecretary of Defense Merewether.”

“I’m afraid he is no longer the Undersecretary of Defense. That doesn’t help you.”

“What if everything I’m telling you is true? What would you do if you were me?”

“I don’t really know, sir. I can’t say I’ve ever been faced with such a situation where I’m responsible for foreign fighters being in the United States ready to attack a target and nobody knowing about it.”

“People do know about it! You know about it! I know about it! I just can’t get anybody to do anything about it!”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to do?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know you, and you’re not a member of the military, and you’re not with the United States government. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“You asshole! You personally are going to be responsible— What is your name again?” The line went dead. “Shit!” Luke cursed again. The phone rang. He pressed the talk button. “What?”

“Mr. Henry?” It was Raymond.

“What?”

“They’re starting their jets. I think they’re going to be taking off.”

“I’m eight minutes away, Raymond. You stay put. Did you get hold of Vlad?”

“Yes. He’s over at the hangar. He was worried they might have people over there waiting for them, or may have already disabled the MiGs.”

Luke suddenly recalled Brian’s fears about Vlad, about his being in tight with the Pakistanis, about his getting thrown out of the Russian Air Force. And now Vlad was the one getting the MiGs ready to go. “I didn’t even think of that. They get those guards, too?”

“I didn’t see any shooting from there. They might not have thought to look at the outlying hangar. I don’t think they’ve ever seen you use it before.”

“What about Thud and Stamp? Did you get them?”

“Yes. They’re both on their way. They should already be on base. Vlad was supposed to talk to them and meet them at the hangar.”

“Okay—I’ve got another call. Later.” He pressed talk again. “Yes?”

“Luke? Vlad.”

“Vlad! We are in deep shit. Can you get the planes started?”

“Yes. The Pakistanis have started their jets, they will not hear us. The doors of the hangar are open. Thankfully, they face away from the other hangar. I’m going to start the jets in the hangar, which will ruin the hangar where the jet blast hits it, but I don’t want to taxi until they make their move—”

“Do it,” Luke said immediately. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Are Stamp and Thud there?”

“Not yet. They are on their way. I have two mechanics who are helping me start the jets. They will be ready to go when you get here. Wait—I hear the F-16s taxiing. They are moving away from the flight line.”

“We’ve got to know which way they’re going. Did you find anybody for the tower? Or to operate the radar?”

“There is no one here. But I did not check every room. I don’t want to get shot.”

“I’ll come right to the hangar.” Luke tossed the phone onto the seat. He concentrated on the road, accelerating slightly more, pushing even his own limits. There was more adrenaline than blood in his veins. He felt as if he could rip the steering wheel off the car. He came around the corner, the last curve in the hills out of which he descended toward Tonopah, just in time to see the afterburner of the first F-16 light on the darkened runway. He couldn’t see the airplane at all, just a long blue flame as it rolled down the runway for three thousand feet, then lifted off into the night sky. Then a second blue flame illuminated the runway where the first one had been, and then a third.

Luke accelerated still more and drove in furious frustration toward Tonopah. He suddenly knew without any doubt what had happened to Sluf. He’d stumbled onto Khan and his men doing something that morning he had flown in and disappeared. They’d killed him, rather than let him warn the others. Luke’s anger grew even hotter. The fourth F-16 lifted off the runway as he approached the gate to his base with its floodlights in his face.

Luke slowed at the gate. He saw the dead guard’s bloody body lying where he’d been shot, then run over. He floored the Corvette as he made a hard left and tore toward the southern end of the base and the auxiliary hangar. He could hear the MiGs. Luke ignored all the stop signs, curves, and anything that might slow him when he suddenly remembered there were additional men with assault rifles on the base. They might be setting up an attack force to prevent anyone from going after the F-16s.

His heart pounded even harder than it had been as he thought of a couple of dozen men with automatic weapons charging his MiG as he taxied. He would just have to take whatever came. May as well go out in a blaze of glory, he thought, whether here or in the air. He skidded to a stop next to the hangar and saw Vlad taxiing the third MiG-29 out to the tarmac with its engines running and canopy opened.

Luke jumped out of his car and ran toward the MiG nearest him. The first two were waiting for their pilots with the ladders on the side. The third was about in position and then stopped as Vlad put on the parking brake, hurried down the ladder, ran toward the fourth one, clambered up its ladder, jumped into the cockpit, took off the parking brake, and taxied forward in the darkness. He was about to throw the ladder down on the tarmac when one of the two Russian mechanics appeared from nowhere and stood underneath the airplane waving at him, indicating that they’d handle the ladder.

Vlad had retrieved their flight gear and hung it on the ladders, waiting for the pilots to arrive. Luke saw his helmet on the closest ladder. He jumped into his Russian-made harness and scrambled up the ladder, Vlad right behind him. Luke yelled into his ear over the jet noise, “Turn your radio to squadron common plus point-five! I don’t want them monitoring our radios to see if we’re up.”

Vlad nodded and hurried back down the ladder. Suddenly Thud and Stamp drove up. They jumped out and raced for the other two MiGs. Vlad pointed Thud to the third MiG and Stamp to the second. They grabbed their flight gear, jumped into it, put on their helmets, and ran up the ladders into the cockpits. The Russian mechanics pulled the ladders down as soon as Thud and Stamp were in their airplanes. The pilots closed the canopies and began to taxi away from the hangar.

The old man checked his watch, then pushed open the door of his dilapidated Buick. It was still dark, and he was the only one in the entire parking lot just west of Interstate 5. He popped open the trunk and got out his gear. He slipped headphones over his dirty old Dodgers baseball cap and let them rest around his neck. He carried the metal detector in his right hand as he threw his ratty backpack over his left shoulder.

He closed the trunk quietly and began walking to the beach. His gait was painful and difficult, as if he were about to surrender to a lifetime of fatigue, his skin dark brown and deeply wrinkled from years in the sun. He was the first one on the beach that morning, long before sunrise. The moon, now approaching the ocean to the west, gave him just enough light to see his way.