John Ringo - Ghost

He dropped into the hole and pulled the grate back over, ducking down and looking in the hole. It was black as the inside of a stomach and it looked as if it was finally time for some light. He pulled the Surefire light out of his jump bag and carefully put the red lens on it, then twisted it on. The culvert was clear as far as he could see so he got down on his belly, rigged up the sub-gun and jump bag to drag behind him and started crawling, knife in one hand and flash in the other.

About the middle of the road he hit his first obstacle, a mess of trash that was too complicated to find even one item that was recognizable. There were a couple of rats rustling in the debris that wanted to contest his right-of-way but he wasn’t in any mood for it. He waved them away, bopping one of them on the head with the Surefire and forced his way past the garbage. It was pretty wet and smelled like hell, but he could live with that. The air was pretty close as well, but there were more grates to let in fresh air. As he approached one by the road he flicked off his light and kept it off, using the faint light from the grates to find his way. He didn’t want a mysterious red light giving him away.

He moved down the sewer as fast as he could, given the need to remain stealthy. The sub-gun clinked against the metal sides from time to time but that was the only major sound he gave off. And except for that one pile of trash the culvert was remarkably clear. He found the far side easily enough but was balked by the fact that it had galvanized metal bars over the end. He should have considered that. They were pretty old, though, they looked as if they’d been installed with the airfield was built and the galvanization had worn off of most of them leaving them heavily rusted, and after a wrestle that left him sweating one of them finally gave way with a slight ping of breaking metal and a grinding noise.

He slid out the narrow gap, ripping his shirt and cutting his skin on the torn metal, then lay in the dip, checking his surroundings. He was below the view from the guard gate but as soon as he tried to climb the hills he would be in view. He also had to consider that perimeter vehicle. He cautiously lifted his head and got a glimpse of the hangar. The truck was still there, the plane, apparently, still being unloaded. The perimeter vehicle, either the same one or another, was in sight but more than a kilometer off. The guards on the gate were looking out as well, but at the road.

He moved cautiously down the gap, in the direction the perimeter vehicle was coming from, looking for a covered way into the hills. As the perimeter vehicle approached he flattened himself behind some low rocks and thought about being invisible. It apparently worked since the truck rumbled past without alarm. As soon as it had gotten a few hundred yards away, on the other side of the gate, he started crawling again.

Finally he reached a point where a shallow wadi came down out of the hills. He was nearly opposite the airport control building, which had some lighted windows and, presumably, people in the tower. But he figured it was as good as he was going to get. He took the wadi in a combat crouch, moving up it as stealthily as he could. He was getting worried about time, though. He had to find the road into the hills and get a good hide position before the truck pulled out. And it would be nice to find time to call in.

Carefully, cautiously, feeling his way in the dark and still trying to hurry, he made his way into the hills.

“The plane was spotted in southern Algeria by a routine KH-11 flyover,” the CIA acting director said, sliding pictures of the plane, being refueled, across the table. “However, when it took off, NSA assets say that its transponder codes had been changed. The new transponder codes were picked up by a Navy destroyer headed towards Italy for refueling. The plane was moving west to east, headed in the general direction of the Levant.”

“Levant?” the President said, looking at the picture.

“Lebanon, Damascus, Israel,” the national security advisor said. “That coastline area.”

“Please not Lebanon,” the President said.

“Well, it was headed in that direction,” the CIA director pointed out. “That doesn’t mean it would land there. Our analysts say that the range of a 727 loaded with only the estimated weight of fifty coffins and girls averaging one hundred and thirty pounds has a range of nearly 2500 miles. That puts it at the edge of range to land in Iran from Algeria. Also, obviously, back areas of Yemen, Sudan, Somalia, what have you, if it turned south and headed down over Libya. The most likely target, however, is either Syria or Lebanon. We’re redirecting what assets we have on the ground to start looking for it in both countries as well as retasking satellite assets to search for it. NSA has not picked up the satellite phone in use, either to us or others.”

“So, ‘Ghost’ is out there, somewhere,” the President said, “maybe alive, maybe dead from the second flight. And so are the girls. And we don’t know where.”

“We will, Mr. President,” the CIA director said. “Somebody will give off an electronic emission we can decrypt or track. Just the plane taking off again in the footprint of a ferret satellite and we’ll know.”

“What’s the status of the armed forces?” the President asked.

“All special mission teams have been put on lockdown,” the secretary of defense said. “Special Operations Command and CentCom have been informed of the nature of the mission. They’re working on a series of possible joint operations. If it’s Iran or Syria, or even Lebanon, penetration of air-defense networks is going to make the mission tricky. It’s going to be hard, for example, to simply sneak a team into Syria or Iran and bring the girls out. Both have significant armed forces of their own and air defense networks that have holes but not huge ones. We’re looking at a series of plans. It all depends on where the plane lands or has landed.”

“But they’re ready to go?” the President asked.

“As ready as they can be without knowing the target,” the secretary said. “The bases in Qatar and Iraq are dialed in and there’s everything from SEAL teams to armored divisions ready to respond. I’ve started a movement of heavy forces towards the borders of both Iran and Syria in the event we need that much support. Bombers are standing by, fighters are standing by, Marines are standing by and a Marine Amphibious Unit has been shifted towards the Levant in case we’re talking about Lebanon.”

“We need to get some sort of statement out,” Edward Travali said. “There’s a lot of speculation about these kidnappings and a lot of fury. The parents of the girls suspected of being kidnapped are on all the networks. Most of them are from conservative backgrounds. Some of my people who have been looking at the conservative political boards… well, you’re looking at a spontaneous war if a planned one doesn’t happen. Not to mention this has raised hatred levels back to where they were post-9/11. The liberals aren’t reacting the same, of course. They’re almost saying it’s the girls’ fault.”

“Typical,” the President said, letting out an angry breath. “Okay, we need to know what we can say. The shooter in Athens was… ?”

“Not a common citizen,” Travali said hastily. “Not just some guy who stumbled on the op and broke it up, although I think that might be what happened. The person has been identified but for reasons of national security and the ongoing kidnapping investigation we cannot reveal his or her—”

“His,” Don Brandeis said. “The news media has at least that much.”

“His name,” Travali said, nodding. “We’re not even willing to discuss the person’s connection to the United States government except to say that he is a former special operations soldier and he was not a member of any U.S. government program. That is, the U.S. government doesn’t pay his salary. We also cannot discuss the investigation except to say that it’s ongoing and the full assets of the United States government are focused on getting these girls home safely.”