BlackStar Bomber

by T C Miller

  He stood to signal the end of the meeting. Readiness of base resources would be confirmed and no matter what happened out at the Alert Pad—they’d be ready. This could be the most critical day of their Air Force career—nobody wanted to come up short in any way.

  WINFIELD RESIDENCE

  Bart took note of her concerned look and walked back down the stairs. He held her face in his big hands and looked her in the eye. “I’m not tryin’ to make light of the situation. . .You know as well as I do there’s always a little danger in this job. What I’m trying to tell you is I’m not going to rush headlong into it. I’ll stand back and let the younger guys take the risks. . .They heal faster. Besides, I didn’t put getting shot on my to-do-list for today, okay?”

  “I was just thinking back to London. If you hadn’t taken out that Soviet agent. . .”

  “But I did. . .And he’s the only one who’s ever seen my face. . .Everyone else’s looking for a ghost.”

  “Long as you don’t become a real one.”

  “Do my best to avoid the bad guys.”

  “Keep that streak going. . .Now go take a shower. I’ll get your sandwich ready.”

  He gave her a kiss on the forehead, stroked her hair and headed upstairs.

  The warm water ran down his shoulders and back and provided some relief from the tension.

  He pulled a big fluffy sky-blue towel off the rack and began drying his face. The clean fresh scent of the fabric softener was also relaxing. Sure would feel great to take a nice long nap. . .

  323rd ABG MOBILE COMMAND POST

  “Thanks, Chief,” said Colonel Jackson. “First, I need to introduce two visitors.” He pointed to two civilians in dark suits at the other end of the rig and they stood. “Agents Mary Benson and Jay Johansen are with the NSA. . .They’re here to assist in the investigation.

  He turned his attention back to the group. “I want a brief report on what’s happened so far. . .then we’ll discuss options.”

  A quick glance at his aviator’s chronograph gave him the time accurate to within .01 seconds. “We have less than fifteen minutes before they. . .” He pointed out the window to the Alert Pad, “. . .contact us. Please, be brief. . .Colonel Hadler, you have the floor.”

  “Excuse me!” Colonel Eric Bateman, Commander of the 320th Bombardment Wing interrupted. “The Alert Pad is SAC. . .I should be directing this operation.”

  “Now hold on there a minute, Colonel,” J.J. responded.

  Johansen leaned over to Mary Benson and whispered, “What’s going on?”

  “Territorial dispute. . .Mather’s an Air Training Command base that conducts navigator and bombardier training. Has a full-bird running it. . .Also has the 320th as a tenant. . .a SAC unit with a Colonel in charge. . .They bicker over base priorities. That’s why there’s a Base Commander. . .also a colonel. He runs the base facilities, sort of like a landlord.”

  “What keeps them from fighting?”

  “Protocol, mostly, but they also know the Brigadier General Selection Board will review their performance during a crisis like this. . .Figure out whether they deserve their first star.”

  J.J. continued, “I think I know where you’re going with this, but it’s nothing more than apprehending criminals who have broken into the Alert Pad. . .has little to do with your mission.”

  “What the. . .how can you say that? Those planes and cargo are my responsibility. . .Those intruders are in my Alert Pad.” Colonel Bateman’s face turned redder by the moment.

  Colonel Jackson held up his hand like a traffic cop. “Point well taken and, notwithstanding the failure of your security to prevent the intrusion, those planes and cargo will be turned back over to your control as soon as possible.”

  He paused for a moment and went on in a conciliatory tone, “Actually, I just talked with the SAC Commander. He suggested I secure the Alert Pad and wait for the advisory teams to arrive, since we’re in the early stages of this incident. Depending on how it plays out, we’ll turn the recovery phase over to them.”

  “Unless it falls apart in the meantime,” Colonel Bateman snapped back. Gotta get to a secure line. . . talk to SAC/CC.

  “Well, then, I guess we need to make sure it doesn’t.” He pushed on before Bates could come up with a retort. “Let’s move on. . .Security, I’d appreciate it if you’d get things going.”

  Colonel Jim Hadler, Commander of the Security Police Squadron sat at Colonel Jackson’s right hand. He swiveled his chair toward the rest of the table and began in a calm, low-pitched voice, “It appears this was an extremely well-planned attack, executed with impeccable precision and timing. . .The intruders are either trained mercenaries or ex-government operatives. . .”

  “Excuse me,” J.J. interjected. “Let’s stick to what we can confirm to avoid speculation.”

  “Not speculation. . .We have a positive ID on the attacker our young airman killed. . .Fingerprints popped up on NCIC. . .

  Hired thug with a twenty-year rap sheet of robbery and assaults.”

  “You think this is a botched robbery?”

  “Didn’t say that. If you want me to speculate, my guess is he’s a local thug hired to help gain access. . . .May not have anything to do with the core group. . .Had no provisions or equipment for an extended stay and only four mags on him. . .Probably would have left as soon as the Alert Pad was taken.

  “Again, I’m not sure we should be labeling them. . .But I do see your point about the hired gun. . .What else do you have?”

  “No contact beyond the one message. No visuals, so no ID. Our sensors are picking up activity, but we have no idea what’s going on in or around the plane. That’s why I’ve asked Lieutenant Colonel Winfield, my Ops Chief, to brief you. Colonel. . .”

  Bart stood up and walked the length of the conference room in long strides. His six- six frame barely fit under the ceiling and he lowered his head to gain a little space. His distinct southern drawl evoked memories of Elvis Presley in its resonance.

  “I’ve put together a timeline of the attack to gain a perspective on what we’re facing. The entire sequence, from initial contact through complete control of the Alert Pad, took just over twenty-two minutes. . .including destroying two power transformers and disabling alarm system relay boxes to slow response time. . .They also laid tripod-mounted sensors. . .It’s all but impossible to get close.

  “There’s a moving van parked next to the plane and a commercial generator for power. They also put up a plywood barricade under the B-52.”

  “Why?”

  “So they can move around undetected. . .Or they may be getting ready to move nukes to the semi.”

  Everyone sat up straighter and Bateman slammed his hand down on the table. “We need to rush the damned plane before they get away!” Loud murmurs of agreement showed many were in favor of the idea.

  “Hold on there,” Jackson. commanded. “This isn’t the time for a knee-jerk, cavalry-charge reaction. . .”

  Colonel Bateman started to pursue his point, but was interrupted by Captain Clark, a young intelligence officer who waved his hand to get the base commander’s attention. “Sir, could I make a point?”

  “What is it?” J.J. motioned for silence.

  “I agree with you that rushing the plane’s probably a bad idea.”

  “Glad you’re with me on that,” he replied with a condescending smile “Tell us what you have.”

  “We’ve been analyzing raw data from communications traffic and electronic sensors. . .We think there’s a pretty good chance they got one of the nukes out of the plane.”

  “So? We expected that. . .But they don’t have the activation codes. . .”

  “No, but they may be able to override them. I mean, up until a few years ago there was no way. . .But now, with new desktop computers and off- the-shelf software, it’s more than possible. A third year computer student with store-bought gear could crack those codes.”

  “You think there’s major flaw in security we’re totally u
nprotected against. . .Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Unfortunately, yes, sir. The working group I’m part of, tried to get the Justice Department to put a lid on public access to the software. . .Turned us down. . .Said it would put too many constraints on commercial use. . .Civilian access to this type of encryption breaking-program is a fairly recent development. It’s been argued against in just about every symposium I’ve attended. . .A real hot-potato issue.”

  “May turn out to be the hot-potato issue of the century,” Jackson noted. “Nothing we can do about it at this point, but we’ll include it in our report. . .let’s move on.”

  He nodded to Bart. “So what are my options for retaking the Alert Pad?”

  “We’ve come up with a couple of assault plans. I know you said you only wanted to secure the Alert Pad, but with the possibility of those people being able to detonate one of the weapons, seems like it’s more crucial than ever to retake the plane. And as fast as the intruders appear to be working, we should probably move ASAP.”

  A telephone on the console at J.J.’s side began a distinct beeping sound. He glanced at the technician at one of the wall consoles who took off his headset and half-turned in his seat.

  “Excuse me, Colonel Jackson. . .It’s the intruders for you.”

  ***

  CHAPTER 10

  UNDERNEATH THE B-52

  INSIDE THE ALERT PAD

  Jason gathered Bill and Bud under one end of the plane and spoke in a hushed voice that betrayed his anxiety, “Where’s Jack?”

  “With Rick,” Bill replied. “Rigging the bombs with something. . .”

  “Rigging the bombs! Why, in God’s name, are they messing with them?” Jason demanded.

  “How the hell should I know? I ain’t their boss,” was Bill’s annoyed response.

  Bud broke in, “I heard Rick tell Jack it was so nobody could accidentally set one off. . .”

  “Oh, come on. . .Sounds a little fishy to me,” Bill interjected.

  “I’m with you on that, but what was I supposed to do, get into it with Rick?” Bud asked.

  Jason jumped back in, “That’s what I wanted to talk about. . .I’m starting to worry about Rick. . .”

  “Starting to?” Bill commented. “I been worried since we took over this plane. . .He’s wound tighter than a two-dollar watch and getting jacked up more every minute.”

  “But why? Everything’s going just the way we planned. . .”

  “Which makes me wonder what’s really going on. . .Like maybe he has some hidden agenda or something.”

  “Look, fellas, I’m no genius,” Bud said, “but most anybody can tell there’s more to this than what meets the eye. . .Maybe he’s planning on cutting us out of the ransom. . .You know, use us to finish things and then leave us high and dry. . .Whadda ya think?”

  Bill answered, “It’s possible. . .Especially since the ransom is going to be transferred to an account only he knows about.”

  “So, what are we going to do about it?” Jason asked. “Get in his face now, or wait until the ransom’s been transferred?”

  “Be a little late then, don’t you think?” Bill seemed to be thinking out loud. “He could tell us all to go to hell. . .Then what could we do, threaten to kill him?. . .Either way, we don’t get the money.”

  Jason’s voice went up a notch, “Thing is, he’s acting like we’re his paid flunkies. . .or worse yet, his slaves. Barking orders and yelling at us. . .like he’s gone over the edge or doesn’t care what we think anymore.”

  “Still, it ain’t no good,” Bill said. “Problem is, we’re kinda stuck. . .We gotta see it through. . .After all, he’s made the arrangements to get us out of the country and he’s the one with the contacts. . .Which means they probably won’t give us the time of day, even if we knew who they are. . .Especially without no money to back it up.”

  “It all comes back to the money, doesn’t it?” Jason observed. “I say we talk to Rick right now and get some answers. . .You know, like the number of the bank account and where it’s located. What about you two?”

  Bill sighed. “Can’t argue with you on that point. We need to know where it’s going. . .If nothing else, in case something happens to Rick.”

  “Hadn’t thought about that,” Bud said. “But you’re right. . .Ol’ Rick gets hurt or has a heart attack. . .We’re up the creek.”

  “And from the way he’s acting, he might just drop dead from the pressure,” Jason added. “I think it’s time we had a little heart-to-heart talk with him.”

  “Heart-to-heart? Man, you’re weird,” Bill commented as they climbed up into the plane to look for Rick.

  Jack had told them Rick went to the other end of the plane and they found him peeking around the plywood barricade at the rest of the Alert Pad.

  “What do you want?” he demanded. “I’m kinda busy right now. . .getting ready to go back into the plane and give them my demands.”

  They had decided Jason would be their spokesman. “That’s one of the things we want to talk about. . .Like just now. . .you said ‘my demands’ instead of our demands. We need to know stuff like where the money’s going, in case something happens to you. You know, you get sick or have a heart attack, or something. . .”

  Rick interrupted, “So, you want the most crucial information in case I keel over? Is that what you’re saying?. . .’Cause if it is, I say bullshit! How do I know you’re not hoping to steal the money and split it four ways instead of five?”

  “We’d never do that, man. . .What kind of guys do you think we are?”

  “Don’t know. . .thought you were my friends. Now, I’m not so sure. . .What, or who, brought this all up?”

  “You’ve been acting a little strange.”

  “Look, this isn’t a cozy little card game in your garage anymore. This is the big time and one wrong move could send us to prison. . .or worse yet, to an early grave. . . .”

  “Well, I. . .um, hear you, but what we’re saying is there’s no reason why we all shouldn’t have the account information.”

  Bill stepped in closer to Rick and towered over him. “Yeah, what’s the big deal, anyway? Seems to me there ain’t no harm in everybody sharing everything we know.”

  Rick started to spit out a retort, paused and rubbed the back of his neck. “Hold on just a minute here. . .let me think. Guess I see your point and you’re probably right. I’m so used to running construction crews where I have to think of every little thing that I forgot about you being partners. It’s usually just me running the show.”

  “See?” Bill turned to the other two. “I told you it was something simple.”

  Bud and Jason nodded, but didn’t seem entirely convinced.

  Rick pulled a notebook out of his shirt pocket and began to write. He tore out a page a minute later and handed it to Bill. “Why don’t you copy that for everybody else?”

  “Sure, no problem. Let’s see here. . .Grand National Bank. . .

  Cayman Islands. . .these are the account numbers?”

  “That’s right. The six-digit PIN code is required for any withdrawals, so don’t lose it. . .Just having the account number won’t do any good.”

  He set up the automatic transfers when he opened the account. It was information that his so-called partners in crime didn’t need to know. They would be left with a PIN code that was useless without funds. Not that it mattered—they would never get a chance to use it anyway.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make a call.”

  323 ABG MOBILE COMMAND POST

  ALERT PAD

  J.J. looked at his watch. “Looks like they’re a bit early, Owens. . .Put ‘em on the speaker.” The connection was made, “Colonel Jackson here.”

  The voice had a flat tone that was chilling and devoid of accent or emotion. “First of all, Colonel, tell your teams to pull back at least 100 yards or I will incinerate one of the tankers on the Alert Pad. . .I’m counting now, nine. . ..”

  “Wait, hold on
a minute, what happened to ten?”

  “Eight, seven. . .”

  “Dammit, stop counting, whoever you are, so I can give the order. . .They’ll withdraw as soon as I do.”

  “Good. . .I’m glad to see you know how to pay attention. It’ll make our relationship so much easier.”

  “I don’t want a relationship. . .I want my Alert Pad back and I mean now!. . .And who are you, anyway?” his voice had gone up in volume and pitch.

  Captain Clark tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, “Don’t anger him. . .need to keep the dialogue open.”

  The annoyed look he got caused Clark to sit back in his chair. Last advice from me.

  Jackson muttered, “Just a minute.” He hit the mute button on the console and turned to Colonel Hadler. “Jim, pull your teams back a hundred yards.”

  “That’s not a. . .”

  He was interrupted with a raised hand and a curt look. “Make it happen.”

  “Yes, sir.” The security police commander turned to the communications technician to issue the order.

  J.J. returned to the terrorists. “Okay, they’re moving back. . .Now, can we continue?”

  “Certainly, Colonel,” the intruder replied. “. . .and for the sake of future communication, why don’t you call me Number One. . .Will that suit you?”

  “Sounds like a Bruce Willis movie, but sure, Number One it is. . .And while we’re at it, how should we refer to your location?”

  “To add a little color, why don’t we call it the Blackjack Bomber?” Rick suggested.

  “You mean like the Russian bomber?”

  “Yes, like the Russian bomber. . .sort of an inside joke. A little humor can make difficult situations so much easier.”

  “Whatever. . .Blackjack Bomber is fine. . .Now tell me, what do we need to do to end this situation? I want it over with as soon as possible.”

  “Let me assure you, Colonel, I want it over even sooner. . .and to help make that a reality for both of us, I’ve prepared a motivational device. . .I’m sure you must have timers in your command post that display elapsed time, as well as a countdown clock. . .Am I correct?”