by Bob Mayer
Parker noted Lewis was taking a stack of books out of his backpack. "What have you got there?"
Lewis held up a book. "Stuff for my master's degree. Can't beat a Sunday morning in here for studying."
Parker pulled out a binder. "Let's run through our checklist on REACT and make sure we're running smoothly first. Then you can study."
She flipped open to the first page. "Cable link?"
Lewis looked at his console. "Cable link check."
"Satellite dish?"
"Satellite dish check."
Chapter Six
" I need you and Tommy," Thorpe said.
"I know you need us," Lisa said. "But I want you to want us."
Thorpe pulled a green drive-on rag out of the cargo pocket of his camouflage fatigues and wiped it across his face. They were standing on the edge of the flight line at Barksdale Air Force Base, eight miles from Parker's LCC. Thorpe wore a combat vest over his camouflage fatigues. He had a pistol strapped high on his right thigh in a special operations rig.
Thorpe reached out, taking Lisa's left hand in his. He nodded down at the matching rings. "Please come back."
Lisa was about to answer when a twelve-year-old boy came running around the corner of a hangar. Upon seeing Thorpe he broke into an all-out sprint. He wore a pair of jeans and a camouflage shirt with a bright set of captain's bars pinned on the collar. He had short blond hair and his wide smile at seeing his father exposed a set of teeth covered with braces.
The boy stopped just short of Thorpe and threw him a salute.
"Hey, Tommy," Thorpe returned, his hand automatically starting to go up in a salute, then pausing as he caught the look Lisa gave him.
Tommy squinted, looking up at his father. "You look tired, Dad."
Thorpe tried to smile, but couldn't quite succeed. "I am tired, Tommy." He was twenty pounds lighter than he'd been on the beach in Lebanon. His face was gaunt, circles under his eyes.
"I told you to stay by the car," Lisa said to Tommy. "It's dangerous here by the flight line."
Tommy scuffed the toe of his sneaker into the tar. "I'm sorry, Mom, but Uncle John taught me about the flight line and all the aircraft. We're safe here."
"How long are you going to be in the area?" Lisa switched her attention to her husband.
Thorpe glanced over his shoulder at a Blackhawk helicopter sitting empty about fifty yards away near another hangar. "Just today, then we move on."
There was a long, awkward silence.
"Uncle John is a lot of fun," Tommy finally said. "He took me to work. I got to sit in the cockpit of a C-141." He pointed at his feet. "I got new sneakers."
Thorpe winced and turned his face away for a second, then turned back with a forced smile. "I'm glad you're having a good time, son. I like your sneakers."
Another silence ensued, then finally Thorpe spoke. "I'm looking forward to you coming home. We can go hiking in the mountains. Maybe do some climbing."
Tommy stepped closer to his father and spoke in a low voice. "I miss you, Dad. I want to come home."
Lisa gave Thorpe a warning glance.
"Your mother and I have to talk about some things first," Thorpe said.
"I just want to go home," Tommy repeated.
"I know that, dear," Lisa said, a hand on his shoulder gently separating the two. "Your dad and I need to talk. Can you go wait by the car like I asked you?"
"I have to go to the bathroom," Tommy said.
Thorpe pointed at the hangar. "There's one in there."
"Hope we can go hiking soon," Tommy said, giving him another salute.
"I hope so, too, Tommy."
Tommy disappeared into the hangar.
"I was surprised to get your call saying you were here," Lisa said.
Thorpe was looking at the hangar. "I'm just passing through. I'm not even supposed to be here. The rest of my team is at Fort Polk but the chopper had to fly here to refuel and pick up a part. I have to get back to the chopper soon."
"That's not what I meant when I said I was surprised to hear from you."
Thorpe looked at her, his face resigned because he knew what she meant. "I'm still deployed most of the time," he said. "We were surprised ourselves to get orders to come here this weekend. We have to check out some nuclear materials storage facilities for security."
"I know very well that you are deployed most of the time," Lisa said. "I lived with it for thirteen years."
Thorpe didn't say anything.
"I'm not going to let you do to Tommy what you did to me," Lisa said. "He deserves better."
"What did I do that was so bad?" Thorpe asked resignedly.
"You put me second. I could live with that until I realized you were putting Tommy second. You can't do that to your child."
"I do all I can," Thorpe said. "I've taken care of you and Tommy as best I can."
"You don't understand, do you? There's more than rules and form. There's substance. There's priorities. There's being a human being, a father. A husband. Being those things before being a soldier. If you'd understood those things, we wouldn't be in this situation right now."
"Please, Lisa," Thorpe begged. "Come home. We can work it out."
Lisa shook her head. "You wouldn't even be there if I went home tomorrow, would you?"
"I'll be back at the end of next week," Thorpe said. He wiped his face again.
"See?" She leaned close. "You're sweating out last night's drunk, aren't you? I can smell it."
Thorpe looked down at the tar.
"You've been like this since you came back from the Middle East. Something happened to you and since you can't talk about it, we can't help you. I'm angry, and maybe a little jealous."
Thorpe shook his head. "I've never given you a reason to be jealous, Lisa. Not in—''
Lisa dismissed his plea with a wave of her hand.
"I don't mean that. Don't you see, you're falling apart. You're destroying yourself and us because of some crap in your beloved job. There's nothing in your life with Tommy and me that could have brought you to this. The army has all of you, even your pain. I can't even hurt you like it does."
"That's bullshit, Lisa. Why, if something happened to you or Tommy, I'd die."
"Something has happened to me and Tommy— we've left," Lisa said. "But I don't think you know what to feel. You're drinking too much to feel anything. You're too caught up in the army to stop for a moment and try to feel." She moved closer. "What is so bad? What's gone wrong?"
Thorpe closed his eyes. "I don't know. I don't know what I believe anymore. All I know is I want you back."
"We can't come back like this. Not to the same thing," Lisa said. "Tommy looks up to you too much to see you like this."
Thorpe looked over his shoulder. Two pilots in flight suits, one man and one woman, were walking toward the Blackhawk. "I have to go." He turned back to Lisa. "Please come back."
"Not now. Not with you like you are. When you want us, then maybe we can talk."
Thorpe lifted his hands helplessly. "Lisa, I don't—"
"Go," Lisa said. "Before Tommy comes back. It only makes it worse for him to see you like this."
*****
A mile from Thorpe and Lisa's location, a half dozen dump trucks and two Humvees were parked off the edge of a dirt road that ran alongside a chain link fence with Restricted U.S. Government Property signs hung on it. On the other side of the fence, through a hundred yards of trees that blocked the view, was the Barksdale flight line with helicopters and aircraft tied down in neat rows.
Inside the lead Humvee, two men sat, both dressed in black combat fatigues. The man in the passenger seat pulled a cellular phone out of his vest and punched a number in.
"Sim Nuke is in position," he said as soon as the other end was answered.
*****
Four miles from that location and on the other side of the Anaconda River, two more Humvees and a backhoe were parked along a gravel road. The hydraulic shovel on the backhoe was
carefully excavating earth from a six-foot-deep hole on the side of the road, right next to a sign that spelled out buried cable in large letters. Smaller letters informed anyone wanting to dig in that area to contact the barksdale air force base facilities engineers.
Inside the lead Humvee McKenzie listened to the report from the man outside the flight line. "All right, Drake. Just wait for further orders."
He put the phone down and looked at the man in the backseat. "Sim Nuke is in position."
"Sir!" the driver, Aldrich, called out, bringing McKenzie's attention to the front. A Security Police car was coming around the curve in the road, slowing as it neared their location.
"We've got company," McKenzie said.
A low voice spoke from the shadows of the backseat. "That's what you're here for," Professor Kilten said. "Remember, no one is to get hurt," he added.
McKenzie spit out the window. "What do you think will happen when you set off your simulated nuclear device outside the air base?"
The military police car had stopped and the two cops were talking to the man operating the bucket loader. The operator was shrugging and pretending he didn't know what they were asking.
"You know the plan. No one will be injured," Kilten said. "The flight line will be clear of personnel."
"Accidents happen," McKenzie said with a twisted smile. "After all, that's why we're here, isn't it?"
Kilten didn't answer.
McKenzie pushed open the door of the Humvee. He was dressed in black fatigues. His artificial left hand was covered with a black glove, his right hand was empty. Aldrich also got out and joined him. Aldrich had on a red beret with a distinctive badge above the left eye.
The two air force policemen turned, not quite sure what to make of the men in black with combat harnesses but no weapons in their hands. Both cops drew their side arms.
"Hold it right there," one of the policemen yelled.
"What's wrong?" McKenzie held up his right hand, palm empty.
"I said hold it!"
"Hold what?" McKenzie asked. He reached with his right hand and lifted his left arm. It stayed in place, straight out from his side. McKenzie tapped on the sleeve and produced a dull metal sound.
"You going to shoot me?" McKenzie asked. "A wounded veteran?"
McKenzie was walking closer as he spoke, now only ten feet away. Both cops stepped back, the muzzles of their weapons not quite steady.
"Ever shoot anyone?" McKenzie asked. "You going to shoot me for digging on the side of the road?"
McKenzie and Aldrich finally halted about six feet from the two policemen.
"This is a restricted area," one of the men said. "You can't dig here. You're on a military reservation."
McKenzie turned as if to talk to Aldrich and a steel dart flew out from under his left sleeve. It hit one of the cops in his chest. McKenzie turned slightly and another dart hit the second one. Both men dropped.
McKenzie and Aldrich picked up the bodies and loaded them into their patrol car. McKenzie waved reassuringly at Kilten as his partner drove the patrol car down a dirt path into the woods. Soon the lush Louisiana foliage surrounded them.
Once out of sight of Kilten and the road they stopped. McKenzie and Aldrich rolled the two bodies out of the backseat onto the ground. The two cops were just beginning to recover from the effects of the nerve agent.
McKenzie drew a silenced pistol from his shoulder holster. Without hesitation he shot one of the miltary policemen right between the eyes, spraying the white side of the car with gore.
The second policeman's eyes were wide over the top of McKenzie's gun. He made a noise as if to beg, but he couldn't articulate. McKenzie fired again.
"No one's supposed to get hurt," he muttered to himself. "Fuck Kilten and his idealistic bullshit. If you don't hurt people they don't listen. And the whole idea is to get people to listen. This is just the beginning of a world of hurt." He looked at Aldrich and smiled, his eyes dancing strangely. "And you can take that to the grave, my friend. To the grave."
*****
Thorpe stood on the flight line with a small handheld fire extinguisher as the left engine on the Blackhawk helicopter began making a high-pitched whining noise. He could see Lisa still waiting at the edge of the flight line.
After half a minute, the voice of the pilot sounded tinnily in his ears. "Starting right engine."
Thorpe dutifully walked around the front of the helicopter and stood fire watch over that engine. Since they had brought no crew chief with them on this parts run, he had to fulfill those duties.
"If that engine catches on fire," he said into the headset, "you think this thing will put it out?" He could see the copilot who'd identified himself as Chief Warrant Officer Maysun look out the cockpit at him.
"Hell, no, sir. We just want you to start spraying so we know something's wrong and we can get the hell out of here."
Both engines were now running and very slowly the four large blades began turning.
"Come on board," Maysun ordered and Thorpe coiled up the headphone cord as he walked around to the left cargo door and climbed on board. The rear of the chopper was crammed full with empty fuel bladders and equipment boxes. Thorpe squeezed himself into the front of the cargo bay and pulled the door shut. He sat down right behind the pilots and waited as the engines slowly built up RPMs and the pilots completed their pre-flight checks.
He looked out at the flight line for Barksdale Air Force Base. He could see Lisa. She wasn't looking in his direction.
Chapter Seven
as the president's national security adviser, Michael Hill had his choice of tee times at the Andrews Air Force Base golf course. But this Sunday morning he was able to mix business with pleasure. An hour and a half ago he'd waved good-bye to the president as the chief executive departed for a G-7 meeting in Paris. Then Hill had his driver take him over to the golf course which was practically deserted at this early hour except for Hill and his aide, Keith Lugar.
With the president gone, Hill was looking forward to a busy week, beginning this afternoon. He always managed to get more work done with the president out of town. No briefings to give, no silly questions to answer, no ego to stroke.
Hill was a tall man, topping out at six-foot-four, and he carried himself so rigidly that he seemed even taller to those who stood near him. He was slender and blessed with distinguished white hair. Hill had been in Washington for over thirty years and knew not only where all the skeletons were hidden, but he'd put many of them in other people's closets. Hill considered himself to be part of the "real" power in Washington. He wasn't a politician who came and went at the whim of an ignorant voting public, but someone who stayed in the halls of power year after year in various appointed positions, gaining experience and helping the latest incumbent avoid the mistakes of ignorance and naivete.
He worked with a network of other longtime bureaucrats throughout the highest levels of government and while the politicians hemmed and hawed, Hill and his cohorts got results and kept the country running. From the National Security Council to the State Department, from the Department of Defense to the CIA, a handful of men wielded a tremendous amount of power.
Hill pulled the golf cart to a halt at the third green. As he was selecting his club, the cellular phone buzzed three quick times, indicating an incoming fax. Lugar opened the briefcase in the back of the cart and plugged the phone to the portable printer/fax inside.
Hill set his ball down. He was eying the green when Lugar called out, "Sir!"
"What is it?" Hill demanded irritably.
Lugar held up a piece of paper. "You need to read this."
The fax was still humming, working on a second page when Hill snatched the paper out of Lugar's hand. Hill quickly started reading, his eyes slowing down as the import of the words struck him.
TO: NATIONAL SECURITY ADVISER HILL
FROM: PROFESSOR KILTEN
RE: OPERATION DELILAH, OPERATION
RED FLYER
; I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!
SOON EVERYONE WILL!
"What the hell?" Hill said to himself. He would think it a joke except for the reference to Operation Delilah and that it came from Kilten. There were only three people in Washington who were supposed to know that code name and Kilten wasn't one of them.
Lugar was holding up the second page. It was a fax of a digital photo showing men loading a barrel into an army truck on a beach. In the background a tank had its searchlight on. "Son-of-a-bitch," Hill muttered. He glared at Lugar. "How did Kilten get ahold of this?"
"I don't know, sir."
"I thought this entire incident was sterilized," Hill was shaking the photo.
"I thought it was, too, sir."
"Then where did this photo come from?" Hill didn't give him a chance to answer. "I thought you took care of Kilten and he was no longer a problem."
"I did, sir," Lugar said.
Hill shook the paper. "This is a problem. Obviously, Kilten is still alive."
"Yes, sir, but your specific instructions called for an accident. He is dying as we speak of acute radiation poisoning. We've used it before with no trouble. I thought in this case the irony would—"
Hill swung his golf club close enough to Lugar's head that the man stepped back, ashen-faced.
"Who the fuck told you you could think, moron? An accident is a piano crate landing on his head, not a lingering disease. Don't you think a nuclear expert would know he's been deliberately exposed? He's an old man. Anything would have looked like an accident for Christ's sake. You've done nothing but create a time bomb with our names on it."