by Dale Brown
"Then we better hurry, shouldn't we?" Kelsey asked. "We have a plasma generator we know will work on Dragon Two right now. Let's load it up, put the screws back in, and leave before that angry Mr. Willison comes back." She smiled and touched Jon's hand. "Jon, we'll have time to write up the documentation and the engineering later-right now, we have to get Dragon flying, before they come and take her away. You're worried that you won't know how it works if it does, and so you won't be able to start preparing marketing plans and prospectuses for the project. Don't worry about all that stuff, Jon-let's see if it flies first, then worry about selling it later."
Jon Masters looked at Kelsey with a grin. Her enthusiasm was indeed infectious. "Kelsey, you know there's no way this should work," Jon said. "It's too dangerous. We still haven't gotten the right yield out of the singlegenerator system to be an effective weapon with the proper safety tolerances. We won't know if it's ready to let go until just before it blows up. And all these unknowns will be going on with two human beings riding on top of it."
Kelsey took Jon's face in her hands, pulled his head down, and kissed his forehead. "You're silly, you know that?" she said. "I know we don't know all these things, Jon-doesn't that want to make you go and try it out?" When he hesitated in replying, Kelsey added, "Jon, wasn't there once a time when you would have given anythingeven your own life-for one chance to try?"
In fact, there was such a time: Jon Masters put himself in the fuselage of an airliner loaded with several hundred pounds of TNT to prove his electronic armor called BERP, or Ballistic Electro-Reactive Process, would protect the aircraft in case of a terrorist bomb going off in the cargo hold. The demonstration had horrified the airline and government representatives to the point that they refused to fund the program, but that didn't matter-it worked, and Jon risked his own life to prove it. That BERP material eventually became the Tin Man battle armor system, which would one day revolutionize American infantry fighting.
Kelsey paused, still holding Jon's hand, like a brother and sister taking a stroll. They found themselves standing in front of Dragon One's open hangar door. There was a flurry of action around it, with dozens of technicians and crew members rushing to get it ready to fly. Right next door was Dragon Two-virtually ignored except for the four security guards stationed around it.
"Doesn't it look lonely?" Kelsey asked her new big brother. "It needs some love and attention. We can do it,
Jon. We put Dragon's new plasma generators in, give it some gas, and take it on a trip to help the general find his wife." She saw Jon's smile vanish and his shoulders slump. "I know Wendy is still okay, Jon. I know she is. But we need to help Patrick so he can go back and find her."
Jon smiled at his little partner, then nodded. When he looked at Dragon Two, he had to agree-it was a goodlooking bird, and right now it did look pretty lonely.
He pulled out his secure cell phone: "Doug? How's it going…? Excellent. Listen, pull Ken and Duncan's crews off Dragon One and have them start installing the plasma generators on Dragon Two… yep, right now. As soon as Joel's crew signs off their preflight on One, have them jump over to help, and get the rest of the crews on Two as soon as One launches. We're going to bring Dragon Two with us… yes, and I want it operational… yes, operational, not just flyable…. We've done all the lab testing we're going to do. Dr. Duffield and I are standing out front right now to help. We have about six hours to do it… yes, I said six, and I'll be surprised if we don't get a visit from the feds before then. Let's hustle!"
SKY MASTERS INC. WORLD HEADQUARTERS,
ARKANSAS INTERNATIONAL JETPORT,
BLYTHEVILLE, ARKANSAS
LATER THAT EVENING
The twin-engine Aerostar aircraft taxied quickly off the two-mile-long runway right up to the doors of Sky Masters Inc.'s main hangar. The pilot wheeled the light twin around so it was pointing back down the taxiway toward the runway, then shut down engines.
In less than two minutes, two dark sedans pulled over to the plane, blocking it fore and aft. By the time the pilot opened the split clamshell doors and stepped out, the plane was surrounded by agents in black fatigues emblazoned with "FBI" and "FEDERAL AGENT" front and back, all carrying M-16 assault rifles at the ready.
"General McLanahan?" one of the agents in a simple dark suit and tie announced.
"That's me," Patrick replied.
"Special Agent Norwalk, FBI, Memphis office. I'd like you to come with me. Anyone in the plane with you?" Instead of waiting for a response, another agent pushed past Patrick and shined a flashlight inside, then shook his head, indicating it was empty. Another agent checked the baggage compartment in the back-it, too, was empty. He even checked the wheel wells, but they were too small to hide anything bigger than a small dog.
"Something wrong?" Patrick asked.
"We'll explain everything inside," the FBI agent replied. "Your plane will be secured inside the hangar."
"You guys ever move a plane like this before? The nose gear is sensitive."
"We'll be careful," Norwalk responded, definitely sounding like he wasn't planning on being careful at all. He spoke into a radio, and before long one of Sky Masters Inc.'s technicians came out riding an aircraft tug, accompanied by another agent. The tech scooped up the Aerostar's nose wheel with the lifter. Meanwhile, the main hangar door opened. The plane was pushed back into the hangar beside one of the company's DC-10 mission I/ I aircraft.
Patrick was taken to his office in the headquarters facility. Special Agent Norwalk and another officer stayed inside with him. "Now, mind telling me what's going on?" Patrick asked once they were seated inside.
"First, General, I advise you that you are hereby under arrest," Norwalk began. "You have the right to remain silent; should you choose to give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and to have the attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at no charge. Do YOU understand these rights as I've explained them?"
'What am L oemg arrested for?"
"General, do you understand your Constitutional rights as I've explained them to you?"
"Yes. Now can you tell me-?"
"Do you waive your right to remain silent?"
"I've done nothing wrong."
"Are you willing to answer questions for me?"
"Yes. Now tell me what's going on here."
"Do you know where Dr. Jon Masters, Dr. Kelsey Duffield, and the Sky Masters Inc. crew members that were stationed at the Tonopah Test Range are right now, General?"
"I thought they were at Tonopah. Are they missing?"
"You're telling me you have no idea where they are?"
"What's going on, Norwalk? Has something happened? And why am I under arrest? Do you think I had something to do with it?"
"Did you have anything to do with Dr. Masters and Dr. Kelsey recently, say, in the past two days? Have you been in contact with them?"
"Hold it, hold it," Patrick said, raising his hands and shaking his head in confusion. "You're not answering any of my questions, and I'm getting confused. I feel like I'm being tricked into admitting something, and I think I should stop this questioning until I get my lawyer."
The last thing Norwalk wanted was for McLanahan to "lawyer up" now, so he nodded and put on a faint smile. As long as McLanahan only said "I think I should stop" and not "I want a lawyer" or "I want to stop," he could still question the suspect, even if the suspect believed his responses wouldn't incriminate himself. "I'm sorry, sir. We just got here, and it's been a long day. Let's all relax and just talk." He looked around the office. "You got any coffee around here? It's been a really long day."
"Sure," Patrick said cheerfully. "It's been a busy day for me too. Call in the rest of your guys-there's plenty for everyone."
"Nice plane you got out there," Norwalk said as Patrick went out to the outer office to start the coffeemakf r. "What is it?"
"An Aerostar-the
fastest piston-powered twin you can buy," Patrick said proudly. "It's got six seats in it, but it's really only good for two persons with full fuel and luggage."
"You fly out from San Diego?"
"I keep the plane out at North Island Naval Air Stationthe base commander is a friend of mine. It's about a sevenhour flight, plus a couple potty breaks-eleven hours total, including the time zone changes."
"It sounds pretty fast."
"It's a rocket ship," Patrick said. "I just wish it could hold more people and baggage. Me, the wife, and my son pretty much max it out."
The armrest of the rear bench seat inside the Aerostar flopped down, and one eye peeked out from behind the seat. Seeing it was all clear, both seat backs in the split bench seat flopped down, and Chris Wohl and Hal Briggs unfolded themselves from the small baggage space behind the seat. "Oh, God," Briggs said, groaning as he stretched and flexed his sore legs and back. "My leg cramps have cramps." As he usually did, Chris Wohl ignored his friend and former commanding officer, but it was obvious he was experiencing much of the same difficulty unfolding his legs.
After he got feeling and circulation going in his limbs, Briggs crawled over the bench seats, staying low, then peeked out the smoked side windows into the hangar. No guards visible on the hangar door side; none visible out the forward windscreen. He looked out the right windows and saw one armed guard seated up on the concrete stairway landing leading into the flight department offices. Briggs made hand signals to Wohl where the guard was, then made his way to the forward entry hatch.
Meanwhile, Wohl knocked twice on the rear bulkhead. Behind the pressurized cabin was the unpressurized baggage compartment, which in Patrick's plane was normally mostly filled with an auxiliary fuel tank. But gloved fingers popped the false steel cover off, and two Night Stalkers emerged from the space normally occupied by the fuel tank. They were clothed in heavy winter-weight flight suits, jackets, boots, hats, and gloves, and each had a green oxygen bottle and mask. They, too, took a few moments to stretch and get their limbs going again, then donned FM commlinks and readied automatic pistols. "Cargo One is up," one of them reported.
"Stand by," Wohl said. "One guard in sight. Pop your hatch and get ready." The Night Stalkers unlatched the baggage compartment door as quietly as they could but did not open it.
Meanwhile, Briggs made his way to the split clamshell entry hatch, unlatched it with a twist of its handle, opened the top half just an inch or two, then unlatched and lowered the lower half. He hoped the guard couldn't see the open lower half from where he was sitting. Briggs stepped out and then lowered the upper half of the door all the way. "Let's go, Sarge-"
"Freeze!" he heard. "Hands where I can see them! Now!" The lone guard had seen the hatch open and had quickly sneaked around the Aerostar, his rifle lowered.
Briggs shot his hands up in the air. The guard braced his rifle against his right hip, then pulled his walkie-talkie from his web belt and keyed the mike button: "Unit Three to Control.. "
"Cargo! Out now! Hard!" Wohl whispered into his commlink.
The lead Night Stalker in the baggage compartment threw himself out the baggage compartment, landing about five feet in front of the startled FBI agent. The agent pulled the trigger on his rifle. The single round missed the Night Stalker by a few inches, then ricocheted off the side of the Aerostar, missing Briggs's head by scant inches as well.
The second Night Stalker inside the baggage compartment aimed and fired his weapon. Tiny crystalline darts about the size of a short golfer's pencil hit the FBI agent. The darts instantly exploded into a fine dust that penetrated the agent's black fatigues. The agent had just enoflgh time to realize that he was hit before the nerve agent in the dust completely immobilized his entire voluntary nervous system and he collapsed to the concrete hangar floor.
Briggs, Wohl, and the two Night Stalkers quickly split up, taking separate exits into the building. They were gone before any other FBI agents had responded.
Special Agent Norwalk was in the middle of a sip of coffee when he heard the shot, and he nearly dumped the coffee on himself. "What the hell…?"
"Don't worry-that's just the cavalry showing up," Patrick said matter-of-factly. Norwalk was reaching for his service pistol when Patrick touched a hidden switch on his desk, then covered his eyes with his arm and tightly closed his eyes just as the room lights went out and an immense flash of light completely blinded the two FBI agents. The room lights then came back to normal. Patrick was able to simply walk over and disarm both men by plucking their weapons from their hands-the sudden flash of light disoriented them so badly that they could hardly tell up from down. Norwalk was shouting for help as he bumped and caromed off the furniture; the other agent couldn't stay on his feet any longer and finally slumped to the floor.
Briggs and Wohl rushed into the office moments later. Briggs looked at the two writhing on the floor. "There's the last two. All present or accounted for," he said, then shot both with the crystal nerve darts. "I think the guy out in the hangar shot your plane."
"Bastard. He'll pay for that," Patrick deadpanned. "Let's go."
Within minutes, Patrick started up the DC-10's auxiliary power unit and powered it up while one of the Night Stalkers drove one of the company jet fuel trucks over to the DC-10. After Patrick directed him on how to use the DC-10's single-point refueling system, he went up to the cockpit and started getting ready for their flight out of the country. Meanwhile, Briggs and Wohl loaded up as many sets of the Tin Man battle armor, the powered exoskeletons, the electromagnetic rail guns, and as much ammunition, spare battery packs, tools, and as many other devices as they could carry in the DC-10. In less than twenty minutes, they had completely refueled the DC-10, loaded it up, and were all on board.
"All that cargo space, and no weapons aboard," Briggs said as he looked down the cavernous cargo area. They had enough cargo space and payload to carry two Megafortresses' worth of air-launched weapons-but they had no time to get any out from the storage bunkers. "Too bad."
"We got the fuel, the battle armor, and the rail gunsthat'll do for now," Patrick said. "The nerve agent will wear off in another thirty minutes-we need to be long gone before they wake up."
JAGHBUB, UNITED KINGDOM LIBYA THE NEXT MORNING
"Unfortunately, we weren't able to bring many weapons with us," Patrick said to Sayyid Muhammad ibn al-Hasan as-Sanusi. They were back in the big aircraft hangars at Jaghbub's military airfield, supervising the refueling of all the planes. One of the Megafortresses had to abort while over the Atlantic; in addition, all of the EB-1C Megafortress Two aircraft had been returned to their Air National Guard unit. Their remaining force: two EB-52 Megafortress flying battleships and two AL-52 Dragon airborne laser aircraft, Dragon One and Two, with Dragon Two carrying its untested plasma laser on board. "But I would sure like to take another look at your weapon storage areas, Your Highness."
"I think we may be able to help you there," Sanusi said. Patrick hadn't had time to explore it yet, but the underground warehouses here supposedly held a lot of the latest military hardware. Some of it could be adapted for the Megafortress-if they had time to load it, mate it, program the weapons for release by the computers, and perhaps test them.
Patrick was amazed at the assortment of weapons they found in the weapon-storage bunkers a few minutes later. Zuwayy had collected a large and very impressive arsenal of Russian air-launched weapons: the BetAB- series of antirunway penetration bombs, the largest of which could create a three-foot-deep crater the size of a football field in twenty inches of concrete; a large variety of KAB- series laser-guided bombs, resembling copies of the American Paveway series, ranging from five-hundred- to well over three-thousand-pounders; almost the entire range of air-toair missiles, from the tiny R-60 heat-seeker to the massive R-33 long-range radar-guided missile with nearly a hundred-mile range; and a good selection of air-to-surface missiles, including the Kh-27 antiradar missile, the Kh-29 laser-guided missile, and the Kh-15 long-range attack
missile, a copy of the AGM-69A Short-Range Attack Missile, except these had only three-hundred-pound high-explosive warheads, not nuclear ones.
"Can you use any of them, my friend?" Sanusi asked.
"I think so," Patrick replied with a grin. "All of the weapons have the Russian-standard two-hundred-andfifty-millimeter suspension lug spacing, so we need to get busy resetting all of the squibs on the bomb racks to accommodate them. Fortunately, our engineers in Nevada had thought of the real possibility of using pirated Russian-bloc weapons in the field, so it should be easy to do the conversion in the field. And most of the weapons are in surprisingly good shape-others look brand new, as if they just came right 'out of the box.' "
The Libyan weapons were hauled out of storage bunkers near the air base with block and tackle, makeshift trailersmost of the vehicles on the base had been destroyed by the fuel-air weapon attacks by the Megafortress days earlierand pure old-fashioned muscle work. The weapons were dragged, pulled, or manhandled across the runway and to the largest and most undamaged hangar on the field, on which a large canvas tent had to be erected to hide the Megafortresses' protruding tails, which had to remain outside the hangar. Muhammad as-Sanusi's men had devised a bomb-loading "jammer" out of an engine jack for the larger weapons; the smaller weapons were simply carried into position by however many men it took to do the job. Once they were loaded, it was simple to get them ready for releasethe Megafortress's attack computer already had ballistics information for every possible air-launched weapon in existence, even Russian ones, so it was just a matter of telling the computer which weapon was on which station.
The first EB-52 Megafortress battleship that would lead the attack carried longer-range standoff weapons, including four Russian Kh-27 antiradar missiles in the forward bomb bay, eight Kh-15 long-range inertially guided missiles on the rotary launcher in the aft bomb bay, four R-60 heat-seeking air-to-air missiles on each external pylon, and two FlightHawk unmanned combat aircraft on wing pylons-unfortunately, the FlightHawks did not carry any weapons of their own. The second EB-52 Megafortress battleship carried a rotary launcher in the rear of the bomb bay that held sixteen one-thousand-pound unguided bombs in eight two-round clips, with inflatable parachutes attached to each one to allow them to be released from low altitude if necessary. The slant racks in the forward bomb bay held thirty-six five-hundred-pound unguided cluster munitions in six rounds of six bombs; and the external weapon pylons held two Kh-27 antiradar missiles plus four R-60 heat-seeking missiles on each pylon.