War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel

by James Rollins

  “And you definitely don’t want me to call my dog in here.”

  In a matter of five minutes, they had both men secured inside with flexi-cuffs around their wrists and ankles.

  After gagging and blindfolding the pair, Tucker pulled off his ski mask. “Okay, listen up,” he growled thickly. “We don’t want no trouble, and we don’t wanna hurt nobody. Where’s your money, your stuff?”

  The goal was to make this look like a robbery.

  Frank frisked both men and came up with their wallets. He took the cash. “What about these credit cards?” he asked, thickening his southern accent.

  “They track plastic, dummy,” Tucker warned. “Leave ’em. Grab those cell phones on the table, though. And those walkie-talkies. Let’s see what else they got.”

  Frank searched the double-wide trailer, discovering a locker with blue coveralls with the Sirocco Power logo on their pockets. Identification badges were pinned to the uniforms. He tossed them to Jane, who set to work, altering the badges using an X-ACTO knife and small photos of herself and Tucker.

  To further support the robbery story, Frank began tossing the place.

  Tucker used this time to study the survey maps tacked to the wall, noting the company’s work sites dotting this corner of the military base. He ripped down one of the charts, folded it, and pocketed it.

  “Found some keys,” Frank announced loudly.

  “Take ’em!” Tucker said. “Probably belong to that SUV out back. Maybe Spider can strip it for us.”

  Jane gave Tucker a thumbs-up, waving the two badges to get her handiwork to dry.

  “Okay, we’re outta here.” Tucker nudged one of the engineers with his foot. “Just to show we ain’t all bad, I’ll call someone tomorrow. Get ’em to come cut you all loose.”

  With matters concluded, they all bailed out of the trailer. Tucker turned off the lights as he exited. He felt a flicker of guilt at leaving the men like this, but he had no choice. Too many lives were at stake.

  Once outside, Jane hid their SUV behind the trailer, out of direct view of the road. They’d retrieve the vehicle if they could. If not, he was out another deposit.

  So be it.

  They quickly transferred all their gear, including Rex, to the power company’s Expedition, then set off back to the highway. Tucker turned west and headed for the Stallion Gate.

  “Holy crap, we pulled that off,” Frank said from the backseat.

  In the rearview mirror, Tucker saw the man’s hair was matted with sweat, his face flushed. “Looks like you got a second career to fall back on if this army gig doesn’t work out.”

  Jane smiled back at Frank. “You did good. Very convincing.”

  Far ahead, the lights of the base gates appeared, glowing in the darkness.

  Tucker’s hands tightened on the wheel.

  Now comes the hard part.

  20

  October 22, 8:45 P.M. MDT

  White Sands Missile Range, New Mexico

  “Here we go,” Tucker warned.

  He turned left off Highway 380 and onto a smaller road that aimed toward the heart of the White Sands Missile Range. A sign on the shoulder read:

  STALLION GATE

  4 MILES

  Jane swung around in the passenger seat to face Frank and Kane. “Time for you two boys to go into hiding.”

  In the rearview mirror, Frank looked worried—and rightly so. Still, the man crammed himself into the footwell behind Tucker’s seat and pulled a blanket over his head. Kane followed his example and curled behind Jane’s seat. She leaned back and tossed another blanket over the dog—then piled on a pair of sleeping bags, a small folded tent, a camp stove, sacks of groceries, all topped by a couple of backpacks.

  “How’re you all doing?” Jane asked once she was done.

  Frank groaned from under his hiding place. “We’re gonna get caught.”

  “If you keep fidgeting like that,” Jane warned, “we definitely will.”

  Tucker glanced back and saw that Kane had already gone deathly still under his share of the pile, plainly understanding the intent here.

  “Good boy, buddy,” Tucker encouraged him, and reinforced the plan with a firm order. “STAY HIDDEN.”

  Tucker continued toward the lights that marked the Stallion Gate. To either side of the road spread a dark landscape of rolling sand, low hillocks, and spindly bushes, all etched in silver by the moonlight. To the east and west rose two mountain ranges, forming the rim of the basin where White Sands was nestled. It was a lonely stretch of desert that offered no hint of the advanced military base hidden here.

  “I read in a brochure,” Jane mumbled as she settled back into her seat, “that this road could be backed up for miles during the day with tourists coming to visit the Trinity bomb site.”

  “Well, that’s one advantage of a midnight raid,” Tucker commented. “No traffic.”

  After another few minutes, they approached the Stallion Gate. Given the secure nature of the facility, the entrance was underwhelming. A small guard shack sat on the shoulder of the road. A prominent stop sign stood next to it, illuminated by a tall streetlight. All that blocked the road was a pair of orange cones.

  As Tucker pulled to a stop, he noted a small camera positioned under an eave of the shack, pointed toward their vehicle. A man in a gray uniform and baseball cap stepped out of the shack. He carried a clipboard in one hand and lifted his other arm in a lazy greeting, clearly recognizing the Sirocco Power’s SUV. He stepped over as Tucker rolled his window down.

  “Evening, guys,” the guard started—then stiffened at the discovery of strangers inside the vehicle.

  “Not just guys this time,” Tucker corrected with a grin, pointing a thumb at Jane. They both wore the work uniforms confiscated from the power company’s trailer. “This is Pam. I’m Pete. We’re new to the team down here.”

  Jane waved and gave him a beaming smile.

  Before the guard could look too closely, Tucker thrust out the altered ID badges. The guard briefly scrutinized them, then checked his clipboard. His brow furrowed, plainly failing to find them on the current list of Sirocco Power employees on site.

  Anticipating this, Tucker sighed loudly. “Chris and Adam rotated out yesterday.” He had gotten the names of the two Sirocco engineers from their wallets. “Looks like Pam and I get to be in the frying pan now. At least for the next six weeks. Heard it’s gonna be a scorcher tomorrow.”

  The guard nodded and returned their badges. “And freezing tonight.”

  Jane poked Tucker in the side. “Aren’t you glad I told you to pack the heavier sleeping bags?”

  “Still, I don’t think we need this much camping gear for the one night.” Tucker turned to the guard and rolled his eyes. “If my wife had her way, we’d have hauled the whole damned double-wide trailer with us.”

  Tucker had spotted the wedding band on the guard’s finger and figured a little commiserating between husbands might help smooth things over. A small smile of understanding briefly appeared before the man went stoic.

  Tucker cleared his throat. “Our plan is to camp at the project site farthest from the gate and work our way back here. Try to beat the worst of the heat tomorrow.”

  “Plus see the stars,” Jane added wistfully. “I heard they’re really beautiful at night.”

  The guard nodded. “Okay, but I’ll need to inspect your vehicle. Can you roll down your back window and pop the rear hatch?”

  Tucker nodded and hit the proper buttons. As the rear hatch opened on its own, the guard stepped over and shone a flashlight through the passenger window into the backseat, splashing the beam over the piled gear. Tucker held his breath, praying for Frank and Kane to remain perfectly still. Finally, the guard continued around to the open rear hatch. The flashlight settled on the object resting back there.

  It was Rex.

  Tucker hadn’t bothered trying to hide it, counting on the presence of the drone to draw attention away from their two hidden stowaways
.

  “What’s this?” the guard asked.

  Jane twisted around to face the man, again flashing her smile. “That’s mine. It’s equipped with ground-penetrating radar. I use it to perform sweeps of the terrain. It’s why Pete and I were called in. Its generator sends out spherical waves designed to diffuse basalt and give me—”

  The guard lifted a hand, interrupting what would have been an even longer explanation if need be. “Got it.”

  Tucker reinforced their credentials with more technical talk. “The guys over at the Bureau of Land Management are worried the local gypsum karst deposits might mess with transmission ratio fall-off. We have to make them happy. You know bureaucrats.”

  This earned a small chuckle. “Tell me about it.” The guard reached up and pulled the hatch closed. He came back around and leaned by the window. “Okay, you’re good to go.”

  “Thanks,” Tucker said, happy it had all gone smoothly.

  Unfortunately, the guard wasn’t done. “Once back in the shack, I’ll activate your GPS unit.” He pointed to the glove compartment. “Remember to stay within the twenty-five-mile perimeter allowed for Sirocco. If you stray outside of that area, you’ll find yourselves in a mess of trouble.”

  Tucker nodded as if he intended to comply.

  “And watch out for snakes,” the guard added.

  Jane slipped her hand into Tucker’s, her voice turning coy. “In that case, maybe we better share one sleeping bag tonight.”

  The guard grinned. “Sounds like you have one smart woman there.”

  You don’t know the half of it.

  He waved to the guard and headed down the road into the dark desert. Jane kept hold of his hand for longer than the ruse required, but he didn’t object. He could not discount how it felt to play her husband, appreciating her warm touch, the glimmer in her eyes, the tilt of her smile. All reminders of what might have been.

  Frank finally interrupted, his voice muffled by the pile of gear. “What the hell was that stuff about a GPS unit?”

  Tucker heard the fumbling sound of Frank climbing out of hiding. Kane did the same. But Tucker focused on Jane as she reached down and opened the glove compartment. A blinking amber light glowed from its depths, revealing a GPS unit, stamped with the Department of Defense logo on its front.

  Tucker called back to Frank. “Think you can disable it?”

  Frank leaned his head next to Jane’s shoulder as he inspected it. “Maybe, but I don’t think we should risk it. I wager it’s been tamper-proofed.”

  Jane already had the map Tucker had ripped from the trailer wall and studied it. “That means we have a twenty-five-mile electronic leash attached to us. If we go any farther, men in black helicopters will come hunting us.”

  Tucker turned to Frank. “How far out were those communication markers that Rex picked up from eavesdropping on Tangent Tower?”

  “At least thirty miles.”

  Jane looked to Tucker for a solution.

  He had only one. “That means we’ll have to ditch the Expedition and go the rest of the way on foot.”

  Frank didn’t look happy with this option. “If we get caught in the open desert, we’ll be sitting ducks.”

  Jane offered a solution. “Then let’s not get caught.”

  9:01 P.M.

  Karl Webster ignored the bustle of the makeshift command center behind him. He and his crew occupied a set of old concrete bunkers about two miles east of the test site. They had arrived less than forty-eight hours ago and were operating on an accelerated timetable to perform this test run tonight. Pruitt Kellerman had been firm on this schedule, especially after the raid at Redstone.

  Beyond the concrete bunker, engineers and ground crew serviced rows of drones parked on the surrounding tarmac, readying the group for the midnight assault.

  Nothing must go wrong.

  Inside the bunker, technicians were seated at various terminals along the walls, busy with last-minute finessing of the drones’ monitoring and communication equipment.

  Karl, as head of Tangent security, had his own station. He had already cleared operations with the brass at White Sands. A total communication blackout of this immediate area had been initialized. While waiting for the approaching zero hour, Karl had been doing a final review of the various checkpoints surrounding this area. Earlier in the day, this off-limits region had been evacuated of any military personnel, but he was taking no chances.

  And it was lucky he was so thorough.

  On his monitor was video feed from the Stallion Gate thirty miles to the north. The footage was from an hour ago and showed a power company truck idling at that gate. Karl was well aware of the company’s ongoing survey in that remote corner of the base and would normally have dismissed the vehicle’s presence. The DoD contract limited the power company’s vehicles to a patch of sand well beyond this restricted area.

  But his paranoia was running high this night.

  So he had studied the video feed more closely. There were two passengers, but their faces were obscured by the reflection of the streetlamp off the windshield. Then the guard on duty had shone his flashlight into the back of the SUV. Karl had caught a glimpse of the employees’ faces. He didn’t recognize the driver, but the other—a woman—turned to say something to the guard. Karl felt a cold chill travel through his bones. He knew that woman, that smile, all too well.

  It was Jane Sabatello, the only one to escape his purge of Project 623.

  He leaned closer to the image frozen on the screen as questions ran through his mind. What are you doing here, Janie, especially now? How did you find out about this operation? Why did you foolishly come out of hiding?

  He balled a fist. While he might not have any answers, he knew she was the one who had sent that commando and his dog to investigate the disappearance of Sandy Conlon.

  Karl squinted—his eyes still sore and puffy from the pepper-spray attack—and studied the shadowy image of the driver.

  Was this that same man?

  A barked order drew his attention back around. Karl punched the keyboard and closed the video feed as Kellerman’s pit bull came stalking over to him after berating one of the techs for getting in his way. Rafael Lyon was dressed in commando gear with a prominent sidearm holstered at his waist. He carried a helmet under one arm.

  “I just got off the phone with your boss,” Lyon said with thick disdain, careful not to mention Kellerman by name in front of the others. “Are we still on schedule?”

  Karl nodded. “All hell will break loose at midnight . . . as planned.”

  Lyon’s left eye pinched very slightly. His gaze flickered toward Karl’s monitor and back again. It seemed Karl was not the only one whose paranoia was running high.

  “And no hiccups with security?” Lyon asked.

  “None at all.” Karl kept his face fixed. “And if anything changes, I’ll deal with it personally.”

  9:19 P.M.

  “This is as far as we can go,” Tucker announced.

  He brought the Expedition to a stop and shut off the engine. He opened his door, allowing in a frigid breeze, perfumed by some night-blooming desert flower. The temperature had dropped precipitously since they’d first climbed into the stolen vehicle.

  The change brought back memories of Afghanistan.

  Boil during the day, freeze at night—and get shot at the entire time.

  “Let’s get Rex in the air,” Tucker ordered Frank as he climbed out.

  They all offloaded. Kane stretched his legs and sniffed around the immediate area, lifting his leg a few times before he was satisfied enough to return to Tucker’s side.

  Frank hauled the Wasp drone out of the rear compartment and set about doing an internal systems check, testing Rex’s thrusters and guidance fins. The plan was to use Rex to scout ahead of them, to search the coordinates that the drone had acquired by hacking into Tangent’s communications.

  “Is the bird ready to fly?” Jane asked.

  Frank wiped his
palms on his jeans. “Seems so. But I wish Nora were here. She knows far more about this tech than I do.”

  Tucker put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You’ll do fine.” Tucker looked up at the cloudless night sky, where the bright sickle of the moon hung amid stars as crisp as ice. “You certainly can’t crash Rex into anything out here.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Frank waved them all back, and a moment later Rex’s engine hummed louder and the craft rose fifteen feet off the ground and hovered. With its matte-black exterior, the drone was already nearly invisible in the dark.

  “All set?” Frank asked, staring down at the glowing screen of the control unit.

  Tucker didn’t bother answering, knowing his friend was talking to Rex.

  Frank ran a fingertip across the pressure-sensitive interface, and the drone shot forward with barely a whisper of its motors. Jane and Tucker joined Frank, flanking him on both sides. Together, they watched the feed from Rex as the drone began its aerial patrol. Most of the screen was devoted to a bird’s-eye view through Rex’s camera, while a row of blue-tinted rectangles flowed with readouts for altitude, speed, compass, battery level, and other flight data.

  Frank sent Rex skimming south, slowly bringing the drone up to its top speed of sixty miles an hour. He kept Rex flying low, hugging the terrain as much as possible. Low hills and scrub brush—lit up brightly by the camera’s night-vision capability—swept below the drone’s path.

  “You’re doing great,” Tucker said.

  “It ain’t me.” Frank lifted his hand away from the drone’s controls. “I just entered the coordinates. Rex is flying on his own under a feature called contour matching. And I would swear he’s getting better at it, beginning to anticipate wind shear and changes in the terrain.”

  Like he’s learning.

  Tucker watched the drone make its own altitude adjustments, climbing and dipping over the wrinkled landscape of the desert. While it was amazing, it was also a touch frightening.

  After another thirty seconds, Rex popped over one last hill and abruptly began to slow.

  “He’s approaching the target,” Frank explained and returned his attention to the controls. “I’m activating Rex’s electronic warfare suite. Just in case of trouble.”