Fallout

by James W. Huston

  “It was open.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I just used my key!”

  “You just used your key to lock it, and then you got frustrated and unlocked it.”

  “What are you doing in my apartment?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Why couldn’t you talk to me at the office? Or set up another one of those lunches at one of those fancy stupid restaurants?”

  “I could have. But I wanted to talk to you tonight. I drove over to your house to see you, forgetting that you didn’t live there anymore. I saw your wife. It’s a very nice Lexus that she has. And that house is so beautiful. It’s too bad you had to give all that up.” Yushaf stood. “Would you mind if I got myself a glass of water?”

  “No. That’s fine.” Merewether’s mind was immediately fixated on his huge brick colonial house in northern Virginia, where he’d lived with his wife and their one daughter. The Lexus was the car he’d bought for himself last year. He’d been successful in financial matters, and had invested everything they owned in the stock market during the nineties, the greatest bull market in history. In 1999, when it seemed to peak, he’d pulled out his money, invested in treasury bonds, and bought himself a new car. And then he’d lost it all in the divorce, the cause of which was his own juvenile, sexually driven behavior. One of the young secretaries at the Pentagon was far too willing to play around for him to resist a temptation that he had not faced before. Throughout his life women simply hadn’t looked his way. It was what he was accustomed to. When this one had, it had been too much for him to handle.

  He thought of the fireplace that almost certainly had a fire in it, as his wife, also a basketball fan, settled in to watch the basketball game with his daughter. Without him. And it was all his fault. And he knew it. He hated himself for it.

  The Pakistani came back into the living room and found Merewether sitting on the couch with his head back. He was sprawled out, his soft belly pressing his shirt over his belt. “Are you all right?”

  Merewether sat up. “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Don’t come in here without permission again. I’ll call the police.”

  “I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have waited in the hallway, but I cannot stand long. My legs began—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Fine. Whatever.” Merewether looked at Yushaf and his thousand-dollar Italian suit. “What do you want?”

  “Yes, right to business.” Yushaf sat down in the threadbare chair across the coffee table from Merewether. “I understand you had a meeting recently. About starting a new TOPGUN school. It would be called the Nevada Fighter Weapons School and would use the U.S. MiG-29s from Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. They would fly out of Tonopah airfield in Nevada.”

  Merewether’s eyes narrowed. “How the hell do you know that?”

  “A friend told me,” he said innocently. “It is my understanding, in fact, that the two naval officers are planning on resigning their commissions for the sole purpose of starting the school. I didn’t know it was secret.”

  “It’s not secret. But it just happened last week. I’m surprised you heard about it.” Merewether studied him. “How exactly did you hear about it?”

  “Let’s just say that you are not my only friend in Washington.”

  Merewether was annoyed. “What’s your point?”

  “It is my understanding that you turned them down and told them it would never work.”

  “It’s impractical. They haven’t even thought it through well enough yet.”

  “I must differ,” the Pakistani said. “It sounds brilliant to me, and it would alleviate the pressure that currently exists on TOPGUN and Red Flag to get more people through the school.”

  “Why does it matter to you?” Merewether demanded.

  Yushaf shrugged, then paused. “I simply want you to make the best decisions you can,” he replied. “But of course I do have an interest of my own,” he continued, “and perhaps, one day, it could all work out. As you know, I want to get some of my pilots through your schools. It is not asking much. It is asking only what you have already promised, but so far . . .”

  “You continue to remind me.”

  “So maybe this could be the solution we both need. Let my pilots come through this new school instead of TOPGUN.”

  “How do you figure I need this?”

  “It could solve some of your problems, with people like me. And if you help me, your good friend . . . who knows? Perhaps I could help you, too.” His hand went up as if in sudden recollection. “In fact, you’ve mentioned to me that you dislike this apartment.” He looked around and nodded with understanding. “I’m sympathetic to that. A man of your stature should have a residence worthy of his position. Sadly, that was taken from you in a way that was outside your control. One of our embassy staff has been called back to Pakistan. Unfortunately, he just entered into a very long-term lease on a beautiful American house. He is no longer there, and the house sits empty.” He looked at Merewether to evaluate his next sentence. “Who knows? Perhaps you could house-sit it until he comes back. And who knows when that will be? It could be a couple of years.”

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” Merewether asked.

  Yushaf realized he had miscalculated. “Of course not. Why would you ask me that?”

  “Lunches are one thing. A loaner car is one thing. But the use of a house for two years? That’s worth thousands of dollars!”

  “It is yours if you are interested. I certainly do not want you to feel obligated. I know that house-sitting can be a burden when the house is furnished with Persian rugs and a state-of-the-art home theater system and the like. You’d have to take care of all of that. I understand it might be asking too much.”

  “Cut the bullshit. You’re trying to influence my decision.”

  Yushaf smiled. “Of course I am. That is my job with the Pakistani embassy, to influence America to be a closer friend than it already is. What is wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, until you start offering me things.” Merewether was angry and tempted.

  “Consider all that I have said withdrawn. I do not understand the American culture as well as I should. I did not intend to offer anything, simply to exchange conveniences.”

  “This private TOPGUN school would be nothing but a headache for me. A bunch of contracts, new applications for quotas by Navy and Air Force pilots. I’m sure it would cost the government money.”

  “I thought they would be paying the U.S. government leases on the airplanes and airfield.”

  “Yes, but they’ll be charging for each American student that goes through.”

  Yushaf smelled an opening. He sat forward on the chair edge. He gestured enthusiastically with his hands. “But if those numbers are equal, it will cost the government nothing.”

  “What?”

  “If you charge them enough to lease the airplanes and the airfield to put the military officers through the school, the net cost to the government would be zero. And then charge double—or triple—for the foreign students. Make up the difference and then some. You could lease the airfield and the airplanes to the school in exchange for a certain number of American pilots to go through. Even even. Then have foreign aircrew come through and charge them two or three times what the equivalent rate was for Americans. They would understand that. They would be willing to pay. The school would be profitable as a going concern, and the United States would be putting out no money at all.”

  Merewether looked at him unenthusiastically. “It would still be a pain in the ass.”

  “I don’t think so. You could delegate to the right person, who could handle most of the details. You might look like a hero for finding a way to relieve all the pressure to get more aircrew trained. Everybody wants to go through the school, but very few ever get to. Open it up a little bit.”

  Merewether shook his head vaguely. “How would your pilots even get there? Would they fly all the way from Pakistan?”

  “No. I have been in touch with several st
ates about leasing four of their F-16Cs from their Air National Guard units for our pilots to fly. They were more than willing.”

  “Which states?” Merewether asked, stunned.

  “California has already agreed.”

  “Before we have even agreed?”

  “I have to make many plans.”

  “Whatever,” Merewether said, losing interest.

  The Pakistani decided to fire his last arrow. “It might also alleviate another looming problem for you.”

  “Like what?”

  Yushaf stood up and walked around his chair as if he were about to leave. “I have heard that ever since those MiGs were bought, the United States has been anxious to test the missiles.”

  Merewether was startled. “What missiles?”

  “The five hundred Russian-made air-to-air missiles that were bought from Moldova with the MiG 29s—”

  “How did you know that?”

  “And when the MiGs were purchased, there was a guarantee issued that those missiles would be test-fired, and the Navy and Air Force would know, from the telemetry, every last thing there was to know about them.” The Pakistani spoke slowly, as if quoting a document that he had seen.

  “How in the hell did you get that?”

  “As I said, you are not my only friend.”

  Merewether was dumbfounded.

  “Don’t you see?” the Pakistani said encouragingly. “The reason the missiles have not been test-fired is that there are no airplanes in the United States that can fire them as they were designed to be fired. It takes the MiG radars as well. No one has flown the MiGs since they have been purchased.

  “If you allow these Navy Lieutenants and their new TOPGUN school to be your test facility, to keep the radars up, to load the missiles and test-fire them for you—you could even pay them for that—you would be a hero in the intelligence world, and everyone would then have access to the telemetry, and the Russian missiles would be known by United States military.”

  Merewether frowned. “Those Navy Lieutenants said they would disarm the MiGs. This would mean that they would have to keep them as legitimate fighters, capable of firing missiles.”

  “What is wrong with that? You can guard the missiles at all times. It should be without risk.”

  Merewether’s mind spun through the possibilities. It actually might solve several problems. “You have any other cards? Anything else you got hiding out there that you want?”

  The Pakistani smiled knowingly. “There is always something, isn’t there?”

  The Undersecretary nodded.

  “We want the results of the missile tests.”

  “Is that it?”

  “We are your strongest ally in South Asia, and you know it,” he said with too much emphasis. “We need that information, because India flies the MiG-29 and has those same Russian missiles. We need to know it for the safety of our pilots.” Yushaf lowered his voice. “And we need four of our pilots to be in the first class at that school.”

  “I think that’s enough for me to think about tonight,” Merewether said, standing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “No, I need to know, I’m sorry,” Yushaf said, seeing the anger on Merewether’s face. “I would like your commitment tonight. I am getting pressure from my home office. They don’t believe I can produce results. If I don’t, I will be recalled . . . I—”

  “So what?”

  “Thomas,” Yushaf said, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, “your country owes this to my country.”

  “How the hell do you figure that?”

  “Do you not remember the largest battle the Americans have been involved in since Vietnam?”

  “What?”

  “Eighteen American Rangers and Delta Team members killed, five hundred to a thousand enemy killed, with thousands more wounded . . .”

  “What?”

  “Mogadishu. Somalia. You Americans were pinned down. Three of your Blackhawk helicopters were shot down. You were completely surrounded. The city was teeming with armed people who hate Americans. And who came to your rescue? Who charged into that city and pulled the Rangers and other Army men out?”

  “Who?”

  “Pakistani armor led the column back into Mogadishu and into the fight to rescue the Americans.” He paused. “Can you not allow a few of our pilots to train here? Is that too much to ask?”

  “I don’t know much about Mogadishu . . .”

  “You can look into it. I am not making it up.”

  “When was that?”

  “1993.”

  “Well, I don’t know . . .”

  Yushaf was in deep trouble. There was only one acceptable answer. He couldn’t leave any cards unplayed. “I have been listening to you over the past few weeks. I detect that you are in some financial trouble. Perhaps I could arrange a loan . . .” He watched Merewether’s face for any offense. There was none. “It would allow you to take care of all your problems.”

  “Yushaf, I can’t pay back a damned loan. Every cent I make goes to my wife and her house and her car—”

  “It would need to be paid back only when you were able to pay it back at one time, in one lump sum, in cash. Until then no problem, no interest.”

  Merewether thought of what he could do with money. It would solve everything. He could quit his job and finally go do whatever he wanted to do. “How much of a loan did you have in mind?”

  “Without knowing your needs, I could only estimate, but I thought something around two hundred fifty thousand dollars might help.”

  Merewether tried not to gasp audibly. It was ten times his current net worth. He looked at Yushaf and noticed that he was sweating. “How soon could you get the . . . loan to me?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “If I have it tomorrow, I’ll approve the school and get you your quotas. How many?”

  Yushaf took a breath. It felt like the first one he’d taken in days. “Four.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  8

  Luke opened the front door and walked out in his flight suit and boots to retrieve the morning newspaper. He had an early brief, but he lacked his usual enthusiasm. It had started to feel pointless. He knew that his time was limited. It was hard to hurry to work, excited to get every day under way as he had since reporting to TOPGUN. He’d begun to feel like an outsider.

  He glanced up at the sky the way he always did. It was cool and clear. The stars were fading. He bent over and picked up the newspaper on the long dirt driveway and noticed a black sedan parked in the mouth of the driveway just off the state road. It startled him. He was annoyed he hadn’t seen it before. There was never any traffic on the country road in front of their house, and no one ever turned down his driveway by mistake. This sedan had turned down and stopped. Luke felt exposed and vulnerable. He looked at the car again. There was no frost on the windshield and no dew on the hood.

  The hell with this, he thought. He walked straight at the car, armed with only his newspaper. He approached the driver’s side. His muscles tensed as he approached. He noticed that the windows were tinted just dark enough to keep him from seeing inside. He could see a man’s hand on the steering wheel and slowed as he got nearer to the car. He wanted to go back the other way. The hair was beginning to tingle on the back of his neck.

  The driver’s door suddenly opened, and a tall man in his twenties climbed out. “Lieutenant Henry,” he said quietly as he walked toward Luke. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Who are you?” Luke said as he started backing up, shocked to hear his name from someone he’d never seen before in his life.

  “I’m Jason Townes. You have a minute?”

  Luke put his hands on his hips and tried to control his breathing as he examined the young man, who was about his size and very intense-looking. “What are you doing sitting in front of my house at six in the morning?”

  “We need to talk to you.”

  “We who?” Luke asked, his annoyance g
rowing.

  The young man glanced at the sedan, and the back door opened. Merewether got out, closed the door, and adjusted the coat on his blue pin-striped suit. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

  Luke was speechless. He couldn’t imagine what the Undersecretary of Defense was doing in front of his house on a Tuesday morning at six o’clock. It was disturbing. “Mr. Undersecretary,” Luke said. “I’m surprised to see you here, obviously.”

  Merewether nodded sympathetically. “I wanted to catch you before you went to work, but I didn’t want to call and wake your pregnant wife.”

  Luke’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know she was pregnant?”

  “You told me in Washington.”

  Luke didn’t remember even mentioning his wife. “Thank you. That was considerate. But why didn’t you write or send me an e-mail? You left me with the impression in D.C. that you didn’t have any interest in me at all.”

  “I’m afraid we didn’t treat you as we should have, and frankly, I didn’t give your proposal the consideration it deserved. But since you left, I have.” The Undersecretary looked around, pleased with the surprise he had occasioned and the image he had pulled off. It was the kind of thing he loved to do—show up when not expected and imitate a government official who actually knew what the hell he was doing. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  “This is fine right here,” Luke replied. “I don’t want to wake my pregnant wife.”

  “Right,” Merewether replied. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the drive. “We looked at the PowerPoint presentation you left for us in hard copy, and the written report you did. I would like to discuss it with you further.”

  Luke’s heart jumped, then quickly returned to normal as reality reasserted itself. “Go ahead.”

  “I think the idea of starting a new, civilian-run TOPGUN school is frankly rather brilliant. It would give the United States government several options and outlets, as well as employ the assets we’ve purchased that are currently sitting idle, in addition to keeping Tonopah active, which is to the benefit of the airfield. Airfields are meant to be used, not sit and gather dust.”