“For now, let’s call it a flyby,” he said. “Our initial instructions are to get a look at this place. There are NVGs up on the flight deck and the darkness should provide cover. There’s a good chance something lethal is brewing in this hangar. The good news is, we’re talking about a bare-bones outfit in the middle of nowhere. Worst case, these people are trying to put together a radiological attack, but there won’t be radar coverage or air defenses.”
“Forgive me for being a doubter,” Charlie injected, “but I find myself wondering if we’ll get tasked for more than a look-see.”
“That thought crossed my mind as well,” Clark confessed. “And if it happens, we are a fighting unit. We’ve got one hour to prepare.”
“If we’re talking about armed intervention,” Hyori said, “preparing might be difficult.”
Clark had already hit the same roadblock, and he could think of no way around it. “Yeah, I know. The bulk of our weapons are in the cargo bay.”
“Which can’t be accessed in flight on this aircraft,” Ding expanded.
Hyori’s gaze fell on Klaus, who was seated in back. “How many mercs did you say Malenkov hired?”
“I cannot say precisely because some of those he engaged were technicians. I would estimate two dozen, perhaps a bit more.”
“That’s a pretty big number, and we’ll be at a firepower disadvantage until we can access the cargo hold.”
Clark felt a need to put his stamp on the conversation. “Look, there are a lot of variables. It’s conceivable we’ll be engaging a larger force, and these mercs may have considerable experience. It’s also possible we’ll fly over this airfield and that’ll be the end of it. We’ve got roughly an hour to plan for the hard end of the spectrum. If tactical intervention becomes necessary, I want your ideas on how to pursue it.”
Sesniak came out of the cockpit and stopped next to Clark. He leaned down and spoke in a hushed voice, then returned to the flight deck.
Clark relayed the message. “The crew just got a weather update. According to satellite radar, there are storms building southof this airfield. The system is moving north, and they’re not sure if we can get there before the conditions deteriorate.”
A predictable bit of banter ensued about weather gods and raincoats. The light mood, however, quickly turned solemn. Clark’s message had been heard. The members of his team began mentally preparing, each in his or her own way.
Clark turned and went to the cockpit. He dropped down on the tiny observer’s seat behind the pilots.
“How serious is this weather?” he asked.
“Could be an impact,” Hooper said. “It’s the end of haboob season, but I’ve been seeing these bands on the charts in recent weeks. Once they get rolling, they move pretty fast.”
“It should start showing up on our weather radar in another hundred miles or so,” Sesniak added.
“We’ve actually got a bigger worry,” Hooper added. “Right now, we have enough fuel to reach Al-Jaghbub and still make it to Sigonella. But if we descend to low altitude to get a look at this place…that increases the burn, and our reserves go out the window. If I’d known this little detour was coming, we could have taken on more gas in Tangier.”
Clark kept his thoughts on the mission. “The only way we can get a good look, weather permitting, is to drop low. Are there any other options?”
“We could stop somewhere after we leave Al-Jaghbub, a quick gas-and-go. Tobruk or possibly Cairo. Tobruk, in particular, might require some diplomatic assistance, but we’ve got plenty of clout back in D.C.”
“That we do. Thanks for the update.”
Clark headed back to the cabin. He was glad they were riding with an agency aircrew. These pilots were mission-oriented, willingto make changes and find solutions. The contingency of making an unscheduled fuel stop sounded like a reasonable bailout plan.
He only hoped it was as easy as they made it sound.
Central Mediterranean
Two hundred miles behind the Gulfstream carrying Task Force 99, and seven miles below, the USSGerald R. Fordbattered ahead through rising seas. She was surrounded by her strike group: six other ships, including a guided-missile cruiser and two destroyers.Ford’s nuclear propulsion system was pushing hard as she made best speed on a southeasterly course.
She was carrying out her new orders to the letter.
Commanding officer Captain Rick Hodges stood on the starboard catwalk of the bridge. A strong wind lashed the island, most of which was generated by theFord’s twenty-four-knot headway. He scanned the horizon with his sharp aviator’s eyes, ignoring the binoculars in his hand. Hodges had assumed command of theFordonly two months earlier, but he already felt in sync with his ship and crew. It was no small feat, managing one of the largest and most potent warships on earth. Yet for all the advanced electronics around him, all the sensors and data, he had always been most comfortable meeting the sea in its essence. The coast of Tunisia twinkled on the starboard beam, a jewellike string of lights on the horizon. To port, the island of Sicily lay unseen in the distance.
And ahead?
That was the great unknown.
“Captain, got a minute?”
