The vehicles turned out to be a Toyota Land Cruiser and a Volkswagen crossover. No one bothered to ask Charlie how she’d gotten both of them here, parked on the siding of a remote unpaved road. It was no accident that the vehicles offered a mix ofutilities. The Toyota had excellent off-road capability, while the VW would blend in nicely in any urban environment. The Aussie had done well.
Soon everything was loaded, and they set out for the main road. Barring delays, Task Force 99 would arrive in Bodrum in six hours.
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10
Bodrum International Airport
Bodrum, Turkey
1033 Local Time
Katie descended the portside boarding stairs of the C-17. The air was cool and dry, the sun intense.
She had never been to Turkey, and Bodrum was an uncommon gateway. It was a midsize city and the airport reflected it. She saw a modest array of helicopters, business jets, and general aviation aircraft. A few airliners were parked at a small terminal in the distance. Aside from the commotion stirred by their own arrival, the airfield was quiet.
Conza hit the ramp right behind her, and he verbalized the same impression.
“You think they shut the airport down?” he asked.
“Could be. Colonel Carter said the weather was lousy last night, low clouds and fog. But it’s clear now.”
“So if nobody’s flying, it’s because of the crash.” He scanned the surrounding countryside. “Looks a lot like Sig outside the fence.”
Katie had to agree. The terrain was remarkably similar to Sicily.Brown hardpan, soft hills, sturdy vegetation. It made sense, she supposed. The flight had been short, less than two hours due east. Same topography, same latitude, same Mediterranean climate.
They retrieved their bags from the first pallet that was unloaded. Carter’s team of investigators seemed well organized. They were already sorting through equipment, and two big SUVs soon appeared. There were four Air Force personnel in Carter’s entourage, two junior officers and two enlisted.
“Looks like we’re getting off on the right foot,” Conza remarked, nodding to their left.
Katie saw Carter talking to a Turkish military officer who’d pulled up in a staff car. Their gestures were friendly, the nods professional. The relationship between the two nations, she knew, was both long and testing. Turkey was inexorably trapped between East and West. They respected Western military might and needed its strategic backing. But their religion and culture were rooted firmly to the right, in Asia and the Middle East. It was a delicate dance for both sides, and the guarded interaction between the two officers reflected it.
She said, “Yeah, everything looks civil…so far.”
“I wonder who else is going to be involved in this investigation.”
“Carter and I chatted about that on the flight—I think you were sleeping.”
“Hey, sleep is a weapon.”
“The way you snore it is. The wall between our rooms in Sig was way too thin. Anyway, he warned me that these overseas crash investigations can be real clusters. Foreign governments, manufacturers, military services, unions…Everybody with a nose sticks it in.”
“A less positive voice than mine might remind you that we fall in that category.”
“Fair point, but it wasn’t our doing. Orders are orders.”
Carter finished talking to the Turkish officer and walked toward them.
“Saddle up,” he said. “You and your gear go in the second vehicle. We’ll make a quick stop at our hotel to unload, then head straight to the crash site.”
“Copy that,” Katie replied.
She and Conza tossed their duffels through the open tailgate and circled to opposing rear doors. One of Carter’s lieutenants was driving.
Katie was about to sink into the back seat when something in the distance caught her eye.
She noticed a small building on the far side of the runway. It looked like a typical fixed-base operator, or FBO, a small low-slung structure fronting a half acre of tarmac. What had really seized her attention, however, was in front of the building on the ramp: a business jet sat parked, its doors buttoned up and the wheels chocked. The jet itself was nothing special. At first glance, she took it for a Cessna Citation, but on closer examination decided it was a Lear—an instructor from intel school had taught her the difference. Yet something about this jet seemed curiously familiar to Katie. The off-white paint job, the lack of any other markings. It looked perfectly serviceable, but there was an air of…managed neglect.
