Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09 (48 page)

 
          
“General
Samson’s cover mission included a number of contingency operations, including
an armed rescue mission,” Venti said, “If I know General Samson and his staff,
he’s got his folks moving already.”

 
          
“We
do, sir,” Samson said. “We’re hoping that the forces controlling Dewey and
Deverill are not regular military or paramilitaries, but reserves or local
police. There are few regular army forces stationed on the Ukrainian border If
we launch a rescue mission before they are transferred to regular military
control or taken out of the frontier region, we might be able to rescue them
successfully.

 
          
“The
Intelligence Support Agency cell that was successfully rescued by the Vampire
bomber crew is safe on the ground in
Ukraine
at an airfield outside
Kiev
,” Samson went on. “They want permission to
procure a helicopter and return to the shootdown area. They are the closest
special-ops capable forces in the area—they can be on scene in about two hours,
depending on what kind of transportation they procure. The next-nearest forces
would be in
Turkey
, at least three hours away plus generation and briefing time.”

 
          
“We
seem to have decided on an armed hostile infiltration action,” the President
observed. No one replied. “I may sound incredibly naive here, gentlemen, but
why don’t we just ask the Russians to give our people back to us?”

 
          
“I’m
afraid we couldn't expect too much help from the Russians once they found out
who they had in their possession, sir,” Robert Goff said, trying hard not to
look too shocked at the President’s seemingly childish question. “I mean, in a
very real sense, our crews are hostiles, enemy attackers, just as if we w'ere
at war, They flew a strategic bomber inside
Russia
, shot down Russian aircraft, destroyed
Russian military property. They don’t have any reason to be nice to us. I
expect them to delay returning the crew until they have had ample time to
interrogate them thoroughly. Then they’ll examine the wreckage and interrogate
them some more about the technology they’ll undoubtedly find. They could be
prisoners for a very, very long time.”

 
          
“The
best opportunity to get them out is
now,
sir,” Venti stressed. “Although
they appear to be taken by paramilitary forces, they’re still not in the hands
of trained prison guards or professional soldiers. If we can gel to them right
now, we have the best chance of rescuing them.”

 
          
“And
then once the crew is out of the Russians’ hands, we can do our own stalling
technique,” Goff went on. “The Russians will have what’s left of the bomber,
but they won’t have the crew. That’s far more important. They’ll ask a ton of
questions, accuse us of everything under the sun, and condemn us for our
warlike actions. But they won’t have anything.”

 
          
The
President nodded, seemingly unconvinced. He looked up and saw General Samson
deep in a discussion with a new officer that had entered the videoconference
picture. The discussion they were having out of mike range appeared to be
getting rather heated. “Problem, General Samson?” he asked. Samson looked at
the camera, then jabbed his finger at the newcomer beside him. “General?”

 
          
“Maybe
a potential problem,” Terrill Samson said. “Stand by one.” The President and
his staff allowed Samson to confer with his staff for a couple of minutes.
Samson was obviously struggling to retain control of his anger. Finally, he
faced the camera once again and explained, “Sir, it seems that a rescue mission
is already under way—in fact, the Vampire crew has already been recovered,
alive.”

 
          
“What?”
almost everyone in the Situation Room exclaimed.

 
          
“We
didn’t authorize any rescue mission,” Vice President Busick said. “General
Samson, I’ve had to put up with shenanigans from you boys in Dreamland for
years. Is it happening again, even with Brad Elliott gone? Was this one of your
patented stealth sneak attacks?”

           
“God, I hope not,” Venti murmured in
exasperation. “What’s going on. Earthmover?”

 
          
“Easy,
folks, easy,” the President said, keeping his hands folded before him,
seemingly unflustered by this news. “A few minutes ago, you were going to
recommend such a mission— now you’re upset because you all didn’t get to push
the ‘go’ button. Continue, General Samson.”

 
          
General
Samson took a deep breath and ran it down for the National Security Council
staff. “Exactly as we were planning, the Intelligence Support Agency members
who’d been taken to a base outside
Kiev
obtained use of a Ukrainian helicopter,
penetrated Russian airspace, and located Dewey and Deverill using their
personal microtransceivers,” Samson said.

 
          
“My
God. that’s incredible,” Robert Goff exclaimed. “Amazing. Who organized this,
General? You?”

 
          
“No,
sir—my staff officers and the commanders on-scene,” Samson replied. ‘There is a
complication, however. The Russian Federation Air Force is bearing down on
them. They ...” He paused, then said under his breath, “Genesis to Briggs ...
conference in McLanahan ... conference in Luger.. . everyone, stand by.”

 
          
“General,
am I to understand that you are actually talking to your men in the middle of
some sort of combat rescue mission over Russia that is happening right now?”
the President asked incredulously. “You are making some sort of global
conference call and listening to what’s going on without a radio in your hand,
a microphone to your lips, or a speaker?”

 
          
Samson
had to pull himself away from eavesdropping on the firefight half a world away
to respond to his commander- in-chief: “Yes . . . yes, sir. Part of my unit’s
security infrastructure is a satellite tracking and communications system that
is . . . is implanted into every member of my organization.”

 
          
“Implanted?”

           
“A subcutaneous satellite
transceiver,” Samson explained. “We monitor all personnel constantly,
year-round, worldwide. We can listen in on their conversations, talk to them,
locate them, even record vital signs.”

 
          
“Extraordinary,”
Secretary of Defense Goff breathed. “I’ve heard of such devices, but I never
believed they would ever be used in my lifetime.”

           
“Never mind the gee-whiz stuff—what
in hell’s happening out there?” Busick interjected hotly. “And I still want to
know why the National Security Council wasn’t apprised of this operation? Who
the hell has the balls to put a mission like this in motion without getting
permission first?”

 
          
“Sir,
firstly, I take full responsibility for whatever’s happening out there,” Samson
said. “Those are my people and my aircraft. No one else is responsible.”

 
          
“I
see plenty of heads rolling here—but the first one
will
be yours.
General Samson. Count on it. Now what in hell is happening?”

 
          
Not
since he had been a seventeen-year-old enlistee doing ditch-digging jobs in a
Civil Engineering unit in Thailand during the Vietnam War—literally digging
ditches, trenches, latrines, and garbage pits—had Terrill Samson ever felt so
helpless and clueless. Back then, it had been because he was a know-nothing
airman. This time, it was because of Patrick McLanahan and David Luger.
McLanahan and Luger had gone behind his back and executed this goat-fuck
mission without one word to their superior officer. It was betrayal of the
worst kind. Samson felt humiliated, castrated by his own people.

 
          
McLanahan
wasn’t a genius, a legend, a hero—he was a back-stabbing traitor.

 
          
“We
... we have another aircraft flying as air support for the Intelligence Support
Agency operatives,” Samson said, putting as much strength and authority in his
voice as he could, even though he realized it had all but completely drained
away. “The support aircraft is one of mine, too. Colonel Furness of the
One-Eleventh Bomb Squadron and General Patrick McLaanahan. my deputy, are
flying the backup EB-1C Vampire bomber. They apparently heard about the
shootdown, reversed course, returned to Russian airspace, and arc now engaging
the Russian attackers ..

 
          
“My
God!"
someone gasped—Samson couldn’t tell who it was.

           
“Two Russian helicopter gunships
have already been shot down .. . no, wait, now one Russian jet fighter has been
shot down.” Samson reported, still listening to the action being played
literally in his head through the subcutaneous satellite transceiver. "The
Ukrainian helicopter with the other two Vampire crew members on board is
airborne and almost back into Ukrainian airspace. Two more gunships are in the
area, and one or more fighters. The Vampire is reengaging all of them.”

           
“A bomber ... hunting down
fighters?”
Secretary of State Kercheval exclaimed. “How can they do that?”

 
          
“I
still want to know, who in
hell
gave the order for them to be shooting
down Russians?” Busick thundered. It was a rhetorical statement—aimed not at
General Samson, not at Secretary of Defense Goff, but right at the President of
the
United States
.

 
          
But
President Thom wasn't going to be drawn into a conflict with anyone, not even
his friend and closest advisor—and perhaps also his biggest critic. He rested
his head in his left hand, tapping on the comer of his mouth with his index
finger, studying the videoteleconference screen with Terrill Samson’s anxious,
animated face looking back at him. It was as if he was watching someone watch a
video replay of a bad car accident, or a bullfight, something potentially
violent—you felt like asking, “What’s going on?” every five seconds.

 
          
Finally,
the President picked up the phone beside him and said to the White House
communications officer: “Get me President Sen’kov of the
Russian Federation
on the line.” It took only a few moments
until someone in the Russian president's office answered. “This is President
Thom. I am in the White House with members of my national security staff.”

           
“This is President Sen'kov,” the
voice of the Russian translator said. “I am in my residence surrounded by
generals and defense ministers who believe we are under attack by the
United States
. You are calling about the illegal
violation of Russian sovereign airspace near the Russia-Ukraine border, I
assume? Is this some sort of prelude to war, Mr. President? What is the meaning
of this?”

 
          
“I’d
be happy to explain,” Thom said. “The
United States
was conducting an intelligence operation
inside
Russia
, near
Moscow
.”

 
          
The
men in the Situation Room looked stunned. Sen’kov must’ve been equally stunned
at that revelation, because it took him several long moments to respond:
“Please repeat, Mr. President.”

 
          
“I
said, the
United States
was conducting an intelligence mission near
Moscow
,” Thom repeated, as calmly as if he were
describing a rare painting or a Mozart opera. “We were trying to rescue an
agent that was spying on one of your military installations. We inserted a
special operations team inside your country, and we used a long-range stealth
aircraft to cover the team in case it was discovered.”

 
          
“Mr.
President!” Lester Busick retorted.
“What are you doing?
You can't reveal
that information to the Russians?”

 
          
Thom
hit the microphone kill-switch on the telephone. “Les, don't you think the
Russians already know all this?” he asked. He released the switch: “As you
know. President Sen’kov, the special ops team made it out, but your military
forces shot down the stealth bomber. Some of our special operations forces and
another stealth aircraft went in to try to rescue the crew of the first stealth
aircraft before your forces could imprison them.”