Fallout (10 page)

“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“Consider all that I have said withdrawn.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 states 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.”

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 growing.

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.”

“What do you have in mind?” Luke asked cautiously.

“The United States government would like to accept your proposal.”

Luke’s eyes widened. It couldn’t be.

“On two conditions.”

“What?”

“First, that you allow the United States to send through your school certain . . . foreign students who have been clamoring to get into our TOPGUN or Red Flag for a long time. This would be a means for us to encourage and . . . um, reward our allies who do not have the same training opportunities that U.S. pilots have. Sort of a diplomatic plum.”

“What foreign students?” Luke asked, searching for future problems.

“I don’t really have any in mind right now. It could be any number of them with whom we currently have defense treaties or to whom we sell arms; but they would have to be capable of accomplishing the rigorous training conducted at the school.”

“Who would decide who comes?”

The Undersecretary looked into Luke’s eyes. “I would.”

“What about clearances?”

“That would all be in my area of responsibility. They would all be preapproved. You would simply need to give me the quotas I request, and I would then tell you who would be coming. The countries would pay you directly, and you could charge whatever you want. Perhaps an amount substantially over your actual cost, so that you can make a profit. The U.S. students could be charged at cost, which would include your amortized expenses of the airplane leases, the airfield, and the like. In fact, we could even reserve certain quotas for American students that would equal the amount attributable to the lease value of the MiGs and the air base. You could charge the foreign students whatever you want and get whatever you can from them. That’s where you would get your profit.”

Luke was amazed. “You’ve actually thought this through. I’d never even thought of that approach.”

“There are many possible scenarios.”