Fallout (25 page)

Raymond’s shaking hand reached down to the ever-present cell phone hanging off his belt, one of the large, fat, older-style phones that he liked because they most closely resembled a radio, which gave him some sense of security or authority. He pulled the phone off his belt and hit speed dial “1.” He waited anxiously as the phone rang. Finally it connected. “Mr. Henry? Mr. Henry?”

Luke answered groggily. “What?”

“Sir, it’s Raymond.”

“Raymond who?”

“Raymond Westover, sir, from the air base. The café.”

“What do you want?”

“Sir, there’s something terribly wrong at the base.”

“Like what?” Luke said, sitting up and clearing his mind.

“Somebody is shooting. It looks bad. There are a bunch of automatic weapons being fired.”

“What? What did you just say? Repeat what you just said,” Luke demanded as the adrenaline coursed through his body, bringing him into a state of instant alertness.

Raymond studied the picture through his binoculars. He found himself whispering. “I don’t know. Somebody’s shooting. I think the Pakistanis—they’re by their airplanes with a bunch of trucks—and they’re shooting at the security jeep. They killed the guards, Mr. Henry, sure as hell—”

“What?” Luke cried.

“Looks like they’re loading something onto their airplanes. I think they brought something onto the base in those trucks. And more men, with a lot of guns—”

“Can you still see them?”

“Yes, sir. Looks like they’re done with the first two airplanes and are working on the third.”

“What are they doing?”

“Loading something on the planes.”

“Can you tell what? Where are they loading them?”

“Underneath. It’s long, has a funny nose, and it’s kind of thick at the back.”

“Missiles?”

“Can’t tell.”

“Is it fat or thin?”

“Fat, sir. Way fat.”

“Shit, Raymond. Those are bombs!” Luke’s mind raced. “Can they see you?”

“No, sir. No way in hell. I’m on a hill off the base. I was just watching the night sky. Like I always do.”

“Call Vlad and Stamp—they’re at the BOQ—and Thud. Do you have all those numbers?”

“Yes, sir. They’re all programmed into my cell phone.”

Luke jumped out of bed and began putting on his flight suit. “I want you to listen carefully to me, Raymond. I want you to tell Vlad to find whatever men he can and get the four airplanes set for the missile shoot this morning ready to go. They’re already gassed and armed, but we need to get them started. I have no idea where the hell these guys are going, but we’ve got to stop them. Tell Vlad I’ll be there as fast as I possibly can. We may not have much time after these guys get airborne. I’ll be there in twelve minutes.”

“Sir, I thought your house was twenty minutes away.”

“I won’t be going the speed limit.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll call them right away. How can I reach you?”

“Let me give you my cell phone number.”

“I have that, sir.”

“Call me as soon as you’ve called everybody else. And let me know what they’re doing. Can you still see them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What are they doing now?”

“They’re loading something on the wings. Out at the end.”

“Are they skinny or fat?”

“Skinny.”

“Sidewinders. Shit! Where the hell did they get Sidewinders?”

“Probably out of the same trucks.”

“As soon as we hang up, and as soon as you call those other pilots, call me right back. I’ll be in my car.” Luke quickly slipped on his flight boots and wrapped the laces around them as he cradled the phone awkwardly against his shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Katherine asked sleepily.

Luke looked at her quickly. “The Pakistanis are going nuts on us. They’re loading bombs aboard their airplanes. They just killed the guards.”

“God, no,” she said, throwing back the covers and jumping out of bed. “Can I do anything?”

“Yeah. Just a second. You got that, Raymond?”

“Got it. I’ll call you right back. And if you need me, here’s my cell number.”

Luke wrote it down. “Tell Vlad to call me on my cell phone.”

“Will do, sir.”

Luke hung up. He grabbed his watch and his wallet and turned to Katherine with the lamp now on. “Call the FBI. Call the FAA. Call the Air Force. Call the Navy. Call anybody you can think of who has any ability to get in front of these guys. The Pakistanis have gotten laser bombs onto the base and loaded them onto their F-16s. They have Sidewinder missiles and are going somewhere. I don’t know where. Just get the conversations going. Nobody’s going to believe you. But I want them to start hearing this so that when I call them on the radio or talk to them on the phone, they’ll have heard it first from you. Tell them we are not shitting them. Something real bad is going to happen very fast. If there are any Air Force fighters anywhere on alert within five hundred miles of Tonopah, tell them to get airborne with missiles and start looking for F-16 radars. I’ve got to go.”

He dashed out of the room, grabbed his cell phone from the recharging cradle, and headed toward the garage.

The Pakistani ordnancemen had finished loading the thousand-pound laser-guided bomb aboard the third F-16 and were putting the last Sidewinder missile on the wing rail. Rashim stood by the fourth jet, the last one in the line. He watched the operations intently and glanced around anxiously every few seconds. They began lowering the steel cables into the fourth truck. The drivers and riders formed a perimeter with their assault weapons, watching for any movement, any new guard. They were well aware that there were other guards on the base who were there to guard the MiGs and the missiles. They expected them to come to reinforce the jeep guards, who might have radioed for help before being overpowered.

It was still thoroughly dark. The Pakistanis were growing restless. They had estimated fifteen minutes to load the bombs onto the F-16s, and they were now approaching twenty-two minutes. Major Khan strode up and down by the F-16s, growing more aggravated and anxious each minute. He knew exactly what time the sun would rise and exactly what time it would start getting light enough to drop. It was at that moment he wanted to strike. With each passing minute it would be brighter at the target, and the advantage would go to those who would undoubtedly come to stop them.

The lift bent again under the weight, and Rashim’s bomb was pulled from its cradle in the last truck, placed gently on the dolly, and hooked to the bomb rack underneath the F-16. It was slowly cranked up against the belly of the airplane, and the Sidewinders were carefully placed on the tips of both wings.

Khan nodded vigorously at the other pilots as the loading of Rashim’s armament was nearly complete. They scrambled quickly into their airplanes and closed the canopies.

Raymond speed-dialed Vlad’s BOQ number and listened while it rang. It went from the fifth to the tenth ring with no response. Raymond began cursing under his breath when Vlad picked up the phone.

“Da . . . yes?” Vlad answered, barely awake.

“Vlad! This is Raymond—”

“Raymond who?” he asked angrily, his head pounding.

“Area 51 Raymond.”

“What do you want?”

“Mr. Henry told me to call you. I’m sitting on a hill outside the base, and the Pakistanis are up to something. They’ve killed the guards and are loading bombs on their airplanes. Mr. Henry told me to wake you up and tell you to get the MiGs with the missiles on them started and ready. He’s on his way. We’ve got to get Stamp and Thud up and go after them.”

“What? The Pakistanis? Where did they get bombs? Chort!” he screamed. His anger was suddenly aggravated by a chilling fear as Gorgov’s words came back to him.

“A whole bunch of guys with assault rifles. They have night-vision goggles and are armed for bear—”

“How did they do this?”

“Sir, I’m just telling you what Mr. Henry told me to tell you. He asked that you get those MiGs started.”

“They will hear us! They will send their armed guards over to the MiGs!”

“I don’t know about that, sir. I’m just following Mr. Henry’s instructions. I have to call Thud and Stamp right now, sir.”

Vlad gathered his wits. “I will get Stamp.”

“He’s in a different building—”

“I am going over there now.”

“Yes, sir,” Raymond said. “Here’s my cell phone number if you need anything from me.”

Vlad hung up.

Raymond wasn’t taking any chances. He dialed Stamp’s BOQ room anyway.

The Corvette’s tires protested as Luke wheeled onto the highway and accelerated at full throttle heading south. The car quickly passed through eighty miles an hour, then a hundred. Luke’s headlights were nearly useless.

He picked up the cell phone lying on the seat next to him and dialed the tower at Tonopah. There was no answer. He hadn’t expected anyone to be there but tried on the off chance some of the tower employees who’d be working the missile shoot in the morning might have come in early. He dialed Thud’s number. It rang several times, and then Michelle answered. “Hello?”

“Michelle?”

“Luke?”

“I’m headed to the base,” he yelled over the loud air rushing by. The top was down, and the wind was thundering past his head. “Is Thud on his way already?”

“Yes. Raymond called him a few minutes ago and told him to get to the base right away. What’s going on?”

“How long ago did he leave?”

“About three minutes.”

“I’ll catch him there.” He hung up and immediately dialed another number. It was Vlad’s room at the BOQ. There was no answer. “Damn it.”

He dialed 411.

“Directory assistance, may I help you?”

“Get me the Federal Aviation Administration.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I do not have access to Washington, D.C., numbers—”

“Local FAA. Local flight service station. The local anybody affiliated with the FAA.”

“I have the Federal Aviation Administration local office in Reno.”

“Fine.”

“Here’s the number, sir.” She got off the line as the automated number was read to him by a computer.

He tried to steer while flying along the Nevada highway and dialing the phone. Finally it rang. He watched his lights bounce up and down on the highway as his tires went over minor bumps and changes in the road. The phone continued to ring at the Reno FAA office. A machine picked up after about ten rings: “You’ve reached the offices of the Federal Aviation Administration. Our business hours—“ Luke hung up.

He redialed 411. “I need the number for the Air Force. Try Nellis Air Force Base.”

“Yes, sir. Here is the general information number for Nellis Air Force Base.” The computer read the number to him. He dialed it as he angled around the sharpest curve of the entire journey. His tires squealed slightly through the turn, but he felt stable. “Come on, come on,” he said out loud.

“Nellis Air Force Base, Sergeant Matthews. This is a nonsecure line. May I help you?”

“Sergeant! My name is Luke Henry. I’m the owner of a fighter school at Tonopah. We have a serious problem that you need to get somebody on immediately. Four of the students at my school, Pakistanis flying F-16s, have gotten hold of some laser-guided bombs and are taking off now from Tonopah. I have no idea where they’re headed, but they’re going to drop them on somebody. It might be Nellis—”

“Is this a bomb threat, sir?”

“No. I don’t have a bomb. I’m telling you about some people who do have bombs. They’re in airplanes. F-16s. We need to get some fighters airborne immediately. You’ve got to help with this.”

“Where are you calling from, sir?”

“My car.”

“Have you had anything to drink, sir?”

“No, you idiot! I haven’t had anything to drink! There are four F-16s loaded with laser-guided bombs and Sidewinder missiles that are going to be launching out of Tonopah soon, if they haven’t already, and they could be heading your way. I need your help in stopping them. We need to get your alert fighters airborne, if you have any. Does Nellis have alert fighters?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m not at liberty to discuss our alert posture or what steps we might or might not take in response to any threat that does or does not—”

“Shut up! Put an officer on the telephone now!”

“There is no officer here right now, sir. I’m afraid I would have to wake him—”

“Then wake his ass up right now! I’m ordering you to do that!”

“Are you a military officer, sir?”

“No. But I was.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have the authority to order me to do anything, sir. Now, if you’ll send me a letter asking me what it is you request from Nellis, I would be happy to pass it on to our public affairs officer. I’m sure she would respond to your request—”

“You’ve got to be shitting me! Have you heard anything that I’ve said?” Luke screamed.

“Sir, I don’t need to—”

“You listen to me, Sergeant! Get an officer right now, and put him on the telephone.”

“The duty officer is not here, sir. I’m the only one here.”

“This is an emergency!”

“If you don’t start controlling yourself, sir, I’m going to hang up.”

“If you don’t start controlling your brain, I’m going to have to get somebody who’ll do it for you. Get an officer now!”

“I’ll see what I can do.” The line went dead.

“Hello? Hello? Shit!” Luke yelled. He dropped his cell phone onto the seat as he put both his hands on the wheel of his flying Corvette. The sky was pitch-black. He was on the ragged edge of catastrophe. He was driving much faster than was safe even in his own inflated opinion of his driving skills. His entire professional life was going up in smoke right in front of him, and he didn’t know who to call or what to do about it. He needed to get the government officially involved, and he thought that his chances of making that happen by driving the speed of sound on the highway talking on his cell phone to people he’d never met was zero. There were too many nuts out there crying about the sky falling all the time. Still, he had to try. He picked up the cell phone and dialed long-distance information for Washington, D.C.

“What number, please?”