Hide and Seek (4 page)

“For the moment. If it means losing his power and influence, if it means giving up his position, I think he’ll change his mind.”

“But it hasn’t come to that, Jildiz.”

The lawyer put her glass down. “It’s closer than you seem willing to believe.” She sighed. “There is a bond between us, Amelia. Perhaps that is why your government has placed you in the lead for these negotiations. Bond or no bond, I must advise my father based on what is best for our country and for him. I am sorry, but you should prepare your people for a change.”

Jildiz rose. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite. I should go.” She pulled a few bills from her purse and laid them on the table. Amelia let the woman walk from the room before she rose and exited the restaurant. She was facing an impossible situation but the optimist in her led her to believe the status quo would remain.

Amelia left the eatery emptier than when she arrived.

J. J. STOOD AT
the edge of the tarmac as the C-17 Globemaster taxied to the far end of the small Manas International Airport. The rear ramp lowered and soldiers, many weighed down by weariness, descended, their kit bags slung over shoulders. Some were completing their third or fourth tours of duty. Most had home to look forward to. Two didn’t.

Placing his hands behind his back, J. J. rocked on his heels and waited. Most soldiers were eager to leave the transport behind. J. J. had flown on many types of aircraft, few were comfortable. Twice he flew on business jets and even once on
TP-01
, the Mexican equivalent of
Air Force One
. That spoiled him.

Soldiers streamed by and J. J. scanned every face, interested in their expressions. Some smiled. Others walked with heads down. In his world there were only two types of soldiers: wounded and those about to be wounded. Many of those injuries were invisible, shielded behind scalp and skull. Some saw things they would never forget; some did things they would never share.

J. J. saluted a pair of officers as they walked by. The men he looked for should be easy to find. One was five foot eleven, a Japanese-American; the other was a Samoan and a mountain of a man. He waited another few moments before two men appeared at the top of the ramp and started their descent to the tarmac. Watching them, J. J. could only think “Mutt and Jeff.”

The two exchanged a laugh and the big man slapped the smaller on the back, forcing him to take an extra step. They moved like two men who knew and respected each other. They spied him and changed their course. J. J. held his ground, letting the men come to him. It went against his nature. He was outgoing, out-spoken, a kidder, and quick to make friends. But that was before he became “Boss.” Now he felt the weighty mantle of leadership. He might have to order the two men walking his way to take action certain to leave them dead. He had no problem hearing and obeying those orders, but giving them was something very different. He was also insecure that one of the men carried the same rank and more seniority. The Army “frocked” him, giving him a higher rank and authority, but somehow it didn’t seem the same.

“You must be our welcoming party,” the Samoan said.

J. J. grinned. “I’m afraid it’s just a party of one for now.” He held out his hand. “J. J. Bartley, team leader.”

The Samoan cocked his head an inch as if he hadn’t heard correctly, then took the offered hand. “Aliki Urale. A pleasure.”

J. J. turned to the Japanese-American. “Mike Nagano. Thanks for inviting us to the lodge.”

For a moment J. J. was stunned not to hear an Asian accent, then reminded himself again: the man was a third-generation American, born and reared in San Francisco. “You’ll have to thank Colonel Mac for that. He did the selecting, but judging by your jackets, he made good choices. How was the flight?”

“Dreamy, but the stewardess was really ugly,” Aliki said.

Nagano shook his head. “Dude, that was no stewardess, that was the flight mechanic.” He spoke loudly and only after Aliki turned his way.

“That explains the five o’clock shadow.”

“Okay, gentlemen, now you’re just grossing me out. Let’s get back into military country.” He motioned to a Humvee waiting a short distance away.

The driver pulled from the tarmac and slowly moved along the road by the staging area where the Air Force parked a few billion dollars of aircraft. Kyrgyzstan and Russian commercial aircraft were kept in a separate area.

A few minutes later they were at Manas Air Base. Officially, the site bore the name of international airport but that was for PR reasons. Everyone on base used the older title. The old-timers sometimes called it Ganci Air Base, a name meant to honor New York Fire Chief Peter J. Ganci who died on September 11, 2001. Unfortunately, the U.S. Air Force had an “instruction” on the books forbiding the naming of any out-of-country air base after an American citizen.

“We’ll be meeting in the admin building.” J. J. gave them the room number. “You guys need to hit the latrine or grab a bite?”

Nagano answered. “I could use a few minutes.”

“Very good. Let’s meet in thirty.”

“Will do,” Nagano said. Aliki didn’t respond.

The conference room was small, able to seat only ten people, fifteen if they really liked each other. A conference table that looked like it saw action in WWII dominated the middle of the room. Padded folding chairs circled the piece of furniture. J. J. found the team waiting for him when he stepped through the door. They were laughing when he entered.

“Hey, Boss,” Pete Rasor said. “I see you got our newbies.”

“They’re not newbies, Pete. They have as much field time as we do. . . . Hey, what do you mean you
see
I got the newbies.”

Pete looked at the table. “Um, nothing, Boss. Just, um, a figure of speech. Yeah, that’s it, a figure of speech.”

“You know you blush when you lie, don’t you.” J. J. stepped to the head of the table. “Come clean.” Everyone looked at Crispin Collins, the junior member of the team and the surveillance man. “Don’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Boss, but some jet jockey bet me I couldn’t follow a man without being noticed.” A small control with a tiny video screen rested on the table.

“He recorded it too,” Pete said.

“Hey, shut up. I’m in deep here.”

Pete shrugged. “I told you not to do it.”

Crispin’s face drained. “No you didn’t. You jumped on the bet.”

Pete shrugged. “I think you misunderstood me.”

“You said you’d back me up if I got caught.”

“There’s your problem. You tend to believe me when I say such things.”

“Spill it,” J. J. said. “That’s an order.”

“And I had such a promising career.” Crispin reached for the controller and switched it on. “Get the window, Pete.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the one who gave me up, the least you can do is open the window.”

Pete grumbled but did as asked as Crispin worked the controls. A few moments later a tiny helicopter zipped into the room and settled on the table. It was black, flat, and had four tiny fan-like propellers in the corners. Crispin used a nano-helicopter while on mission in eastern Siberia a few months before. That one he had dubbed
Voyager
. Being more technically inclined than creative, the surveillance man christened this device
Voyager II,
and it was one of his show-and-tell items during his demonstration.

J. J. rubbed his eyes. “Did you record?”

“Will I be in more trouble if I say yes?”

“Answer the question, Crispin, or you’ll be riding on the wing when we fly home.”

“Okay, Boss. Anything you say.” He paused long enough to gulp. “Yes.”

“Let’s see it.”

Crispin pointed to a flat-screen television mounted to the wall near the head of the table. “Give me a second and I can set it up so it shows on the big monitor. I mean, if that would be a good thing.”

“Can you get ESPN?” Jose asked.

“That would take more work but I could try—”

“Back to the subject, Crispin.” J. J. tried to sound firm but struggled to keep a grin from erupting on his face.

Several minutes passed as Crispin tried to get his controller to share its stored video. The team made the work more difficult with constant harassment. J. J. almost felt guilty for the man. Almost.

Just as he finished, Nagano and Aliki walked in. All eyes went to them then settled on Aliki. They were used to having a big man on the team. Former assistant team leader Rich “Shaq” Harbison made football linemen look puny. Aliki was no smaller and maybe a dozen pounds heavier.

“Have a seat, gentlemen. You’re just in time for a little entertainment.”

“Ooh, I love a good movie,” Aliki said and took a chair at the end of the table. “What, no popcorn?”

Nagano settled in near the open window. J. J. saw him eye the four-inch square device on the table. “Remote control toy?”

“You’ll see,” J. J. said. He directed his attention to Crispin. “I’m growing old here.”

“Yes, Boss. I mean, no Boss, you’re not getting older. What I mean is . . .”

Pete roared with laughter. The two became friends on the last mission. Both were computer junkies. J. J. tried to follow one of their conversations once but could only hear, “Geek, geek, geek,” and “Nerd, nerd, nerd.”

“Let me make introductions while our former team member tries to redeem himself.” J. J. made sure there was enough humor in his tone so Crispin wouldn’t faint.

“Former?” said Crispin. “I am so misunderstood.”

“Okay guys, listen up. Joining our team are Sergeant First Class Mike Nagano and Master Sergeant Aliki Urale. Both have extensive field experience and served on a number of spec ops missions in Afghanistan and Iraq and a few other places we won’t talk about here. Mike goes by ‘Weps’ in the field; Aliki’s nick is ‘Joker.’”

Crispin perked up. “Jack Nicholson or Heath Ledger.” He looked at Aliki.

“What?”

“I mean Nicholson was a great Joker but Heath Ledger was brilliant and he was so ugly in that movie . . . not that you’re ugly. I’m not saying that. I just mean . . .”

“Hey Crispin,” J. J. said, “at this point a smart man would shut up.”

Mike answered for Aliki. “He didn’t get the nick from the movie. He’s called Joker because he likes bad jokes.”

“Really?” Pete said. “Like what?”

“Don’t ask,” Mike began.

Aliki rose to the occasion: “A man walks into a bar. Thunk. Ouch.” He leaned back in the chair.

The team stared at him for a few minutes. Jose was the first to speak. “Yep, that’s a bad joke alright. Can we send him back, Boss?”

“We put up with Shaq’s musicals, we can tolerate a few punny jokes.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Mike said. “I’ve heard them all and haven’t laughed yet.”

“I think I’ll just keep going,” J. J. said. “You’ve met Crispin Collins. He’s our surveillance guy. We call him ‘Hawkeye,’ when we’re being nice.”

“We call him other things too,” Pete said.

“And the comment belongs to Pete “Junior” Rasor, communications. Last, and sometimes least, is Jose ‘Doc’ Medina. When he’s not patching us up in the field, he’s home with his wife trying to build his own basketball team.”

“How many kids?” Mike asked.

“Four.” Jose seemed proud.

“Colonel Mac selected Aliki and Mike to bring our team back up to full strength. Mike will be filling my old position as weapons and explosives; Aliki will be second in command. Clear?”

“Clear.” The response came in unison.

“Got it,” Crispin said. “Ready when you are, Boss.”

“This should be good.” J. J. moved to the back of the room. “Roll it.”

“It’s all digital. Nothing really rolls—”

“Crispin, don’t make me shoot you.”

“Okay, Boss.”

The flat screen lit up and a moment later a blurry image of something gray appeared.

“That’s the roof of this building.” Crispin sounded oddly pleased.

A few seconds later the indistinct image seemed to fall away and clarify. Sure enough, it was a roof. The little device hovered a dozen feet above the structure and moved over the air base. Buildings passed beneath, cars, people walking.

“Tell me this isn’t going by the enlisted women’s barracks.” J. J. put as much threat in his tone as the situation would allow.

“No, Boss. I’d never do that, even if Pete offered me money to do so.”

“Funny,” Pete said.

“Just what am I seeing?” Mike asked.

J. J. kept his eyes on the image. “Hawkeye is an expert in nano drones. We used a couple on our last mission. To hear him tell it, his skill saved the mission.”

“No one can deny it,” Crispin said.

J. J. ignored Crispin and continued. “Micro aircraft like the one on the table is being used in the field more and more. Part of our team’s directive is to test new DARPA and private contractor toys in the field. I kinda hate to admit it, but it is pretty cool.”

Something on the image looked familiar. From an estimated forty-foot altitude, J. J. watched himself and the driver from earlier enter a Humvee and drive away.
Voyager II
followed overhead.

“Tell the truth, Boss. You didn’t even know I was there, did you?”

“I can’t say I did. Didn’t see or hear a thing.”

Crispin smiled. “And this is broad daylight. You see, the body of the craft doesn’t reflect light. No glint to catch someone’s attention. The camera rocks. I can even zoom in or switch to wide angle. Pretty sweet.”

“Except you were spying on me.”

“Um . . . well yeah, technically, but in my defense I was making a demonstration video. I have one more seminar to lead for the incoming spec ops team. When Jose told us you were headed to pick up the new guys and that we were to meet in the conference room, well, it was too much to resist. It will be a great teaching tool.”

The device followed the vehicle as it moved along access roads and past fabric-covered Quonset-hut-style structures and long tent-buildings, each colored desert-dirt brown. They passed through a parking area. People moved from place to place, some in uniform, some in civilian clothing.

Voyager II
kept pace with the car and began to climb slowly. “The key is not to make quick movements. People notice sudden changes but not slow ones.” Crispin slipped into lecture mode. “The device is less that six inches square. At an altitude of fifty or sixty feet, it becomes almost invisible. If you’re looking for it, you can see it, but you’d have to know it was there, and with the new, quieter motor it is almost impossible to hear.” He pointed at the screen when the Humvee reached the tarmac and J. J. exited. “I took it up to about one hundred feet here. So there would be no way for you to hear it.”