The men in the room welcomed the American who had become the respected father figure for all of the Ilyushin crews operating for Swiss-Arab Air Cargo out of Ras Al-Khaimah. “Welcome to Israel, Captain Jim,” said Oleg Kolikov as he stood and shook the American’s hand. “I hear you had some wind shear.”
Jim Miller shook his head as he shook hands with the other men in the room. “It was bad. Downdraft hit us just after we passed over the threshold. We probably had fifty, sixty feet to touchdown.”
“Ouch,” replied Kolikov. “Please tell me the plane is okay.”
“The plane is fine except that when I left last night to fly here we still had no connection on the primary satellite control link. I heard that they sent a couple engineers out to fix it. I’m sure it’s working by now.” Miller sat down and the men talked about the coming night, waiting for Amit Margolis to show up.
After half an hour, the room’s door opened and General David Schechter walked in followed by Amit Margolis. They were both clearly concerned — Miller thought they were agitated and that made him nervous. Everyone in the room knew Margolis well, but it was the first time any of them had met the general. The Mossad agent introduced his co-commander to the group and then summarily asked everyone other than Kolikov and Miller to leave.
With just the two captains, the general and Margolis in the room, Amit took the lead. “We have a serious problem,” he started. Miller felt his blood pressure drop involuntarily. He knew it involved the Ilyushin he had piloted the night before from Israel to the United Arab Emirates. “The primary flight control computer on Jim’s plane is out of order.”
“It was just the satellite communications module when we were running diagnostics last night,” Miller protested.
“Yes, Jim, that is what the diagnostics said and that was confirmed by what we saw here. The two IAI technicians we flew to Ras Al-Khaimah early this morning took a replacement and switched it out. The communications now work but the real issue was being masked. The primary remote flight control computer is fried. The plane has to be flown back to Israel to fix and IAI says they need at least a day here to do the work. That plane cannot fly tonight as planned.”
“What are we going to do?” asked Kolikov, beating Miller to the question.
“We are working on re-tasking strike packages now to replace Captain Miller’s plane,” responded Schechter. “This is a contingency we have planned on for some time.”
Jim Miller interjected. “But a lot of targets will have to be scrubbed from the list and a lot of men may die or become prisoners in Iran tonight because of this. Can’t we postpone for 24 or 48 hours?”
“We are past that point,” stated Schechter. “Too many assets are in place or in motion already. We made the decision long ago that we would go so long as we have one of your two planes still in the show. At this point, the risk from postponing is much greater than the risk of going forward.”
The room became quiet, each man reflecting on the change of plans at this eleventh hour of Block G. Jim Miller asked a question. “The plane still flies, right?”
“The plane is fine and all the systems are working other than the one system we need to fly it remotely from here,” responded Margolis.
“From here,” Miller repeated like a distant echo. Kolikov seemed to pick up on where the American pilot was going before either of the two co-commanders. “Amit, may I talk to you alone?” Miller asked.
Margolis looked at Schechter. The general didn’t say a word or even look back at Margolis, he simply stood and walked out, holding the door for the trailing Kolikov. The door closed and now only the American and the Israeli spy remained. Jim Miller took a breath and looked Margolis in the eye. “Get me back to Ras Al-Khaimah this afternoon. I am going to fly that plane into Iran.”
Margolis slowly shook his head. “We spent a lot of time and resources to enable us to fly those two planes from right here. We did that for a reason. I…”
Miller raised up his hand, palm out in the signal to stop. “I understand fully why the money was spent to convert those planes into giant UAVs. But you — the man who conceived all of this — are forgetting why it is you had to come up with such a plan. If that plane doesn’t fly tonight, then how many F-15 and F-16 crews are going to pay the price? Ten? Twenty? More?” The American stared Margolis in the eye, inviting a response. None came. “Amit, I am 62 years old. I have no kids and no family. I am a gay man who lost the love of my life many years ago. How old are you?”
Margolis cleared his throat. His response was muted. “Thirty-eight.”
“And if that plane doesn’t fly, the men who will either die tonight or worse, spend God knows how long being tortured by the Iranians, are all younger than you. I could be their grandfather. They are in their prime. They have families and children — or they will in the future. I do not and I will not.
“Look, give me a chute and a survival kit. The last thing the Iranians will be looking for is a gray-haired old man. They will think I got separated from some tourist group.” The attempt at humor fell flat under the circumstances.
Margolis lowered his head to think. After a few moments he stood up. “If you will excuse me, I have to discuss this with General Schechter.”
“Of course.” Jim Miller knew at that moment that he had won the argument. As Margolis walked out, the American slumped in his chair, the meaning of what he had just volunteered to do hitting him like a wave. Dear God, what have I just done?
Several minutes later, both co-commanders of Block G walked back into the room. Schechter walked straight to Jim Miller, who stood. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”
“Yes.”
“You understand that once you leave here to return to the UAE, we will revert to the original strike packages and assignments? The IAF crews will receive their final briefings and all mission computers will be set under the assumption that you are going. By eighteen hundred hours, those strike assignments will be fixed for the mission and we cannot change them back. This is a final decision you are making here. Once you leave for the trip back, you have to go forward with your flight.”
“General, I understand completely both what you are saying to me and what is at stake.”
Schechter extended his hand and Miller grasped it. Schechter held on, looking into the American’s eyes and judging the man in front of him. “Okay, we need to get you back to the UAE.”
A little before four in the afternoon Swiss time, a Boeing 737-400F cargo plane, one of two that had been purchased by Swiss-Arab Air Cargo early in 2012, took off from Zurich Airport bound for Karachi, Pakistan. The flight was scheduled to cover over 3,500 miles and the plane had a scheduled stop at a small international airport located just outside the ancient Azerbaijani city of Ganja in order to refuel. The Ganja Airport was converted — salvaged really — from a Soviet era tactical airbase that had been wasting away in the often harsh weather. The crew planned for almost four hours of flying time from Zurich to Ganja.