“Roger, 334 off at the five board.”
The next Pakistani F-16 executed an equally beautiful approach and landing and turned off on the same taxiway. A small truck with flags and a large white sign on the back that said follow me pulled in front of the lead Pakistani F-16 and began driving down the taxiway, leading him to the NFWS hangar. The four F-16s taxied in line, trying to maintain an interval to look sharp all the way to their designated parking spots. NFWS linemen waited in front of their parking spaces to the left of the hangar. They were the last student spaces available. The planes reached the tarmac as everyone waited. They turned in sequence and put their nosewheels directly on the yellow spots designated for them. The pilots shut down their airplanes and hustled down the ladders that had been provided. Luke walked out of the group toward the Pakistanis.
The Pakistani Major recognized the Russian Colonel’s insignia on Luke’s shoulder and saluted him. Luke was somewhat embarrassed but returned the salute. “Good morning. You must be Major Khan.”
“Major Riaz Khan, Pakistani Air Force.” The two men shook hands, and the other Pakistanis joined them, each saluting Luke in turn. They were extremely formal.
Thud, Stamp, and Hayes joined them in a small circle, and salutes were exchanged all around.
“Welcome to Tonopah, and to the United States.”
“Thank you,” Khan said as he removed his Nomex gloves and his helmet.
Luke noticed that Khan was much shorter than he was, with an amazingly thick neck, dark coarse hair with a matching mustache, and dark, mean eyes. Luke formed an instant dislike for him, about which he immediately felt guilty.
Khan asked, “Where shall we go?”
“This way. In the hangar,” Luke said.
Khan spoke as they walked, “My maintenance men were delayed. I believe they will arrive tomorrow.”
“Yes. We received word. Tomorrow morning.”
“Excellent. My pilots are looking forward to this new TOPGUN school,” Khan said.
“We’ve been looking forward to having you as our first foreign students, you and two Canadian F/A-18s.”
“All the rest are Americans?” Khan asked.
“Yes. Marines, Navy, a couple of Air Force planes.”
They walked into the hangar. Stamp spoke up, asserting himself in his new job as operations officer. “We start first thing in the morning. Will you be rested enough?”
“We are rested now,” Khan snapped.
The instructors exchanged glances. “I’ll show you the paraloft and the locker room,” Thud volunteered, shifting a wad of gum to the back of his cheek as they walked to the far end of the hangar. Khan and the others followed him to both. They reconvened in the ready room.
“So this is where your officers gather,” Khan commented, surveying the room.
“We have meetings in here, some instruction, some briefs, and this is also where the duty officer has the radio if you need to talk to us while you’re in the air.”
“Very well organized. I commend you,” Khan said.
“It’s pretty much like any other Navy squadron,” Stamp replied. “You speak English very well. You study abroad?”
“No. Only in Pakistan,” Khan answered. “It is the language of much business and is spoken by government officials often. Most also speak Urdu, of course.” Khan nodded to Hayes, then turned to Luke. “We have much to discuss. I’m disappointed in the syllabus, and I would like to talk about it.”
“Um, sure,” Luke replied, trying to ignore Khan’s tone. “Anytime. We need to start tomorrow at 0730. You think you can be ready to go by then?”
“As I said, we’re ready now. We will be here at 0730 tomorrow to start our class. I will be here at 0600 to discuss the syllabus with you.”
“No need to be here that early.”
“You said anytime.” Khan’s eyes were dark and menacing. “So 0600. We won’t be disturbed.”
Luke stared back at Khan. “Sure. See you then.”
Khan nodded and headed out of the room. Luke watched him go, and without taking his eyes off Khan said to the other instructors in the squadron, “I want you all here way before 0600.”
They exchanged knowing looks of dread.
“What an asshole,” Crumb muttered. “He’s going to be trouble. You heard it here first. He’s trouble.”
The salesman was wearing a tie. He was the only salesman who did, and he was sure it gave him an advantage. Customers liked dealing with someone who appeared organized and together. Someone who took care of himself. That was one of the reasons he’d received salesman of the month once last year.
He eagerly approached the dark, bearded man looking at commercial trucks. “Good morning!” he said. “Can I help you?”
The bearded man didn’t even look at him. “How much will this truck hold?”
“Well, now that there is the 650 commercial truck. It holds a hell of a lot. But what were you planning on carrying?” he asked, wondering whether this foreigner was a serious buyer. It was common to get walk-up traffic for the light trucks, the F-150s or F-250s, but not for commercial trucks. Foreigners thought differently, though, and he was accustomed to dealing with foreigners. The entire Bay Area was like the UN, and the South Bay was crowded with companies where there wasn’t one native English-speaking person. “Where are you from?” he asked, curious.
“Here. I live in Sunnyvale. I am a programmer,” he replied.
“No, I meant originally. Sounds like you’re kind of new here. Where’d you come here from?”
“Khartoum,” the foreigner lied, knowing there was no chance the salesman knew where that was.
“Wow,” the salesman said, having no idea where that was. “Sounds far.”
The foreigner was inspecting the back of the truck. “How much is the truck?”
The salesman looked at him, wondering if he was actually considering a purchase. “Well, this here is the XLT, one-hundred-ninety-four-inch wheel base. We can talk about it, but the sticker is forty-three thousand dollars and change.”
“How much can it carry?”
“About nineteen thousand pounds. What you planning on hauling?”
“I will give you forty thousand dollars, cash.”
The salesman had seen a cash purchase before. In fact, several times. But never for a commercial truck. “Um, let me check with my manager on the price. Cash, you say?”
“Yes.”
“We have to fill out a form for a cash transaction over ten thousand dollars, you know.”
The man was unmoved. He said nothing.
“Okay. I’ll be right back. Um, can I see your driver’s license?”
The man showed him a current California driver’s license.
“You do software, did you say?”
“Yes.”
“Great. I’ll be right back.”
11
Luke was tired from so many early mornings in a row, but because it was the first day he bounded up the ladder to the second deck of the hangar to meet with the others. It was 0530. Hayes and Stamp were in the back of the ready room trying to coax cups of coffee out of the coffeepot while it dripped. Thud sat in one of the ready-room chairs rubbing his eyes. “Morning,” Luke said as he walked in. “How is everybody on this fine morning of the first-ever class at the Nevada Fighter Weapons School?”
“Fine,” Stamp said dourly.
“So why isn’t everyone happy?” Luke asked, truly perplexed by their expressions.
“Two reasons,” Thud replied. “We don’t want to be here at five-thirty in the morning, and this Pakistani guy is already a pain in the ass.”
“Cultural differences,” Luke said, not believing it for a second.
Thud and Hayes exchanged a glance. “Maybe,” Hayes said.