“Ours.”
“We don’t have any.”
“I could get a loan.”
“I quit my job to move here, Luke. We don’t have enough money to buy an airplane.”
“Sluf just bought an airplane. He moved to Vegas. He’s going to start commuting from there every day.”
She frowned. “What did he buy?”
“Just a little Cessna. Used. Paid about thirty K for it.” He paused. “What if the company bought it?”
Katherine pulled her hair off her face, where the wind had blown it. She glanced at the sun heading for the western mountains. “Are you asking me as the general counsel or as your wife?”
“Both.”
“You can’t use company money to satisfy your personal hobby desires. The company certainly does not need an acrobatic biplane. The company has lots of airplanes. I don’t see a biplane fitting into the mix.”
“Then maybe I’ll buy a MiG-17, like Stamp.”
“I don’t think so. And you’re sure not landing a jet here and starting it at six in the morning with a cup holder for your commuter mug.”
He smiled at the image. “Maybe I can find a fixer-upper.”
“Now, that’s comforting.”
“Just kidding. I’ll save, I’ll scrimp, I’ll borrow, I’ll do it all. But I will have my Pitts Special before the year’s out.”
“We shall see.”
Luke looked at the sky. “I need to get working.”
Katherine stood back and gestured to his beloved runway.
Kevin Hayes pulled the sandwich out of the bag sitting on his desk in his cubicle. He studied the bacon sitting on top of the turkey and wondered how long ago it had been cooked and whether trichinosis can resurrect itself in cooked bacon if it sits in a cold pan for long enough. The dark red, almost black meat was entirely limp and now held tomato seeds in its valleys. He decided to pull the tomatoes and microwave it. He pushed his chair back and stood up when Theresa Crane walked around the side of the cubicle and stood looking at him. He rose and faced her, trying to hide the concern he felt. She’d never been to his cubicle, even though he’d worked for her for two years. “Hello,” he said casually.
“What section are you in?” she asked.
He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Excuse me?”
She folded her arms. “What section are you in?”
Hayes was really confused. “Your section. Africa.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said sarcastically.
“What am I missing?” he asked, putting the sandwich back in the bag, ready to carry it to the lunchroom.
“You want to explain to me what you’re doing making inquiries in Pakistan?”
Here we go, he thought. “Checking on Major Riaz Khan of the Pakistani Air Force. He’s attending a school in Nevada. The Nevada Fighter Weapons School, where he’s flying F-16s against American adversary pilots.”
Crane looked at him suspiciously. “Is Pakistan in Africa?”
He was able to hold his tongue, but not his sarcastic tone. “Uh, no.”
“Is Nevada?”
He sighed. “No.”
Her eyes narrowed.
He answered her unasked question. “Some people have some… concerns.”
“What people?” she asked as she continued to stare. Her mind was spinning quickly. Finally her face showed recognition. “Your brother.”
He nodded slowly, knowing what was coming.
Now she was truly angry. “You’re doing private intelligence consulting on the side? Using United States government assets?”
“Where’d you hear about this?”
“That doesn’t matter. You’ve got no business working for your brother. Not from here.”
“I’m not working for my brother. I’m working for the United States. Our job is to protect the United States. I admit it’s a little unorthodox. I figured if somebody needed to follow up, I’d pass it on.”
“No. You’re not passing on anything. You do the work I’ve given you. If you have extra time on your hands, you let me know.”
Hayes didn’t respond. Nothing like a lecture from a parasite bureaucrat who’d violated the Peter Principle three jobs ago.
She looked at him, waiting for a response, then realized he wasn’t going to respond. “I’m serious.”
“Why do you care?” Hayes replied. “You ever make calls from work that may benefit the country that aren’t directly related to work on Africa?”
“No. And you shouldn’t either.”
“Whatever.”
“Don’t start that tone with me, Kevin. I won’t put up with it.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She waited for him to say one more thing, something that she could really jump on. He didn’t. She walked quickly out of his corner cubicle.
“Bitch,” he said to her back after she left.
Sluf closed the door on his Cessna and leaned down to walk out from under the wing. He stood straight up and looked at the sun just rising in the east. He smiled. He had never been more content in his life. He’d found a new condo in Las Vegas near both the Strip and the airport where he kept his “new” Cessna. He commuted every day from Las Vegas to Tonopah, arriving early and leaving early.
He checked his watch. It was an hour before he had to be at his first brief. He saw the auxiliary hangar out of the corner of his eye and immediately felt guilty. Luke had been serious about his being the “facilities officer.” He was supposed to check out the entire air base and make sure nothing was about to blow up or burn down or fall in on someone. He was to see what needed to be painted and when. He sighed. He hadn’t done one thing since Luke had asked him.
He glanced at the Area 51 Café and felt the pull of his first cup of coffee. He had it there every morning. It could wait. He walked to the auxiliary hangar, a good eight hundred yards from his airplane, away from the activity of the base. The hangar wasn’t being used for anything. He figured it would take him thirteen seconds to make sure it wasn’t going to collapse, and then he could get his coffee.
He walked quickly to the hangar and looked for the entrance. He saw a door on the side and decided to try it. It was solid steel and rusted at the corners. There was no lock, and the door was slightly ajar. He pulled on the edge of the door, and it swung open easily. Great, he thought. Perfect place for a bunch of coyotes and snakes to be lurking. He stepped through the door, and it swung closed behind him. It was nearly dark in the hangar. There were windows in the back of the building, opposite the huge sliding doors, but not enough to cast anything but the dimmest light onto the floor. He shuffled his feet forward carefully, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
He frowned as he heard the faint sound of metal on metal. He squinted to see where the sound had come from—somewhere in the back corner of the cavernous hangar, to his left. He moved slowly toward it. It suddenly stopped.
He stopped. His breath came more quickly. He listened carefully but heard nothing. The far walls were now coming into focus, and the hazy windows to his left, high off the concrete, grew brighter in the morning light.
He walked farther and was thirty feet into the hangar when he suddenly realized he wasn’t alone. He saw someone in the far corner. He squinted. Whoever it was wasn’t moving; he was standing there, staring at Sluf.
Sluf began walking more quickly toward the person. He could now make him out fairly clearly but then was startled to realize that the man wasn’t alone. There were at least eight others with him. Sluf stopped dead in his tracks. He recognized the man just before he spoke.
“Mr. Sluf,” Khan said.