“Anything else?”
“One thing.” The man fought with himself as he debated whether to tell Renee what he had learned. “It doesn’t make sense to me, so I hesitate to repeat it.”
“What?”
“He was seen in Karachi recently.”
She was surprised. “That’s a long way.”
“It is a long way, and his Air Force base is up here, near Islamabad, flying F-16s, I’m told. He was not in Karachi on behalf of the Air Force.”
“What was he doing there?”
“He was seen with other men. Near the docks.”
“The docks?”
“Yes. Near some ships loading.”
“Why?”
“No one knows. He seemed out of place.”
“Do you know when?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“Exactly?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you find out?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“He must have been there for a reason. If we know the date, we might somehow learn what he was doing.”
“That’s all I know. If you want something else, you’ll have to get it from somebody else.”
“You don’t think he’s related to the head of Pakistani intelligence?”
“No.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I just am.”
“Where did you get the information that he was in Karachi?” She waited, but there was no response. She waited, then glanced up and saw that he was gone.
Renee had noticed his growing restlessness and nervousness. She wasn’t sure of the cause, probably that he was feeling awkward standing with a woman at a table selling rugs. She did not look for him and did not look up from the table. After a minute or so she grabbed her bag and shuffled out of the mandi in the direction of a poor residential district.
15
Luke and Thud leaned on the hangar door as they watched Vlad and Dr. Thurmond climb down from the two-seat MiG-29. They looked for a bulging pocket in his G suit indicating a newly filled barf bag, or that green, peaked look people had on their faces that they tried to smile through to convince others that flying in a jet is really fun. They didn’t see anything on Dr. Thurmond’s face. They pushed away from the door and walked to meet them.
“How did it go?” Thud asked his father.
“Incredible,” Dr. Thurmond replied, a huge grin illuminating his face. “I’d forgotten how great that is.”
“Did you let him fly it?” Luke asked Vlad.
“Yes, of course. As soon as we got airborne, I gave him the controls. He did wonderful. Natural pilot.”
“How did you think it handled?” Thud asked.
“Great turning ability, incredible acceleration. When I’d get the nose pointed up for a long time at slow speed, I’d get real anxious. If you do that with a 105, you’ll find yourself in a hole in a hurry. With this airplane the speed just doesn’t bleed off. You can point the nose anywhere you want. Amazing airplane.”
They entered the hangar, and Vlad started over toward one of the MiGs that had an engine out of the bay. “I must check on the engine replacement,” he said, then stepped under the wing.
Dr. Thurmond pointed toward the paraloft. They walked in while he removed the borrowed flight gear.
“I want to keep flying here. I want to get back up to speed and get checked out in this jet.”
“You weren’t a TOPGUN instructor, Dad,” Thud said. “You can’t fly in the syllabus hops.”
“No, but what about postmaintenance check flights? Maybe just fly when I feel like it. I own the company, don’t I?”
Luke replied, “Yes, sir, you sure do. We’ll see what we can arrange.”
Dr. Thurmond finished hanging his flight gear, something he was clearly relishing, then turned to Luke. “How well do you know Vlad?”
Luke was surprised. “I don’t know, why?”
“He had alcohol on his breath.”
“Seriously?” Luke asked, troubled.
“Seriously. What do you really know about his time in Russia?”
“We’ve got copies of his records. I reviewed them…”
“I’d check into him, if I were you.”
Luke nodded. “Brian’s got the records. He was going to check them.”
“I’d follow up.”
“Yes, sir,” Luke replied.
“Good. Can I talk to Quentin alone?”
“Sure,” Luke said, glancing at Thud as he walked out of the room.
Thud was dreading what was coming. He expected another lecture.
Thurmond looked at his son. “Quentin, I think I owe you an apology.”
Thud felt awkward and cornered. “Dad, you don’t—”
“I’ve been hard on you. I was against your going into the Navy. I was against your flying, being a government employee, joining the military—the whole thing. I was putting my Vietnam experience before good judgment, before just allowing you to do what you want to do. Thanks for letting me be part of this.”
Thud smiled. “If it had been up to me, you wouldn’t be. Luke’s the one who thought you might want in.”
“Well, he was right. We need to do this thing together. I’ll stay out of your hair, but I wanted to let you know I’m behind you one hundred percent.”
Thud kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did. “Thanks.”
“Let’s go debrief with your drunk Russian.”
The tired-looking freighter crept through the Strait of Juan de Fuca. It was a misty gray morning with the beautiful Olympic Mountains obscured by haze and rain. Water ran down from the sky over the entire ship in one continuous motion—down the bridge windows, the stack, and the rusting sides of the containers secured to the deck.
The tramp steamer worked its way through the beautiful bay to the busy docks of Tacoma. It was the scruffiest of many unattractive ships at the docks, mostly Korean and Japanese container ships stacked with innumerable containers. The ship slowly maneuvered to a stop with the help of two tugs that pushed it gently against the long pier. The captain yelled to the dockworkers to secure the lines and gave the engineer the okay to shut down the propulsion. The pilot made his way out of the bridge as the crane maneuvered the gangplank to the side of the ship. The captain glanced at the clock. They were to be unloaded in one hour. The two containers, the last items placed on the ship, were to be unloaded directly onto trucks. It was unusual for him to carry cargo so time-sensitive that trucks would be waiting, but there they were. He saw the trucks from the company that was on his cargo manifest. He could deliver the containers only to them.
A second crane approached the ship and slung over the cables to grab the container. The deck crew was waiting and hooked the four thick steel cables to the top corners of the container. The cables strained as the container rose slowly off the deck and began a gentle twist. The neck of the crane bent slightly as it absorbed the full weight of the container and slung it away from the ship.
It was lowered directly onto the bed of the waiting truck and secured by the dockworkers. The crane lifted the cables away from the container, and the truck rolled slowly down the pier. The second container was lowered onto the second truck, which followed the first toward the customs shed. Looking bored and tired, the two drivers waited patiently in line for the customs inspectors. They had been driving all night, and it showed in their faces and their attitudes. They didn’t understand the need for them to pick up these loads. All they knew was that they were to drop them off in a nearby warehouse today. It had to be their trucks, and they had to pick them up immediately upon the arrival of the ship. They couldn’t imagine why they had to drive all the way up to Tacoma from San Francisco or why some local company couldn’t do it. But it wasn’t their place to wonder why, just to pick up the containers.