“Sure,” Wyatt said.
“I’m going to be Thirsty.”
“Thirsty?”
“I always wanted to be Thirsty. The guy from the comic strip?”
“Okay, you’re Thirsty. And Borman will fly with you as boom operator. We’ll put Hank Cavanaugh in your right seat, acting as co-pilot. He’s not rated, but I think he could get it on the ground.”
“Does it count, in how many pieces?” Gettman asked.
“No scoring here,” Wyatt said. “We’ll make Vrdla your flight engineer.”
Maal nodded his approval.
Wyatt turned back to Demion. “Kriswell will be your engineer, and Win Potter your co-pilot. Littlefield will ride with you.”
“That’s fine with me, Andy, except that Lucas makes lousy coffee.”
“Both Hercs can go any time you’re ready, since you’re not going to establish any speed records,” Wyatt said. “We’re not filing any flight plans, and we’re going to Northfield, Maine.”
“Northfield? Is it on the map?” Jordan asked.
“I hope it’s not very apparent,” Wyatt said. “We’re supposed to get all of the tanks topped off there, then the Hercs go first again.”
“Are we allowed to know the next stop?” Demion asked.
“As long as we don’t tell anyone else until we’ve departed CONUS. It’s a little place in Algeria called Quallene.”
“That’s our staging base?” Gettman asked.
“No. It’s just a filling station.”
Wyatt spent the next twenty minutes going over routes, times, and frequencies. Everyone jotted notes in their little black books. He knew that they wanted to know more about the preparations and the routes in Africa, but he and Bucky had kept the full plan to themselves, relying on their military experience of providing only what information was necessary for each phase of the mission. The strategy avoided needless worrying and kept pilots focused on the immediate objective.
They ran a little late.
By three-forty-five, the C-130s took off. Wyatt and the others moved the Citation and the Jeeps into the hangar. Everyone made a call on the bathroom in the comer of the hangar, then dressed in flight suits and G suits. They took turns with the single start cart that had been left behind and started all of the turbojets. Wyatt carried the single ladder from airplane to airplane, assisting each pilot aboard his craft.
He hooked the ladder on the side of seven-seven, climbed up, checked the ejection seat safety pins, then slid inside. He disconnected the ladder and dropped it to the ground. His parachute harness was already in place, and he pulled it on, then strapped into the seat. Lifting his helmet from the floor, he settled it into place and hooked into the aircraft systems. He dialled his Tac One radio into the common frequency for Minneapolis — the local air control, just in case some air controller called him. The Tac Two radio was set for interplane communications.
“Yucca Flight.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
“Four here.”
“Five’s reading five by five.”
“And Six on the tail end.”
“Let’s go by twos,” Wyatt told them.
He released the brakes and headed for the taxiway. Barr pulled up alongside him, grinning like a horsey maniac.
“How’s your brakes, Bucky?” he asked.
“Who needs ’em? I’m not slowing down for anyone.”
At the end of the taxiway, after checking for airborne aircraft, he rolled onto the runway.
Down by the airport office, a few people were gathering. They had probably noticed the C-130s taking off, and now they would be treated to a flight of six. The Noble Enterprises outfit had become something of an accepted fixture at the old bomber base, and the people down there probably also thought they were coming back.
Wyatt lowered his canopy.
A blue Pinto came racing around the office and headed toward Hangar 4.
“That’ll be Julie,” Barr said. “I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.”
Wyatt couldn’t see her face, but the car slowed, then stopped, when she saw the fighters sitting at the end of the runway.
He thought the whole thing was pretty forlorn.
“Damned if I’m not going to miss Nebraska,” Barr said. “Some damned good people around here.”
“Let’s go,” Wyatt said.
“Waiting on you, partner.”
He slammed the throttles forward.
Kramer and Liz Jordan went to a Wendy’s for dinner. Both of them were depressed, and their dinner conversation revolved around everything but what was on their minds.
Kramer hadn’t told Liz or anyone about Wyatt’s proposal. She thought she’d just wait.
With the way she was feeling about this operation, there might not be a wedding.
The thought depressed her further. She was torn by conflicting emotions.
They had worked late, and it was after eight when they walked out of Wendy’s.
“I am going home,” Jordan said, “and crawl into the spa and think good things about Cliff.”
“I may call Sears and have them send up a spa.”
“Not Sears, Jan. They don’t have spas.”
“So I’ve got to wait until tomorrow?”
“Unless you want to use ours.”
“Thanks, but I’ll just opt for bed.”
They reached their cars in the lot and said good night. Kramer unlocked her Riviera, then remembered a chore.
“Hey, Liz. Did you feed Ace?”
“Oh, damn. I thought you had.”
“That’s okay. I’ll run back and check on him.”
“That cat’s more trouble than he’s worth,” Jordan said.
“Have you seen any mice out there?”
“On second thought…”
Kramer drove back out to the airport, passed the passenger terminal and the end of the runway, and pulled into Clark Carr Loop. She parked in front of the building.
Walking up to the front door, she retrieved her keys out of her purse.
Unlocked the door and pushed it open.
Reached out automatically to tap the security code into the keypad on the wall beside the door.
And saw the green light.
The alarm system wasn’t armed.
She positively remembered setting it before she locked the door that evening.
Cautiously, she looked around the reception room. The light of the setting sun kept it from being dark, and it appeared normal.
The door to her office was closed, as it should be. Only she, Wyatt, Barr, and Liz Jordan had keys to it.
She looked at the base of the door.
Light peeked from under it.
And Ace the Wonder Cat was squatting next to it, rubbing up against the doorjamb.
She could hear a tap-tapping.
Kramer crossed the carpeted reception area and tested the door handle.
Ace nuzzled her ankle.
The door wasn’t locked.
She turned the handle and shoved the door open.
A man’s back was bent over her computer keyboard. There was blue lettering against a white background on the screen.
The man was suddenly alerted.
His head whipped around.
And Ace snarled, took two bounds and one leap, and landed right in the middle of the man’s face.
Interment
Eleven
“Goddamn cat!”
The man’s arms flailed wildly, and Ace dodged them, danced off his shoulder, and landed on the desk top. He spun around, sliding on a stack of loose paper, arched his back, and bared his tiny sharp teeth.
He hissed.
Ace left his mark. Half-a-dozen deep gouges began oozing blood from the man’s temples and cheeks.