Roger walked around to where Sabine studied the picture. Even after computer reconstruction, the man’s identity defied doubt. The technique was simple enough: most “friendly” air terminals had an array of clandestine video cameras positioned at the international departure points — London, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Bangkok, Rome — the camera images were digitized, then transmitted via satellite to a huge stable of NSA supercomputers. The computers laboriously compared the digitized images with the images of known terrorists and “politically sensitive” individuals, enabling the Agency to track them.
Roger took the picture back. “So Kawnlo was in Bangkok.”
“We assume he took a flight to North Korea.”
“Any idea who the other guy is?’
She shook her head. “Langley is still working on a positive ID. The Kawnlo ID just came in.”
Roger thought for a moment, then headed for the door. “Keep me informed. Let’s hope whoever that guy is, he’s not Kawnlo’s student.”
“You got it.”
Chapter 5
A moat dragon guarded the anteroom outside of Major General Simone’s office.
Juanita Sanchez, General Simone’s secretary, efficiently ensured that the general was never disturbed.
Major Stephanie Hendhold emerged from Simone’s office.
“Colonel Bolte, General Simone is ready to see you.”
“Thanks, Steph.”
Colonel William F. Bolte pushed past Major Hendhold as he strode into the inner sanctum. He’d never really been chewed out by Simone before. Entering the general’s office normally didn’t bother him — he was here at least twice a week for stand-up, or status briefings. But then again, he’d never had one of his pilots pull an inverted roll on a final approach.
Thank God the general had had the weekend to mull it over. He knew that if Simone had really been upset, he’d have dragged him here Friday night after receiving the note. Still, Bolte steeled himself for the worst. He was here a good half hour before the weekly Monday morning briefings.
Bolte rapped lightly on the door. “General?”
“Come on in, Lightning.”
Bolte kept his face expressionless. When Simone used call signs to address people, it usually meant he was in a good mood. Bolte didn’t salute when he approached. He demanded it of his own people when they entered his office, but Simone had growled at him more than once for being so formal.
“What’s up, General?”
“Sit down, Lightning.” The general waved him to a chair. Simone picked up a sheet of paper. The office was decorated with plaques, pictures of fighter aircraft, and a picture of the Air Force Academy chapel; the chapel picture was covered with signatures. Wood paneling and thick, royal-blue carpet gave the room a cozy feel.
Simone rocked back in his chair. “How’s Michele?”
“Fine, sir. She took Nanette down to Thousand Islands with the Officers’ Wives’ Club over the weekend. Bought more stuff than she had money for.”
“How much longer will Nanette be here?”
“Stanford starts up next month — we’ll get her off in three weeks.”
This was one of the last summers that Bolte would have the family back together — when Nanette graduated next summer, there was no telling where she would wind up.
Simone rocked forward. “Great. Glad to hear everything is going well. So you had to batch it over the weekend?”
“I survived, sir. Only one incident downtown, and that wasn’t even a late one.”
Simone pushed a sheet of paper across the desk to Bolte. “How’s your new flight working out?”
Bolte glanced down at the paper — a copy of the memo he had sent Simone on Friday.
“As I noted, the last F-15Es were delivered; we’re back up to full strength,” Bolte said. Ever since the fighters had been pulled out of Clark because of the treaty modifications, a “temporary” crew would fly in-country for only a six-month stay.
“That’s not what I asked. Are they in McConnell’s squadron?”
“Yes, sir. Lieutenant Colonel McConnell has his hands full; he’s the last squadron to get up to full strength, so it will take a while to shake the bugs out. But Maddog Flight is coming along fine. In fact,” he glanced at his watch, “they should be over Crow Valley just about now for their familiarization flight.”
Simone drummed his fingers on the desk. “This Steele character. Is he as good as his record shows?”
“We’ll find out real soon, sir. They start Jungle Survival School on Wednesday. As soon as they’re finished, we’ll put them through the wringer — run them up against the Aggressors.” He made a mental note to give a heads-up to the Aggressor Squadron. Assigned to the 3rd Fighter Wing to keep the Wing on their toes, the pilots comprising the 26th Aggressor Squadron flew F-16s and acted as the “enemy” against the F-15E Strike Eagles.
“Keep a rein on these boys, Lightning. I don’t want them killing themselves. But don’t get too tight — I don’t want to stifle them, either.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else, General?”
“That’s it. You’ve got fifteen minutes before the stand-up briefing.”
Maddog Flight leveled off at ten thousand feet as they flew out west, over the ocean. Bruce followed two thousand feet behind Catman and Robin, who were flying in the third ship. Flying lead, Skipper brought the formation around in a loose bank, heading back east. Revlon and Digger — Captain Heather Rheinquist and First Lieutenant Lucius Brown — had the number-two spot.
Socially, Skipper, Panther, Revlon, and Digger were as close as Catman, Robin, Bruce, and Charlie. Although the eight made up a tight flight, they tended to run together in the two different groups. Which was a good thing, because although the four married officers could join the bachelors and have a good time, unlike the single guys they always had to return to reality. Their families were due to arrive at Clark after Jungle Survival School, and then the social chasm would only deepen.
Bruce kept a loose hand on the stick. Skipper came over the radio.
“Tuck it in to echelon right. We’ll fly over Crow Valley for a look-see and a spacer pass. Two miles to feet dry.”
Bruce brought the throttles up minutely, accelerating the fighter. At first, it didn’t seem that he was getting any closer to Maddog Two and Three because they were accelerating as well. When Catman’s craft was closer, Bruce eased off on his throttles. They were well over land now. Bruce thought that he could spot Clark in the distance.
Skipper broke in. “Maddog, button five.”
Bruce punched to the preassigned frequency for the bombing range.
“Crow Valley, Maddog. Ten miles for a spacer pass, then dry work on target two.”
Charlie clicked the mike. “Down and to the right, Assassin. That’s the path we’ll be coming in on during our low-level sorties. What used to be rice paddies all slope down into the valley. We’re coming up on the gunnery range now.”
Bruce clicked his mike twice.
“Maddog, bring it down to five hundred.”
They flew across the valley, taking in placements and locations of various targets. Old beat-up tanks, shot-up trucks, and burned cars littered the area. Over a thousand tons of bullets, bombs, and external tanks had been dropped in the valley. In contrast to the lush greenery of the rest of the Island, the place looked like a hellhole.
Bruce knew it was his imagination kicking in, filling in devastation where there was relatively little growth, and yet the place did seem unusually sparse. Tiny patches of bare earth dotted the landscape. He was low enough to see trees fallen over on the ground, chewed up and disheveled by millions of rounds of bullets.