“Is that sound what I think it is?” Robert asked Mark, then glanced to Emily.
Mark smiled ear to ear. “You bet your ass it is. You can’t forget a growl like that one.”
He was referring to the unique sound of the Black Scorpion, which definitely sounded like Devil Dragon because of the loud snarl that came off the jet. While the B-2 was quiet, especially when approaching someone on the ground, the Black Scorpion made a pretty impressive presence.
Pinky smiled. “Black Scorpion? Sounds like a rocket.”
The four of them stepped outside onto the dark tarmac, along with Ravi, and stood looking out into the starlit sky. Nothing could be seen with the naked eye.
Some of the hangar security team were smoking where they shouldn’t have been and were startled by everyone’s rapid presence; they put out their cigarettes quickly. They, too, looked to the approach end of the runway.
“That’s my Ford!” Emily shrieked with delight. “I knew he could do it. Told you, Mark!”
Both jets landed and were now taxiing in, and Ravi had the ground crew standing by. It was loud and chaotic, with the taxi directors shaking their heads in frustration, attempting to direct Black Scorpion to parking with no one physically present at the controls. Ravi ran over and told the young taxi director kid no one was in there, that it was a robot, and to relax.
The B-2 taxied to its parking spot and shut down, as the newer Jet A fuel trucks pulled up in front of her. Emily stood in front of the B-2 as the engines spooled down, and she was all smiles at Ford’s return.
Robert walked under the Black Scorpion first, as he had done on the deck of the USS Abraham Lincoln for Devil Dragon not too long ago. He checked out the landing gear, the underside of the fuselage, nose section, and wings. Pinky followed close behind, using a flashlight.
“This looks like damn Devil Dragon’s twin sister, except for this flat, embedded glass component right here,” Robert said, pointing to what they would soon confirm was a laser weapon.
Mark unlatched the hatch from the nose gear area, lowered the ladder, and climbed up a steep ten feet into the cockpit. Robert followed him, then Pinky.
They were all standing in the cockpit of the newest Chinese stealth jet, freshly cyber hijacked, and they were in awe.
“Well no shit, dumbass. Look at that beauty!” Mark yelled.
The view on the Bund section of the river continued to be a striking view, with the illuminated skyscrapers extending through the clouds. The neon and white lights reflected off the glistening water as the water taxis and flat barges navigated the river. It resembled Baltimore’s LB Skybar and Boston’s Lookout at the Envoy Hotel, wrapped into one.
Bai stood on the lower level of the outdoor bar and thought about how he was going to relay this disturbing news to his boss. He formulated a plan in his mind, and passed by the busy wait staff, who were catering to the Chinese leadership’s every need just one-story above them. Bai took in a deep breath.
At the top of the Sky Bar was a secluded and private area for about fifty guests, all by-name invitations from the owner, and tonight it was full of the country’s leadership. China’s political and air force military leadership were all there, drinking, laughing, and taking in the festive atmosphere. Anyone who was someone in China’s national security apparatus was present.
Bai walked up the stairs, his feet heavy like cement shoes, making a mental note that he felt like he was moving in slow motion. The foggy mist of the river and cooler air hit him up at the top, as the security detail stopped him a second time to verify that he was allowed to have access.
He navigated through the crowd of executives, aides, politicals, and Generals, finally locating General Chen again. Chen was surrounded by peers and senior officers alike, telling stories in his loud, boisterous voice. Bai could tell he was drinking and close to being drunk.
“Sir, do you have a moment?” Bai asked. Bai swallowed and could hear his saliva make a sound in his throat going down, despite the music and crowd talking. He was trembling now, his knees weak and his hands shaking.
“What? What is it Bai?” Chen said to him.
It was a difficult position for a junior officer to be in, but Bai knew his boss would want to know — had to know. This was the speaking truth to power he learned about in his strategic leadership classes back at PLA Air Force Aviation University in Changchun.
“Sir, I just received a phone call from the chief back at the hangar,” Bai started explaining, his voice suddenly cracking and dry, sounding like he was going through puberty a second time.
“What?”
“Sir, I said I just received a call from the chief,” Bai said again, this time louder.
Just then some passing officers came by laughing, slapping Chen on the back. It definitely interrupted Bai’s message.
“Well? What do you want, Bai? What is it? What did the chief say?” Chen asked again.
Bai’s legs just about buckled, and he cleared his throat. “Sir… it’s the Black Scorpion.”
“They are landing? Good.”
Bai paused and swallowed again. “Not exactly, General.”
The cockpit was as open and large as a C-130, large enough to fit even a navigator or extra crew member. It also had two bunks for sleeping, in addition to a small lavatory and galley for meals.
Robert took a close look at where the seats used to be, even noticing the rocket scarring on the far sides of the cockpit where the seats went upward and out of the jet.
Mark took out his secure phone and dialed directly. “Sir, Mark Savona here. In the green,” Mark said to Calvin Burns back in the States.
“Hey Mark, how’s things? Oh… green here, too,” Calvin said, checking his Peanut traffic light. Calvin had been nervously waiting for the call.
“Terrific, sir. Quick update for you. Black Scorpion landed safely here in Bangalore, and she was just towed into the hangar. India is definitely a friend of the US. I’m standing in the cockpit talking to you right now, looking straight up through the ceiling… and no kidding, Ford was right. These Chinese pilots were ejected out, seats and all, and the top of the cockpit is gone.”
Calvin chuckled. “Well, maybe Reggie and the boys from Gulfstream can modify it for us again. Just kidding. Go ahead, Mark, tell me more.”
Reggie Bryant was the CEO of Gulfstream in Savannah, Georgia, who helped modify a G650ER business jet on their last mission together with Devil Dragon.
“Sir, no need. We’ve planned for Ford and Pinky to just fly her out tomorrow evening, as you know, wearing some cold-weather gear. Open cockpit style. No changes from the briefs.”
Open cockpits were not out of the ordinary. One of the most popular open-cockpit aircraft flying today was the Pitts Special, but certainly not at the altitude and speeds Black Dragon was capable of.
“Got it. Got it. World War I — style. OK. And how are all the aircrew?” Calvin asked. “And our guys?”
Mark looked around outside the cockpit and down below in the hangar. “All present in India, sir. Robert is with me in the cockpit here, taking a look at the new pilot seats he is going to install. Outside, holding hands of course, are Ford and Emily. Pinky is looking at the jet, too. B-2 getting fueled up for their flight back.”
Robert threw him a standard stoic look. “Seats. They won’t be new.”
Mark shushed him, covered the phone, and laughed. “Shut your mouth and get back to work.”