“I bet NSA has some tape of transmissions. Air Force may have been flying and picked up signals. State Department may have some diplomatic traffic. Even open source analysts may have some stuff right out of the China Daily. Yet, in five or ten minutes or so of yapping up there, you mentioned none of that,” Mark said, questioning the audience.
“Look Mark, this is just, ahh ….just the initial brief about the facts of last night and ….”
“Negative, bro. This audience is as quiet a church mouse, and would park this event on the shelf if you let them. What’s your plan? What. Is. The. Plan.” Mark said, with emotion.
“Well. The teams in here will go back to their offices…. and do some research, and we can meet again tomorrow morning. We have our liaison folks in here with reach back capability to both Alabama and Ohio,” Klubb told him.
Klubb and his team of folks were treating this event like it was an everyday event. ‘Average day at DIA’ was what Mark was thinking of the Mike Klubb Team, when it was really anything but an everyday event.
“ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. Boring, Klubb. Come on, man. This is a major, significant event. Come on, Dude. Elevate this puppy and get some real horsemeat… some critical and creative thinking about what happened. For Christ’s sake, you don’t even have the IT contractor in here to validate the equipment was working? Did you even call out there to Colorado?”
“Well… no.”
The Deputy smiled and agreed with that comment by nodding, looking around the room a bit more now to actually see who was in there. Calvin Burns focused on the reaction of the crowd, then turned back to Mark.
“It’s just day one, Mark,” Klubb said, attempting to defend himself.
British MI teammate Emily Livingston now entered the rear of the auditorium quietly, and sat next to Robert. Complete with her George Washington Parkway traffic, wearing fashionable business casual from Nordstrom consisting of a Vince Camuto Turtleneck and Leggings, no one down below in the front seats heard her enter. She normally turned men’s heads because she was certainly a beauty to see.
Mark was in the far front of the room now, stealing the show, but not at the podium mic. He didn’t need to be on the stage, nor did he need a microphone. He was the room at that point, dominating the spotlight and influencing others right under Klubb’s nose.
“Hello, Mark,” said the Deputy, “thank you for joining us this morning,” finally nodding his head and acknowledging Mark’s presence.
“Hey, sir,” replied Mark.
Calvin knew that if Mark was already in this much of a frenzy, he was already thinking of something that others had not thought of yet. Calvin was only half present at the auditorium, though. Following this meeting, he had his upcoming U.S. Senate Intelligence Committee brief, plus a budget brief with the Under Secretary of Defense for Intelligence at the Pentagon. His mind was already full.
“Sir, I know you are busy… but something isn’t right with this event,” Mark explained.
“I can see that. Great to see your passion. What are you thinking, Mark?” asked the Deputy.
The Deputy’s assistant, Jason Cohen, stood up, giving the sign that it was time for Calvin to roll to the next event on his schedule. Calvin pulled out his pocket schedule from his suit jacket, and saw the next event was a cake cutting ceremony for the U.S. Marine Corps Birthday Celebration.
“Well, sir,” Mark said, clearing his throat.
The murmur was still active in the large auditorium, most likely the gossip of Mark Savona, who wasn’t even invited to this event.
“Come on, Mark, sit down already,” Mike Klubb told him, looking at the wall clock and giving an audible and harsh huff.
“No, let him finish,” said the Deputy Director, “go on, Mark. Please.”
The room, looking at the Deputy, moved their focus to Mark.
Mark bit his lip, then let his thoughts fly. “What if it wasn’t a missile?” Mark said.
Inside the auditorium, the gossipy staff whispering about Mark, came to a halt.
“What if it wasn’t some missile from the Chinese? What if… what if it were an aircraft?”
Silence filled the room, and the Deputy’s head turned slightly in thought.
“Please, Mark. We would already know it was an aircraft from other intelligence sources and from satellite images. We’d have some electronic signatures, or something else,” Klubb replied.
“Really, Mike? What makes you so sure it was a missile? Is that because you’re a missile guy? You poorly assumed it was a missile because you were looking for a missile. You haven’t even checked other sources, so why don’t you…” said Mark. Mark sipped his drink, and made a face, almost enjoying the theater. “Look, Mikey Klubb, and everyone in here. Question your assumptions, already.”
Some analysts in the auditorium started to look at each other.
“What I am saying, sir. What I am saying is…,” Mark said, then hesitated.
“Go ahead, Mark. It’s ok, say it,” Calvin told him.
“What if it was a new, special aircraft that couldn’t been seen or detected from a satellite.”
The mummer started again.
“Aw, shit,” Robert said under his breath from the second to last row in the auditorium.
“What?” Emily said to Robert, grabbing his arm and leaning in to him.
“You still have my attention, Mark. Continue”, the Deputy told him.
Mark usually lined up his theory with data and analysis in his thoughts a bit more, but today it was all becoming more clear to him. His years of study into Chinese aircraft, their historical love of theft, and their historical roots of deception, all helped Mark come up with his obscure theory. It all made sense to him now. From the time he read the report, to standing in line on Starbucks, to a career of studying the country of China, it clicked. No way could we lose a missile. He hesitated.
“Mark?” asked Calvin asked.
He took in a deep breath. Then another one. “Stealth,” blurted Mark, “a stealth aircraft. Stealth technology. OKAY? A fully tested stealth aircraft that can fly undetected by conventional radar and means. One that has such a low radar cross signature… an, an, an RCS… it would show up on our radar as a God damn seagull’s eyeball.”
The room was disconcertingly quiet. The room full of PhD’s, analysts, and smart, pocket protector experts, didn’t say a word.
A brief moment of silence went by inside the auditorium, then Klubb spoke. “The Chinese don’t have stealth aircraft, Mark. Why don’t you….” said Mike Klubb, who was a missile expert.
“Really, Mike. How do you know? How the frig do you know? Are you a Chinese Air Force pilot?” replied Mark. The room laughed. “You know, Mike. If you worked at a for-profit company, you’d be fired a frigging long time ago. I’ve been in competitive profit and loss environments before DIA and we’d eat you for breakfast. Put some effort into this already. I was bothered at your efforts during the last Spratly Island incident, or lack of effort, and… and for Christ’s sake, work this one, would you? Don’t be concerned about your smoke breaks. And your timecard. And getting the appropriate amount of sick time. And getting out of work at exactly the right time every day. Just do your God damn job.” Mark’s emotion against the establishment and bureaucracy was really coming out. “Yeah, stealth, okay?”
The radar cross signature, or RCS, was a measure of how an aircraft could be seen on radar. The larger an RCS translates to how easily an object is more easily detected, the lower an RCS means it could be very hard to detect. An aircraft reflects, like a mirror, a certain amount of radar energy. There are a few reasons that determine how much electromagnetic energy is returned to the radar source, such as the size of the aircraft or missile, the material the flying object is made out of, the incident and reflected angles, and the orientation of the aircraft.