“What? For what?” Robert asked with emotion, but also whispering.
“Hear me out,” Mark said quietly, as he put up his hand. “This is an old World War II move, straight out of the playbook. It’s like…”
“Operation Mincemeat?” Emily asked, with a real emphasis on Mincemeat.
“Well, yes, exactly,” Mark replied.
The World War II Operation, named Mincemeat, was a real-world and successful British disinformation military plan that was part of a big deception plot to shield the invasion of Italy from North Africa. Mincemeat aided to influence the German leadership that the Allies were going to invade Greece in 1943 instead of Italy, which was the real plan. The disinformation was accomplished by persuading the Germans that they had, by total luck, captured classified papers giving details of military operations. The papers were located in the pockets of a corpse intentionally left to roll-up on the shore in Spain.
“History lesson, eh, Mark?” she replied, smiling.
“Yup. Worked then, may work now. The Embassy doctor oversaw the transfer of two DB’s for science, you know, dead bodies. Ones that already had blunt force trauma damage, in addition to severe burn marks. They were from the train crash that we saw in the Washington Post two days ago. They were already severely damaged… no marks, no fingerprints… not even a face. Just had to find same blood type after Wu relayed it to the Consulate,” Mark explained.
“What are the details?” as Emily leaned in even closer to hear the rest of the story.
“The Legal Attaché from FBI picked up the DBs from the Tokyo morgue. Bureau worked a favor from the local police. They went over to mainland Japan, to Yokoda, where there are Hercs. The 36th Airlift Squadron out of Yokoda loaded up the DB’s, and some Defense Department friends put them in damaged Chinese flight suits with no markings,” Mark took a swig of beer, “along with some fuel, oil, JOGAIR aviation sectional charts, and a fake Wu Lee wallet. This package will be airdropped at sea to simulate a crash. Location will be in the shipping lanes of the Philippine Sea. A passing commercial shipping vessel will pick them up in a day, maybe two, at the… at the most,” Mark said.
Because timing was so sensitive, and they had none to waste, Mark took a chance talking about the mission in the restaurant. He rolled the dice talking outside of a secure area, but was comfortable with his decision because it was so fluid and dynamic. For them to pass a one-minute bit of information, they would have to locate a secure room at the nearest facility, most likely the Los Angeles Air Force Base.
Mark also thought long and hard about where to drop the dead bodies at sea, which he did not really elaborate on due to their airport location. The commercial shipping lanes running in this area of the Pacific were some of the busiest sea traffic in the world, and would be a perfect spot for their drop. It was just a matter of time before a ship spotted the debris field, and picked up the two bodies. From there, it was just a phone call to get a hold of a nation’s Coast Guard, then the Chinese government, which would hopefully explain where their missing jet was.
“Bloody Hell!” Emily said quietly. “Lovely idea!”
Ford woke up early after a quick nap and not sleeping well, and walked over to the window facing the paper mills to the north, red roof top lights blinking bright in the dark morning sky. He looked down at the Savannah River to see their reflection in the water, sipping his Hyatt Hotel room provided coffee. Ford checked his phone and saw a text from Mark:
Mark: Chief and Deputy of Air Force Reserve personally cleared you to fly via Pentagon and Georgia. Deputy Burns called them. You are on special assignment to our team. Take good care and see you soon.
Thank God, Ford thought. Red tape cut just like that.
He showered, got dressed, and went down to the hotel breakfast buffet, where he ate as much as he could before getting an Uber Car to the Gulfstream hangar over at the airport. In his carry-on luggage was his tactical gear, consisting of a Sig Sauer P226 handgun, an HK416 rifle, backpack parachute, his GPS and altimeter, laser, black wing suit, grey helmet and oxygen mask, and a small oxygen canister.
He had taken up the Hyatt’s offer on a personal hygiene kit from the hotel, so there was no need to have his own. Robert left him a garment bag at the front desk last evening that consisted of the weapons he had acquired from the Georgia Air National Guard that shared the runways of the Savannah Airport. It also consisted of a change of clothes, including a newly purchased business suit to wear on the jet. This was just in case there was the remote chance that someone spotted him getting onboard the jet, he wanted to blend in as senior manager or executive vice-president. Today, he looked like Mr. Ford Stevens of Corning, Incorporated, and made his way over the airport.
“Wheels up in 20 minutes, Ford. Ready to go?” Lurch said, turning around in the cockpit to see Ford standing there, looking at the G650 glass flight deck in awe. The space was large enough for Ford to fit in there as well, peeking over their shoulders to see everything inside and outside the jet. It was completely lit up, and their flight plan was displayed on one of the four large Symmetry Flight Deck multifunction glass screens that took up the entire dashboard.
“Let’s do it. Make it happen,” Ford replied, and turned around to walk over to the wide open and empty cabin section of the jet.
“Take a nap, Ford. We’ll wake you over the Pacific in a few hours. Or just before your mission,” Lurch told him.
“Will do. Fellas, thanks again. We couldn’t pull this off without your help,” Ford said, respectful of their time and trustworthy efforts.
Ford turned to head back to the cabin, and could hear Andrew doing the tail end of the pilot brief. “Lurch, final portion of the departure briefing. We’re full on fuel, near max weight of 103,600 pounds. Includes the National Business Aviation Association… ah… instrument flight rules reserve fuel. One passenger today. Max operating speed of Mach 0.925, but filed for 0.88. V1 takeoff speed is 120 knots. Navaids are punched in for the departure. Radar altimeter is set for an emergency return. No hazards or terrain on the climb out. All emergencies per standard operating procedure. Ahh, weather is good enroute. Destination is cool with fog and mist. ATC routing is always in question once we get further west. We’re a go,” Andrew briefed. They taxied into position, and held for a moment, then received clearance from the tower for take-off. Lurch pushed the throttles forward as the Rolls Royce engines came alive with full vigor, and away they went.
Ford missed flying over the past week or so, and was looking forward to getting back in the seat. He stopped walking rearward past the cabin entrance, and looked again at the luxury surrounding him. The welcoming cabin was just gorgeous, and it combined the airy high-end interiors of a Ritz-Carlton hotel while airborne. It consisted of an attractive-looking sleeping area, complete with a queen sleeper bed, crisp white sheets, and a feathery pillow. Ford also had access to a plethora of fresh fruit, cheese trays, salads, bottles of Silver Oak Cabernet Sauvignon wine, a multitude of choices of in-flight entertainment, Wi-Fi, and a moving map display that showed their location on earth. The jet could sleep ten when flying a much shorter leg, or, seat a total of 19 in the smooth leather captain chairs and couches. While the jet could go as far as 7,500 miles, today’s flight at 7,335 miles could easily fit eight passengers. On this flight, though, Ford was in the cabin solo. Who has it better than me? he said to himself.