“But if I resign, she won’t face any charges?”
“That’s my prerogative,” Samson said. “I can give her an administrative reprimand. It’ll stay in her personnel records for a year. If she keeps her nose clean, her record automatically gets expunged. She can also request retirement, and I’ll see she gets it. After all she’s done for you, General, she doesn’t deserve a dishonorable discharge.”
“Sir, General McLanahan and Colonel Furness were on a fully authorized mission,” Luger pointed out.
“That’s right — I was the backup plane on the mission, sir,” Patrick said. “I already had full authority to proceed.”
“Negative,” Samson said. “The idea of a backup ship is to pick the best one aircraft to fly the mission, not to send two aircraft into hostile airspace.”
“I’ll argue that it’s exactly what I did,” Patrick said. “Annie and Dev had been shot down. I’ll argue that it was my responsibility to continue the mission for which I was briefed —“
“Your mission was to assist Madcap Magician in extracting Siren,” Samson said, his voice showing the irritation of having to argue with his normally respectful, introspective deputy. “That mission was accomplished by Vampire One, before they were shot down. You weren’t authorized to conduct any other operations over Russia.”
“The ‘other operation over Russia’ was to help save Annie and Dev,” Patrick said, his voice showing a slightly incredulous edge. “I was notified of the incident, and I immediately responded to render any assistance necessary.”
“And what about the attack at Zhukovsky? Are you going to tell me that was part of the operation?”
Patrick’s face went blank. “What attack on Zhukovsky?”
“There was a huge explosion at Zhukovsky Flight Test Center right around the time you reentered Russian airspace,” Samson said. “One target was singled out — Metyor Aerospace’s research-and-development facility. The authorities said it was a natural gas explosion. CIA obtained some information from the Russians investigating the incident. The building was hit with a high-explosive incendiary device, at least a two-thousand-pounder — about what you’d use in an air-launched cruise missile. Even more — the roof was punched in with a shaped-charge penetrator explosion before the main explosion. Sounds like a cruise missile attack to me. Care to tell me about that?”
“I don’t know anything about it, sir.”
“I’ll inventory the weapons storage area, Patrick,” Samson warned him. “I’ll check every logbook entry, every millimeter of security tape, until I find out the truth.”
“I’m telling you the truth, sir — I have no idea what happened at Zhukovsky,” Patrick said. “It wasn’t me. But I strongly resent your tone. It appears to me you’ve already decided I did it.”
“General, I don’t give a shit if you resent my tone or anything else,” Samson snapped. “You had the incredible, unmitigated gall to fly a warplane over Russia without authorization and clearance, kill Russian soldiers, and destroy Russian property. You almost got shot down. I could have lost two valuable crew members and another top-secret warplane over Russia. It was bad enough you went over my head and got the National Security Council to buy off on this mission—”
“Sir, I did not get anyone to ‘buy off’ on this mission,” Patrick said. “Yes, I transmitted my plan directly to SecDef without clearing it through you first, but you know I was going to consult with you on my first opportunity—”
“No, I don’t know that — and that’s the problem,” Samson interjected. “I absolutely do not believe you would have consulted with me if you thought you could get away with it otherwise. The proof of this was you returning to Russian airspace without clearance. You could have called and made your case at any time. But you flew for an hour in the wrong direction and never called. Neither did Colonel Furness. You didn’t call because you thought you might not get the answer you wanted. You didn’t pitch the mission to me because you thought I would have refused to allow it.”
“Would you?”
“It doesn’t matter now, does it, General?” Samson exploded. “You went ahead with it anyway. You conducted your own private little war.”
“Why are you doing this, sir?” Patrick asked. He was not pleading — it was a true query, asked honestly and sincerely. “We brought Dewey and Deverill home safely—”
“No, the President brought them home safely,” Samson argued. “The President was on the phone with Russian president Sen’kov for less than ten minutes and had him agreeing to allow the exfiltration to go ahead without interference. In fact, the President had gotten Sen’kov to agree not to shoot your asses down — he not only saved Dewey and Deverill, but he saved yours, Briggs’s, and Wohl’s butts as well. Pretty extraordinary, since you had already illegally shot down three Russian aircraft by then.”
“So you’ve already decided we’re guilty of court-martialable offenses?” Luger asked.
“You’ve decided that we’re guilty, so you’re asking us to resign rather than face charges?”
“It doesn’t matter at this point, Colonel — I believe you’re guilty of breaking faith with me, the men and women you serve with, the Air Force, and your country,” Samson said. “I have judged you guilty of that. I’m advising you of all this because I thought you both deserve an opportunity to accept retirement and avoid any blemishes on your records. I advise you to take the offer. Even if you win in a court-martial, you’ll never work here again, and I seriously doubt if there’s any command in the Air Force that will accept either one of you.”
Patrick got to his feet and took a step toward Samson’s desk. “Permission to speak freely, General?”
“This will be your last opportunity to do so.”
“What are you really afraid of, sir?” Patrick asked. “What did I do that is forcing you to give me a summary dismissal? Are you afraid I made you look bad in front of the President?”
“You definitely did that, General,” Samson said. “I was for damned sure the dumb-shit nigger general who can’t keep his hotshot troops in line. But you already cemented that thought into Washington’s head earlier with your one-man operation over China and with stealing the One-Eleventh’s bombers to work for your project here at Dreamland. It’s Brad Elliott’s wild-card reputation, shifted over to you by default. You’re Patrick McLanahan. You’re the technical wizard, the lone wolf. Everyone else around you are bit players in your one-man play to keep the world safe for democracy. My career was over the minute I was assigned here with you.
“Most of all, McLanahan, I’m afraid of what you’re becoming,” Samson went on. “I knew Brad Elliott. He was a friend, my teacher, and my mentor. But he changed into something to be feared in my Air Force — the rogue, the loose cannon. His way or no way. I got away from him as soon as I could, and I knew I made the right decision.”
“I was proud to work with him,” McLanahan said. “I was, too,” said Luger. “He saved my life. Twice.”
“But you both stayed too long, and you got corrupted by his twisted visions of good and evil, right and wrong, duty and vanity, responsibility and bigotry,” Samson said. “Sure, Brad got things done. Yes, he was a hero, to me and to a lot of folks. But he did it all wrong. He did it irresponsibly. He did it illegally. Your hero, Patrick, David, and mine, was wrong. Either you couldn’t see it, or you ignored it. Or maybe you liked it. You enjoyed the power and freedom this job gave you. ‘Absolute power corrupts absolutely,’ and there’s nothing like the power of a two-hundred-and-fifty-ton B-52 on an attack run. Is there?”