transient Air Force aircraft, so they would have a huffer and the ladder he needed to get in and out of the airplane.
As he was on final for runway 19 left at McConnell, moving smartly at a 170 knot approach speed, he glanced down at the Cessna factory runway on his left. Cessna's runway was only a quarter of a mile north of the Air Force Base runway. He wondered how many KC-135s had initially lined up on the factory runway; misjudging it as being farther away because of its smaller length and width. He also wondered how many Cessnas had landed by mistake at McConnell and gotten lost on the huge ramp area.
He taxied behind the Follow-Me truck and parked in front of base operations. On approach he hadn't indicated that there was a general officer onboard and the only sign of rank on his flight suite was his name tag. He walked into base operations, made out the paperwork for fuel, hit the head, and went into the flight planning room to check the weather between McConnell and Nellis. As he had anticipated, if he waited on the ground here for an hour or two a string of thunderstorms out to the west would pass to the north.
The previous evening, Ted had called Bruce Keller, the southeast sales manager for Cessna and asked if there was any way he could get a factory tour this morning. Now, he made a quick call to Cessna from his cell phone and went to the front of base operations to watch for a white van from the factory. On that side of the building he had to put on his flight cap with the two stars and extra heavy silver braid of a general officer. Sure enough, within three minutes
a bright young major practically marched out of base ops and saluted smartly.
The major said he was the airdrome officer of the day, Ted pegged him as a KC-135 pilot, and asked if the general needed anything. Ted told him that he was waiting for some thunderstorms to pass, was going to tour the Cessna factory, and didn't need a thing. Ted smiled to himself. It was always nice to see that the base commander had ways of knowing who was on his turf.
Ted's tour of the Cessna factory, it turned out to be a place where they made parts, not final airplanes, included some time climbing in and out of a turbo-diesel powered 172. That combination of a diesel engine and a proven airframe was capable of carrying his whole family to destinations throughout the southeast, like universities, with good economy. He'd have to find the best way to introduce the idea to Sally.
The stop at McConnell was a good distraction for Ted. Thinking about the past, present and future all at once sometimes took him in circles. Shopping for airplanes was about as much fun as he could have without getting into trouble. He had checked in with Sally before he left McConnell and she had passed his arrival time at Nellis on to Bill and Fred. He was glad to see them waiting at the ramp when he rolled into the Nellis transient aircraft area.
Both Bill and Fred knew that Ted wouldn't have flown out if he didn't have something both important and highly
classified to say. Sally wouldn't let him expend the money from the Project's tight fuel budget if it wasn't.
After he completed the paperwork and dragged out his bag,Ted said, "Let's walk up and down the flight line a little bit. I need to get the kinks out of my back."
"You didn't use a cushion?" Landry asked.
"Yeah, but hurts up higher than my butt." Bill and Fred didn't laugh. A couple of years ago they would have, but now they had aches and pains of their own."How was your flight with Jose?"
"Beautiful. I told him that if the G-meter hit 2 I'd take the airplane away from him. He flew like he was sitting on eggs.
"He didn't do an overhead fighter break to landing?" Ted asked. That maneuver involved a 65 degree bank through a 180 degree turn.
"Perfectly coordinated. Didn't feel a thing. Wouldn't have spilled a drop of coffee from an open cup." Arthurs and Landry shared a grin.
They walked until they found an outdoor vending area covered by an awning. They got water bottles from a vending machine and sat at a picnic table. Ted launched into a detailed repetition of the briefing he'd received in Washington. "So," he summed up, "judging from its location on a military base, I'd say that the Japanese
government has uncovered some information on our early operations and wants to have the capability for themselves."
"Probably that damn NASA thing again." Landry said. "JAXA, the Japanese Aerospace Exploitation Agency, has taken everything from NASA that wasn't nailed down. They probably came across something somewhere."
"Well, how much do we care? That's my question to you two. I go all the way from calling in a cruise missile strike on the Hokkaido mountain top to not caring at all. The President and Chairman are going to want to know our take on it."
"Time displacement is, using the military term, a special weapon." Landry said. "It's in the same class as an EMP bomb or a tactical nuke. But, the outcome of its use is less predictable. We have no right, so to speak, to stop anyone from developing the capability. We do have to protect ourselves from their activities and we do have to protect knowledge of our capabilities."
Bill Wirtz nodded and said, "Keeping the secrets of our ability to detect time shift operations and to recover images is critical. And, as your wife always says, first, do no harm."
"I'd go with diplomacy first." Landry said. "Maybe, since it's the Japanese, we can negotiate an understanding. But, all of this tells me something else. We need a countermeasure. Maybe something like a jammer."
"Jamming a timeline." Wirtz shook his head. "I'm out of my league, but it doesn't sound possible."
The men talked in the shade on the Nellis flightline for another hour. Then, after Ted had a shower and changed clothes, they drove through the eastern side of Las Vegas where they joined Jose Valenzuela for an early dinner at an oriental restaurant. Landry and Arthurs impressed the other two men with their chop stick skills learned on tours in Asia. "When I was eating baked camel's hump in Iraq, we didn't have to use chop sticks." was Jose's observation.
It was early and the restaurant was empty except for them. "Have you had a chance to meet your people?" Arthurs asked.
"I'm very impressed. Just as smart as you said, but also tough. They were trained to defend the special weapons sites where they worked. Most of them have been through Ranger school and are jump qualified."
"I'm going to change the plan a little." Arthurs said. "I want you to rotate them through Homestead four at a time for actual hands-on training. I don't want any shots of any kind made from this location. You can practice here up to the point of pushing the trigger, but no actual shots." He didn't elaborate on the why. Valenzuela nodded his understanding.
"How's your cover story?" he asked with a change of subject.
"We're a military flight school working out of the Boulder City airport. We'll rotate Nellis aero club aircraft through there and do plenty of actual flying. According to the cover story, if anybody pushes the issue, the reason why we need to do the training here is classified, but it has to do with Homeland Security and border surveillance."
"That sounds vague enough." Arthurs replied. "When we get your people at Homestead, I'll reinforce whatever you've told them already about maintaining operational security. It would be pretty difficult to over-state how serious I am about protecting our secrets."
ROAD TRIP
Wednesday, August 17, 201 1
0800 Eastern
Long Key State Park
Monroe County, Florida
Willy Abrahamson and his brother Charles were as different as it was possible for two people with the same parents to be. Willy loved his older brother, but Charles was as cold as Willy was warm, as sneaky as Willy was open, and as driven as Willy was laid back. They were both dishonest, but Charles hid his greed behind a shield of righteousness while Willy acknowledged it for what it was.
When Willy saw his brother coming in from the airport gate in Great Falls, he thought Charles looked fit, but depressed. When they met, Charles hugged him, but barely said a word.
In the weeks that followed, Charles gave only an outline of his confinement. He did say that at first he was kept in a wire cage in a country where none of the guards spoke English. They spoke a language that sounded Slavic. That period only lasted for a few weeks. Then, he was transferred to a place that he suspected was Egypt. He was never interrogated, never questioned. And, no one would respond to his questions.
He said he had been beaten, many times, but months apart. The first time a big man, Charles described him as "Some kind of animal CIA brute" came to his cell. He rushed in and slapped Charles repeatedly with an open hand. Then, as Charles was lying on the floor, the man put a boot on his chest and applied pressure. "Listen to me and do not speak." He said. It was the first English Charles had heard in many months. You are here because you talked about something that you should not have spoken of. You were too nosy, you talked too much, and you asked too much. I am going to come back every few months to make sure you remember to keep your mouth shut." With that, he kicked Charles, made sure he had broken some ribs, and left. For weeks, every breath Charles took brought pain.
And, indeed, for about a year the man did come back about once a month. Each time it was the same: a beating, a warning, and exquisite pain that lasted for weeks.
After about a year, he was given a room with a comfortable bed and a television with satellite access. The beatings stopped, but someone would come in about once a month to repeat the warning. One visitor told him, "You haven't been tortured. We have guidelines for torture. You have merely had physical reinforcement of desired learning outcomes." Since things were getting better, Charles hoped for release. After the election of 2008, he expected it any day. He waited in hope for three more years.
Charles was very familiar with the conditions of his release. It had been drilled into him several times before he was put on an airplane at a military field. He boarded
a commercial flight in Germany and was told he would be watched. He made his way from Germany to New York and on to Montana.
At first, it seemed to Willy that Charles was reluctant to leave his room in the old family cabin in the Little Belt Mountains. Then, gradually, he started going outside more and even hiking on the mountain roads. They took some trips into Great Falls and several times Charles walked around downtown on his own. He told Willy he was "getting his bearings back."
Charles came up with the idea of a road trip. As kids they had traveled by camper throughout the western states. Willy thought Charles hated it. All that Willy remembered were the complaints from Charles, but his brother claimed that a road trip would do wonders for his attitude.
Willy rented an RV in Great Falls and they headed south. He was surprised when Charles suggested they should travel "as far as they can" and came up with the Florida Keys as a destination. Charles had a handful of maps and printouts. It took them a full week to make the drive. The slab sided camper was slow on the highways, but it was comfortable inside. Charles said that he didn't want to leave a trail for his captors and insisted that they pay for everything with cash. Willy thought that a little paranoia was justified and went along.
They had spent two nights in the Long Key State Park campground in the Florida Keys. It was idyllic. August was the low season and they had a beach campsite with open
areas on both sides. The sea breeze kept the heat and mosquitoes at reasonable levels. Willy was bored out of his mind, but Charles seemed happy... almost as if he had a secret.
They had rented a car in the Upper Keys using a large cash deposit. Charles had pointed out that it gave them more flexibility to "Get out of the camper and drive up and down the Keys. Maybe even go to Miami."
It was about noon when they reached Florida's Turnpike at the top of the island chain that is the Florida Keys. Charles was driving and northbound traffic was very heavy. Willy was surprised when Charles exited from the Turnpike after going only a few miles. "Hey," Willy said. "I thought we were going to South Beach."
"I just want to take a look at something." Charles said.
Willy read the exit sign and said, "This is Homestead. Isn't this where that project is? Charles, what is this shit? This is what got you put away."
Charles saw a home improvement super store parking lot. He pulled in and stopped in a corner of the lot away from the store. "Willy" he said. "I must do this and you are either with me or against me."
"I'm not against you!" Willy insisted, "But this is stupid. What do you hope to do by even coming near this thing... this project?"
Charles gripped the steering wheel with both hands. "They put me in a cage." He was shaking. "They beat me." He turned to Willy and his face was scarlet, "The scum beat me. They have all of the power in the world. They can change anything, make anything happen, but they beat me. That power could be ours."
"They were giving you a lesson." Willy said. "Maybe you should have listened better. Let's get the hell out of here."
Charles sat with both hands on the wheel for a full minute. He said, "I want to show you something in the back seat. Come back with me. Then, he opened the driver side door, exited, and opened the passenger door behind the driver's seat. He leaned in and unzipped a backpack on the seat. "Come back here Willy." he said again. When Willy was standing in the back passenger door looking over the seat, Charles said, "Do you remember this, Willy?"
Willy drew back and said, "That's the rat gun. What the hell are you doing with the rat gun?"
The rat gun was a Ruger nine shot twenty-two with a six inch barrel. It had been in their mountain cabin for as long as Willy could remember. When they were boys Willy had never been able to hit a rat with it, but Charles was a great shot.
"I'm sorry." was all Charles said. He shot Willy four times in the chest. Willy never said a word. His eyes registered shock and disbelief... and then nothing at all.A line of blood
seeped down the side of his mouth and he fell forward, part in and part out of the back seat of the rental car.