Day of Wrath

“I’ll let my boss read your paperwork,” the Air Force policeman said.

“My orders are clear, and I’m not getting my butt fried for letting you two walk off a plane and straight out a gate.”

After a quick glance at Helen, Thorn shrugged, acting far more casual than he felt. “Fine, Sergeant. You want to go by the book, we’ll go by the book.”

The duty security officer was busy. He kept them waiting for thirty excruciating minutes before Sergeant Thomas even made his report. More minutes passed before Master Sergeant Blue and an irritated major wearing a flight suit with pilot’s wings showed up.

Thorn saw Blue shoot him a sidewise glance— a glance he carefully ignored.

The C-17’s pilot and loadmaster were ushered into the security office ahead of them. When they emerged ten minutes later, they didn’t leave.

Instead they plopped themselves down on chairs at the opposite end of the waiting room. The pilot’s irritated expression had now matured into one of near.hatred. Blue looked resigned, like a man awaiting execution.

Sergeant Thomas came back out of the security officer’s inner sanctum.

“Mr. and Mrs. Carlson?” He held the door open for them. “You’re up next.”

Captain Forbes, the duty security officer, was a thin, strongjawed man with thick glasses and a sour look. He didn’t waste time with any courtesies. Instead, he crooked a finger. “Okay, pal. Let’s see this mysterious letter.”

Thorn handed it over without comment.

Forbes skimmed the letter fast, then took a more careful look.

The corners of his mouth turned down. “Have you read this?”

“Yes, sir.”

The Air Force captain ignored him. “It’s supposedly signed by a Lieutenant Colonel Gibbs, the operations officer for the 352nd Special Operations Group at R.A.F Mildenhall, in the U.K. He says I’m to ‘cooperate with your efforts to return to the U.S.”

Now, I don’t like this kind of vague, covert shit. Not at all. Not on my post and my watch. You mind telling me what the hell this is all about?

Or whether or not Carlson is even your real name?”

Thorn shook his head. “I’m sorry, Captain. I can’t discuss any of that.”

“Naturally.” Forbes tapped the letter for emphasis. “Look, anyone could have typed this damned thing up — even if it is on 352nd SOG stationery.”

Thorn kept his face immobile with an effort. For all he knew, that was exactly what Stroud had done.

“So I’m going to hold you two while I check this thing out.

And I want some fingerprints, to verify those ID cards of yours.

This whole thing smells.”

Whoa, boy, Thorn thought desperately. Our goose is almost inside that 350 degree oven. He saw Helen’s shoulders slump.

Well, Mike Stroud had given him one last card to play — and it was time to find out whether it was an ace, or just another joker.

He leaned closer to the security officer. “That would be a serious mistake, Captain Forbes. The whole point of this exercise is to avoid leaving a paper trail of our entry into the United States.

And we can’t be fingerprinted.”

“Can’t. the other man challenged.

“Shouldn’t,” Thorn corrected. He stood up and closed the door, then turned back to Forbes. “This is a CORNICE matter.”

The security officer shook his head, scowling. “That code word doesn’t mean a damned thing to me.”

“It does to your operations officer,” Thorn said. “Ask him what it means. But I strongly suggest you avoid using it over an open phone line.”

Forbes pondered that for a moment, then grunted. “Okay, goddamnit.

I’ll just do that.” He swept the letter and their ID cards to one side of his desk and nodded toward the door. “Wait outside.”

Once they were seated again, Helen leaned close enough to whisper in his ear. “Good grief, Peter! I never knew you were such a smooth-talking, thoroughgoing liar.”

“Years of playing poker,” he whispered back. “It’s sure nice to know I didn’t lose all that money for nothing.”

Helen chuckled.”

, That’s right. Build up my confidence and then tear it right back down

…”

She fell silent.

More minutes passed, dragging by while Thorn worked hard to avoid staring back at the two C-17 crewmen. Getting caught was bad enough for the two of them. But this was snowballing fast into a fiasco that might drag a lot of other good people down with the m. The only small mercy so far was the fact that the FBI arrest order must have been sent only to bases in Europe. If Forbes had been given a copy with their pictures on it, he and Helen would already be staring through the bars of the nearest cell.

The outside door banged open and a silver-haired Air Force colonel holding a walkie-talkie strode in. He swept the outer office with his eyes for an instant until his gaze landed on Thorn and Helen. Then he headed straight into Forbes’ office.

Sergeant Thomas came out a couple of minutes later, still shaking his head in disbelief. He motioned them back inside.

Captain Forbes was now standing beside his desk, while the colonel sat perched casually on a corner. “My name’s Callaghan, Mr. and Mrs. Carlson. I’m the operations officer here at Dover.”