Day of Wrath

At last she looked back at him. “Do you trust those two men, Sam? And I mean really trust them — the way you’d trust Peter or me?”

That was an easy question. “No. Not really.” Farrell shrugged.

“I don’t like people who have so much political pull and use it to play God so easily.”

“Careful, Sam,” Thorn muttered. He grinned. “Some people might say you’ve been playing God a little bit these past few days yourself!”

Farrell chuckled. “Watch it, Colonel. You forget that I was a two-star general just last year. Divine powers are part of my retirement package.”

For just an instant Helen looked as though she wanted to bang their two heads together. “When you boys are finished playing word games, I’d like to get back to the real world,” she said.

“Sorry, Helen,” Farrell heard Thorn say meekly.

He sneaked a glance at the younger man. Oh, brother, Farrell thought.

A leader of men, a rough, tough combat soldier, and now Colonel Peter Thorn is outnumbered ten to one — by one woman. He smiled inwardly — knowing exactly how the other man felt. He’d fallen for Louisa the same way.

“Sam …”

Farrell snapped out of his reverie in a hurry. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“That’s better,” Helen said, with the faint trace of a smile.

Then her smile faded. “What I’m trying to get us to focus on is our next move.”

Some of the happiness Farrell had felt for his two friends disappeared.

He’d known this question was coming, but he’d been dreading it. Well, it was better to get everything out in the open.

He sighed. “I’m not sure there is a next move. Not beyond finding a good lawyer for you and Pete, that is.”

“What the hell do you mean by that, Sam?” Thorn asked, staring back at him.

“He means we’ve hit a dead-end, Peter,” Helen said quietly.

“When the Bureau came up dry in Galveston, the last little shred of credibility we had went up in smoke.”

“Is that right, sir?” Thorn asked.

“Is what right, Colonel?” Farrell said. He felt himself bristling a bit at the younger man’s tone of voice.

“That you think we sold you a bill of goods when we claimed somebody was trying to smuggle a nuclear weapon into this country?”

Farrell shook his head wearily. “I don’t think you sold me a bill of goods, Pete. Look, you and Helen walked into something damned nasty aboard that Russian freighter in Pechenga — whether it was a heroin ring or a stolen atomic bomb. The problem is: You’ve really got no proof.

Zero. Zip. And I’m fresh out of Pentagon contacts we can prod into action on my unsupported word. Hell, I hear the White House is so mad at me that George Mayer may lose the J.S.O.C post!”

Helen interceded. “So, what do you think we should do, Sam?”

“Let Ibrahim and this Wolf guy sort this mess out,” Farrell argued.

“I may not like them, but that doesn’t mean I think they’re incompetent. Caraco has a lot to lose if some of its employees get caught running a smuggling ring using company assets.”

Thorn grimaced. “Jesus, Sam! I hate sitting on my ass doing nothing.

And I really hate doing nothing while hoping that some corporate security boss does the work our own people should be doing!”

“So do I, Pete,” Farrell said firmly. “You show me something else we can do — anything — and I’ll be right in there with you.

But until you can do that, I suggest you and Helen just lie low — real low — and wait.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN REVELATIONS

Shafter-Minter Field, Kern County, California (D MINUS 4)

The two planes touched down within five minutes of each other. Both were Jetstream Super 31 models — twin-engine turboprops with room for a crew of two and eighteen passengers. The first carried Caraco colors — white overall with a broad black stripe and the company’s name superimposed in gold. The second plane was a rental from an air charter company.

One after the other, the two turboprops taxied smoothly past the ranks of small, single-engined private aircraft and larger crop dusting planes. Ground crewmen waved them to a stop outside the first of Caraco’s two brandnew hangars. Others hurried forward to chock their wheels as soon as the propellers stopped turning.

The ferry crews, two men per aircraft, wasted no time deplaning. They expected quick payment and a quick return to their home base. They’d been hired for a one-way trip — not as part of a long-term contract.

As soon as the commercial pilots were safely off the airfield, the ground crews towed the two twin engine turboprops into the nearest hangar. Then, under the watchful eyes of Reichardt’s security force, mechanics and electronics technicians swarmed over the empty aircraft tearing out seats and installing new control packages in the cockpits.

The Operation’s final phase had begun.

JUNE 17

_{Washington, D.C.}