Rogue Forces

“Stacy, I’d like to send you to Ankara or Istanbul as soon as possible, but we may have to wait until things cool down,” the president said. “How about meeting with the NATO alliance in Brussels—together we should be able to put enough pressure on Turkey to get them to pull out.”

“Good idea, Mr. President,” Barbeau said. “I’ll get it set up right away.”

“Good. Tell the Turkish prime minister that we’ll have a suspect on the shoot-down of their reconnaissance plane in custody within hours; that should make them a little more pleasant.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Barbeau said, and signed off.

“Miller, let me know when McLanahan’s on his way back to the States so I can inform Ankara,” the president said. “I’d like to offer them a few carrots before I have to start raising sticks, and McLanahan in custody should be a sizable carrot. Thanks, everyone.”

COMMAND AND CONTROL CENTER, ALLIED AIR BASE NAHLA, IRAQ

A SHORT TIME LATER

“I said, it’s too dangerous, Masters,” Jack Wilhelm said irritably. He was at his console in the Tank studying what little information was coming in to him. “The Turks have grounded all aerial reconnaissance and restricted troop movements in and around the base. Things are too tense right now. If we try to go outside to the crash site, they might get spooked. Besides, you still don’t look a hundred percent.”

“Colonel, there’s a quarter of a billion dollars’ worth of equipment sitting in a pile out there less than two miles outside the fence,” Jon Masters argued. “You can’t let the Turks and the locals just walk off with it. Some of that stuff is classified.”

“It’s a crash site, Masters. It’s been destroyed—”

“Colonel, my planes are not flimsy aluminum—they’re composites. They’re a hundred times stronger than steel. The Loser was flying slow and was on approach to land. There’s a good chance some of the systems and avionics survived the impact. I’ve got to get out there to recover what I can before—”

“Masters, my orders are no one goes outside the base, and that includes you,” Wilhelm insisted. “The Turkish army is in control out there, and I’m not going to risk a confrontation with them. They let food, water, and supplies come in and out—that’s good enough for me right now. We’re trying to open negotiations with the Turks for access to the wreckage, but they’re pissed because you used it to shoot down one of their planes. So stop bugging me until they cool down and start talking to us, okay?”

“Every box they take out of that crash site costs me money, Colonel.”

“I’m sorry about your money, Doc, but I really don’t give a shit right now,” Wilhelm said. “I know you were helping me out by shooting down that recon plane, but we have no options right now.”

“Then I’ll go out there and take my chances with the Turks.”

“Doc, I’m sure the Turks would love to have a little chat with you right now,” Wilhelm said. “They’d have your lasers, all the supersecret black boxes, the guy who designed and built them all, and the one who used them to shoot down one of their planes and kill one of their soldiers. Unless you like the taste of truth serum or enjoy having your fingernails pulled out with pliers, I think you’re safer inside the wire.” That made Jon Masters gulp, turn whiter than he looked before, and fall silent. “I thought not. I think we’re damned lucky they’re not demanding we turn you over to them right now. I’m sorry about your stuff, Doc, but you stay put.” He watched Jon turn away and couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him.

“I think you scared him, Colonel,” Patrick McLanahan said. He was standing with security director Kris Thompson beside Wilhelm’s console. “Do you really think the Turks would torture him?”

“How the hell do I know, General?” Wilhelm growled. “I just wanted him to stop harping on me until I get things sorted out and until someone in Washington or Ankara calls a stop to all this. But shooting down that Phantom is not going to sit well with the Turks.” He studied one of the data screens with updated air traffic information. “You still bringing in one of your planes tonight? Haven’t you lost enough planes already?”

“It’s not an XC-57, just a regular 767 freighter,” Patrick said. “It’s already been cleared and manifested by the Turks.”

“Why bother? You know your contract is going to get canceled, don’t you? Shooting down that Phantom—with a laser no less—is going to land you in hot water. You’ll be lucky if the Turks don’t intercept it and force it to land in Turkey.”

“Then I’ll still need a freighter to start taking my stuff out of the country now that they shot down the Loser.”