Rogue Forces

“Gotcha.” There was a bit of an uncomfortable pause; then: “Hey, our seventh airframe just showed up today here in the United Arab Emirates, and we received our eighth airframe today at Palmdale. This one has got all kinds of weird gizmos in the forward bomb bay, and I figured it had to be one of yours.”

“Did you get it from the Boneyard?”

“No, it was in flyable storage at Tonopah.” Tonopah Test Range was an air base in southern Nevada used for classified weapons tests before an aircraft was delivered to active duty. “It’s got all kinds of fuel lines running here and there through the bomb bays, and something that looks like a car assembly robot with arms and claws everywhere.”

“We had B-1 bombers that could recover, rearm, refuel, and re-launch FlightHawk cruise missiles in-flight. That must be one of them.”

“No shit! That’s cool. Maybe we can put that system together again.”

“I’m sure I can get Jon Masters at Sky Masters Inc. to send you the schematics.”

“Great. Any other cool stuff like that, send it along, too. I’m not getting Air Force acquisition officers and budget weenies hanging up on me anymore when I call to ask about getting money for stuff—they actually seem interested in building bombers nowadays.”

“Probably because they’re taking everything else away from the Air Force other than tankers and transports.”

“I’m sure.” There was another few moments of quiet; then Gia said, “I hope you don’t mind me calling.”

“I’m glad you did, Gia.”

“I also hope you don’t mind me calling you Patrick.”

“I’m glad you did. Besides, it is my name.”

“Don’t tease me…unless you really want to.”

A loud-pitched squeal erupted in Patrick’s ears, and he felt his face flush as if he had said a swearword in front of his sainted grandmother. What in hell was that? Did he just blush…? “No…no…”

“You don’t want to tease me?”

“No…I mean, I do want—”

“You do want to tease me? Oh, goody.”

“No…jeez, Boxer, you’re making me goofy over here.”

“I like a little goofy now and then, too, but I prefer teasing to goofy.”

“All right, Colonel, all right, that’s enough.”

“Pulling rank on me now, General?”

“If I have to,” Patrick said. The chuckle came out like a strangled donkey’s bray.

“Hey, Patrick.”

“Yeah?”

“I really want to see you. What about you? Do you want to see me?”

Patrick felt the flushing in his cheeks turn into a warm spot in his chest, and he breathed it in and let it fill his entire body. “I would really like that, Gia.”

“Mary is really your sister and not Mrs. McLanahan?”

“Really my sister. My wife, Wendy, passed several years ago.” That was only true if you thought being nearly beheaded by an insane female Russian terrorist in Libya could be considered a “passing,” but he wasn’t going to go into that with Gia now.

“Sorry to hear that. I can’t come up there?”

“I…don’t know how long I’ll be here,” Patrick said.

“But you can’t talk about what or why?”

“Not over the phone.” There was an uncomfortable pause on the line, and Patrick said hurriedly, “I’ll know by tomorrow night, Gia, and we’ll arrange to get together then.” He paused, then asked, “Uh, there’s no Mr. Cazzotto, is there?”

“I was wondering if you’d ask,” Gia said with a pleased tone in her voice. “Most guys I run into ask about a spouse afterward.”

“After what?”

She laughed. “If you want me to describe it to you in detail, cowboy, settle in and get comfortable.”

“I get the picture.”

“Anyway, before I get distracted: there was a husband, but not since I went back into the Air Force and was assigned to Plant Forty-two. He’s still in the Bay area with our teenagers, a boy and a girl. You have any kids?”

“A boy, just turned thirteen.”

“Then you know how tough it is to be away.”

“Yes.” There was another pause, as if they were silently acknowledging the new bond between them; then Patrick said, “I’ll let you know what’s happening and tell you all about it when we see each other.”

“I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

“One more question?”

“I’ve got all night for you.”

“How did you get my cell number? It’s not published.”

“Oooh, a secret number? Well, I feel privileged, then. I called Scion Aviation and your friend David Luger gave it to me. Thought you wouldn’t mind.”

“I owe him one.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

“In a very good way.”

“Perfect. Good night, Patrick.” And she hung up.

Well, Patrick thought as he hung up, this was turning into a very bizarre day—plenty of surprises, good ones as well as bad. Time to hit the rack and see what tomorrow had rigged up for—

Just then, a knock on the door. “Patrick? It’s me,” he heard Jon Masters say. “I brought the report on the number one Loser you wanted to see.”

“C’mon in, Jon,” Patrick said. He hadn’t asked to see any report…what was going on? He heard the outer door open and close, and then the inner door open. “It could’ve waited for tomorrow morning, Jon, but as long as you’re—”

He looked at the doorway and saw none other than Iraqi Colonel Yusuf Jaffar, commander of Allied Air Base Nahla, standing there!