Chapter 64
Situation Room
The White House
Washington, D.C.
“Now what?” Secretary of Defense Burgess asked, framing the words that were in everyone’s head.
Footage from the Hyperion drones had been streaming into the Situation Room. The camera had settled on the most disconcerting sight in the hangar: a large concrete pad where the Shahed-151s had presumably been parked. It was now empty save for a few oil stains.
Mary Pat tried to fit the puzzle pieces together. “Klaus told us the launch had to be soon, and it makes sense that it would be at night. But I got the impression we still had a few hours.”
Ryan said. “Maybe the schedule was moved up for this oncoming storm.”
“Or maybe they learned that we got Klaus out of Tangier,” van Damm speculated.
“Either way,” said Mary Pat, “we’re too late. The drones have launched.”
“Is there any way we can stop them?” asked van Damm.
“That depends on how big their head start is.”
“Bring up the big map,” said the President, the urgency in his tone lost on no one. “I want possible routes to the Suez Canal from Al-Jaghbub. Also, let’s figure out how long it would take these drones to fly that far.”
Admiral Kent went to work.
A line soon appeared on the map joining Al-Jaghbub to Port Said, the western entrance of the canal.
Kent said, “Straight line distance is roughly four hundred and fifty nautical miles. But that would put this package over Egyptian territory the entire time. There would be far less chance of detection if they flew north first and headed out over the Med, then turned right. That would keep them in international airspace until the endgame.”
“But it would also add distance,” Ryan said.
“As to the time factor…” Kent referenced his laptop, “looks like the top cruise speed of a Shahed-151 is around one hundred and sixty knots.”
Ryan did the math. “That gives us between three and four hours from the time they launched…whenever that was.”
“What about the Egyptians?” said van Damm. “They have F-16s. They might see these drones coming with air defense radar and launch interceptors.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Burgess argued.
“The Egyptian leadership lives in Cairo. That’s where the majority of their air defenses are concentrated, and they’re oriented to look in the other direction, toward Israel.
There’s a good chance they won’t see these drones coming…
not unless we bring it to their attention.
It’s also the middle of the night there, and last I heard, the Egyptians don’t keep fighters on continuous alert. ”
Ryan said, “We have to keep in mind what these drones are carrying. Shooting them down with air-to-air missiles means explosions that would unleash clouds of radioactive vapor. If these drones are cruising anywhere near the coastline, that could be disastrous—it’s solid with towns and villages.”
Burgess added, “And if we explain to the Egyptians what’s going on, there’s a chance they’ll nix the idea of anyone shooting them down, including us.”
“Even at the cost of shutting down the canal they control and greatly profit from?” Mary Pat argued.
The President interjected, “Look, these are all good thoughts, but we can’t know how the Egyptians would react and there’s no time for diplomacy.
We have to control what we can, which means stopping this strike and asking for forgiveness later.
That said, we have to do everything in our power to avoid shooting these things down over populated areas.
The least risk is to put them down over open water.
” Ryan lasered in on Kent. “Where exactly are our F-18s?”
Kent gestured to the lieutenant colonel working comms. A new symbol was added to the map. The Hornets were north of Benghazi, almost in Libyan airspace.
Kent said, “The Hornets can pick up a tail chase, but we don’t know exactly where these drones are. Thankfully, the F-18s are a hell of a lot faster. If they haul ass, they should be able to pick up this strike package using their onboard radar.”
“Let’s do it,” Ryan said, convinced it was the best near-term option. “Order the Hornets to abort their close air support tasking. I want them to chase down these drones, max speed.”
The message was sent.
Kent said, “I do see one hitch in this plan.”
Ryan looked at the JCS chairman with something near exasperation.
“Those jets are loaded for an air-to-ground mission—no AMRAAMs or Sidewinders. Their only air-to-air weapon would be their internal guns.”
“But that would work, right?” Ryan asked.
“Yes, they’ve all got a full load of twenty millimeter. But they’d have to get close, and that will take more time.”
Burgess said, “There are four more Hornets standing by on the Ford as a contingency. They’re configured the same way, but we could unload the bombs and upload a full rack of AMRAAMs and Sidewinders.”
The President closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Midway,” he said.
Admiral Kent nodding knowingly. “World War Two, Battle of Midway. The admirals on the Japanese carriers waffled on how to load their aircraft for the second wave of strikes. In the end, their indecision wasted time and made them vulnerable. It was the turning point in the Pacific.”
“We focus on our best shot,” Ryan said. “If those drones don’t have too big a head start, the airborne Hornets are our best chance of stopping them.”
“I agree,” Kent said. “But there is one other aircraft on the Ford we should launch.” He gave his reasoning and Ryan concurred.
All eyes settled on the big map, attention narrowing to the symbols representing the four Hornets and the Suez Canal. The gap between them looked massive, hundreds of miles of coastline and open water. And somewhere in that darkened void: ten unpiloted aircraft hauling a deadly radioactive cargo.
For a plain-text version of this image, go to this page.
Al-Jaghbub Airfield
Task Force 99 boarded the Ilyushin with tactical precision. Like all spec ops units, its members were well-versed on the nuances of breaching a civilian airliner. They rushed through the entry door in a tactical sweep, then cleared the cavernous cargo bay. They found no one.
That left only the cockpit.
Ding and Hyori led the way, shouldering up to the narrow passageway that connected to the flight deck with rifles poised. Unlike a passenger jet, there was no bulletproof door.
With Ding right behind him, Hyori burst through, his barrel sweeping the compact space. Clark heard Hyori shout in English, “Hands! Show me hands!” He then said it in Russian. Thirty seconds and three sets of flex cuffs later, three men were frog marched into the cargo bay.
The first two conformed perfectly to the situation: they wore pilot uniforms, one having four stripes on his epaulets, the other three. Their eyes flicked between the team members like rabbits surrounded by a pack of wolves.
The third man was different.
He showed neither the sureness of a pilot or the dead-eye stare of a mercenary. He was older, more weathered, with streaks of gray in his matted hair.
All three men were forced to sit on the steel floor, an essential display of dominance. Clark went to the mystery man and took a knee.
He said in Russian, “Who are you?”
“Gamling,” the man replied almost flippantly.
Clark nodded, taking this for a nom de guerre. Which was a clue in itself.
“And who are you?” Gamling asked in return.
“You can call me John.”
“John from America.”
Clark didn’t deny it.
In truth, he was pleased. He had done a lot of interrogations in his day.
Physical and psychological torture were not methods he enjoyed, but when it came to saving lives, he had no aversion to their use.
He was also familiar with the usual reactions of detainees when faced with such prospects.
Silence, insolence, fear-based capitulation.
Gamling was exhibiting an unusual fourth path.
Casual conversation. This, in Clark’s experience, usually implied a transactional mindset.
Clark also had a good radar for lies, and right now it wasn’t pinging.
Gamling’s next words, however, explained his composure.
“Well, John from America, you are too late.”
“Because your drones have already launched?”
“I saw your disappointment when you opened the hangar doors.”
Clark tipped his head to one side. “The Suez Canal is a long way from here. And the Shahed-151 isn’t exactly a speedy airframe.”
For the first time Gamling hesitated.
Clark pressed ahead, not wanting to lose his advantage. “What was your part in this operation?”
No reply.
“I’m trying to place your accent,” Clark said. “From the south, I’d say. Voronezh? Volgograd?”
“You know my country.”
“A bit. But we can talk about that later. I have to ask again, what was your part in this scheme?”
“I am the postman.”
Clark weighed this. “Responsible for delivery?”
The Russian grinned wearily. “Bravo, John.”
“A drone specialist.”
“I suspect your people have heard of me…Gamling. I had a bit of a reputation in the special military operation.”
“You’re an operator?”
“Operator, engineer, mechanic…one has to wear many hats in war.”
“Is that what this is? War?”
Gamling’s jaw tightened as if his thoughts were in a bad paper jam. Clark knew why. Mercenaries often focused absolutely on money and mission, meaning they didn’t weigh the ramifications of their actions.
The Russian finally said, “I am a technician, not a strategist.”
“You are a pivotal figure in a terrorist attack. In the next two minutes, you can give me any and all information that might mitigate the death and destruction now flying toward Egypt…or you can remain silent and be held fully accountable.”
If Gamling wanted to make a deal, this was his opening.
Clark prompted, “Time is critical. You should understand that your employer, Andrei Malenkov, and pretty much all the others, are no longer of this earth. They can’t give me answers.
That leaves you as the last man standing—the one who will face the repercussions.
” He let that sink in for a beat, then asked, “Is there any way to recall these drones? To divert them?”
Clark could almost see the tension building inside the Russian. Old thoughts—the technical challenge, the spectacular payday—collided with the reality of spending the rest of his life in prison. He quickly folded. “No one can stop them. There is no connectivity for control.”
“Would jamming work?”
Gamling shook his head. “The drones can navigate independently of any satellite or ground-based signals. There is a terrain database that references a simple radar system—my own design.”
“Are the drones rigged with defensive measures?”
“Nothing active. But passively…they will be widely dispersed, all ten on different arrival tracks. Some will come from the coastline near Egypt, others from the sea.”
Clark was convinced Gamling wasn’t lying—it all made too much sense. He was equally sure that the leadership in D.C. would be putting together a response after learning the drones were en route. What that response would be, Clark had no idea, but this information might be critical.
“What kind of radioactive material are they carrying?”
“Cesium 137, a significant cache. Liquid now but aerosolized on delivery. Given the half-life, it will shut the canal down for decades.”
“I need the exact target and time of arrival.”
Gamling didn’t answer immediately. He was probably wondering if this was the time to ask for something in return. John Clark’s laser glare told him it wasn’t.
“The Suez has two access channels on the north side. The strike will occur where they merge, near the Third July Tunnel. It is one of the narrowest points, and the central island will make cleanup all but impossible. As to when…al-fajr.”
Clark was familiar with the Arabic term. True dawn.
He stood and pulled out his phone.