Chapter 66
Situation Room
The White House
Washington, D.C.
“This is gold,” Burgess said. “Now we know the point on the canal being targeted and the time of the strike.”
“I’m not sure about the time,” Ryan said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but ‘true dawn’ doesn’t equate to sunrise.”
“Correct,” Kent seconded. “I’ve spent a fair amount of time in that part of the world. Al-farj refers to first light, not necessarily sunrise. It’s the period for the morning call to prayer in Islam. I’d say this strike could happen anywhere in a forty-minute window.”
The President checked the clock and corrected for time zones. “It’s going to be close.”
“That it will. And the fact that these drones will approach from ten different routes is going to spread our Hornets thin.”
Try as he might, the President could think of nothing more to do. They simply had to hope the Hornets could intercept the drones in time. Ryan then reread the burst message from Al-Jaghbub. He addressed Mary Pat. “Clark mentioned that he recovered Malenkov’s phone.”
“Correct,” she said.
“How quickly could we exploit that?”
Mary Pat considered it. “CIA could probably do it remotely, but right now we don’t have the right signal with Clark’s device—only burst messaging.”
“I may be able to help with that,” said Admiral Kent. “Our Hawkeye is pretty close to Libya. They might be able to set up a data link.”
“Let’s try,” Ryan said. “And make it quick.”
Al-Jaghbub Airfield
Clark was on the ramp outside the IL-76 pulling the chocks clear of the main wheels. He had performed a lot of duties in his day, but this was his first time he’d served as a crew chief to launch a heavy jet. He dragged the massive rubber chocks clear and left them on the tarmac.
The jet was ready to roll.
The wind whipped fiercely as he trotted toward the boarding stairs. He could see the storm coming in the wash of the perimeter floodlights, a churning wall of brown. They were trying to get airborne before it swept over the airfield.
He’d just reached the stairs when his phone rang. Surprised, he pulled the handset from his pocket and saw a solid signal. Last he’d checked there had been only satellite comm for burst messaging. There was no caller ID—the CIA being its usual surreptitious self—but he suspected he knew who it was.
He tapped to pick up the call. “Task Force 99, we aim to please.”
A brief pause, then Mary Pat’s voice came over the line three-by-three—not loud or clear, but a usable connection. “Hello, John,” she said.
“How did I suddenly get a signal?”
“We worked some magic through an E-2D Hawkeye—it’s about a hundred miles north of your position. What’s your status?”
“We’re loaded up and about to take off in the Ilyushin transport. We’re trying to beat the storm out.”
“Why not the Gulfstream?”
“Ah…unfortunately for the taxpayers, I’m going to have to expense that one. The Ilyushin crew survived that drone swarm you sent in—very impressive, by the way. The Gulfstream’s copilot, Sesniak, is going to double-check the crew’s navigation to make sure we don’t end up in Minsk.”
“Where are you actually going?”
“I figured Sigonella is pretty close. Can you let them know we’re on the way?”
“Will do. What’s the latest on injuries?”
In his earlier message, Clark had explained they had one man in critical condition. He imparted the bad news, which he himself had only gotten ten minutes ago. “We lost a man—Hooper, the Gulfstream’s skipper. He took a round to the chest, and we couldn’t save him.”
“Damn, I’m sorry.”
“We’ll bring him home. There are a couple of other injuries, but nothing serious.”
“We received the information you sent. It looks good and we’ve got a four-ship of fighters trying to intervene.”
“They’d better hurry. It’s getting close to dawn in the target area.”
“We’re aware of that. I do have one additional request.”
“A question for Gamling?”
“No, there’s no time and you’ve already given us the most important information. Of course, we will interview him properly when the time comes. I’m calling about something else you sent…the picture of Malenkov’s phone log.”
“One of the numbers get a hit?”
“We haven’t been able to run them. I was actually thinking about the phone itself. Now that we have a data connection, it might present a more…comprehensive opportunity. Do you still have the handset?”
“Sure, I’ve got it in my vest.”
“Turn it on, then set it down next to your agency phone.”
He tore open a Velcroed pocket and removed the handset. “Okay, both are on, and they’re side by side. Anything else?”
“Give us a minute.”
He heard Mary Pat give instructions to a technician.
Soon both phones displayed a spinning data wheel. Clark said, “I see activity on both phones. Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”
“It’s a new application built into our higher-end devices.”
“Remind me to not leave it next to my own phone.”
He heard one of the Ilyushin’s engines spinning up.
After roughly a minute, Mary Pat said, “All right, I think we have what we need. Unless something critical comes up, we’ll talk again when you get to Sig.”
“Copy that.”
Clark ended the call.
He looked up and saw Ding at the top of the stairs. “We need to roll, boss!” he said, pointing to the south. The perimeter fence in that direction was no longer visible, having been swallowed by a massive wall of dust.
Clark hurried up the stairs, and as soon as he was inside, Ding retracted them and shut the entry door.
The jet began taxiing. He could feel the airframe being buffeted by gusts and heard the low-frequency hum of the last engine cranking to life.
He belted into a webbed seat just as the familiar acceleration began.
Soon they were in the air, the big jet jolting and rocking like a carnival ride.
Ding, sitting next to him, looked back into the wide cargo bay. “Ever been in one of these?” he asked.
“An Il-76? Yeah, a long time ago. I remember we about froze when we got to altitude—heaters don’t work for crap.”
“Cold never really bothered me.”
“Never used to bother me either,” said Clark. “But lately I’ve been feeling it more.”
“Guess you’re just getting—”
“Don’t say it!”
Ding grinned, leaned back, and closed his eyes.