Razor's Edge d-3

by Dale Brown

  “CentCom doesn’t have authority to engage in ground operations in Iraq, let alone Iran.”

  “We have to attack the laser quickly,” said Dog. “My scientists say there’s a good chance it’s mobile or at least can be made mobile. Even if it stays right where it is, no plane flying over northeastern Iraq is safe. Let alone one flying over Iran.”

  A thin red streak, so bright it could have been paint, had appeared across Magnus’s forehead. “You know, Dog, you sound more and more like Brad Elliott every fucking day.”

  The screen flashed and went blank.

  Dog had never heard Magnus use a four letter word before.

  “So what now?” asked Major Cheshire, whom Dog had asked to sit in with him.

  “We find a way to go ahead without CentCom,” Dog said.

  “Magnus seems against it.”

  Dog thought back to his conversation with Knapp. Not exactly something to hang a career on.

  “The Whiplash order hasn’t been revoked,” he said.

  “We have to proceed.”

  “Do we destroy the laser, or try and send Danny in?”

  said Cheshire.

  He hadn’t anticipated using her as a sounding board when he’d kept her at the base, and until now she hadn’t been. But Cheshire did fill the role of alter ego admirably.

  Mid-thirties, a career officer with a wide range of experience — a woman with the perspective of someone who’d had to fight her way into what was essentially a closed club, in reality if not in theory.

  A good alter ego. A good wife, in a way.

  Jennifer was the one he wanted. This would put her in more danger — she’d barely escaped the laser strike on Quicksilver.

  Not a factor in his decision.

  “If we can’t use CentCom, we can’t send Danny,” said Dog finally. “But we have to proceed.”

  “What about the Chinese?”

  “Questions, always questions,” he said with a laugh.

  “Well? Are we risking World War Three here?”

  Dog began to pace in front of the mammoth view screen at the front of the room. At the time the Whiplash order had been issued, the threat was largely thought to be a new radar system or a technique involving radar. The President had probably put Whiplash in motion as insurance for CentCom, intending them to augment the conventional forces. He hadn’t foreseen this development.

  But the fact that the threat turned out to actually be a directed energy weapon did not change the essential nature of the orders — something was still shooting down American planes, and he was empowered, ordered, to stop it if possible.

  The orders were predicated on the threat being in Iraq, not Iran.

  It wasn’t hard to guess why Magnus hadn’t volunteered to take the matter to the President. If things went wrong, and even if things went right, the mission could plausibly and legally be described as a rogue adventure by a mis-guided underling — Lieutenant Colonel Tecumseh Bastian. His head could be offered up to whomever wanted it: Congress, CentCom, the Iranians.

  They had to proceed with the mission. If they didn’t, more Americans would die. The laser might be refined and sold to other countries, beginning with the Chinese — who might even already have it. It might be used to threaten commercial air flights or against satellite systems.

  But proceeding might very well mean the end of his career.

  And the death of his lover, daughter, and friends.

  “Colonel?” asked Cheshire.

  “Open the channel to High Top,” Dog told the lieutenant on the com panel. Then he turned to Cheshire.

  “We’re moving ahead.”

  Chapter 86

  Tehran, Iran

  1000

  For all his experience in combat, for all his bravado, General Sattari still felt awe as he stepped into the chamber of the Council of Guardians in the capital. He might have no respect for the robed men who sat here, he might think that the Ayatollah Khamenei was essentially a coward and a traitor to his people, but he could not forget that these men, for all their failings, were teachers with a special relationship with God. Perhaps they abused their power, perhaps they made decisions motivated by greed or expedience rather than piety — but they nonetheless contemplated the Creator with a depth of attention that he could only admire.

  The marble floors, the large open room, the rich tapes-try — all reinforced the humility of his position. His steps faltered; he felt his fingers beginning to tremble and his heart pumping faster, adrenaline mixing, accentuating his nervousness. When he saw Ayatollah Khamenei sitting calmly before him, he felt his tongue grown thick. He had been wrong to proceed without his blessing; he had been wrong to underestimate the religious leader’s skill and control.

  He considered saying nothing. He considered, even, running from the building.

  A glance to the Chinese guards flanking the door steeled his resolve.

  “You have caused us great difficulty,” said Khamenei in a voice so low Sattari practically had to stop breathing to hear.

  “The difficulties are with our enemies,” Sattari said. He reminded himself he was not without leverage. Nor was his weapon unguarded — before leaving Anhik he had deployed most of his men on the highways south of the base to guard against any move by the Chinese; spies at the air bases they used would warn if any bombers or transports took off. While Sattari did not believe Khamenei would order such an attack against him — he would have done so already, rather than summoning him here — the Chinese could well choose this time to move unilaterally.

  “How does the American attack on the dog Saddam help us?” asked the Ayatollah.

  “Because, your excellency, it takes their attention away from us, and at the same time weakens our enemy. Our people in Basra pray for deliverance.”

  The continued suppression of Shiites in the southern Iraqi city had been the subject of many of Khamenei’s edicts, but the Ayatollah showed with a frown that he would not be so easily persuaded. Sattari felt an urge to shout at him that they must take advantage of the American preoccupation and push off the Chinese; they could rearm with American help as long as the Americans were obsessed with Iraq. American weapons were far superior to the Chinese hand-me-downs; this had been proven time and time again. And even if the Americans offered no aid, they could be used to cow the Chinese into a better arrangement.

  Surely Allah was against the pagan Communists as well as the demon Christians.

  Did it matter that American planes were destroyed? Did it matter that Iraqis were killed? These were good things.

  Sattari remained silent.

  “We were not informed that the weapon was ready to be used,” said the Ayatollah when he spoke again.

  “Reports of the tests six months ago were delivered in this very hall,” said Sattari. “At that time, readiness was discussed.”

  And projected as being five years away, if not more.

  Sattari had helped coach the scientists on what to say, and listened carefully. The laser’s actual location had also been carefully left out of the report.

  Khamenei stared at him, not bothering to point out the contradiction.

  “You wish your power restored,” said the black-robed imam instead. “You feel that by these actions you will restore yourself to a position of eminence.”

  “My interest is Iran, and the glory of God.”

  “That does not rule out your own glory, does it?”

  He thought to supply a formula from the Koran to the effect that personal glory means nothing except as it contributes to salvation, but the stirring of some of Khamenei’s cohorts in the row behind him diverted him.

  “My interest is Iran, and the glory of God,” he repeated.

  “So be it,” said the Ayatollah. “But I will be the judge of the success of your action.”

  Sattari considered the words. Khamenei had conceded nothing — but neither did he order Sattari to stop what he was doing.

  He was willing to play the game. P
erhaps he detested the Chinese and the Iraqis as much as Sattari. Or perhaps he had his own plans; his face gave nothing away.

  It occurred to Sattari that he might be stronger than he realized. He didn’t have to angle for power — he had it. If he could arrange for a purge of some of the more religious junior officers in the air force, he might combine them with his Kurd allies and control the northwest provinces on his own.

  It was not among Sattari’s plans, but the idea did warm his chest against the coldness of the hall as he took his leave.

  Chapter 87

  Incirlik

  1100

  The American’s Arabic was clear enough, though he seemed an odd bird, limbs and legs constantly in motion as he stumbled for the right phrase. Neither he nor any of the other Americans seemed to realize that Tarik spoke English, or that he had spent several years in America. He believed that was very much for the good, especially since he had overheard his captors say several times that he must be treated with care. Certainly they had been good to him so far.

  They wanted to know how he managed the radar network. They asked of a laser, and missiles, but to every question he feigned ignorance.

  He would say nothing. That was his duty.

  Chapter 88

  High Top

  1110

  Torbin had trouble concentrating on the radar screen as Jennifer Gleason reviewed the settings for him.

  If the plane’s captain was the most beautiful woman Torbin had ever seen — and she was — Jennifer was number two.

  Very different, though. Not military. Long hair, thinner.

  Cursed like a stinking sailor. Smarter than any ten people he’d ever met.

  “So you hit this sequence here, that just tells the computer to screw over its normal programming,” she told him. “Then you manually move the cursor to prioritize, or use verbal commands, like this.”

  The scientist began speaking in a calm, almost quiet voice, using the screen ID codes to identify the targets.

  “The thing to remember is that you have to precede instructions with the word ‘Computer.’ ”

  “Got it,” said Torbin.

  “Okay. You run through the simulation program I just set for you. I have to help install the laser detection gear in Raven, so I’m going to download some programming while you’re practicing. Then you’re going to come over to Raven with me and help calibrate it.”

  Jennifer bent down to examine something on the screen of her laptop, exposing a small bit of flesh near her waist-band.

  “Okay,” said Torbin, wrestling his eyes away with great difficulty. “Okay, okay.”

  Chapter 89

  High Top

  1115

  Without the Marines or other CentCom support, the best they could do was blow up the laser. Even then, it might be tricky — they had only six JSOWs left, to use against the three likely sites.

  “We can get there in the Bronco,” insisted Mack, who had suddenly become enamored of the turboprop plane.

  “In and out.”

  “Your loaded radius just won’t cut it,” said Zen. “Especially if it turns out to be that site out near the lake. I’m sorry, Danny. Colonel Bastian’s right. This is the way we have to go.”

  “I’m worried that we don’t even have all the possible sites,” said Alou. “From what Rubeo says, those four smaller buildings could be it too.”

  “Once they fire at the Quail, we’ll know for sure,” said Bree.

  “If they fire at the Quail.”

  “They will.” The Quail was a decoy drone, essentially a cruise missile with a profile and “noisemaker” that made it appear to be a B-52 on radar scopes.

  “I think they’ll go for it,” said Zen. “And Rubeo’s wrong about it fitting in a small building. Jennifer says it has to be one of those three sites.”

  “She’s not an expert on lasers,” said Alou.

  “She’s an expert on everything,” answered Zen.

  Danny listened as they continued to discuss the contin-gencies, pondering how effective the JSOWs would be against a hardened site, even though Rubeo said it would be impossible to place the director or firing mechanism behind one.

  In a perfect world, a massive strike by F-15Es would cover any possibility. But if it were a perfect world, Danny thought, he would have CentCom support.

  He glanced at the map. If it made sense to survey the laser site when they thought it was in Iraq, it made even more sense now.

  Two of the three most likely sites were within the Bronco’s radius, albeit just at the edge.

  So maybe they should be in the air, just in case.

  “What?” Zen asked him.

  “Listen, if you’re going to use the Quail to try and find the site, then I’ll take a team in the Bronco in case it turns out to be one we can hit,” Danny told him.

  “Now you’re talking,” said Mack.

  “Iraqis’ll shoot you down before you get to the border,”

  said Zen. “They’re running Zsu-23s up north like ants rushing to a picnic.”

  “It’s an awful long shot,” said Bree.

  “Granted. But the payoff would be high.”

  “Not if you’re shot down,” said Alou.

  “Hey, screw that,” said Mack. “I’m not getting shot down.”

  “You almost got shot down by a helicopter,” said Alou.

  “Not even close. And this time I won’t leave my Sidewinders behind.”

  “Then you’ll never make it into Iraq,” said Zen. “It’s too far, Mack.”

  “Don’t wimp on me, Zen boy.”

  The back and forth might have been amusing if so much weren’t riding on it. Danny wondered if he sounded like Mack — willing to take enormous risks just to get in on the action.

  Was that what he was doing?

  Chapter 90

  Dreamland Command Center

  0100

  The face that flashed onto the screen surprised Dog so much he found himself momentarily speechless.

  “I hear you’ve been looking to chew my ear,” said General Clearwater, CentCom CinC. “Fire away.”

  “Well, actually, it’s academic now,” said Dog, who’d just come back to the command center after catching a few hours sleep. “I wanted to inform you of a mission into Iraq.”

  Clearwater moved his closed mouth, as if shifting his teeth around. “Well, your boys pulled that off very well, Colonel. Congratulations. Were you looking for assistance?”

  “Just wanted to keep the lines of communication open, sir. A heads-up.”

  “Very good.” The general seemed ready to sign off.

  “General Clearwater, I wonder if we might have your support on another mission.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We believe we know where the laser is that’s been shooting down our aircraft. We want to hit it right away.”

  “It should be a target. Have you talked to Jack?”

  Jack meant Jack Christian, the Air Force general in charge of target planning for CentCom.

  “It’s in Iran,” said Dog. “What I’m looking for—”

  “Iran’s out of bounds,” said the general. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Clearwater moved his jaw again. The deep lines on his forehead grew even deeper. “How sure?” he asked.

  “Very.”

  “My orders at the moment are very explicit, and I’ve gone over similar ground with the Defense secretary twice. I understand your orders may be different,” added Clearwater before Dog could say anything else. “But for the moment at least, my hands are tied.”

  The screen blanked before Dog could say anything else.

  Chapter 91

  High Top

  1150

  The idea had formed in Danny’s mind even before the Marine Corps major came to see him. It was outrageous and even far-fetched — which made it perfect.

  “I know you’re busy,” said the Marine commander, helping himself to some
of the coffee on the trailer counter near the worktable. “I was wondering if I could arrange a briefing on the valley you flew through on your way back from the Iraqi radar site. We have a mission just north of there. We’re going to pick up some Kurd leaders and bring them to Turkey for a conference. I’m authorized to take out anything that gets in the way.”

  “I’ll give you the whole rundown,” said Danny.

  “There’s a helicopter base down there that you ought to wipe out along the way. They have at least two Mi-24

  Hinds on the ground.”

  “We’ll nail them,” said the Marine.

  “Wait. I’d like one of the helicopters,” said Danny.

  “What for?” said the major.

  “You don’t want to know,” said Danny.

  The Marine, who knew only that Whiplash was not part of the normal chain of command, nodded. A few minutes later Danny and he had worked out a plan to snatch one of the Hinds.

  Zen and Alou were considerably more skeptical than the Marine.

  “We take the helicopter into Iran. The Iraqis won’t shoot at it, because it’s theirs,” said Danny.

  “The Iranians will,” said Zen.

  “Not before we hit them.”

  “I don’t know, Danny.”

  “It’ll work,” he insisted. “It has the range, even without extra fuel. And we’ll take plenty. Payload’s there. It’s low risk.”

  “Bullshit on low risk,” said Alou, and even Zen rolled his eyes.

  A small part of him said to back off — he and the team were tired, this was way out there. But another part of him, the much larger part, pushed ahead.

  They could do it.

  “Who’s going to fly the helo?” asked Alou.

  “I got a guy,” Danny told him.

  “Who?”

  “Egg Reagan. He has a pilot’s license and everything.”