War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel

by James Rollins

  “Tuck . . .” she whispered, slipping fingers through his hair.

  He leaned down and kissed her, needing to feel the heat of her lips, to ground him in the here and now, knowing she needed the same. She kissed him back without hesitation. As their breathing grew heavier, passions rising, she pulled back slightly, enough to speak, her lips still brushing his.

  “Tucker, I still need to tell you about—”

  “Guys!” a voice called from the motel.

  Tucker fell to his back, pondering ways to kill Frank.

  Jane twisted to face the man as he came running up. He was plainly oblivious to the poor timing of his interruption. “What is it?” she asked.

  Frank was breathless. “Nora . . . she found something!”

  3:33 P.M.

  Back in the motel room, Tucker huddled with Jane and the others around Nora’s laptop. “I don’t understand,” he said. “What am I looking at?”

  Frank explained, “Buried inside the brains of the Warhawks, Rex discovered an identical subroutine program, one shared by all the drones. It was sort of like . . . well . . .”

  Nora filled in the blank. “Sort of like a pending file, for lack of a better term. It was deeply encrypted, but the newly improved Rex had no trouble ripping it open. The file contained a bunch of directives, basically a to-do list for the drones. Most of those seemed connected to operations at White Sands, but deeper in that file, we found a list of directives that made no sense, all dated three days from now.”

  She pointed to the screen and the list that glowed there.

  1868

  TSTT

  Opus Networx

  WOWnet

  Interserv

  Carib-Link

  Cablenett

  110859 / 0604956

  103543 / 0612014

  IATA: TAB, ICAO: TTCP

  IATA: POS, ICAO: TTPP

  Nora scrolled further, revealing the list went on and on for several pages.

  Tucker turned to her. “Okay, what does all of this mean?”

  She returned to the beginning and identified what was listed on the screen. “These are a country’s calling codes. Here are its Internet service providers, airport coordinates, and Internet protocol addresses.” She pointed to a set of numbers. “These are emergency, military, and air traffic frequencies for the same country. And look here, this last section lists a bunch of local radio stations.”

  “What is all of this for?” he asked.

  Frank answered, “It’s everything someone would need to know to launch a cyber attack upon a country, to literally shut it down lock, stock, and barrel.”

  Tucker remembered that in this new era of information wars cyber attacks were a critical component.

  “And here’s the kicker.” Frank put his finger on a line of data that read CARIB-LINK. “All this data is tied to a specific little dot in the Caribbean.”

  “Where?”

  “The island of Trinidad.”

  Jane frowned. “Trinidad? You’re talking palm trees, coconuts, calypso music. That Trinidad?”

  Nora nodded. “One in the same.”

  “So you’re thinking Tangent is going to orchestrate some sort of attack out there?” Tucker asked.

  “Or maybe another test.” Frank looked to Nora, who nodded. “We think White Sands was a test of only one feature of Tangent’s new weapons systems.”

  Tucker pictured the burning city, the slag of metal glowing outside of town.

  Frank continued. “We believe something different is going to be tested in Trinidad.”

  Jane raised a question in Tucker’s own mind. “What about all that Soviet military hardware we saw at White Sands? That island can’t have more than a few thousand military personnel and virtually no offensive munitions beyond light arms.”

  Nora nodded. “I checked online. Trinidad buys its weapons from Sweden and the U.K. Definitely not Russia, let alone an arsenal from the Soviet era.”

  “So what are you thinking?” Tucker asked.

  Nora faced him. “I think Tangent is about to test the next phase of its weapons system, something tied to attacking the digital infrastructure of that island country. It’s scheduled for three days from now.”

  Jane bit her lower lip, getting that determined look in her eyes. “We need to get out there before that happens.”

  Tucker knew she was right, but first it would require taking another risk, one he had been avoiding until now.

  All eyes turned to him, looking for guidance.

  “Before we pack our sunscreen,” Tucker told them, “we’re going to need help.”

  FOURTH

  SMOKE AND MIRRORS

  24

  October 25, 10:17 A.M. AST

  Trinidad and Tobago, Caribbean Sea

  Tucker sat with his forehead pressed against the aircraft window as the pilot banked the private jet—a Citation Mustang—across an expanse of indigo water. The green mound of Trinidad slid into view below as they began their descent toward the island’s airport.

  “I could get used to traveling like this,” Frank commented from across the leather-appointed cabin.

  Seated behind him, Nora murmured her agreement, a crystal tumbler of Coke in her hand.

  Even Jane was impressed. “Tuck, you’ve certainly made friends in high places.”

  You have no idea.

  Before leaving Texas, he had finally broken down and placed an encrypted call to Ruth Harper, his contact at Sigma command in DC. Until then, he had avoided approaching the covert group due to Sigma’s direct involvement with DARPA, the Defense Department’s research-and-development agency. Since Tangent Aerospace’s work centered on advanced drone technology, he feared DARPA might be equally involved, especially considering the military’s cooperation in all of this, at both Redstone Arsenal and White Sands.

  While on his home turf in the States, Tucker had preferred to go it alone, but now that the trail led beyond U.S. borders, he knew he needed additional support. When he finally called Ruth, she had not seemed overly surprised to hear from him—which made him wonder if Sigma didn’t have a way of tracking him all along. Either way, she had listened to his story, promised to make some discreet inquiries at her end, and arranged their new passports, along with concocting a cover story for their group’s trip to Trinidad.

  She had offered to ship out a Sigma field operative to join them, but he had refused. The less commotion they made in Trinidad the better. But more important, he didn’t want anyone at his side whom he did not fully trust. Besides, the group’s goal on this island should be a simple one. After sundown, they planned on sending Rex aloft over Port of Spain, the capital of Trinidad. They were going to use the newly improved drone to perform the task for which it had been built: to collect and gather intelligence. If Tangent was planning something tomorrow, Tucker intended to find out what it was and hopefully stop them.

  Tucker had also been prepared to request one other favor from Ruth. Over the past two days of traveling, he had noted the occasional haunted look in Jane’s eyes, a haze of worry, fear, and guilt. He knew her son was foremost in her thoughts. Tucker had suggested having Sigma gather up Nathan and get the boy somewhere safe, but Jane had soundly rebuffed him. She trusted those who were watching her son, and she didn’t know these unknown “friends” of Tucker’s. In the end, he hadn’t pressed the matter, recognizing a mirror of his own paranoia in her eyes.

  So they were on their own for now.

  As the jet began its final descent toward the airport, Kane responded to the change of pressure by lifting his head from where he lay curled at the bulkhead and growled softly, plainly irritated. The shepherd was not a fan of small planes and tolerated such hops as necessary.

  Tucker rubbed under Kane’s muzzle. “It’s okay, buddy. We’ll be back on the ground soon.”

  Kane harrumphed and settled back down.

  Frank continued monitoring their flight from across the cabin. “A lot of jungle down there.” He glanced to
ward Tucker, the implication easy to read on his face.

  While the island was only the size of Rhode Island, vast areas were sparsely populated and remote. It would be easy for Tangent to hide a drone fleet down there.

  Nora spoke up. “Was that Tobago I saw when we circled around?”

  “I think so,” Tucker answered.

  Trinidad was part of a republic that included the island of Tobago to the northeast. Dozens of smaller isles—some inhabited, others deserted—also shared the surrounding seas. The location and climate made this tiny island republic an important area for tourism, but due to large reserves of oil and gas, its main industry was petrochemical. This vast natural resource made this nation the third wealthiest in the Americas, after the United States and Canada.

  Is that one of the reasons Tangent had targeted this place?

  He had no idea. Any answers waited for them below.

  After another minute, the Citation’s tires touched down at the Piarco International Airport outside of Port of Spain. Tucker held his breath as they passed through customs, but Ruth’s papers held up to scrutiny. Even the plastic crate that housed Rex was only given a cursory glance, the outside emblazoned with NOAA emblems. Ruth’s cover story had the group posing as climate scientists associated with the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration. If there were any deeper inquires, Frank and Nora had been scripted with enough technobabble about the weather to further support their cover.

  In short order, the group cleared the airport and hailed a taxi. The day was already hot, the humid air smelling heavily of salt. Low-hanging puffy clouds filled the skies. The forecast was for afternoon showers, but the night would be clear, the perfect flying weather for Rex.

  As they loaded into a yellow taxi van, Tucker studied an anomaly: several British FV432 armored personnel carriers were parked along the airport’s perimeter fence.

  Jane noted his attention and whispered to him. “Did you see all the Trinidadian soldiers patrolling the airfield’s tarmac?”

  He nodded. The soldiers all had assault rifles slung at the ready across their chests.

  “Something’s definitely up,” he muttered.

  “Maybe tonight Rex can find out what that’s all about.”

  Tucker had a more immediate source for that information. After they all piled into the back of the van, he leaned toward the driver. “What’s going on with all the military in the area? Is there something wrong?”

  The young black man spoke with a Jamaican accent. “No trouble, mon. Nothing you need worry about. It’s paradise here.”

  Still, Tucker caught the man’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

  Guy’s nervous, plainly putting on a happy face for the tourists.

  Tucker pressed the cabbie. “Listen, we got work on the other side of the island. I’m this team’s security. If there’s anything I should know about . . .” He reached forward and held out a folded hundred-dollar bill. “I’d appreciate the heads-up.”

  The bill vanished, and the driver squinted at Tucker in the rearview mirror before finally confiding to him. “We got an election comin’ up in a couple days. Lots of tension, mon. No one likes President D’Abreo.” Even the name drew a scowl from the cabbie. “His government . . . be corrupt as they come. Some say there could be rioting if he be reelected. So maybe you keep an extra eye on your peoples.”

  Tucker nodded to the man. “Thanks for the warning.”

  “But like I said, mostly just talk.” The man offered a wide grin of reassurance. “Troubles come and go in Trinidad like the rains. You be fine.”

  Tucker hoped he was right.

  As he sat back, Jane leaned closer. “Sounds like a powder keg is brewing.”

  One that wouldn’t take much of a match to ignite.

  Tucker sat back for the remainder of the ride. They passed two more APCs on their way to the city. The cab even had to go through an armed checkpoint before entering the capital.

  Nora shifted forward from the van’s third row. “Guy’s right about the tension here.” She lifted up the iPad she had been working on. “The government has been trying to downplay it, to keep it out of the media.”

  “Don’t want to scare away the tourists,” Frank guessed.

  Nora nodded. “The main competitor for the current administration is a grassroots political party. Something called the TPP, the Trinidadian People’s Party. They’ve been threatening violence if the upcoming presidential election doesn’t go their way. They claim the current administration is crooked, including his entire cabinet ministry. The TPP is talking revolution.”

  Tucker eyed yet another armored carrier parked alongside the road. “Looks like D’Abreo is taking that threat seriously.”

  Frank’s face had gone a touch paler. “We need to get Rex in the air. Find out what’s really brewing here.”

  As they continued into the city, Tucker took stock of his surroundings. They had left behind the palm-lined highways and lush hills for a sprawling metropolis. Port of Spain spread for eighteen miles along the coast of the Gulf of Paria and was home to more than a hundred thousand people.

  Tucker couldn’t help but wonder what Tangent had in store for them.

  What is the enemy’s interest in this tiny Caribbean republic?

  The taxi finally swept off the main drag and up a lilac-strewn driveway. They circled a central fountain and stopped before the lobby of the Hyatt Regency. A pair of valet attendants in starched white shirts hurried forward, opening doors and ushering them out with warm greetings. The only hiccup in their well-researched routine was when seventy pounds of Belgian shepherd hopped out of the backseat.

  One of the attendants stumbled back, but the older of the two held his ground, firming his faltering smile. “Oh my . . . what a beautiful dog.”

  Without missing a beat, the man waved for the bellhops to come collect their luggage, then led them all into a marble-floored lobby. Faint calypso music played in the background. To the left, floor-to-ceiling windows looked across palm trees, white sand beaches, and the flat blue waters of the Caribbean.

  Walking alongside him, Jane took Tucker’s hand. “You take me to the nicest places.”

  “Let’s hope it stays nice.”

  Within a few minutes, they were checked into a two-bedroom penthouse suite on the twentieth floor with a wraparound balcony that offered generous views of both the city and the gulf.

  “Wow,” Frank murmured, exploring the carpeted space. “This sure beats Motel 6.”

  More focused on the task at hand, Nora rolled the case holding the Wasp drone over to the main living area. She looked anxious to check on Rex after the long flight, to make sure there wasn’t any damage. Her intensity drew Frank away from the view.

  As she unbuckled the drone’s case, Kane began his own duty, which involved thoroughly sniffing every corner of the room.

  Jane had to sidestep the industrious dog to reach the bar. Someone had fully stocked it for them, leaving behind a gift basket of fruits and cheeses. Jane read the note aloud. “Play nice . . . and don’t forget the sunscreen. R. H. ”

  Tucker shook his head. Ruth Harper was certainly thorough.

  Jane tossed the card aside and stepped behind the bar. “Anyone else want a drink?”

  Tucker was tempted to follow her example, but he wanted to make sure one other detail had been properly arranged for them by their diligent benefactor. He moved to the closet. Inside, he found the hotel minisafe was already locked. He dialed in the code that Ruth had given him, got the green light, and opened the small door.

  Three pistols lay inside: all SIG Sauer P225s. There were also matching shoulder holsters, extra magazines, and four boxes of 9 mm ammunition.

  From behind the bar, Jane watched him remove the weapons. “Okay, those friends of yours . . . they’re getting to be a little scary.”

  But they certainly have their uses.

  He carried everything over to the sofa, inspected the pistols, and began loading the mag
azines. Steps away, Nora and Frank had Rex already hooked to a laptop, preparing the drone for tonight’s sojourn.

  Jane returned with two gin and tonics and settled onto the sofa next to him.

  “Those both for you?” he asked.

  She passed him one. “I think you’re gonna need this.”

  She swirled her glass, tinkling the ice, and took a sip, as if gathering the courage to speak—but then the phone rang, echoing from various locations around the suite.

  Tucker crinkled his brow and reached to the handset on the end table. He expected it to be a courtesy call from reception, making sure the accommodations met their expectations.

  “Sir, this is Santiago from the front desk,” a crisp voice responded as he answered. “We have a gentleman here who is inquiring if he could speak to you, but he didn’t know your name—only showed me a picture of you.”

  A picture?

  “So I thought it prudent that I confirm with you first before connecting the call.”

  Tucker felt warning bells going off in his head.

  Did someone follow us from the airport?

  Before responding, he palmed the receiver and spoke to Jane. “Get everything packed up again and ready to move.” He returned to the receptionist on the phone. “Thank you, Santiago. You can put the gentleman through, but I’d appreciate if you didn’t share our room number until I know who this is.”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll put him on one of our lobby phones. Just a moment.”

  Tucker listened to a shuffle, a click, then a voice answered with a prominent French accent. “It’s high time we had a chat, mon ami, don’t you think?”

  Tucker immediately recognized that harsh accent, picturing the scarred face of the soldier who had accompanied Karl Webster to the swamp.

  Before Tucker could respond, the caller continued. “Let’s say fifteen minutes in the lobby lounge. Just you and me.”

  The man hung up.