Wings Of Fire

by Dale Brown

  "Whatever I'm doing, I don't think I'm doing it very gracefully," Sanusi said. He gave commands in Arabic, and his two men disappeared. "I need to speak with you immediately, General McLanahan. It is most urgent. Where can we meet?"

  "For Pete's sake, Your Majesty, a phone call would've been better," Patrick said. He couldn't help but smile at Sanusi's wry grin.

  "I apologize, my friend," Sanusi said, "but my men went about their task too enthusiastically, and you reacted most unexpectedly. But I need to speak with you. It is very important."

  "How did you get on base?" Patrick asked. "The security on this base has never been tighter. How ... ?"

  "It is about your wife, Wendy McLanahan," Sanusi said.

  Patrick's mouth dropped open in surprise. Bradley stopped whimpering and broke out in a wide, teary-eyed smile. "Mommy ... ?"

  "Fifteen minutes. Silver Strand State Park, east side, near the boat rental shop."

  "I know where it is."

  "Then be there in ten minutes," Patrick said. Sanusi disappeared-Patrick had no idea how he expected to get out of the gym after the commotion they started, but somehow he knew he would. "Let's go, Bradley."

  "Are we going to see Mommy?" he asked excitedly. Patrick did not-could not-answer.

  It took longer than ten minutes for Patrick to explain to Fred Jackson and his security police units what all the yelling and screaming was about. But Patrick explained everything to Jackson, including where and when he was going to meet with Sanusi. Jackson offered to have a few of his men tag along, but Patrick declined.

  He already had someone on the way prepared to do that.

  It was thirty minutes later when Patrick arrived at the rendezvous point, a small glass-and-concrete white building between the base and the Loews Coronado Resort where folks could rent sailboats during the summer. Sanusi and his men didn't arrive for another twenty minutes. Patrick was somewhat dismayed to see them-he had thought security at the naval base was tighter than that.

  Patrick's concern was assuaged after he met up with Sanusi and greeted him. "I am sorry to be late, my friendthe naval security forces detained us momentarily," the king said. "I am grateful you explained who we were. They agreed to release us under your supervision-after they took away our ID cards."

  "You had false ID cards?"

  "Real ID cards with false photos on them," Sanusi said. "It is laughably easy to take IDs from lockers in your recreation facilities. We had no trouble crossing the Mexican border with false Israeli passports, and getting on base was simplicity itself-does no one patrol the shores at your seaside bases?"

  "What about my wife, Your Highness?" Patrick asked.

  "Ah yes-enough of the security lecture," Sanusi said. "I believe your wife is alive, my friend. She and several Americans are still held by the pretender Zuwayy in Tripoli, in one of his underground bunkers south of the city."

  Patrick knelt down and put an arm around his son, hugging him with joy. Bradley was more interested in Sanusi's men, one of whom now had a splint around his left knee. "Have your men seen her? Are you certain?"

  "We have not seen her," Sanusi replied. "But the guards have reported to my men that the woman spoke her name, and that name was McLanahan. When this was told to me, I ordered my agents inside Tripoli to try to stay in contact with her, and I made arrangements to travel here to tell you myself. Because of you, my men and I are still patrolling the desert, probing for weaknesses in the Libyan army. We will help you all we can."

  "I'm grateful, Your Highness," Patrick said. "I just hope

  we can reach her in time." He turned away and spoke: "Patrick to Luger, Briggs, and Wohl."

  "Luger's up."

  "Wohl's up, in sight, your four o'clock." Patrick turned, and Sanusi looked in the same direction-just as Chris Wohl peeked his head above the low concrete rim of an adjacent rest room building about a hundred yards away. Patrick had called and asked that he cover him and Bradley during this meeting-just in case.

  "Very wise precaution, General McLanahan," Muhammad as-Sanusi commented, his smile beaming. He waved at Wohl; his wave was not returned. None of them could see what weapon Wohl was carrying, but there were no doubts in anyone's mind that he was more than proficient with it at this close range.

  "Just a heads-up, Muck-Naval Intelligence has just initiated a foreign-contact log on you," David Luger reported. "They'll start setting up surveillance on you, probably tap your phones, all that stuff. The contact log said that Muhammad as-Sanusi made contact with you right there in Coronado?"

  "He and his men are with me right now," Patrick said. "So I should assume we're under surveillance right now, correct?"

  "I think that would be a safe assumption. What's happening?"

  "The king says Wendy and the Americans are alive."

  "Holy shit! That's great! Can we confirm it? Do we have a location?"

  "No, and no," Patrick said. "But I want to get the force loaded up and headed back to Jaghbub right away."

  "You got it, Muck," Briggs said. "But just to let you know, the feds have really cracked down on Sky Masters. They've got us in virtual lockdown as we speak, and Jon has received notice of an FBI security inspection team that wants unlimited access to inspect the base tomorrow morning. My guess is that they're not there to do a security audit-they'll shut down the facility. I'm sure we've got Defense Intelligence Agency guys on our butts, and

  now we'll have to contend with Naval Intelligence."

  "Which means we start immediately," Patrick said. "I'll go with the king and Dave to Libya and get the base set up; you and Chris will split up and help Jon get our planes airborne with as many weapons and as much fuel as we can carry."

  YONQPAH TEST RANGE, NEVADA A SHORT TIME IA7£R

  The Suburban screeched to a halt in front of the security gate, and six men in plain dark business suits hopped out and assembled at the electric gate. The man from the front passenger seat picked up the phone mounted on the fence beside the gate. "Special Agent Willison, FBI, Los Angeles. My office called this morning." The gate was buzzed open by the guards inside, and the agents rushed in.

  They were met inside the guardhouse by a young man who extended his hand to welcome them but was greeted instead by upraised ID cards and stern, intimidating expressions. "I'm Special Agent Larry Willison, FBI," the lead agent said. "And you are?"

  "John Landow, assistant security director of Sky Masters Inc., the prime contractor in this facility."

  "I asked to meet directly with Dr. Masters or General McLanahan. Where are they?"

  "They're both in the lab right now," Landow said, "but they can meet you as soon as you clear security."

  "I happen to know that General McLanahan is in San Diego," Willison said angrily, "and Dr. Masters was told to meet us here. Now I want you to call him and have him meet us right outside. I've been ordered to consider any more delays as obstructing a federal investigation, and I am authorized to take him, and anyone else who doesn't cooperate fully, into custody."

  "Agent Willison, I assure you, no one is trying to hamper any investigation," Landow said. Landow was tall, in his early sixties, with bright blue eyes and a ready smile-

  but when the smile vanished, he looked very mean and serious. "I was informed the general was here-if I'm mistaken, then I apologize. And I promise you, Dr. Masters will be right outside by the time you clear security."

  "What do you mean, 'clear security'?" one of the other agents asked. "We submitted all of our credentials yesterday. We're demanding immediate access. That means right now."

  "Agent, if you knew anything at all about this facility, you know that no one gets immediate access," Landow said. "The security requirements in this facility are established by folks very much higher than our pay grades or even our boss's pay grade, and I'm not allowed to violate them. I faxed your office a copy of the entry procedures-I trust you received them?" The FBI agents nodded. "That is exactly what we'll do. My time estimate is accurate-no more than fifteen
minutes to clear security. Shall we get started?"

  Willison and the others had no choice but to agree. "But I want no one else to enter or leave this facility," he said. "That outer gate remains locked. All aircraft movement will cease immediately, all aircraft engines will be shut down, and all external power carts will be detached from all aircraft. If we see one aircraft with even so much as a courtesy light on, we'll arrest each and every individual in this facility."

  "Your cease-and-desist order and the search warrant spelled out everything, Special Agent," Landow said, "and our attorneys have told us it's in our best interest to cooperate. I've advised all the labs to comply one hundred percent. Your IDs and firearms go in the turntable there."

  Landow had moved a weapon-clearing barrel into the guardhouse, and the agents went about unloading and clearing their weapons by pointing them at the sand inside the barrel, then placing them on a turntable surrounded with bulletproof glass. The guard inside the secure room collected the weapons and placed them in lockers, then turned the locker keys back over to the agents. Meanwhile, another guard began checking IDs and taking digital photos.

  As they were waiting for then- IDs to be checked and their clearances issued, they were surprised to see a young

  girl step into the guardhouse, escorted by a security officer. The girl was wearing what looked like the proper identification badges-but it certainly looked strange to see a youngster inside one of the most secure compounds in the United States of America. It was even more surprising when the officer dropped the girl off in the guardhouse without anyone else appearing to be supervising her. The biggest, leanest, most menacing Doberman pinscher that any of them had ever seen accompanied the girl.

  The girl walked over to Willison; the Doberman sat right beside her and stared at the FBI agent. "Hi. I'm Kelsey." She motioned to the dog. 'This is my friend Sasha. Who are you?"

  "My name is Mr. Willison."

  "Pleased to meet you," she said politely. Willison turned when the officer checking their IDs offered them back. "Oooo," the girl said when she noticed the badge holders. "Are you a police officer?"

  "Yes, we are."

  "How exciting," she said. She reached for his ID as he was putting it back in his jacket. "Can I see?"

  "Not now," Willison said curtly. The girl looked perturbed. Willison went over to the guard window. "Hey, what's the story with the kid?"

  "That's Kelsey."

  "So I heard. What's she doing here?"

  "Her mom is one of the owners. She comes here every now and then. The dog is her bodyguard."

  "A bodyguard? Inside the compound?"

  "Everywhere she goes, I guess. She has class-C access."

  "How in hell did a little kid-?"

  "Hey, mister?" the girl asked. She was back again, a look of determination in her eyes. "Can I please see your badge?"

  "No, you cannot," Willison replied.

  "But I said 'please.' My mommy said I have to be more polite, and when I'm more polite, I get more things."

  "She's right, but you still can't see my badge,"-AVillison said sternly.

  "But I said 'please.' "

  "I said no."

  "Pul-leese?" She stopped asking and was whining now.

  "No!" Willison barked. His kids were grown, but when they were even younger than this girl, they learned respect. "Now go sit down over there."

  "You can't make me. You can't tell me what to do. You're not the boss of me!"

  Willison turned again to the guard. "Where's her mother?"

  "Somewhere in the facility. She goes with her kid when they're getting ready to leave, but then she usually gets waylaid and sends the kid on ahead. We usually end up picking her up in the break room and escorting her here."

  "My mom won't like you telling me what to do," the girl said.

  "I don't care. Now go sit down."

  "Just let me please see your badge? I promise I won't hurt it or get it dirty."

  "For the fourth time, I said no."

  Suddenly the girl reached over and actually tried to pull the badge case from his inside jacket pocket. Willison practically leapt backward in surprise. The other agents were suppressing amused snickers at the girl's persistence and Willison's mounting aggravation. The girl actually managed to get two little fingers on the badge holder and was pulling it out of his breast pocket. Willison heard a faint ripping and realized she was taking most of his breast pocket with her. "Hey! Watch it!" he shouted, louder than he intended.

  He may have pushed her a tiny bit, just because he was surprised at her quick move and to keep his pocket from ripping right off. If he did, he didn't put any force behind it. But whatever he did, suddenly the little girl yelped in pain and flew backward as if she had been body-slammed by a WWF wrestler. She hit the linoleum floor hard. She lay on the floor, staring straight up; at first, Willison thought-no, prayed-that she wasn't hurt. But he knew kids better than that. Seconds later, the little girl let out an earsplitting scream so loud that he thought for sure she had cracked open her skull or fallen on an ax or something.

  The only reason they stopped being concerned for the child's welfare was that they were more concerned about their own-because now Sasha the Doberman was all teeth, hair, and eyeballs. None of them had ever seen a more vicious-looking animal in their lives. They instinctively backed away and reached for side arms before realizing they no longer carried them.

  "Get that animal away from us!" Willison shouted. The girl screamed even louder. Finally one of the guards behind the counter, a younger one with kids, was able to pick her up, and he carried her to a chair and let her cry on his shoulder for a while until the security guard waved the FBI agents through. The dog watched them, snarling, facing them the entire time. By then, the girl was over her crying, and she watched silently, tearlessly. With one word from the little girl, the Doberman stopped snarling and sat down, impassively watching the door close behind them.

  "For Christ sake, Larry," one of the other agents admonished him, going over to the little girl. "What'd you do?"

  "I didn't do anything!" Willison protested. "She came at me, and I-"

  "She 'came at you'? Who'd you think she was-Freddie Krueger? Hannibal Lecter?"

  "Her mom probably makes more dough than all of us combined," another agent said over the now ear-piercing screams.

  "I hear the new office in Greenland needs a janitor," another joked.

  "Har har." Willison looked mad enough to chew the chain-link fence as he walked through an X-ray machine, then submitted to a pat-down search. "What in hell is a little kid like that hanging around this facility, anyway?" he grumbled. "I'm going to look into that next. This place is not a day-care center. And what the hell is it with that dog? I thought we were goners!"

  "Let it go, Larry," one of the other agents said as they emerged through yet another chain-link entrapment area into the street behind the hangar complexes. The? saw the assistant security director, Landow, just emerging from a

  hangar, coming to meet them. "You just forgot how to handle little kids, that's all."

  "Hey, we're here on business, not to entertain some rich bitch's kid." He looked around. "Masters is still nowhere to be found. I want some butts here today, gentlemen. Nothing goes by us. I don't put up with this shit from anyone, especially not from some snot-nosed egghead. I want-" Just then, he heard a high-pitched whine-the unmistakable sound of heavy jet engines spooling up. "What the hell?" He shouted at Landow, pointing in the direction of the noise. "I thought I ordered no engine starts! What in hell is that? "

  At that moment, over the growing roar of jet engines not far away, they heard, "Freeze! Hands in the air! No one move!" In the blink of an eye, heavily armed security officers with M-16 rifles leveled at them surrounded the FBI agents.

  Willison casually reached for his ID inside his jacket. "Put your guns down, boys. We're FB-"

  "I said hands in the fucking air!" Before they knew it, the officers pounced, using their rifles a
s pugil sticks to knock the agents to the asphalt. They spread-eagled the stunned FBI agents and began patting them down. To thenimmense shock, Sasha the Doberman was back, her jaws just inches away, snarling and growling louder and meaner than ever.

  "What in hell are you doing?" Willison shouted. "We're FBI, dammit! We just got clearance inside!" The dog snapped its jaws, and Willison felt the gush of its breath on the back of his hand-he thought his bladder was going to let go.

  "Don't move!" The guards secured their hands with nylon handcuffs, then continued pat-searching them.

  John Landow strolled over to them a few moments later. "Landow! You tell them who we are, right now" Willison shouted.

  "I suggest you stay quiet and cooperate, whoever you are," Landow said. "You're in serious trouble."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Got one," one of the guards said.

  "I got one too," another said, who had been searching the younger agent who had picked Kelsey off the floor.

  Both guards brought small devices, resembling small ballpoint pens with wires attached to them, over to Landow. Landow examined them, then stooped down beside Willison so he could see what he had in his hands. "Where did you get these, Special Agent?" he asked.

  "Get what?" He looked at the objects Landow had in his hand. "I never saw those things before in my life."

  "We'd better read you your rights," Landow said. "I advise you right now not to say another word."

  "What are you talking about? What are they?"

  "Then you agree to waive your right to remain silent?"

  "Don't fuck with me, Landow! I'll close down this facility so fast it'll make your head spin! Now, cut these cuffs off and tell those pilots to shut down those engines, and that's an order!"

  "I don't think you're in a position to be issuing orders right now, guys," Landow said. "You've just entered a secure government research facility operating under Threatcon Delta with Kryton nuclear trigger devices in your possession."

  "What?"