and anticipation beating in his chest.
'You look real tactical this morning,' Ed Lawrence shouted. Bennett turned, his reverie interrupted, to watch the redheaded flier waddle toward him.
'It's great to be getting back in the air, isn't it, Skipper?'
Lawrence ran an affectionate hand along the F-20's fuselage much as Bennett had done.
'Well, I've read the manual a few times through and you'll recall I did okay in the simulator.'
The F-20 simulators still were being installed but Bennett had exercised his rank and qualified ahead of most pilots on the schedule. The Saudis would be the first third world country with flight simulators that showed the world outside the cockpit. They were tremendously expensive but invaluable for accelerating training. The computer-generated imagery which allowed students to experience earth and sky as well as the instrument panel previously was limited to nations which produced the systems, such as the United States, Britain, and France. One of the new simulators, with the academic software which went with it, cost almost as much as an 'economical' jet fighter.
Bennett climbed into the front seat while Lawrence strapped, hooked, and plugged himself in the back. Lawrence already had twenty flights in the two-seaters and had overseen initial checkouts of two other instructors. As more aircraft arrived, that pace would accelerate.
Lawrence keyed the intercom: 'All right, boss, you've got it. Let's fire up this hummer and get going.'
Bennett glanced in the rearview mirror. He saw the exec's old helmet with three yellow stars representing his MiG kills over North Vietnam. Just like old times.
The hot sun radiated shivers of heat from the concrete as Bennett lined up on the centerline. Holding the brakes, he advanced the throttle to 80 percent of full military power. The Tigershark strained against the brakes like a hungry predator, and Bennett's legs trembled slightly from the pressure on the pedals. Satisfied the General Electric turbofan engine was performing normally, he released the brakes and pushed the throttle into afterburner.
Though the F-20 weighed 15 percent more than the F-5, it possessed 70 percent more power. Seventeen thousand pounds of thrust were ignited as raw fuel was pumped to the TF-404's afterburner section, and 15,000 pounds of Tigershark rocketed off the runway.
Bennett was elated. He let out an involuntary war whoop as he was shoved back in his seat. Hauling the stick back, he kept the airspeed below landing gear limits, flipped the circular knob on the left of the instrument panel, and felt the wheels lock into place. Then he pushed the nose down to almost level, allowing the little fighter to accelerate. In seconds he had 400 knots on the airspeed indicator. He began an abrupt three-G pull-up and watched the altimeter reel off 5,000 feet before he could count it.
Bennett came out of burner and continued a less dramatic climb. He wanted to settle down and get his bearings before sampling the F-20's performance in other regimes. He made slight, deft movements of the control stick, performing four-point aileron rolls, left and right.
'Not bad for somebody who's almost eligible for social security,' Lawrence rasped from the backseat.
Keeping the nose level, Bennett selected afterburner again and let the wickedly beautiful Northrop accelerate to 600 knots. Then he rotated the nose to 60 degrees above the horizon and sustained the climb to 40,000 feet. He came out of afterburner, marveling at the F-20's thrust-to-weight ratio.
Bennett keyed the mike. 'Judas Priest, Devil, what have you got me into?'
'Uh, I sort of thought it was the other way around, Skipper.'
'Well, considering my advanced age, and the fact I've been out of the saddle for ten years, this one-point- one machine takes some getting used to.'
The F-8· Crusader they had both flown in Vietnam had almost as much thrust as the F-20's engine, but the Crusader weighted 25,000 pounds combat-loaded for air-to-air. That meant its thrust was about 70 percent of its takeoff weight. The Tigershark, like most other new fighters, had ten percent more thrust than weight-on the order of 1.1 to 1.
For the next thirty minutes Bennett knew again the wonder of high-performance flight. He rolled, pulled the aircraft through a six-G turn, and felt his body weight increased to over 1,000 pounds by the force of gravity. He flexed his abdominal muscles and grunted through the M-l maneuver, which helped delay the onset of grayout. His G-suit inflated and gripped his extremities as if in a giant vise, keeping more blood in his brain than would be possible otherwise. It also allowed him to maintain vision longer, but inevitably the gray fog at the periphery of his sight grew larger, and twice he blacked out completely.
After a half-hour of remembered exhilaration, Bennett turned over control to Lawrence. As IP, the redhead contacted air traffic control and activated his flight plan to Riyadh. Bennett pulled out a notebook and reviewed air traffic control procedures as well as topics for his meeting at the U. S. Embassy. Glancing to the north, he saw a huge sandstorm developing and made a mental note. He would have to be sure the extra canopies and windscreens he had ordered were en route. Flying through blowing sand, Plexiglas became pitted, with reduced visibility in just a couple of years.
Bennett shoved his notebook back in the map case.
In the backseat, Lawrence felt the stick wobble in the familiar 'I've got it' signal, and turned loose. Up front, Bennett tapped his gloved fingers on the controls, softly humming 'Back In the Saddle Again. '
Claudia Meyers entered the charge d'affaires office in the U.S. Embassy and sought out a volume on the shelf. She found Title 37 U. S. Code and methodically searched through it. Leonard Houston, the charge, had been called away and asked her to cover his appointment this afternoon. Claudia frequently covered for her superior, and in moments she found the section she wanted. She read it twice and marked it. There was no problem, but the procedures had to be observed.
Ordinarily the State Department would not have sent the daughter of a Jewish father and Catholic mother to a position in an Islamic nation, but Claudia Meyers was accustomed to breaking precedent. She had been programmed early for success, and attendance at a Catholic school with very high academic standards had prevented her from taking on a strictly Jewish identity.
Claudia's language ability had won her a succession of positions and the admiration of her superiors. She had learned French at home and was professionally fluent in Arabic. Though religious observance was not part of her upbringing, a shrewd early career move had brought her competency in Hebrew. Thus, she was well suited for Middle East assignments.
Her Anglicized surname, changed three generations ago from Meier, her creamy complexion, and her blond hair belied her more immediate heritage. From a distance she looked a decade less than her actual age of thirty- eight. Only closer could one see the tiny laugh lines either side of her hazel eyes.
There was another reason she was here. Claudia Meyers had requested Riyadh. She knew the Saudi capital was only growing in importance, and she had calculated three years ago that this would be a good career move. Having served in State for almost fifteen years, she had enjoyed the life-styles of Washington and Paris. Now she tolerated the medieval attitude toward women, which still included slavery, in exchange for experience.
Claudia picked up the dossier on Houston's desk and flipped through it again. She gazed at the official photograph of the former naval officer with the usual background of the American flag. He was dressed in a dark blue uniform, wearing the hat featuring what military men called scrambled eggs, and he bore six rows of decorations. She scanned the bare facts of the man's career, which she assumed had been successful by military standards. A fighter pilot, apparently, one of the glamour boys.
Claudia was not fond of military men-overbearing, egocentric macho types, mostly. She had dated a few embassy guards and attaches over the years and two or three had been charming. At least they were preferable to
