understatement honed to a fine point. But he had been equal to every test so far, and he had climbed rapidly to his present position, even, he reflected with some pride, attracting the attention of the director.
But today was no “test” of his abilities.
He had to make damn sure the debut and demonstration of Israel’s newest high-tech weapon was executed flawlessly. At ten A.M. the white transport buses began arriving at the gates. The project had been shrouded in such secrecy that even some of the high-ranking members of the Israeli Defense Forces had no inkling of what they were about to witness.
Gossip had it that it was some kind of antiaircraft or antisatellite “death ray.” He was not tempted to scoff at such notions. Science fiction, Elon had noticed lately, was often not fictional at all.
Over the course of a week, Tennenbaum had seen to it that the already formidable perimeter around the Negev complex had been beefed up. It was now, in his view, well-nigh impenetrable.
The entire area surrounding the complex was fenced off and heavily guarded. It was defended from aerial attack by a battery of Hawk antiaircraft missiles. Arrow antimissile batteries also surrounded the entire complex. He had ordered the airspace above closed to all aircraft for the duration of the demonstration. He had ensured that all communications regarding the place and time of the event had been encrypted, and invitations were limited to only two hundred people with the highest-level security clearance.
So why did he feel so damn “insecure”?
At dawn that morning, he’d walked the entire perimeter. Talked with the guards on patrol, the men manning the antimissile and antiaircraft batteries, the K-9 guys who handled the Dobermans, the snipers, communications operators, radar operators, every living soul he could find who might be a weak link. He hadn’t found one, but he couldn’t shake the bad feeling he had. It was nothing but a foolish premonition, but still it nagged at him.
The sun was brutal. Must be the reason for his drenching perspiration Elon thought, looking around at the gathering crowd. The thick rivulets of sweat running down his face couldn’t be nerves, right?
Two large tents had been erected on the tarmac outside the hangar doors for the two-hundred-plus VIP guests. The tents stood on either side of a ten-thousand-foot runway extending from the wide doorway of the hangar into the desert beyond. On a distant hilltop some miles beyond the end of the runway, a large concrete structure had recently been constructed. It was about the size of a four-story apartment building and looked like an aboveground bunker. Powerful binoculars had been provided by personnel with the information that this bunker was the “target.”
Elon was on high alert now, casting his eyes in all directions, looking for anything even slightly out of place. Guests had arrived an hour earlier and had been served breakfast in the lobby of the Administration Building. They were now being seated on folding chairs in the tented shade.
Between the two tents was a dais, decorated with blue-and-white bunting. Armed IDF security men surrounded it.
At the appointed hour, eight men, including the air force chief of staff, climbed the staircase and took their places at the long rectangular table. The dais, fortunately, had been constructed in the shade of the large hangar. It was blisteringly hot in the morning sun, but the man who rose and stood behind the podium didn’t know the meaning of the word sweat. He was one of the most highly decorated men in the Israeli military. He made other people sweat.
He tapped the microphone twice and then spoke, the timbre of his voice a deep baritone that conveyed the wartime experience and authority that had made him a true hero in his country.
“Good morning and welcome. Many of you here, our distinguished and honored guests, know me. For those who don’t, I’m General Ari Ben-Menashe, chief of staff of the Israeli Air Force. I am sorry it’s a little warm out here, so I’ll keep this short. I know why you’re here and it’s not to hear speeches. With me on the dais this morning are the lead aeronautical engineers and scientists responsible for what you are about to witness. I’m honored to be in their company. For what they have created is a weapon that promises to tip control of the skies in Israel’s favor for years to come. Aerial war fighting will never be the same, and these gentlemen are the reason. Let’s give them the appreciation they so deeply deserve.”
There was authentic applause, and the general continued.
“This project was initiated some two years ago at my direction and with the prime minister’s approval. It is called the ‘Raptor Project.’ And the results are inside the hangar behind me, waiting patiently to be unveiled. Open the hangar doors, please.”
The heavy aluminum doors parted and slid slowly open along their tracks. The crowd on both sides leaned forward and tried to peer inside, hoping for a first glimpse. But the lights were deliberately left off, and all they could see was a strangely shaped silhouette, big and black and threatening.
The general let the suspense build a bit (his job, after all, entailed not a little showmanship) and then leaned into the microphone and said, “Ladies and gentleman, the next generation of airborne war-fighting machines… the Raptor X!”
As the brilliant arc lights inside the hangar roof snapped on, illuminating the new weapon that stood like some futuristic insect, black and menacing, people literally gasped, the aircraft’s looks were so startling. Especially the downturned nose, which resembled nothing so much as a hawk’s beak. But the sound of its two powerful engines at the tail exploding to life and the sight of the massive thing slowly moving forward into the sunlight was awe-inspiring.
“Stop! Stop!” the general barked at the machine with a smile.
The Raptor X braked to a halt directly between the two tents, and the engines quickly decreased the painful decibel level as they went to idle.
“You see, it, unlike many, listens to the voice of authority.”
The crowd laughed loudly. And out came the cell phones, everyone snapping photographs of the airplane with them.
The ramrod-straight air force officer standing next to Elon grabbed his elbow roughly and whispered fiercely in his ear.
“You allowed these people to come in here with fucking cell phones?”
“No! Of course not. They were to be told at the security checkpoint to leave all cell phones with the officer in charge.”
“Well, goddamit, they didn’t do that, did they? You get in that vehicle right there, son, and get your ass over to security checkpoint. You tell those sons of bitches that Major Lev Rabin wants everybody leaving this facility to be relieved of their phones until every damn picture of this airplane is deleted. You got that? Go!”
Elon started to turn for the Toyota truck parked outside the hangar, then turned back to the major.
“Major, what about the people who are e-mailing pictures from their phones now? Shouldn’t we tell the general to make an announcement saying-”
“Saying we screwed up? I don’t think so, son. Now get your ass over to that checkpoint!”
Elon got into the Toyota and hauled ass out of there.
“The future of military aviation… is now!” the general continued, and his audience was on its feet applauding this bizarre yet exquisitely designed machine, its futuristic silver fuselage now gleaming brilliantly in the desert sun. Indeed, it did look like something out of the distant future. It looked, as someone said, like “something out of this world!”
It was a curvy bat-shaped flying wing with a fifty-foot wingspan. There was no tail at the rear to disrupt its flowing lines. It was easily the size of a modern stealth fighter jet but lacked another common feature of conventional craft.
It had no cockpit.
Where the pilot would normally sit was a scowling black slit of a mouth, obviously the primary air intake.
The smiling general, proud of his baby, waited for the applause to die down.
He said, “In case you hadn’t noticed, this is a historic moment in aviation. Historians will rank it along with Lucky Lindbergh’s solo crossing of the Atlantic and Neil Armstrong’s giant leap for mankind. Raptor X represents a dramatic breakthrough in aerial combat. It is the world’s first full, fighter-sized robotic stealth jet. No pilot, no ground control. A combat ceiling of one hundred thousand feet. Speed, Mach 4. You upload a mission to the Raptor’s onboard computer systems and the aircraft runs the entire mission on its own. From takeoff, through the mission itself, and then landing, all without any human intervention at all.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Raptor X will now execute a bombing run in the desert. Free of any human
