off right away, practically—medical flight, I think, wasn't it?'
'Correct. Go on.'
'He called emergency, said he lost power on one engine, then the other, and went in. Three radars tracked it. Libya, Malta, and a Navy ship, destroyer, I think.'
'Anything funny about it, Captain?'
She shrugged. 'This is a good airplane. I don't think the military's ever broke one. You just saw how good. A couple of those bumps were two and a half, maybe three gees, and the engines—Jerry, have we ever lost an engine in flight on a -20?'
'Twice, I think. First one there was a defect on the fuel pump—Rolls-Royce sent out a fix on all of those. The other one, it was in November, a few years back. They ate a goose.'
'That'll do it every time,' she told Clark. 'Goose weighs maybe fifteen, twenty pounds. We try to keep clear of them.'
'This guy lost both engines, though?'
'They haven't figured out why yet. Maybe bad fuel. That happens, but the engines are isolated units, sir. Separate everything, pumps, electronics, you name it—'
'Except fuel,' Jerry said. 'That all comes out of one truck.'
'What else? What happens when you lose an engine?'
'If you're not careful you can lose control. You get a full shutdown, the aircraft yaws into the dead engine. That changes airflow over the control surfaces. We lost a Lear, a VC-21, that way once. If it catches you in a transition maneuver when it happens, well, then it can get a little bit exciting. But we train for that, and the flight crew on this one, that was in the report. They were both experienced drivers, and they go in the box—the training simulator— pretty regular. You have to, or they take your insurance away. Anyway, the radar didn't show them maneuvering. So, no, that shouldn't have done it to them. The best guess was bad fuel, but the Libyans said the fuel was okay.'
'Unless the crew just totally screwed up,' Jerry added. 'But even that's hard. I mean, they make these things so you really have to try to break 'em, y'know? I got two thousand hours.'
'Two and a half for me,' the captain said. 'It's safer 'n driving a car in D.C., sir. We all love these things.'
Clark nodded and went forward.
'Enjoying the ride?' the pilot in command said over his shoulder. His voice wasn't exactly friendly, and he didn't exactly have to worry about insubordination. Not with an «officer» wearing his own ribbons.
'I don't like leaning on people, Colonel. This is very important shit. That's all I can say.'
'My wife's a nurse in the base hospital.' He didn't have to say more. He was worried about her.
'So's mine, down in Williamsburg.'
The pilot turned on learning that, and nodded at his passenger. 'No real harm done. Three hours to Nairobi, Colonel.'
'WELL HOW DO I get back?' Raman asked over the phone.
'You don't for now,' Andrea told him. 'Sit tight. Maybe you can help the FBI with the investigation they have running.'
'Well, that's just great!'
'Deal with it, Jeff. I don't have time for this,' she told her subordinate crossly.
'Sure.' He hung up. That was odd, Andrea thought. Jeff was always one of the cool ones. But who was cool at the moment?
52 SOMETHING OF VALUE
'EVER BEEN HERE BEFORE John?' Chavez asked as their aircraft descended to meet its shadow on the runway.
'Passed through once. Didn't see much more than the terminal.' Clark slipped off his belt and stretched. Sunset was descending here, too, and with it not the end of a very long day for the two intelligence officers. 'Most of what I know comes from books by a guy named Ruark, hunting and stuff.'
'You don't hunt—not animals, anyway,' Ding added.
'Used to. I still like reading about it. Nice to hunt things that don't shoot back.' John turned with part of a smile.
'Not as exciting. Safer, maybe,' the junior agent allowed. How dangerous could a lion really be? he wondered.
The rollout took them to the military terminal. Kenya had a small air force, though what it did was a mystery to the visiting CIA/Air Force 'officers,' and seemed likely to remain so. The aircraft was met, again, by an embassy official, this one the Defense attache, a black Army officer with the rank of colonel, and a Combat Infantryman's Badge that marked him as a veteran of the Persian Gulf War.
'Colonel Clark, Major Chavez.' Then his voice stopped. 'Chavez, do I know you?'
'Ninja!' Ding grinned. 'You were brigade staff then, First of the Seventh.'
'Cold Steel! You're one of the guys who got lost. I guess they found you. Relax, gentlemen, I know where you're from, but our hosts do not,' the officer warned.
'Where's the CIB from, Colonel?' the former staff sergeant asked on the walk over to where the cars were. 'I had a battalion of the Big Red One in Iraq. We kicked a few and took a few.' Then his mood changed. 'So how are things at home?'
'Scary,' Ding replied. 'Something to remember, bio-war is mainly a psychological weapon, like the threat of gas was against us back in 91.'
'Maybe so,' Clark responded. 'It sure as hell's got my attention, Colonel.'
'Got mine, too,' the Defense attache admitted. 'I got family in Atlanta. CNN says there's cases there.'
'Read fast.' John handed over the last data sent to them on the airplane.
'This ought to be better than what's on TV.' Not that better was the right word, he thought. The colonel rated a driver, it seemed. He took the front seat in the embassy car and flipped through the pages.
'No official greeting this time?' Chavez asked.
'Not here. We'll have a cop where we're going. I asked my friends in the ministry to low-profile this one. I have some pretty good contacts around town.'
'Good call,' Clark said as the car started moving. Getting there only took ten minutes. The animal dealer had his place of business on the outskirts of the city, conveniently located to the airport and the main highway west into the bush, but not too close to much else. The CIA officers soon discovered why.
'Christ,' Chavez observed, getting out of the car.
'Yeah, they're noisy, aren't they? I was here earlier today. He's getting a shipment of greens ready for Atlanta.' He opened a briefcase and handed something over. 'Here, you'll need this.'
'Right.' Clark slid the envelope into his clipboard.
'Hello!' the dealer said, coming out of his office. He was a big man and, judging by his gut, knew his way around a case of beer. With him was a uniformed police officer, evidently a senior one. The attache went to speak with him, and move him aside. The cop didn't seem to object. This infantry colonel, Clark saw, knew how the game was played.
'Howdy,' John said, taking his hand. 'I'm Colonel Clark. This is Major Chavez.'
'You are American Air Force?'
'That's right, sir,' Ding replied.
'I love airplanes. What do you fly?'
'All sorts of things,' Clark answered. The local businessman was already half in the bag. 'We have a few questions, if you don't mind.'
'About monkeys? Why are you interested in monkeys? The chief constable didn't explain.'
'Is it all that important?' John asked, handing over an envelope. The dealer pocketed it without opening it to count. He'd felt how thick it was.
'Truly it is not, but I do love to watch airplanes. So what can I tell you?' he asked next, his voice friendly and
