mapped out. Colonel Van Buren met her at the foot of the plane, holding out his arm as she stepped somewhat wobbly onto the tarmac. Corrine smiled but didn’t take his hand, walking toward the Hummer with a crisp step that belied her fatigue.
The Special Forces command unit was sequestered in a distant hangar at a far corner of the base. A pair of Hummers containing advanced communications gear was parked at one side of the space. Another vehicle — a modified civilian Ford Expedition — sat outside, data from its satellite dishes snaking through the long cable on the floor. A quartet of communications specialists sat in front of flat panels and keyboards at a station behind the Humvees. Besides being able to communicate with troops in the field and the Pentagon at the same time, the specialists could tap a few keys and get realtime information from sources that ranged from the NSA wiretaps to specially launched Predator aircraft.
It was also rumored that they could order McDonald’s-to-go around the globe, though the com specialists cited the fifth amendment on the topic.
Near the communications section, a large topographical map of the target area sat in the center of two large folding tables, along with a number of satellite photos and hand-drawn diagrams depicting various phases of the operation. Van Buren’s G-2 captain gave the briefing, laying out what they knew and working through the overall game plan. To circumvent detection by the Russian air defenses in the region, radar-evading Stealth fighters and special C-130s equipped to fly below radar level would be used. The attack would begin with four Stealth fighters firing on the air defenses. With the defenses secured, a company of SF troops would jump from an MC-130E, aiming to land along the southeastern end of the airstrip. A second company of SF troopers, along with technical experts and a company of men trained in handling hazardous waste, would be aboard an MC-130E, prepared either to land once the strip was secured or to jump in if necessary. Van Buren would be aboard this aircraft so that he could personally supervise the operation on the ground.
Support would be provided by an AC-13 OH gunship, which would train its howitzer on any pockets of resistance. Once the base was secured, the dirty-bomb facilities would be examined and secured. Depending on the exact situation — one of the reasons Van Buren wanted to be on the scene himself — it would either be blown up or merely prepared for Russian occupation. Guerrillas considered of value would be ex-filtrated along with the assault troops.
The operation would be coordinated with help from the unit’s specially equipped MC-17X, a jet-powered aircraft based on the C-17 and outfitted with comprehensive communications gear and a scaled-down side-looking radar adapted from the Joint Surveillance Target Attack Radar System (JSTARS) used by the regular Army to coordinate large-scale ground battles. Dubbed “Command Transport 3” in typical SF disinformation style, the one- of-a-kind MC-17X would remain beyond the border until the Stealth fighters launched their attack. At that point it could move forward and use its sensors to help the attackers.
Once the attack was under way, the Russians would undoubtedly see it. While their reaction was difficult to predict, it was likely they wouldn’t be pleased. A flight of F-15 Eagles would accompany the command plane and be prepared to intervene.
The Air Force had also provided two tankers with escorts to cover any contingencies. Two long-range, Special Operations Chinooks would stand by near the border as SAR aircraft; each would have a contingent of paratroopers aboard in addition to Air Force pararescue personnel who were being temporarily plucked from another section for the night.
The planners had debated whether it might be possible to launch the airborne assault before hitting the missile defenses — the attack would tip the ground units off, costing the paratroopers the element of absolute surprise — but in the end decided it was too risky to fly the aircraft overhead without eliminating the antiair. As the intelligence officer began to explain why they were using the Chinooks rather than the Air Force Blackhawks — officially it had to do with the range, though there was a decided prejudice in favor of the massive two-rotor beasts among Van Buren’s staff — Corrine held up her hand.
“Colonel, I’m going to accept that you and your people understand the logistical needs here much better than I do,” she said. “What you’ve outlined is fine, and I don’t need to cross-examine you on the nitty-gritty. Just make sure we have everything we need.”
“We can accomplish the mission,” he told her — though he was pleased at the vote of confidence.
“The question is — do we have the right place?” she said.
“We won’t know until Ferg is inside,” said Van Buren. “It’s not a cautious approach, but once we have people in that space, there seemed to be no sense waiting another day or two days before launching the assault.”
“Where is Mr. Ferguson now?”
“He called a while ago to tell us he was infiltrating the base,” said Van Buren. “He should make his report in four hours. We’ll be ready to go; it’ll take us a litde over two hours to launch the attack from that point. Assuming we have your permission.”
“You’ll get it if the waste material is there. Where are they building the bombs?”
“We’re not sure yet. One of those buildings,” said the colonel.
“At what point will the Russians realize something is going on?”
“Hard to say.”
Van Buren turned to his Air Force staff officer, who explained that it was likely radar contacts would appear as soon as the F-l 17s launched their attack. By then, the C-130s would have to come up off the deck anyway. Under ordinary circumstances, the Russians would have from two to four aircraft standing by in the sector; if scrambled, they could reach the base within roughly fifteen minutes, though it was impossible to predict in advance what their readiness status would be.
“What if we’re challenged?” Corrine asked.
“Escorts come up from the border as a last resort,” said the captain.
Corrine knew from the earlier briefings that alerting the Russians beforehand would almost undoubtedly tip off the terrorists; the military had been penetrated by various resistance groups. She’d contact them once the attack was under way, and hope for some cooperation — though she wouldn’t count on it.
They were looking at her, waiting for approval.
She thought back to her meeting with the president, the CIA director, and the others. They’d been worried about the May 10 intercept, unsure whether it was real or not — whether it was a real deadline, or just a day picked from thin air.
It was May 8.
“Proceed as you’ve planned,” she told Van Buren. “Pending word from Mr. Ferguson.”
Van Buren smiled, but as he turned from the table he felt pangs of doubt. Questions flooded into his brain: Did he have enough men. Was the timetable too tight? Were the risks too great?
He stepped back and looked at the map. Between the analysis the CLA had provided and Ferguson’s scouting, it was clear that there could be no more than two or three dozen fighters at the base itself; he’d outnumber them two or three to one and have twenty times their firepower. It was a good plan.
Assuming the dirty bomb was there.
18
They’d missed a sentry point, a fact they didn’t realize until they were almost on top of it. Fortunately, it was located just below the ledge they were using to skirt down toward the access road, situated to give the men at the post a good view of the north. Ferguson saw it as he cleared a rock jutting from the side; two guerrillas were kneeling forward against the rocks just five feet below him.
He froze, but either Daruyev or Conners kicked some rocks behind him. As one of the guards began to turn his head, Ferguson threw himself forward feetfirst, swinging his rifle up to use as a club. His left boot slammed into one of the sentries’ shoulder as he rose, and all three men rolled in a tumble, Ferguson temporarily sandwiched between the guerrillas.
Whether because he had the advantage of surprise or fury, he managed to get to his feet without either man drawing a weapon; the butt end of his AK-74 slammed the nearest back against the rocks senseless. The other
