“Just a hallway, and then a well-marked door. No security, no more locks.”
Unbelievable. Even though Maskiro had heard about the legendary slackness at this airport, he still found it difficult to understand. Control the airport and you control access to the country. The first priority of any landing force was to obtain access for aircraft.
Maskiro trotted up the stairs, not deigning to use the handrails and holding his weapon well away from his body. He paused at the very top, not even the slightest disturbance in his breathing, and glanced across at his associate. “You understand, there are to be no shots fired. For this to be successful, no one must know we’re here.”
“They will, soon enough,” the man said.
Maskiro nodded. “Soon enough gives us enough time. Remember, no shots.”
At the top of the stairs was a small foyer with one door leading off of it. On the door was a large red sign that warned, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY — STRICTLY ENFORCED. But there was no card reader, and no other security measures.
Maskiro could have laughed out loud. Easy, far too easy. As would be the rest.
It wasn’t necessary to kick the door in or even to use any force at all. Maskiro simply turned the knob, opened the door, and walked in.
The room was dark, circular, and lined with radar screens. A low murmur of voices filled the compartment as the air traffic controllers worked their various parts of the skies. British accents of the native voices mingled with American voices and the overall impression was one of controlled chaos.
There was one loud yell from a woman, and then all the heads not covered with earphones turned toward him. A man in the middle standing on a podium, turned, scowled, and shook his head. He opened his mouth as though he were about to give an order, and stopped abruptly when he saw the weapons.
“Don’t move. Not an inch,” Maskiro ordered. He saw the supervisor’s hand inch toward a button — a security alarm of some sort, no doubt — and Maskiro lifted the barrel of his weapon ever so slightly to point directly at him. “No alarms. Do as we say and no one will be harmed.”
Without taking his eyes off Maskiro, the man said, “Everybody, just keep doing your job. Do exactly what they tell you.” He raised his hands slightly, palms facing toward Maskiro, as though to demonstrate he had no weapon. “What do you want?”
“I want you to keep doing exactly what you’re doing,” Maskiro said. His companion moved off to the side to keep an eye on the other air traffic control operators. “The only difference is there will be several unscheduled flights arriving. I expect you to give them the highest priority, and to bring them in safely. They will taxi immediately to the far end of the runway. At that point, you will hold all incoming traffic for a period of thirty minutes. After that, you may resume normal operations and we will be gone.”
“Is that all?” Now that he was over the initial shock, the supervisor seemed to be regaining his courage. Maskiro hoped he would not be foolhardy.
“That is all.”
“And when will we see these flights you’re talking about? And how many of them?” He moved two steps toward Maskiro, who shook his head warningly.
“I believe your people will be able to inform you. And I would prefer that you stay right there. Hands where I can see them, please. And, all of you,” he continued, raising his voice slightly, “just remain calm, do your jobs. If an alarm sounds or your security forces are otherwise notified, this man will die first. And she,” he said, gesturing to woman who screamed first, “will be next. It doesn’t matter what happens to us, you understand. This is a holy war.”
“Notify me immediately if you have any unidentified contacts,” the man said, raising his voice slightly to be heard by everyone in the room. A series of quiet “Rogers” acknowledged the order.
Air superiority — the most critical part of any military operation, and yet so often overlooked in civilian contexts. Security checks concentrate on passengers arriving but not those people who come in from the outside to greet them. And there are weapons available everywhere in the world — yes, even here. Especially here.
Then, Maskiro heard what he’d been waiting for.
“Unidentified air contact at…”—the air traffic controller reeled off the latitude and longitude—“at thirty-one thousand feet, speed four hundred and fifty, descending; please advise of your intentions.”
There was no answer. Maskiro motioned to the supervisor with his weapon, and he crossed over to stand behind the air traffic controller watching the area to the northeast of the island.
“Unidentified contacts, I repeat, state your intentions. I do not hold you on any flight plan or regular commercial schedule.”
The technician kept his gaze locked on the scope, but toggled a button so that his voice spoke in Maskiro’s ears. “I think this may be what you’re looking for.”
“Any IFF?” the supervisor asked.
“No,” the air traffic controller said. “Nothing.”
“That is it,” Maskiro said. “You’ll bring him in immediately, as well as the next two aircraft following.”
“What kind of aircraft is it?” the supervisor asked, and then an impatient look crossed his face as Maskiro started to raise his weapon. “Don’t give me that — I don’t care who you are or what you want. All I want is to get you out of my control room. I need to know what sort of aircraft we’re talking about to get them on the correct runway. Otherwise, he rolls off the end, smashes into a couple thousand pieces and we’re both real unhappy. So, just tell me — how big is it?”
“It is the equivalent of a very large transport aircraft, perhaps a 747. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I got it.” He clicked over to the next circuit, and said, “Allen, bring it in on thirty-one.” Without looking at Maskiro he said, “That’s our longest runway — I don’t know how loaded down he is or how much fuel he’s carrying so I’ll give him every foot of runway I’ve got.”
“That will be acceptable,” Maskiro said. Even though he deplored their security measures, he marveled at the way they went about their business, as if a major disruption in the flight schedule occurred every day. And perhaps it did — perhaps they trained for this very possibility. If they had been Russian troops under his command, they certainly would.
Voices coming from the inbound aircraft were protesting the go-arounds they were given, pointing out that they would be behind schedule, that their passengers would not make their connections. As if that would matter — making their connections was the least of their worries at this point.
The minutes ticked by and aircraft inched closer on the scope. He and the supervisor moved from console to console, tracking the aircraft as they came in. His companion watched the rest of the room.
Finally, a monitor pointed at the runway showing the first massive transport touching down. It touched down the very farthest point of the runway, still going too fast, and seemed like it would roll out forever. For just a moment, Maskiro was afraid it would not stop in time.
Then, ever so slowly, its speed decreased, and it finally rolled to a stop with only 200 feet of runway left. It turned, cleared the end of the strip, and rolled in to the terminal area. As it did, the second transport touched down. Just as the third was touching down, the back ramp on the first transport lowered. Troops with automatic weapons poured out and vanished into the terminal building. Maskiro watched as the second, then the third, repeated the maneuver.
Moments later, they heard feet pounding up the stairs to the tower. The door slammed open and four heavily armed and fully combat-ready Spetznatz stormed in. Without speaking, they took positions around the room. One sat down at the approach controller’s console and held out his hands for the earphones. The Bermudian controller yielded them up immediately.
The three troop-transport aircraft backed away from the terminal and began taxiing toward the service area just off the ramp. Maskiro said, “Refuel them,” then turned to the lead man. “Report.”
The man saluted crisply. “All positions secured, sir. Estimate complete control of all critical facilities within one hour.” A slight expression of disdain crossed the man’s face. “They are not well prepared, sir.”
“I noticed that.” Maskiro said. “But overconfidence will kill you quickly. Do not expect it to go quite so easily at the American naval base.”
