“Weatherman, this is Berg. Standing by to transfer tactical control of Black Rain.”
“This is Weatherman. Wait one.”
“Karl, who are you talking to?” Audra insisted.
“This is Weatherman. I have positively authenticated the request for tactical control of Black Rain. ETA 0418 local.”
“Good luck and happy hunting,” Berg said, ready to come clean with Audra.
He turned his head toward the watch supervisor and nodded, watching her immediately transmit an order over her headset to one of the technicians in the operations center.
“Karl, I need you to explain what is going on here,” Audra said.
“I’ve arranged an insurance policy for Sanderson’s crew,” he said.
“Please tell me you didn’t put one of our drones over Russia.”
“You know I have a bad track record with drones,” he said, hoping she might find the humor in his comment.
“I don’t find that amusing, Karl. Not in the least. Your track record involves losing drones. We can’t lose one of those on Russian soil, for many reasons,” Audra said.
“I’m not going to lose this one.”
She glanced around and moved her seat closer. “It’s already lost,” she said, looking at him for agreement.
She tilted her head and managed to look even more incredulous, which Berg didn’t think was possible at this point.
“You sent a Reaper?” she demanded.
“The Predators don’t have the range to make the round trip,” Berg said.
“That didn’t stop you last time.”
“See? I’m becoming more responsible.”
“What was all the head nodding with Ms. Halverson about?” she said, gesturing toward the watch floor supervisor.
“I’m cutting the satellite feed to the Situation Room for a minute or two,” he said.
She shook her head and leaned back in the chair. “I don’t know what to say, Karl. You’ve gone too far on this one. I think this might have to be our last operation together,” Audra said.
“You mean you’re not going to fire me?” Berg said.
“How could I fire you? I can’t sit here and pretend that this isn’t partially my fault. I’ve encouraged you for far too long. I’ve swept enough of your operations under the rug for one career. I need a break from that kind of stress. Our friendship needs a break from it,” she said.
“I’m sorry to have kept you in the dark on this, but I wanted to give you and Manning some plausible deniability here. I need him to look the president and the director in the eye at the White House and convincingly tell them that he has no idea what just happened. I need to keep them all confused long enough to get Farrington to the border.”
“You better pray that Black Rain doesn’t get shot down over Russia,” she said.
He was moments from making an ill-timed joke about purposely crashing the drone, but Audra beat him to it.
“And I don’t care how bad it gets out there, you will not turn one of our Reapers into a kamikaze like you did before. Are we crystal clear on that?”
“I’ve already built that restriction into the parameters. Sanderson can only pick and prioritize targets. Once the eight Hellfires are expended, the drone is back under our control,” he said, wondering if he needed to further clarify this with Weatherman.
Chapter 63
Thomas Manning stood along the back wall of the small conference room and watched the satellite feed with curious interest. Reports from Karl Berg over the communications feed evaporated when Sanderson’s team sped past the first possible detour point, six kilometers from the city. He’d spent the next few minutes urgently trying to reach Berg, as the Tiger continued to barrel down the road, skipping several more opportunities to deviate from a suicidal engagement with Russian armored vehicles, and sending the president and his staff into a general uproar.
When Berg didn’t answer his repeated requests, dozens of scenarios swirled through his head, none of which held promise. Did they lose communications with Farrington’s team? Did someone sabotage the CIA operations center? Was Farrington ignoring orders, thinking he could take on armored vehicles?
The Tiger continued to close on the city, bringing everyone to the edge of their seats. Farrington’s vehicle suddenly stopped three and a half kilometers from the Russian BTR ambush site, eliciting a collective sigh of relief from the room. When the Tiger once again accelerated at reckless speed toward the city, the president stood up from his seat and turned to CIA Director Copley.
“They’re never going to make it through! What are they doing?”
“I don’t know, Mr. President. I can’t get through to my operations center,” Manning interrupted.
“The BTRs are on the move, heading east to intercept on the road. They’ll be within gun range in less than thirty seconds,” Lieutenant General Gordon said.
Manning confirmed the armored vehicles’ movement on the screen. All four BTRs had moved in a column onto the east-west road running from Znamenka to Slavgorod. In a few seconds, the vehicles would spread out into a “line abreast” formation, exposing Farrington’s Tiger to four 14.5mm guns. If the Tiger didn’t alter course within the next few seconds, they would all bear witness to a massacre. He wondered if this was Farrington’s plan, if Sanderson and Berg had uncovered information over the past few silent minutes that had sealed the team’s fate, and Farrington intended to go down fighting.
“Isn’t there any way to communicate with the team? I thought we were talking to them just a few minutes ago?” the president said.
“I’ve lost communications with the group controlling Blackjack,” Manning said.
“Well, somebody better warn them that they’re about to be taken out! I think we should send the helicopters back to Manas immediately. Something isn’t right here,” the president said.
“Mr. President, the helicopters haven’t been detected. There’s no reason to send them back prematurely,” General Gordon said.
“It’s not a premature decision, General,” the president said. “Those men are as good as dead.”
“We can send them back in a few minutes, Mr. President. What’s the range of those guns again? 3000 meters?” Jacob Remy asked.
Remy’s cold statement wasn’t lost on Manning, or anybody in the room. Lieutenant General Gordon penetrated him with a look of disgust and hatred that might have caused Remy to lose voluntary control of his bladder…if the president’s chief of staff had bothered to take his eyes off the wall monitor. Instead, his gaze remained glued to the massive screen, eagerly waiting to watch the thermal image of Farrington’s Tiger blossom into a bright white circle. Before anyone could answer Remy’s question, the two screens displaying the operation’s satellite feeds went blank, catapulting the room into chaos.
“Operations, this is Thomas Manning. We just lost our satellite feed in the Situation Room. What’s going on over there?” he demanded.
“We’re not sure. Some kind of technical difficulties with the satellite link. Should be back up in a minute or two. Everything is under control,” a familiar voice replied.
He almost screamed into the headset that nothing appeared under control, but something gave him pause. The voice belonged to Karl Berg, and he’d answered immediately. Manning thought about the events leading up to this moment and the incredible risk they had all undertaken to coordinate the team’s extraction. The possibility of encountering light armored vehicles in their path hadn’t been a surprise. In fact, Pentagon and CIA analysts had accurately predicted the response and deployment of the Russian assets on nearly every level. The strong likelihood of a sizable roadblock north of Slavgorod had been part of the early briefings. Now it made sense to him. He stopped with that thought and whispered into the headset.