Only in theory, so far. The Libyans naturally would be unable to do this on their own. But there were plenty of people who might want to take the chance to test their systems in the field.
Rubeo couldn’t control his agitation. He rose. “A virus?” he asked.
“So far, no trace. And it would have to be introduced physically. Which means by someone on the team.”
“Or someone who has access to the hangar,” said Rubeo. “Or the transports. Or one of the bases where they stopped. Or—”
“Point taken.”
“I want to know exactly what happened,” he said. “We need to know.”
“We are working on it,” said Marcum, rescuing Keeler. “We haven’t been at it all that long. Barely twenty-four hours.”
“I’ve been here less than twelve,” said Keeler.
Rubeo pressed his hands together. “The government planes? What’s the connection there?”
“At best, a diversion,” said Marcum. “More likely a coincidence.”
“Did they jam?”
“No,” said Keeler. “No jamming was recorded by any of the aircraft, including the Tigershark.”
“But there were ECMs,” said Rubeo. “They might have covered it. That would explain why the government attacked in the first place.”
Marcum looked as if he had just sucked a lemon.
“We’ve mapped all of the radars in the area,” said Keeler. “It’s possible there was another one. But if it was interfered with, we can’t figure out what the interference form would have been.”
“These are early days, Ray,” said Marcum. “We will get there. We have to build up slowly.”
“How well are you sleeping?” Rubeo snapped.
Marcum didn’t answer.
“We all want to figure out what happened, Dr. Rubeo,” said Keeler gently. “We will figure it out.”
“I can’t sleep at all,” said Rubeo.
13
Though he headed Whiplash, the high-tech Department of Defense and CIA’s covert action team, Danny Freah was not in Sicily on a Whiplash mission per se. Officially, he was only here to work with the locals and Air Force and secure the Sabres and the Tigershark, which were Office of Technology assets on temporary “loan” to the alliance. He wasn’t even supposed to provide actual security, just make sure that the people who were charged with doing that did it.
Unofficially, he was here to find out what the hell had happened and to make sure that no one associated with the Office of Technology got railroaded.
Politics was a wonderful thing, especially in the military.
Danny had brought his figurative right arm, Chief Master Sergeant Ben “Boston” Rockland, along with two troopers, John “Flash” Gordon and Chris “Shorty” Bradley. He had a pair of Ospreys as well — one had come over with him on the Whiplash M–17, and the other had been part of a demonstration that Flash and Bradley were conducting in Germany when Danny got the word to get over to Sicily in a hurry. The Ospreys were available as transportation in the unlikely event he had to go over to Libya.
He doubted he’d need them. Nor did he anticipate needing more people. Most of his team was in the States on a training mission with U.S. Special Operations Command, and he decided to let them be for the time being.
“Pretty island,” said Boston, surveying the suite they’d been assigned at the NATO base. “Piece of shit command post, though. Barely fit a desk in either of these rooms.”
Boston wasn’t exaggerating. Space at the facility was at a premium, as were simple auxiliary services like getting the floor washed — the ones in front of them were brutal.
“We’ll have to make due,” said Danny. “You sent Flash over to the security?”
“Yeah, he’s talking to the NATO people now. They have our Air Force guys, an assigned team from DoD working for OT, and Eye-tralians.” Boston had a smug grin as he mispronounced the word. “You going to call Nuri back from vay-kay?”
“I think we’ll survive without him.”
“Probably be help ordering dinner.”
“We’ll survive.”
Nuri was Nuri Abaajmed Lupo, the lead CIA officer with Whiplash. As an Italian-American who’d spent part of his childhood in Italy, Nuri spoke excellent Italian. He also had a decent amount of experience in the Middle East. But he was on his first leave in two years, and Danny saw no need to interrupt it.
“Probably knows where all the hot babes are, too,” added Boston.
“Find someone to clean the floor, Chief,” growled Danny. “I have work to do.”
14
The high of his A–10E flight having been punctured by Ginella’s scolding, Turk took his bruised ego back to his own small office on the base. He found it locked, with a guard in front of the door.
The Italian MP did not know what was going on or even why he was there, specifically. But he did know that his orders were that no one was to enter. And Turk fit the qualifications of “no one,” even though his name was handwritten on the door.
He went over to the hangar where the team was working over the Tigershark and Sabres, but no one there seemed to know anything about it. Turk was on his way to General Talekson’s office when his satellite phone rang; it was Colonel Freah.
“Colonel, am I glad you called,” he said as the connection went through. “I’ve been locked out of my office.”
“Yeah, it’s routine,” Danny told him. “Part of the investigation, Turk. Don’t worry about it. How are you holding up?”
“OK, I guess.”
“Did Colonel Ginella hook up with you?”
“Uh, yes sir. I, uh, checked out two planes for her.”
“Two? Great.”
“I didn’t think to check with you. I—”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Technically, Danny wasn’t in Turk’s chain of command anyway. “She talked to me about it, then went through channels. I think it’s a good idea for you to be, uh, useful if you can. Assuming you want to be. Do you want to fly with her?”
“Yeah, I will. Good squadron. I don’t know how short-handed they are.”
“You’re familiar with the planes?”
“Yes, sir. I flew them before they did, actually.”
“Well, good. Keep checking with the team to see if they need you for testing, but otherwise, as far as I’m concerned, you’re good to go.”
“Thanks,” Turk told him, even though he figured the odds of getting back into one of Ginella’s planes were infinitesimal now. He was thankful that she hadn’t told Danny what had happened.
Not yet, anyway.
Danny told him about his office, suggesting he stop by “once we’ve gotten some furniture and figured out where the restrooms are.”
“I will.”
“If you want time off—”
“Actually, I’d prefer to keep busy,” said Turk.
Turk eventually found his way back to the hotel, exhausted from the day and in need of a serious change of scenery. Once again he thought of Ginella’s travelogue. But arranging a trip to the mainland seemed like too much of a hassle.
He went down to the bar and bought two beers, then smuggled them back upstairs to his room, feeling more than a little like a felon, though all he was doing was cheating the self-pay refrigerator out of a sale.
He flipped through the channels for a while. Most of the programs were in Italian, naturally, though after a few spins he found a movie in English with Italian subtitles. It was one of the early Terminators, the first, he thought, with Arnold Schwarzenegger before he became governor material.
Turk hadn’t seen the movie in years and years. It was nice how the storylines in movies were always so clear: good versus evil. Good did good. Evil did evil.