"Why the missile base?" Stauer asked. "I would think any old warehouse-"
"The kits are made in the Czech Republic," Gordo said, then amended, "Well, some are made in Canada but the Czechs have a tradition of closed mouthedness. FAA lets them in on the presumption they'll be put together by a home builder. But eight of them? No, we're setting up something more like an industrial operation. Bound to attract attention from the FAA if noticed by someone and reported to them. So we move it out of sight."
"And I need them ready within the month," Cruz said, "and it will be two weeks to set everything up."
"So," Gordo continued, "even if we work the builders twelve hours a day for fifteen days, that's a building crew of, oh, call it twenty-three or twenty-four, with a foreman, every one of which is a security risk."
"But we have a solution," Ralph said, smiling.
"Why does that smile make me worry?" Stauer asked.
"Because you're a natural paranoid," Boxer replied. "In any case, we can solve both the labor problem and the security problem in one fell swoop."
"Oh, really? Tell me how."
Boxer jabbed a finger toward the beach. "Mexicans. Illegal Mexicans. They'll never complain to any authorities. And anyone who thinks Mexicans don't have an amazingly strong work ethic-at least until inner city liberals get their sticky paws on them-is an idiot."
Stauer rubbed his jaw, considering. "It has a certain elegance to it, I admit," he said.
"And we can train them as ground crew in the time between finishing assembly and crossing the line of departure for the mission," Cruz said. "We can add armaments aboard ship."
"But what about the runway. These planes . . . ?"
"Czech designed CH 801's," Cruz supplied. "They're basically Fieseler Storchs, if you're curious."
"Right. Czech. They'll still need some space to take off."
"Four hundred feet or so, with full loads," Cruz said. "Well, really less because they'll start off well above the sea and moving into the wind . . . but four hundred to be safe."
"So I suggest a container ship," Kosciusko said. "We pile the containers high to get over any masts, or cut the masts to drop them, then lay PSP or AM-2-"
"AM-2 is better," Cruz said.
"No doubt," Gordo agreed, "but I can get an unlimited supply of PSP"-perforated steel planking, or Marsden Matting; it was used to lay airfields essentially overnight- "in the Philippines. World War Two leftovers, and in as good a shape as the day it was delivered to the islands. They use it for fencing down there."
"What about the choppers?" Stauer asked.
Gordo answered, "Russian Hips. Used, I can get as many as you want for under two million a copy."
"And we can pile the containers in such a way as to leave spaces for the Hips to land in," Cruz offered. "Then we cover them with tarps. From the surface, nobody will see shit, and from the air . . . well, camouflage is a wonderful thing. Same deal with the landing craft; we load them in by the sides, build container sized frames to hold them, and cover them with tarps. Or cover them with cut out container sections."
"But who can fly Hips?"
"Besides an infinity of eastern Europeans," Cruz said, blowing on and then buffing fingernails on his shirt, "I can. Exchange program to Kremenchug Flight College, back in the mid-nineties."
"You have a line on recruiting some eastern Euros, then?" Stauer asked.
"Guy who taught me is living not so large in Tver," Cruz said. "Goes by the name of Borsakov, Artur Borsakov. He's pushing seventy, was a colonel, as a matter of fact, in the Soviet-Afghan War . . . early in the war. He can round up the other pilots, crew chiefs, and whatever mechanics we need. I figure we can pick up the two choppers Gordo found, enough spare parts, the ground crews, and fly the whole assembly to link up with the ship somewhere around Vladivostok. Or anywhere else, really."
"We need two," Stauer said. "That means that unless we have at least three we will end up with one working."
"I can get a third," Gordo said. "I told you, ‘as many as you want.' You want the water float kits installed?" he asked Cruz.
"How much?" Stauer asked, even though the question wasn't directed at him.
"Another seventy-five thousand over and above the five point one million for the Hips. And Mike's going to need funds to buy spares once Borsakov identifies which spares we really need."
Stauer looked the question at Cruz.
"We're gonna fly off of and then to and from a ship; the floats would make sense," Cruz said. "Shit often goes wrong, ya know?"
"All right," Stauer agreed. "And the ship?"
Gordo scowled. "For reasons beyond my ken," he said, "shipping costs are much higher than what I expected them to be. At least for the size we want they are. I recommend leasing one."
Stauer turned to Wahab and asked, "Will your chief go for a lease?"
Wahab liked Stauer immeasurably. He appreciated, too, what the American was trying to do for him, his people, and his leader. But he was a little miffed that all this conversation, all this planning, all this spending of his chief's money, had been discussed almost as if he weren't there. He pushed the feeling and the thought away. I am not here for pride's sake, but for my people's.
"What's the cost of purchase?" Wahab asked Gordo.
"For what we want, anywhere from eighteen to sixty million USD."
"And to lease one for . . . what, three months?"
"Much less than the figures I gave you. Maybe a million, two hundred thousand, if we can get a three-month charter. Four or five million if we have to go for a year. I haven't asked for a quote yet but we are talking a small fraction, and we can always sublease any time we haven't used."
Wahab turned his facer to Stauer. "Lease one, Wes. We're already getting over fifty million in known, planned costs, and those are only so far. Sixty million for a ship will send my chief over the edge."
Stauer grimaced. "One advantage to buying, as opposed to leasing, is that you can get the money back on a purchase, but the lease is just lost. Still . . . you're the boss."
"Just his representative," Wahab corrected. Though I appreciate the honorific.
"What about the sub and the patrol boat?" Stauer asked.
"We've got a couple of issues there," Gordo said. "The patrol boat's no problem; I've already contracted with the Finnish company that owns it for Biggus Dickus to take delivery next week."
Gordon was no fool. Stauer said ‘you're the boss' because he is the paymaster, and we'd better keep him happy. To Wahab he said, "The purchase price on the boat was so low I figured I'd better jump on it. Hope that's okay."
"Sure, Mr. Gordon," Wahab agreed. He only said that because Stauer dropped the hint.
"It's unarmed, of course," Gordo continued, "but we can fix that later, after Terry springs Victor from durance vile. And Biggus doesn't need an armed boat anyway.
"The sub, however . . . well, I narrowed it down to two that would do, one of which is perfect and not particularly expensive. That one's in Croatia."
"Problem is, Wes, that the Croatian one is still military. Well . . . naval. It's one of those Yugoslav-built commando carriers. Plastic, don't you know. But because it's military, buying it would raise questions and attract attention. Neither of which we want."
"Right" Gordo sighed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, he handed it over to Stauer.
"A minisub painted up in killer whale motif?" Stauer asked, passing the sheet over to Wahab, who looked and shrugged.