Knowlington saw only a vague and dark arrow inside a gray rectangle.
“You might prefer viewing this image,” said Wong, removing another sheet from his folder. This was an even blurrier photocopy of the same image, with a portion outlined in fine red pen.
Granted, the outline looked vaguely like the outline of a MiG-29.
Or an F-15. Or a chipped piece of slate.
“It’s an aircraft, I assure you,” added Wong, as if reading Knowlington’s mind. “And it was flown, or at least exposed to the sun, within the past eight hours.”
“But why would they put it there?” the colonel asked.
“I can think of several reasons. The simplest would be to hide it, hoping that the base had been overlooked. It would be easier to get it there than Iran.”
Several Iraqi fighters had scrambled to Iran over the past several days, possibly for safekeeping, though it wasn’t entirely clear why they had gone or what they intended on doing. The Iranians had claimed the planes would be interred, but no one entirely trusted them.
“Maybe they’re staging to Iran,” suggested Knowlington.
“Possible, though once in the air their modus operandi has been to continue east.”
“Mechanical problems?”
“Possibly, though again, I can think of much better places to land.”
“Maybe they’re going to plumb it for bombs and send it south.”
Wong nodded grimly. “The so-called Death Wish scenario cannot be ruled out. It would not be difficult to adapt the plane for use as a bomber, especially if the mission were one-way. There are other developments that indicated this plane may fly again, very soon.”
The captain pulled out another sheet of paper from his folder. A satellite image taken around dusk, it was even darker than the Tornado pictures.
“The truck here arrived after the overflight, perhaps a few minutes before this was taken. It appears to be in motion, in fact, though that is difficult to tell here,” said Wong.
“What truck?” asked Knowlington.
Wong pointed to a black curlicue near the runway, which itself was barely discernible. “In this revetment. It is a tanker. And while it could carry any number of liquid cargoes, my best guess would be aviation fuel for the jet.”
“You see a fuel truck there?”
“The limitations of the available technology,” said Wong, sighing with regret. “But yes, that is what that is.”
“Well, if that’s a fuel truck, the plane may be gone already.”
“Possibly. But a night mission would be hazardous, and perhaps beyond the capabilities of both the plane and the pilot. Additionally, the airstrip is very short, even for a MiG-29. It’s unlit, and the falloff at the very end of the runway, combined with the nearby hills, makes the takeoff tricky.”
“None of that would be critical,” said Knowlington.
“I can’t argue decisively,” agreed Wong. “But as the fuel truck is in the revetment, not the hangar area, the soonest I would positively anticipate takeoff would be dawn.”
“Maybe they’re still working on the jet,” suggested Knowlington. Maybe it had engine trouble and set down.”
“Possibly.” It is not obvious from the intelligence. There are no indications of work crews, at least at present. There are several bunkers, nearby, however, which could house any type of weapon.”
“You think they’re going to use it to bomb Riyadh?”
The permutations are endless,” said Wong. “In my personal opinion, it is more likely that the plane will join others in a dash to Iran, or simply remain at the base. But the aircraft’s present location and the relative lack of defensive assets present a unique opportunity for intelligence gathering.
Knowlington reexamined the images. “These pictures are pretty lousy, Wong.”
“My intention is to gather intelligence first-hand.”
“First hand? You want to go in with Splash?” Knowlington was incredulous. “That’s what you’re saying?”
“It would be convenient.”
Skull scowled. “Convenient? We have to bomb this sucker right away. It’s an easy target.”
“CentCom has already been alerted to the presence of the aircraft, which can be easily interdicted if it takes off. The Splash team can destroy it as part of the operation to search for the missing SAS men.”
“Exactly,” Knowlington said.
“But prior to destroying the aircraft, however,” Wong added, “a few moments of inspection would confirm or contradict a number of theories regarding not only the plane, but the state of the Iraqi air force. It would also added considerably to our store of knowledge regarding Soviet-export MiGs. It is an opportunity, frankly, that one such as myself cannot afford to miss.”
Wong folded his arms in front of his chest, as Knowlington’s scowl deepened. “I have already arranged for a UH-1 to transport me to the area where the Splash team is spending the night. With your permission, I will leave within the hour.”
“And what if I don’t give you permission?”
Wong’s head snapped upright. Knowlington had the impression that it was the first thing he had said that Wong hadn’t already considered.
Knowlington realized that Wong could easily go around him if he chose; the intelligence officer was here only on temporary duty, and ultimately reported directly to an admiral in the Pentagon responsible for Joint Service Intelligence. Wong was considered one of the West’s leading experts on Russian weapons systems, and had dozens of covert actions and spy missions to his credit; this one would hardly seem outrageous.
“What about the SAS men who are supposed to be prisoners here?” Knowlington asked.
“As I noted earlier, I doubt the Iraqis would hold them here,” said Wong. “But it cannot be ruled out. Baghdad might have placed them here until a proper decision on how to best exploit or at least hold them was made; we cannot tell. At the same time, a unit commander deciding to exploit them for political gain or favor with the regime might indeed keep them at an out-of-the-way base while he contemplated the best way to capitalize on their presence. The base appears to be outside the Iraqis’ normal chain of command, or at least is not home to a large contingent of men.”
“Makes sense, I guess.”
“Only in Iraq,” said Wong. “In any event, my inspection of the plane need not interfere with the search for the men, which would remain the primary objective. With your permission, Colonel.”
Knowlington turned his head toward the phone. He expected it to ring any second — expected to end his responsibilities within the hour, if not minutes.
Until then?
Giving permission to Wong was a no-brainer. The danger was clearly outweighed by the information that would be gained.
Was it, though? They knew plenty about MiG-29s, and the Iraqi air force had been a no-show to this point in the war. Sending a guy across the border wasn’t exactly the same as asking him to run down to the 7-Eleven for a gallon of milk.
“You think this is worth the risk?” he asked Wong.
The intelligence expert sighed in the manner of a physics teacher asked once more to explain the relevance of E=MC2.
“Since the operation will go ahead in any event, the additional risk is infinitesimal. Obtaining firsthand information on the plane would be beneficial. There are the obvious questions of what changes, if any, have been made to the weapons systems and whether it has been adapted for ground attack. And then there are the more interesting questions. Has the full N-019 radar set, the so-called Slot Back 1, actually been installed? Has the cannon — ”