Tombstone passed quickly through the outer area, garnering a cheery greeting from the receptionist. Had anyone asked her, she would have informed them that Tombstone was a technical adviser working on the company’s bid to design the analysis factors that would go into the final bid requirements for advanced fighter ECM system. And she would have been able to discuss quite convincingly — and often did in response to phone queries from job seekers — the firm’s requirements, staffing, and past and future plans. Indeed, she was probably the most well-prepared part of the entire cover story.
Once past the steel doors, all pretense of corporate luxury ceased. The walls, overhead, and deck were reinforced, and sensitive electronic monitors in every corner kept watch to prevent eavesdropping. The windows were insulated, covered with metal, covered with another layer of sound-deadening material, and sealed off. All in all, it was the most secure classified area that existed outside the Pentagon.
“Good morning, Uncle,” Tombstone said. His uncle had a desk in one corner, a small, functional metal one. Tombstone had his desk in the opposite corner. “What’s up?”
“Our first mission,” his uncle said, his voice a model of controlled excitement. “Dammit, Tombstone, they’re actually going to let us do it this time.”
Tombstone slouched down in the comfortable executive chair he’d insisted on. “About time,” he said. “Four months of desk work are starting to get to me.”
His uncle shot him an amused look. “It hasn’t been all desk work, as I recall. There is a little matter of two hundred hours in a Tomcat.”
“There is that. But I took it as simply a signing bonus.”
His uncle laughed out loud. Tombstone stared at him with some degree of amazement, delighted in the changes in his uncle’s demeanor over the last months.
How had it been that he had missed his uncle’s slide into the grim formality that had characterized his tour of the CNO? How could he have missed the absence of the warm friendliness that always characterized their relationship, the occasional bad joke his uncle used to make? No, it was only now that his uncle was freed of those burdens that he saw the man he remembered from his childhood days emerge again. His uncle was like a child with a new toy, only this toy had a budget that was truly mind-boggling and bigger, better, faster toys than anything either of them had experienced as a child.
“So what’s the deal?” Tombstone asked, as he propped his feet up on his desk. “Is it time to save the world?”
“A small part of it, maybe,” his uncle said. He came over to Tombstone’s desk, and tossed a couple of photographic surveillance photos in front of him. “Take a gander at these.”
Tombstone studied them, pretending to puzzle out whatever it was he was supposed to notice. But in truth, he as well as his uncle depended on the enlisted intelligence staff who were experts at this sort of work. Interpreting satellite images was still more of an art than a science, and it took years of looking at seemingly random collections of light and dark before the brain started making sense of what the eyes reported.
Once he made the obligatory show of studying them, Tombstone held out his hand. “Okay, care. Where’s the report?”
His uncle handed him two sheets of paper.
Tombstone scanned them quickly, sparing a fleeting moment to appreciate the terse style in which they had been written. The terrain was just north of the Kurile Islands, and those specks of white on the infrared shots were troops. Lots of troops. Just off the coast were Russian landing vessels. The analyst concluded that there were at least two regiments and ships to carry them waiting to deploy to the Kuriles.
“The Russians making a grab for them, are they?” he asked.
His uncle nodded. “Yep. No indications from other sources yet, but we’ve got some feelers out.”
“Well, you got to have troops to hold land, that’s for sure. And it looks like they’ve got enough of them.”
“Take a look at the last paragraph again.”
Tombstone looked again. According to the analyst, there was no indication that there were antiair defenses in place, and no indication that they would be installed. He looked up at his uncle in amazement. “Pretty stupid. The Japanese are more than capable of taking them out.”
“The Japanese aren’t. We are.”
“What!?” Tombstones bolted upright in his chair.
His uncle stuck out his hand. “You heard me. Congratulations, you’re a plankowner.”
Tombstone clasped his uncle’s hand in both of his own. “We’re actually going to take them out?”
His uncle nodded. “The Pentagon figures that one good bombing run could disable all three ships and decimate about half of the ground troops. They’ll know who’s responsible, don’t doubt that. But they won’t be able to say a thing. Because just as we’re not going to be there, they’re not there right now. Everybody’s cover stories will fit together neatly.”
One bombing run — yes, that could do it. Tombstone studied the satellite photographs again, now that he knew what they represented, and saw it was entirely possible. Two antiship rounds, maybe three — the rest Rockeyes or some other antipersonnel weapon. He called up a picture of the region in his mind, and verified that there was one serious problem with the plan. “How am I supposed to get there?”
“The Aleutians. Your last stop will be Adak. You’ll refuel there, and then make one hell of a long-assed haul down to the Russian position. You’ll be met enroute by KC-135 tanking support.”
“Tanking from the Air Force? That’s going to compromise our mission, isn’t it?”
His uncle shook his head. “Son, there’s a hell of a lot you don’t know about the way the world works. The Air Force has been providing this sort of service for ages. They don’t ask, we don’t tell. After all, they get paid the same whether they’re refueling satellites or aircraft.”
Tombstone looked stunned. “Satellites? You’re kidding; they do that?”
His uncle’s face was dead serious. “Yes. Of course I’m kidding.” Then his face cracked into a broad smile and he laughed aloud again. “Don’t be silly, Tombstone. Refueling a satellite… come on, it was a joke.”
“I knew that.”
“Right. So. You up for this? Remember, I told you that you could refuse any mission you didn’t want to carry out.”
“Are you kidding?” Tombstone said. “Of course I’m up for it.”
“Remember, there are going to be risks,” his uncle said somberly. “For most of the transit, you’ll be a long way from land. You’re going to get the best aircraft that money can buy, but there’s always the unexpected. And it’s possible the Russians will move air defenses in place between now and then.”
“When is then?” Tombstone asked.
“Tomorrow. Unless you need more time.”
“Tomorrow! You’re not kidding when you say things move fast.” Tombstone shook his head admiringly, thinking of the things he could’ve done while on active duty if the Navy establishment had been so flexible. So much trouble could’ve been prevented, nipped in the bud, by a force capable of doing just what his uncle was proposing.
But then, did he really know for sure that there hadn’t been a predecessor to Advance Solutions?
He started to ask, and saw his uncle shake his head. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t even ask. I can’t tell you, even if I knew.”