“And if any of those reporters call you back, you say you were having a bad dream or you were drunk.” Gering eyed the letter of agreement, then the stack of green.
“Got a pen?” he asked.
She found one, and he signed the agreement with a flourish. She took the paper, folded it, and put it in her purse. “This will be kept in Washington, in the Department of Justice probably.”
In their trash can.
“Yeah. Can I have the money now?”
Kramer pushed the stack across the table to him, then stood up.
“Goodbye, Arnie.”
“See you in the morning.”
“No, you won’t. You don’t work for us, anymore. Remember that far back?”
He looked crestfallen.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
She turned and walked away from him.
He called after her, “Well, hey! Do I get a letter of recommendation?”
The briefing again included all wing and squadron commanders as well as Colonel Ghazi who had come to Marada to observe Test Strike. He sat now at one side of the room with al-Qati, Major Shummari, Captain Rahman of the First Special Forces Company, and Lieutenant Hakim, the Strike Platoon commander.
Ramad was appreciative of the deference he had been shown by Ghazi. The army commander had apparently been put in his place by Farouk Salmi and others close to the Leader.
After reports by the meteorological officer in regard to conditions expected on the day of the attack and the maintenance officer as to the readiness of all aircraft consigned to the exercise, Ramad had reviewed in detail the elements of the planned strike. In flights of three aircraft, three squadrons of Su-24s would strike the three identified targets at five o’clock on the morning of August 2. Three squadrons of MiG-23s would fly combat air patrol (CAP) for the bombers and the personnel transports. After being transported to a secret staging base in the Sudan by C-130s, Shummari’s helicopters would insert the ground troops ten minutes after the initial bombardment. The villages were located in the province of Wallaga, near the border with Sudan. The troops would remain on the ground, establishing a defensive perimeter, for three hours, then be extracted. Three of the MiG-23 s in the combat air patrol would be equipped with reconnaissance cameras and would shoot videotape of the entire mission, to supplement the photographs taken from the helicopters and from cameramen on the ground. The Leader wanted a complete photographic history of the exercise, perhaps in the event that American satellites overlooked the escapade.
“We will have at our disposal,” Ramad continued, “four aerial tankers. It is important to note that our targets are twenty-two hundred kilometres away. A successful strike at that distance will certainly raise eyebrows in the right defence departments.”
Al-Qati asked, “Have we secured the permission of the Sudanese to overfly, and to land, in Sudan?”
The man kept pestering over the most niggardly details. “Of course, Colonel al-Qati. They have approved a long-range training and refuelling operation.”
The Sudanese had not approved landing, establishing a staging base, or carrying live weapons over their territory, but Ramad knew that his combat elements would be down, into Ethiopia, and then out before the Sudanese military suspected and/or could react.
“We have promised to keep all aircraft well clear of Khartoum, which we will do,” Ramad added, to increase his credibility.
Al-Qati sat back, but he did not appear particularly satisfied. Ramad would prefer to have him replaced, but part of the Leader’s approval had been based upon utilizing his elite troop, and that meant al-Qati.
“At one o’clock on the morning of August second, I will release the appropriate chemical weapons to squadron commanders,” Ramad said. “Each squadron leader will be accountable for all weapons assigned to him, and must provide a detailed report on their deployment.”
Those reports would subsequently be destroyed. There would be no written record of this mission.
There would be only the photographs.
Captain Gamal Harisah of the first squadron sat up and raised his hand.
“Yes, Captain?”
“What will the ordnance load consist of, Colonel?”
“Two weapons per aircraft, six per target. We think that should be sufficient. Your wing commander will brief you before take-off on wind conditions at the target sites so that we can strive for the best possible dispersal of the agents.”
After several more mundane and routine questions, Ramad turned toward Ghazi. “Colonel Ghazi, you wished to speak to the group?”
“Yes, Colonel Ramad. Thank you.”
Ghazi did not come to the podium, but rose from his chair and stood against the wall, careful to not get chalk from the blackboard on his uniform.
“Libyan Intelligence,” he said, “has obtained information which, to be truthful, I rate as about twenty percent reliable. However, you should know that the potential exists for a strike against you, or this base, or the chemical plant, by clandestine aircraft.”
Ramad cleared his throat. “Why was I not informed of this threat?”
“I am informing you now, Colonel. It is the primary reason I am here.”
“These are American airplanes?” Ramad asked.
“Yes.”
“And pilots?”
“That is unknown. It seems certain that the aircraft were prepared in the United States, but the operators are unknown.”
“What type of aircraft?” Ramad demanded.
“The source says they are McDonnell Douglas F-4 Phantoms. That alone suggests that the operators could be of any nationality.”
“F-4 fighters?” Ramad said. “Do we know how many are involved?”
“The source says six.”
Ramad almost laughed aloud. “In its day, the F-4 was formidable. If this remote possibility proves itself out, Colonel, my MiG-23s will obliterate the threat quickly.”
“Perhaps,” Ghazi said. “All I am suggesting is that, as part of your planning, you might prepare a defensive contingency plan.”
It was ridiculous. Ghazi’s people spooked at the mere sight of a rumour on the horizon.
Al-Qati stood up. “That seems sensible to me. It would be a shame to have the glory of Test Strike overcome by world media reports that an antiquated airplane shot down another of our aircraft, even if only one.
The army man was playing with his pride of ownership of Test Strike, and Ramad was about to reject the game when he noted that his commanders were almost nodding in syncopation with al-Qati’s speech.
“Very well,” he said. “Captain Harisah, would you prepare a scenario and a reaction plan for me.”
“Right away, Colonel Ramad.”
Ramad then decided that he was not being forced into anything. If Ghazi were pleased, then others at the top would also be pleased. And if Ghazi were crying wolf at the door, and the wolf did not show up, then that was Ghazi’s problem.
Wyatt sat in seven-seven, with the throttles at idle. The sweat was pouring from his forehead into his eyes, and he frequently used the back of his hand to sluice it to one side or the other.
He looked down the line in time to see Cliff Jordan raise his hand above his cockpit in triumph. The start cart was quickly disconnected from his F-4 and trundled back aboard the C-130.
Demion started turning the props on the Here, and all four of them came on line.
Dennis Maal had taken off with the C-130F ten minutes before.
Wyatt hit the transmit stud. “Yuccas.”
One after the other, they all checked in.
“Secure weapons,” he said.
Again, they all checked in with affirmative responses. Wyatt made sure his own panel was secured. The safety pins were still inserted in the missiles and bombs, but it never hurt to be extra certain.