Brad rolled his eyes. “This is Major Nadia Rozek,” he said. “She’s in the Polish Special Forces, a military aide to President Wilk, and his personal liaison with the squadron.” He leaned in close and dropped a very firm hand on Boomer’s shoulder. “And mine,” he said quietly.
The young woman laughed. Her bright blue-gray eyes sparkled with amusement. “Oh, I am quite sure that Dr. Noble will be a perfect gentleman whenever he is around me.”
“Because if I’m not, Brad here will kick my sorry rocket-jock ass?” Boomer asked, smiling back.
With a predatory grin of her own, Nadia Rozek shook her head. “Oh no,” she said sweetly in lightly accented English. “I will.”
“Now that we’ve settled exactly who will kick whose ass, could we move on to slightly more serious matters?” Martindale said, mildly exasperated.
“Such as why you’re poking your nose into this hangar full of old X-planes?” Boomer asked.
Martindale nodded. “On the nose, Dr. Noble.” He turned and waved a hand toward the assembled aircraft. “We’re here to check out one of Dr. Masters’s orphans. One of his many advanced aviation projects that never found a loving home.”
Orphans, huh? Boomer frowned slightly. That probably was the way most people would see the planes stored in this hangar.
Many of the aircraft, sensors, weapons, and other equipment invented by Jon Masters were in active service, either with the U.S. Armed Forces or with Scion and the Polish-allied Iron Wolf Squadron. But a lot of his designs had never made it into full production. They’d fallen victim to government and corporate budget cuts, to behind-the-scenes political maneuvering, or to cutthroat competition from the larger, more established U.S. defense contractors.
It was incredibly expensive to move any aircraft design off the drawing board and turn it into something you could actually fly. From a strictly corporate point of view, every dollar sunk into any canceled project was money down the drain. Which was why Helen Kaddiri, Jon Masters’s ex-wife and the company’s current president and chairman, often called Hangar Five “Never-Never Land” or “the Warehouse of Expensive Dreams.”
Boomer’s own view was very different. He saw the hangar as a place of as-yet-unrealized potential, as a well of innovation just waiting to be tapped. The experimental aircraft stored here incorporated revolutionary design concepts and technologies — concepts and technologies that could be applied to a wide range of new projects in the years ahead. Sure, maybe these particular prototypes and test planes hadn’t found favor with the powers that were, but that didn’t mean the resources expended on them had been wasted.
Which was probably why he suddenly wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of seeing Martindale get his perfectly manicured hands on one of them. Scion’s CEO had a purely utilitarian view of aircraft and weapons systems. They were just tools to be used, discarded, and even destroyed so long as he achieved his goals.
Boomer could sort of understand that attitude when it came to planes or weapons that were in production, finally rolling off the assembly lines after years of flight and systems testing. But every aircraft in this hangar was literally one of a kind. All the blueprints and design specs in the world could never come close to capturing the hard-earned knowledge each represented.
“Which particular X-plane are you interested in?” he asked reluctantly.
Martindale turned to Brad. “It’s your show now, Captain,” he said.
“Yes, sir!” Eagerly, the younger man moved deeper into the hangar. Boomer and the others tagged after him.
Brad stopped next to one of the plastic-covered shapes. “This baby,” he said, pointing. “This is the one we want.”
The aircraft he’d indicated was about the size of a Gulfstream 450 business jet, around the size needed to carry twelve to sixteen passengers or two-plus tons of cargo. But that was where its resemblance to any commercial design ended. It had a batwing configuration with four jet engines buried in the wing’s upper surface.
Boomer’s eyes narrowed in surprise.
Designated the XCV-62 Ranger, this was Jon Masters’s design to meet a U.S. Air Force call for a stealthy, short takeoff and landing (STOL) tactical airlifter. While other companies like Northrup Grumman, Boeing, and Lockheed noodled around with scale-model prototypes to prove their concepts, Sky Masters had jumped straight to building a flyable test aircraft. But Masters’s untimely death and later the Barbeau administration’s vendetta against any company connected to Scion, Martindale, and Patrick McLanahan had strangled their bid in its cradle.
He looked back at Brad. “You have got to be kidding.”
“Nope.”
Boomer frowned. “Why not use the XV-40 Sparrowhawk we already sold you? That tilt-rotor’s a sweet ride and it can land practically anywhere.”
“Sure,” Brad agreed. “But it doesn’t have anywhere near the operational range we’re likely to need.” He went on, ticking off his reasons on his fingers. “Plus, it’s not fast enough or maneuverable enough. And finally, with those big rotors spinning, her radar cross section is so high there’s no way the Sparrowhawk can penetrate a high-threat air-defense environment undetected.”
Still frowning, Boomer turned back to Martindale. “You guys still have at least one of the XC-57 Losers your guys flew in Iraq back in 2010, don’t you? The Loser might have been designed as a bomber, but you know the mods I made turned it into one heck of an effective cargo airlifter or troop transport. Plus, one ugly mother or not, it’s got all the range and airspeed you could possibly want.”
“Unfortunately, the XC-57 is far too big for the mission we may have in mind. And it’s certainly far too visible to enemy radars,” Martindale said patiently. “Remember, Dr. Masters originally designed the Loser to fire hypersonic missiles well outside the range of any enemy air defenses. Stealth was the last thing on his mind.”
Brad cut back in. “Look, Boomer, here’s the deaclass="underline" we’re looking for an aircraft just large enough to carry a team deep into hostile territory and set down on a small, improvised runway. And we need to be able to do that, and get out again, without being detected.” He patted the aircraft beside him. “The XCV-62 here fits the bill perfectly.”
“If it’s as capable as Dr. Masters claimed it would be, that is,” Martindale added. He shrugged. “Of course, if that was all just marketing hype—”
“The Ranger is a damned fine flying machine,” Boomer said firmly. He stared hard at the other man. “Though whether Brad’s right about it being perfect for your needs depends pretty heavily on exactly what kind of cockeyed scheme you’re planning now. Care to fill me in?”
Seeing the cool, impassive expression on Martindale’s face, he sighed. “Never mind. Forget I asked. Most guys who say, ‘If I tell you that, I’ll have to kill you’ are just bullshitting. But in your case, I figure you’d only be issuing a clear statement of intent.”
Brad and Nadia both grinned at his quip. So did Martindale, though in his case Boomer was pretty sure it was more out of politeness and not genuine amusement. Like many powerful men, the former president rarely enjoyed being the target of someone else’s wit.
“Anyway, this is all academic,” Boomer went on. He shook his head. “There’s no way Helen Kaddiri is going to let you fly that XCV-62 out of here. At least not at a price you can afford. Sky Masters poured more than a hundred million dollars into the Ranger prototype. I don’t care how much backing you’ve got from the Polish government, no one’s going to approve paying that much for a single aircraft.”