“The Americans have their own cyberweapons and computer specialists,” Tarzarov said. “Is it not likely they will redouble their own cyberwar efforts, both to defend themselves and to act offensively against us?”
Again, Gryzlov laughed, but this time without any real humor. “You still don’t see what’s going on, do you, Sergei?” His eyes were cold, full of calculated cruelty. “When I finish with the bastard Poles and their toadies, it will be Barbeau’s turn to suffer. And when that day comes, she will learn that all the cyberweapons and computers in the world cannot save her.”
FOURTEEN
The evening sun sent long shadows slanting across McLanahan Airport’s runway and hangars. It was setting fast, sinking toward the steep, rugged hills and peaks lining the horizon about thirteen miles beyond the Sky Masters field’s fenced-in perimeter.
“Masters Three-Zero, McLanahan Tower,” said the tower controller seated in front of six large high-definition monitors forming a panoramic video arc of the airfield. “Winds two-four zero at twelve gusting to eighteen, runway two-five, cleared for takeoff.”
“McLanahan Tower, Three-Zero cleared for takeoff, runway two-five,” replied the pilot.
“Masters Six-Two, taxi to and hold short of runway two-five via Alpha and Alpha One.”
“Taxi to and hold short of two-five via Alpha and Alpha One, Masters Six-Two,” came the reply from a second aircraft.
Hunter “Boomer” Noble stood in the center of the airport operations room, behind the two controllers on duty. McLanahan Industrial Airport did not have a control tower, but used a network of remotely operated cameras and sensors to give air-traffic controllers a precise and real-time view of not just the airfield but all of the surrounding Class-C airspace for thirty miles in all directions. The controller did not use a normal radar display. Instead, aircraft icons floated across the screens along with their call signs, altitude, airspeed, and route of flight. As the C-130 Hercules started its takeoff roll, Boomer could see its route-of-flight line extend off into the distance, first to the southwest and then to the south.
“Our friendly local G-man is on the way, Boomer,” the shift supervisor told him as he clicked off from speaking with the facility’s security watch commander.
Boomer nodded. He checked his watch. As promised, FBI special agent Raymond Sattler was right on time. It sure was nice to know that you could count on some things in this crazy world, he thought — especially from a government employee.
Ray Sattler and his team of dozens of agents were ever-present fixtures at McLanahan Industrial Airport, Sky Masters Aerospace, and even in the town of Battle Mountain. Plus, Sattler had many more agents stationed at Sky Masters’ facilities all over the country. When the Barbeau administration tried to close down Sky Masters because of its suspected support of Scion in Poland and Ukraine, Jason Richter and Helen Kaddiri hired the best law firms, lobbyists, and political operatives to challenge the government’s sanctions. The government finally made a deal with Sky Masters: allow the Justice, Defense, State, Commerce, and Treasury Departments to closely monitor every aspect of Sky Masters Aerospace’s operations, and the company could stay open. The government gave the job to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. And the FBI immediately sicced dozens of investigators, lawyers, and accountants onto the task of scouring every possible aspect of the company’s operations. Sometimes it seemed like each and every Sky Masters office, hangar, workbench, and break room in dozens of locations had an FBI agent assigned to it 24/7. It was as if anytime an airplane, hangar door, or wrench belonging to Sky Masters moved, an FBI agent was there to monitor it.
The electronic lock on the door behind him clicked. Boomer glanced at the man behind a separate console. “Here we go, Ned,” he said.
“Ready to rock-and-roll, boss,” the operator responded. Boomer nodded. It was time to raise the curtain.
“Was that what you wanted me to see, Dr. Noble?” Sattler asked, nodding toward the monitor showing the big four-propeller cargo plane taxiing onto the runway. Sure, Sattler was a nice guy and very thorough, Boomer thought, but he was so damned quiet and too darned fast. Which made him scary as well. Boomer turned around. Everything about the FBI agent, from his perfectly knotted red silk tie and dark blue suit coat to his neatly creased slacks and polished black wing tips, practically shouted “rising Bureau star slated for a headquarters job at the Hoover Building in D.C. any moment now.”
“That old Four Fan Trash Can?” Boomer said, using the common Air Force slang term for the C-130 Hercules cargo plane. He laughed. “No way. She’s just on the daily milk run, carrying some spare parts to one of our production facilities out in California.” He waved the other man forward to the screens at his left side. He pointed down toward the sleek, jet-black, batwinged XCV-62 slowly taxiing out of Hangar Five. “No, that’s the baby I knew you’d be interested in.” He shrugged. “In this case, I figured it made more sense to clue you in up front, instead of writing endless reports explaining why this test hop was no big deal later.”
“Your zealous cooperation with my surveillance team is always greatly appreciated, Dr. Noble,” Sattler said.
“Just doing my bit as a loyal citizen,” Boomer said virtuously. Sattler snorted, accustomed to hearing it but never really sure if Noble believed his own patter. “Okay, I guess that was a little over-the-top,” Boomer allowed.
“Maybe a little,” the FBI man said, smiling now. He nodded at the futuristic-looking aircraft as it swung toward the runway. “So what kind of plane is that? Some kind of new prototype stealth bomber?”
“The XCV-62 Ranger?” Boomer shook his head. “She’s one of our old experimental aircraft, originally designed as a stealthy tactical airlifter. We lost that contract a few years back, and since then the Ranger’s been in storage. So we’re sending her up for a short checkout flight.”
“And just why would you want to do that, Dr. Noble?” Sattler asked, sounding a little suspicious suddenly. “Why send an old aircraft like that up at this point?”
“It’s no big mystery,” Boomer assured him. “My bosses have heard rumors that the next defense appropriations bill may include money for a new stealth-cargo and airlift program. If the rumors pan out, they’d like to get a jump on the competition by being able to show we’ve already got a flyable contender. Hence my orders to make sure that’s the case.” Seeing the embarrassed look on Sattler’s face, Boomer shrugged. “Okay, yeah, I know. You don’t have to spell it out. Sky Masters is totally screwed right now as far as securing new government contracts is concerned. And I’m pretty sure the suits in corporate are fully aware of that, but they wanted it done anyway. My best guess is this is mostly a PR exercise to keep our shareholders happy.”
The FBI agent nodded sympathetically. “The same kind of thing happens in the Bureau whenever Congress starts asking awkward questions about the size of our budget. We get frantic orders from on high to make some high-profile arrests, and pronto.” He looked pained. “Lots of otherwise solid criminal cases go south when that happens.” Sattler pointed toward the batwinged stealth plane as it made its final turn onto the main runway. “So who drew the short straw and gets to fly that crate? Seems like that could be kind of dangerous if it’s been sitting cold in a hangar for so long.”
“You’ve heard the saying that there are old pilots and there are bold pilots?” Boomer said with grin.