“Sure.”
“Colonel Freah will have operational control.”
Breanna looked up from the screen. The frown on Turk’s face hadn’t dissipated.
“What’s wrong, Captain?”
“Nothing.”
“Out with it.”
“Tigershark’s unarmed.”
“And?”
“I could do a much better job with the gun.”
The gun referred to was the experimental rail gun. The weapon was undergoing tests in a second aircraft, which was also housed at the leased Dreamland base.
“The weapon’s not operational. And there shouldn’t be any need for it.” Breanna clicked on another folder. A set of images opened. “This is Raven. It’s smaller than a Flighthawk or a Predator. It’s armed with Hellfire missiles at the moment, but eventually it will be able to house a number of weapons.”
“Looks more like a Tigershark than a Predator.”
“It is. The contractor is the same for both systems.” Breanna closed the file, returning to the map. “It was flying with a Predator, which also crashed. Danny will be working out of Ethiopia. You’ll be able to land there in an emergency.”
“I didn’t think Ethiopia was an ally,” said Turk.
“They’re not.”
Chapter 8
Danny Freah stared out into the black night as the MV-22 Osprey whipped over the hills.
“Hasn’t changed,” said his companion bitterly. Nuri Abaajmed Lupo was sitting in the sling seat nearby, slumped back, arm draped over the canvas back.
“Maybe it has. Too dark to see,” said Danny.
“Never changes,” said Nuri. “It’s a shit hole.”
Danny was silent for a moment. He’d been here a few months back, on his very first mission with Whiplash — the new Whiplash. They’d pulled Nuri out of a tense situation, and nearly died in the process.
A good christening.
Since that time, the lawless situation in southeastern Sudan had gotten worse. Worried about violence spilling over the border, the Ethiopian government had declared its “neutrality” in the civil war, but was ineffective in keeping either side out.
At the same time it was engaged in an unrelated feud with the United States, Ethiopia had dismissed the U.S. ambassador a few weeks before. This made the existence of a secret American base in the northwest corner of the country even more problematic.
“Wish you were still in Alexandria?” Danny asked Nuri.
Nuri shrugged.
“We’ll wrap this up and get back,” said Danny. “She’ll remember you.”
Nuri frowned. “She” was a colonel in the state police administration, assigned as one of their liaisons. The sudden assignment had interrupted Nuri’s plans to take her out.
The Osprey dipped into a valley, skimming close to the treetops. As the aircraft slowed, the engine nacelles on the wings swung up. Danny cinched his seat belt, the aircraft fluttering down onto the landing strip.
Outside, the air was cool and crisp, a welcome change from Egypt, where it had been oppressively hot. Danny zipped his jacket to his neck. He was dressed in civilian clothes, unsure exactly what to expect.
“They didn’t even send anyone to meet us,” said Nuri, surveying the field.
“We probably got here faster than they expected,” said Danny. He pulled the strap to his rucksack over his shoulder and started walking toward the low-slung buildings beyond the small strip where they’d been deposited. Ras Dashen, the highest peak in the Semien Mountains, rose in the distance, its brown hulk clearly outlined by the glow of the full moon. The mountain was a popular destination for adventure tourists, but this sparsely populated valley was more than fifty miles from the nearest route taken by tourists. Accessible only by a scrub road or aircraft, the CIA had been using the field for Raven for nearly two months.
The Osprey rose behind them, spitting sand and grit in every direction. The aircraft would fly back to southern Egypt, refuel, then go north to Cairo to wait for the rest of the Whiplash team.
Assuming they were needed. Danny wasn’t exactly sure what the situation was; Reid hadn’t given him many details, saying only to get there and find out what had to be done.
“Lonely place,” said Danny as they walked.
Nuri grumbled an answer.
“This place operational when you were here?” Danny asked. “Before Whiplash?”
“Not that I knew.”
A thick clump of clouds floated in front of the moon, casting the base in darkness. As they passed, a pickup truck emerged from the shadows near the building, riding toward them without its lights.
“Here comes our ride,” said Nuri.
“You don’t sound too enthusiastic.”
“I wouldn’t trust anything the Agency is doing out here.” Nuri stopped. “Black projects have a way of becoming rodeos.”
The pickup arrived before Danny could ask what he meant. The driver rolled down the window. He was white, and spoke with a British accent.
“You’re Colonel Freah?”
“That’s right.”
“You can put your bags in the back.” The man didn’t introduce himself. He waited silently for Danny and Nuri to get in, then put the truck into reverse, made a slow-motion U-turn, and drove toward the buildings. There were five; two about the size of a small ranch house back home, and three slightly smaller.
“Which building?” Danny asked.
“You can wait in the one on the far right.” The building was one of the larger structures.
“Wait?” snapped Nuri.
“What do you mean wait?” asked Danny. “We’re here to meet Melissa Ilse.”
“I don’t know where she is.” The driver seemed almost offended that they would imply he did know.
“How long you been on contract?” asked Nuri.
The man looked at him. “That’s not your business.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Danny and Nuri got out and went into the building. It consisted of a single room. A set of tables formed two long rows in the center, with chairs running down one side. Dim red lights shone from overhead fixtures; there wasn’t enough light to read a watch by.
“Most of them bugged out already,” said Nuri, surveying the room. “Shit.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Too few people. If they were running UAVs from here, they would have needed dozens of people. Even if it was just a skeletal crew. Even if they were flying from somewhere else. And the security would have been tighter. I’ll bet they had tents, and just took everything away. I don’t like this.”
Dubious, Danny looked around the room. It looked more like an empty Knights of Columbus hall than a command post.
“So where’s this Melissa, you think?” he asked Nuri.
Nuri pulled out a chair and sat down. “Damned if I know. I never even heard of her.”
He shook his head. Danny was used to dealing with Nuri — he tended to be a bit of a crank — but this was cantankerous even for him.
“There aren’t that many people who can deal with East Africa,” Nuri added. “I know them all. And she’s not one of them.”
“Maybe it’s a pseudonym.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, this is a bullshit way to treat us,” said Danny. As he turned to go back to the door, it opened. A short, thin man with several days’ worth of stubble on his face entered.
“Colonel Freah?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m Damian Jordan.” He reached out and shook Danny’s hand. He had a grip that could crush rocks.
“We’re supposed to meet Melissa Ilse,” said Danny.
“She’s not here,” said Jordan. He offered his hand to Nuri. Nuri just stared at him.