“Here we go,” the pilot said cross-cockpit, taking a deep cleansing breath to control his quickly rising excitement. He keyed his intercom button: “They just vectored us for the ILS approach into Diyarbakir, sir.”
“Question it but take the vector,” David Luger said via encrypted satellite link from Scion headquarters in Las Vegas. “We’re ready.”
“Roger.” On the radio, the pilot said, “Uh, Diyarbakir, Seven-Seven, why the vector? We’re on a priority international flight plan, destination Tall Kayf.”
“Your transition through Turkish airspace has been canceled by the Turkish Ministry of Defense and Frontier Security, Seven-Seven,” the approach controller said. “You are instructed to follow my vectors for approach and landing at Diyarbakir. Once your plane, crew, and cargo have been inspected, you will be permitted to continue to your destination.”
“This is not right, Approach,” the pilot protested. “Our flight did not originate or terminate in Turkey, and we filed a flight plan. We are not subject to inspection as long as we are only overflying your airspace. If you want, we can exit your airspace.”
“You are instructed to follow my vectors for approach and landing at Diyarbakir, or you will be considered a hostile aircraft and we will respond accordingly,” the controller said. “There are fighters standing by that will intercept you and escort you to Diyarbakir if you do not comply. Acknowledge.”
“Approach, we’re turning to your heading and descending,” the pilot responded, “but I will be messaging my headquarters and advising them of your threat. We will comply under protest.”
“I have been informed to notify you that the American consulate has been notified of our actions and will meet you at Diyarbakir for the inspection and interviews,” the controller said after a lengthy pause. “They will remain with you at all times while you are on the ground and will observe all of our enforcement actions.”
“This is still not right, Approach,” the pilot went on. “You can’t divert us like this. This is illegal.” On the intercom, the pilot asked, “You want us to keep descending, sir?”
“One more minute,” Dave Luger said. The Boeing 767 freighter had actually been a test-bed aircraft for the high-tech sensors and transmitters mounted on the XC-57. Most of them were still installed, including the ability to network-intrude, or “netrude”—send digital instructions to an enemy computer or network by inserting code into a digital receiver return signal. Once the proper digital frequency was discovered, Luger could remotely send computer instructions into an enemy network that, if not detected and firewalled, could propagate throughout the enemy’s computer network worldwide like any other shared piece of data.
“Diyarbakir’s radar isn’t digital, so we’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way,” Luger went on. Netrusion only worked on digital systems—if the enemy had older analog radar systems it wouldn’t work. “You guys strap in tight—this might get hairy.” Both the pilot and copilot pulled their seat belts and shoulder harnesses as tight as they could and still reach all the controls.
Suddenly the radio frequency exploded into a crashing waterfall of squeals, popping, and hissing. The Turkish controller’s voice could be heard, but it was completely unintelligible. “Okay, guys, the radar is jammed,” Luger said. “You’re cleared direct Nahla, descend smartly to seventeen thousand feet, keep the speed up. We’re keeping an eye on your threat warning receiver.” The pilot swallowed hard, made the turn, pulled the power back, and pushed the nose over until the airspeed readout was right at the barber-pole limit. With the airspeed and descent rate pegged, they lost the sixteen thousand feet in less than six minutes.
“Okay, guys, here’s the situation,” Dave radioed after they had leveled off. “They just launched a couple F-16s from Diyarbakir—that’s the bad news. I can jam the approach radar but I don’t think I can jam or netrude into the fire control radars on the jets—that’s the really bad news. We think the F-16s have infrared sensors to locate you—that’s the really really bad news. They’ve also brought several Patriot missile batteries into the area you’re about to fly through—that’s the really really—well, you get the picture.”
“Yes, sir. What’s the plan?”
“We’re going to try to do a little low-level terrain masking while I try to link into the Patriot surveillance system,” Luger said. “Frontline Turkish F-16s have digital radars and datalinks, and I think I can break in, but I’ll have to wait until the datalink goes active, and it may take a while until the Patriot gets a glimpse of you.”
“Uh, sir? It’s dark out and we can’t see anything outside.”
“That’s probably best,” Luger said. The copilot furiously pulled out his aviation enroute charts for the area they were flying in and spread them out on the glare shield. “I think the F-16s will try to get vectors to you from the Patriot fire control radars until they can get a lock either with their radar or their IR.”
“Copy.” Over the ship’s intercom, the pilot said, “Mr. Macomber? Miss Turlock? Come up to the cockpit, please?”
A few moments later, retired U.S. Air Force special operations officer Wayne “Whack” Macomber and former U.S. Army National Guard engineer Charlie Turlock stepped through the door and found seats. Macomber, a former Air Force Academy football star and Air Force special operations meteorologist, found it a bit difficult to wedge his large muscular frame into the port-side jump seat. On the other hand, it was easy for Charlie—her real name, not a nickname, given to her by a father who thought he was getting a son—to nestle her lean, trim, athletic body into the folding jump seat between the pilots. Both newcomers put on headsets.
“What the hell is going on, Gus?” Wayne asked.
“That situation Mr. Luger briefed us on? It’s happening. The Turks want us to land in Diyarbakir and are probably going to scramble fighters after us.”
“Is Luger—”
“Trying to netrude into their air defense and datalink systems,” the pilot said. “We’ve jammed the approach control radar and started to evade them, but Mr. Luger can’t netrude their analog systems; he has to wait for a digitally processed signal to come up.”
“I didn’t understand it when Luger first said it, and I don’t understand it now,” Macomber grumbled. “Just keep us from crashing or getting shot down, will ya?”
“Yes, sir. Thought you’d want to know. Strap in tight—this will get hairy.”
“Your passengers all buckled in?” David Luger asked.
“You just shut down those Turkish radars or I’ll come back and haunt you for all eternity, sir,” Whack radioed back.
“Hi, Whack. I’ll do my best. Charlie strapped in, too?”
“I’m ready to fly, David,” Charlie replied.
“Excellent, Charlie.”
Even faced with a dangerous ride ahead, Charlie turned and saw the amused smirk on Macomber’s face. “‘Excellent, Charlie,’” he mimicked. “‘Ready to fly, David.’ The general wants to be sure his lady love is safely tucked in. How cute.”
“Bite me, Whack,” she said, but she couldn’t help but smile.
“Ready, guys?”
“As ready as we’ll ever be,” the pilot said.
“Good. Descend right now to eleven thousand feet and fly heading one-five-zero.”
The pilot pushed his control wheel forward to begin the descent, but the copilot held out his hand to stop him. “The minimum descent altitude in this area is thirteen-four.”