Brinson chuckled. “If it was anyone else I would have said a few rash things, I think I have just the thing. You don’t know how lucky you are. Just last week we got this Candid that used to be in Cuba. They sold it to the Nicaraguans, who finally gave up on all the maintenance. They sold it to some millionaire who had no idea what he was getting, so it finally ended up here. It was next in line for getting dismantled when you called. Since the last owner flew it here, there’s not much to do but give it a good once over. Why something so big? Wouldn’t a C-130 do just as well?”
“I would prefer it, but we need something that won’t arouse suspicions. The Venezuelans are in love with the Cubans from way back. They buy some of their equipment from them. We need something big enough to carry a medical bay and room to be comfortable and fed. It also needs to be a little faster than a turboprop,” Hammond said.
“Mind telling me what this is for,” Brinson asked. “My orders were to provide whatever you need with no questions asked, but I’d like to know what it will be used for so my guys can work their magic.”
Hammond got up and closed the door. He sat back down and looked Brinson in the eye. “You deserve that Richard. It can’t go out of this room.” He paused to make his point. “We’re getting ready to get those hostages back and we need a way to get them out quickly. I’m assuming the worst, so that’s why we need the medical bay and anything else we can think of to get those poor people back home. When we find out where they are, I’m hoping there will be some sort of airstrip nearby where we can get in and out really fast. I’m gambling that it will be somewhere in Venezuela. They seem to have these little strips almost everywhere. So now you know. What do you think?”
Brinson thought a moment. “I’d rather take a turboprop anyway, but the Candid should do nicely. It’s got the cargo space and can land and take off from a relatively short space. It can even land it on a dirt field. There’s plenty of space and I like the power availability much better.” Brinson nodded his head. “It’ll do. Let’s go take a look,” he said as he got up and grabbed his cover.
The men exited the building and got into Brinson’s car. It only took a few minutes and they came upon a fairly large four engine jet parked on a ramp next to one of the hangers. In the glow of the outdoor lights you could just see the faded markings of the Nicaraguan Air Force still on the side and a team of men and women working around the plane. A cowling was off and several people were working on an engine while the others were darting in and out of the plane carrying instruments and tools. It appeared that Brinson had anticipated the urgency of Hammond’s request.
Brinson parked the car beside the aircraft and the men stepped out to the salutes of the people working nearby. The rear of the plane was open and the two men walked up the ramp and into the aircraft.
The inside of the aircraft was quite large. It was nothing like a C-5, but large enough to drive a truck into. The deck was slotted and had numerous gripes where equipment could be attached. Unlike most American heavy lifters, the front of the plane didn’t open. Instead was a large windowed area, with ladders going to an upper deck housing the cockpit and crew. Brinson begin pointing things out.
“I’d put one of our portable galleys up forward and then fit a medical bay just aft of that. I can put seating up forward under the cockpit and maybe some cots back aft. How many should we seat?” asked Brinson.
“Maybe as many as thirty six along with any other medical people and crew.”
“I’ll install fifty. This will place most of the weight under the wing and balance it out. It shouldn’t be any less comfortable than your standard coast-to-coast flight. I’ll also see to stocking up some really good meals. They’ll probably be a little worse for the wear. You want us to dig up a medical team?”
Hammond shook his head. “No, I have a team standing by. The big thing right now is figuring out where this thing will have to take off and land. What would be the minimum sized runway?”
“Let me worry about that. I’ll have this thing rigged up so it can take off from one of your aircraft carriers. Once you get the destination, I’ll have a crew briefed and ready,” Brinson said with pride.
Hammond’s phone began to ring. It was a White House number. He activated the phone and answered.
“Roger, get up here as fast as you can,” said Jim Butler on the other end.
“News?”
“Only the best. Make it fast.” The phone went dead.
Hammond looked at Brinson. “I have to go right now. I hope the plane is fueled.”
“It should be. Get in the car.”
Both men got in Brinson’s car and he placed a revolving red light on the top. Flooring it, Brinson sped across the tarmac toward the main terminal. “I take it something is happening,” said Brinson.
Hammond didn’t say anything, but gave him a wink. The car screeched to a halt right beside the small jet Hammond would be flying in. The pilot came running out of the terminal with his notebook. “We’re all set, Admiral. Straight line to DC,” he said.
Hammond turned to Brinson. “Thanks Richard.” Both men shook hands.
“Don’t worry Roger,” said Brinson. “I’ll have this thing ready and fueled by eight tomorrow morning. We’ll be waiting for the word.”
They shook again. “Thanks,” Hammond said as he turned and ran for the aircraft.
The minute he closed the door the engines began to start. Within five minutes, he was on his way to Washington.
Jeff Dunning was ten minutes late. It had taken that much longer to pinpoint the location of the small compound both on the satellite images and a map of the area. The satellite had provided a normal photograph, an infrared and a radar picture. In doing so, they were able to cut away a lot of the surrounding vegetation and see everything clearly. They also showed all of the roads and paths around the compound as well as the larger village at the top of the mountain. The images clearly showed the stone buildings and the obelisk, as well as the post where Mitchell had been killed.
A wider picture also showed a large paved airstrip just seven miles away over the next hill. The runway was over 7,000 feet long, but not as wide as that of an airport. There were three buildings inside a chain link fence along with a fuel tank and four vehicles. The airstrip was linked to the compounds via a dirt road which linked to one of the larger “highways” running through the area. Those highways were mostly made of what looked like stone and tar, not much wider than eighteen feet across. All the images and maps were displayed across the briefing table for all the people in the room to see.
“This is where our priest took the photos you see in front of you,” Dunning said, pointing to an “X” imprinted on both a photo and the map. “According to our people, he doubles as a wildlife photographer who has occasionally been published in the National Geographic. We checked him out and he has been verified as an American citizen. His history is in your briefing papers.” Dunning pointed to one of the photos. “It was pure dumb luck that he happened to be in the right place at the right time to get these photos. But as we discussed, they provide damning evidence I could take into any courtroom and get a conviction. It also means our hostages are in grave danger. This madman could decide to dispose of them at any time, so we will need to get in and out as soon as we can.”
He pointed to the lower compound. “As you can see by these photos, our truck is here in this lower section. Our photo reconnaissance couldn’t see the truck due to this large tree that obscures it. As you can see, the infrared image shows it clearly. Right now, I have my people watching the compound with a live infrared sensor as well as the regular camera. By noon, I will be able to tell you how many people are in the compound and where the hostages are,” Dunning said as he sat back down in his seat.