“What do we say to the customs officials?” Honi asked. “We don’t speak any of the local languages. Won’t they know we’re Americans?”
Clayton smiled. “For very wealthy people, such as yourselves, all that is required is registering your passports and paying an entrance fee. You don’t have to appear before them in person. I will make all of the necessary arrangements.”
While Clayton took their passports to the local customs office, the four transferred immediately to a Sikorski helicopter waiting for them on the tarmac.
A half-hour later, they landed on a flattened portion of a large rocky hill. Jake, Honi, Stafford and Ken climbed the slope to the top where the antenna was located. The antenna tower was over a hundred feet tall with the fractal antennas mounted above that. Transmission cables ran down the tower and into the concrete building at the base of the tower. Jake checked the metal door. It was locked. He checked the deadbolt and pulled his lock pick set from his pocket. While Jake worked on the lock, Stafford used a small meter device to check for an alarm circuit.
“It looks clean. No sign of an alarm system.”
“Probably figured no one would come up here on a rock hill in the middle of nowhere,” Honi commented.
Jake slowly opened the door and peered inside. “Some kind of blue light in there.” He opened the door further and the four of them slowly walked inside.
“Well,” Ken said. “This answers the lack of fuel deliveries.”
The electronics for the repeater were housed in a metal enclosure on the right front section of the building. In the back was a circular machine, six feet in diameter and two feet tall. A metal dome covered both the top and bottom portions of the machine. Heavy wires ran from the top and bottom of the machine over to the electronics enclosure. From the center, a rotating ring was exposed with another ring partially visible inside of that. The rings were spinning counterclockwise. The whole machine was surrounded by a gentle blue glow.
Jake slowly began to approach the machine, but when he got six feet from the blue glow, the hairs on his arms and head raised up. Stafford grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him back.
“Better not. Too much static electricity. You could get electrocuted just getting near it.”
“Possible radiation hazard, too,” Ken added.
Jake stepped back. “So what the hell is it?”
“We’re going to need Andropov,” Honi said. “Maybe he can figure out what this machine is and how it works.” She pulled her phone, but there was no service.
They stepped back out of the building and Stafford took out his phone.
“No service. But we have GPS. From the angle on the antenna our transmitting source is due northwest from here.”
“We need to get back to civilization so we can contact our people,” Honi said.
They scrambled back down the hill to the helicopter and took off toward Luque.
When they landed, Jake called General Davies.
“General, it’s Jake Hunter. We need Andropov flown down to La Paz, Bolivia immediately. We have a general location for the Organization’s communications center, sir. We think the satellite control system is in central Bolivia. We need an immediate military ground assault force put together, with full air support, to take control of that satellite command center. We’re less than eight hours from the deadline.” He listened carefully. “Yes, sir, I understand. If this doesn’t happen in the next seven hours and forty-three minutes, seven billion people are going to die.” He disconnected.
“So what’s the problem?” Honi asked.
“Logistics,” Stafford answered. “It takes time to put physical assets in place.”
“Like what?” Ken asked.
“Aircraft consume a large amount of fuel. We can refuel in the air, but only if there is an air tanker where you need it. South America isn’t exactly military friendly to us, so we don’t have enough logistical support to operate in the middle of Bolivia.”
“We need to be on the assault team,” Honi stated. “How are they going to pick us up?”
“Leave that to me,” Clayton said. “We have a small private airfield outside of La Paz that we use in partnership with the DEA for drug interdiction missions. We can use that.”
“Okay,” Jake said. “Get us to La Paz.”
Honi pulled her phone and called Brett. “Get the NRO satellites covering central Bolivia. Look for a tall antenna tower out in the middle of nowhere. Send me the photos and the GPS coordinates as soon as you have them.”
They boarded the Learjet 45 and took off for La Paz.
“This is going to be close,” Jake said.
CHAPTER 18
They landed at El Alto International Airport, 8 miles southwest of La Paz, at half past noon, local time. The most immediate sensation was the thinness of the air.
“What’s our altitude?” Jake asked.
“Thirteen thousand, three hundred twenty-five feet,” Clayton answered. “You’re standing on the highest international airport in the world.”
They passed through customs without incident, and entered the four-door sedan of the local FBI office chief.
“I’m FBI Agent-In-Charge Tony Wessler, La Paz office,” he said, leaning over the seat.
They all shook hands. After an hour drive into the mountains to the east, they stopped at a small grass runway airfield nestled in a narrow valley. On the east side of the runway stood a twenty by thirty-foot wood construction office, two six-by-eight storage sheds and four one-thousand-gallon fuel storage tanks. The air was cool and thin.
Jake’s phone rang. It was General Davies. “Yes, General.”
“Are you in Bolivia?” General Davies asked.
“Yes, we’re at a small drug interdiction airport east of La Paz.”
“Okay. I know where that is. You will be picked up on the way to the target. How close are you to an exact final destination?”
“Close. We should have an exact location for the Phoenix Organization’s communications center by the time your forces are in the air.”
“Understood. I have Andropov and the President’s Unit on super-sonic transport. As soon as they arrive we will initiate the mission.”
“Thank you, General.” Jake disconnected.
“Well, at least we have cell service out here,” Honi said.
“We have our own tower,” Wessler replied. “Operational requirement for drug interdiction.”
Honi called Brett. “How are the NRO photos coming?” she asked. “Uh huh. What about infrared?” She grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper. “Okay, go ahead.” She started writing numbers down. “Got it. Thanks Brett.” She disconnected.
“There’s only one thing there and it shows up in the infrared spectrum. GPS coordinates are -17.349362 degrees Latitude and -59.735368 degrees Longitude. It’s in the middle of the Chiquitos Province.”
“What does the facility layout look like?” Stafford asked.
“Trees.”
“What do you mean trees? There has to be some kind of structure there.”
“There is. But only on infrared — single rectangular structure — the satellite photos show only trees — no buildings.”
“That’s got to be some really good camouflage,” Stafford said.
“We’ll find out how they did that when we get there,” Honi replied.
“Meanwhile,” Wessler said. “We have camo-fatigues and bullet-resistant vests for you in the first storage shed. You’re going to have to pick and choose boots from what we’ve got.” He looked at Honi’s feet and grimaced. “Probably don’t have anything in your size, sorry.”