“I’ve got to get going,” Turcotte said. Sherev nodded. “Good luck.”
Turcotte ran up the back ramp to the MC-130. The crew chief immediately pressed the button that initiated the hydraulic arms, raising the ramp. Members of the team were opening cases in the rear half of the cargo bay. The front half was separated from them by a thick curtain. It was in that section that a large part of what made the MC-130 different from regular C-130 aircraft was housed. Rows of equipment manned by electronic warfare specialists filled the space. They could find enemy radar and defeat it. They could also help the pilot fly in limited visibility at extremely low level, below the probing fingers of radar.
Turcotte had chosen the MC-130 because it was the best chance they had of getting into the Nile undetected. The two pilots, along with the navigator in the cockpit, were the best the Air Force had.
A hand on his shoulder got his attention. Graves leaned in close so he could be heard above the roar of the engines. “We need to start rigging. Time to drop is only a little over an hour away.”
Turcotte nodded. He staggered and grabbed ahold of the red cargo webbing lining the skin of the airplane as the plane began moving, taxiing toward the end of the runway.
Circling at thirty thousand feet over the Mediterranean, the Airborne Warning And Control System (AWACS) was a modified 707-320B full of electronic equipment rather than passengers. The thirty-foot dome radar on top of the fuselage was able to “paint” a complete picture of the airspace for four hundred miles in all directions, once every ten-second rotation.
Colonel Mike Zycki was the AWACS commander and his plane’s abilities were supplemented by a secure link to the National Security Agency (NSA), which tied him into the network of spy satellites that Agency oversaw.
“We’ve got Area Five One Six on screen,” one his officers reported. “Wheels up from Hazerim.”
“Status of Egyptian air defense?” he asked his electronic warfare officer.
“Level four. Not quite war footing, but they’re definitely awake, as if they’re expecting something to happen. I’m forwarding what we have to Area Five-One Six. I think I can paint them a clear alley to their drop point.”
“And out?”
“And out.”
“Do it.”
Turcotte slid into the TASC-suit, fighting a momentary feeling of claustrophobia, as the back half sealed against the front half. He’d never liked being in an enclosed spaced. During scuba training, the worst part had been practicing “lock-outs” where he would have to climb into a submarine’s escape hatch, then sit inside while it filled with water, before opening the outer hatch.
He felt the inner padding of the suit mold against his body. His fingers fit into the command pads at the end of the arms.
“Power on,” he ordered.
The screens on the inside of the helmet came alive and he could see the interior of the combat talon, lit with the red night-lights.
“Low light enhance,” Turcotte said.
The screens flickered, then he could see more clearly as the mini-cams on the outside of the suit went to night-vision mode, the computer enhancing the available light. Turcotte had a slightly curved screen four inches directly in front of his eyes that filled his field of vision and on standard view gave him the view that would normally be right in front of him. He could give commands to have the screen display other camera angles.
He also had a small flip-down display halfway between the screen and his left eye that was made of clear plastic on which was reflected whatever data from the computer he wanted. During the testing Turcotte had immediately developed a sharp headache from trying to watch the screen and read the data. He’d talked to Apache gunship pilots who had a similar display built into their helmets and they’d told him it took months to develop the ability to naturally do both. They didn’t have months to prepare for this mission. Turcotte felt a moment of doubt, which he quickly squashed.
Carefully, Turcotte stood. They’d attached an interesting appendage to the end of the legs: a flat platform that extended forward about ten inches. It gave stability like feet, but built into the center of each “foot” was a six-inch-wide hole in which a small turbine fan was mounted — the propulsion device once they were in the water.
Power for the TASC-suit came from banks of advanced lithium batteries built into the armor of the suit. To Turcotte that was the major disadvantage — they had four hours of operating power, then they would need to recharge. They had to be in, rescue Duncan, recover the Grail, and be out on the exfiltration aircraft in less than that time. Graves’s plan, the best his team could come up with during the isolation, had estimated three hours to do all that. But they were working with a lot of unknown variables, such as the rather glaring question of where exactly the Black Sphinx was located and how to get to it. From experience in Special Operations, Turcotte knew everything always took much longer than one planned.
With the aid of the airplane’s loadmaster, a pack was attached to the lower back of the TASC-suit carrying gear Turcotte had specified. Above it was placed the specially designed parachute that would allow them to drop at very low altitude.
Turcotte then had a Mark 98 attached to his left arm. Extra ammo cylinders were strapped along his chest, down to his stomach. He was glad to have the power of the suit, because he estimated he was at twice his normal weight. He checked the hookups to the trigger and sight. The trigger was activated by his left forefinger inside the suit, and the laser sight picture would be duplicated on screen for him.
On his right arm was placed a “hand.” It was controlled by moving his hand inside the end of the arm, which relayed to the metal fingers. Also on the mechanical hand, securely fastened to the middle “finger” with wire, was Kopina’s Watcher ring.
He was ready to go.
“Area Five-One-Six is in the alley and clear so far,” the EW officer told Zycki. He pointed at a spot on his screen. “The only problem spot is this radar site here. They might get an echo from the plane as it hits the Nile.”
“Can you cloud it?” Zycki asked.
“Yes, sir. I’ve got the frequency and I’ll run some interference when the Talon gets close.”
“Any other unusual activity?”
“We tracked a private jet into Cairo five minutes ago that was flying low level on an end run around the Sinai. We’re not sure what that was about.”
“Concentrate on One Six.”
Turcotte was amazed at the technology and what it could do. Sitting on the seat, he could look in all directions without moving, just by accessing the various mini-cams on the exterior of the suit.
Looking about the cargo bay was surreal. Not only because he was viewing it on screen, as if he were taking part in a movie, but also because of the mission they were going on.
Black-suited, seven-foot-tall figures moved about, getting rigged, checking their gear.
A voice came over the FM net. “Twenty minutes till drop.”
CHAPTER 14
Lisa Duncan stirred as she heard the thud of boots coming down the tunnel. She stood, stretched, and felt the pang of hunger in her stomach. Worse, though, was the dryness in her mouth. She was parched and knew that she could not go on without water for much longer.
She went to the veil and edged it aside so she could see. Aspasia’s Shadow stood there, a pair of soldiers behind him. One had an intricately carved wooden box in his hands.