Together they walked through the main entrance of the air show, under a tall blue sign with flags flapping on top. Even this early in the morning, the crowds were impressive. Groups of retirees in baseball caps, families with strollers, and young aviation enthusiasts walked over the expansive concrete walkway towards the aircraft static displays. In the distance, they heard the whine of aircraft engines starting up, then a rumble of thunder overhead as two dark F-15 Strike Eagles joined the empty runway pattern.
“Wow, they’re really loud!” said Renee, holding her ears.
The twin-engine Air Force fighters were doing touch-and-goes — landing on the runway, rolling for a few seconds, and then gunning their engines and taking off again. Each time, they banked hard, exposing their underbellies in the turn, throttling their engines, tongues of blue-yellow afterburner shooting out, and then smoothly flattening out in the downwind.
“What are they doing?”
“Showing off,” Max said.
“You’ve got that schoolboy grin again.”
“Can’t help it. They’re magnificent beasts. Someday I’ve got to get a ride in one.”
Trent said, “That him?”
Wilkes was standing under the nose of a KC-10 aerial refueling tanker, its monstrous nose towering over him. Seeing Max, he motioned for them to follow.
“Ladies and gentlemen, good morning.”
They said their hellos as Wilkes brought them to a pair of motorized golf carts. Wilkes drove one and Max the other, and they scooted off down the taxiway, driving all the way to the opposite side of the field. It took them a good ten minutes to get to the area of the airport where the private jets were parked, but Max recognized his father’s personal jet from afar.
They parked the golf carts outside the sleek aircraft and walked up the stairway. Max didn’t say anything to Wilkes about his father’s participation in this morning’s conversation, but he was a bit annoyed. Until now, neither Caleb nor his father had said anything about working with the other at Oshkosh. Add it to the list of actions that Caleb Wilkes had taken without giving Max a heads-up.
“Renee, good to see you again,” Charles greeted her at the entrance to the aircraft, holding a glass of juice in one hand as they hugged. She smiled and said hello, but Max caught a questioning glance from her as the group walked to the central area in the jet’s cabin. She was also wondering how his father was involved.
The inside of the aircraft was quite luxurious, and appropriately set up as the mobile office of a billionaire industrialist. A long leather couch on one side. A computer terminal with the latest communications. Several flat-screen TVs, each tuned to a different cable news business channel.
In one section of the cabin, a meeting area had been set up. Rotating cushioned seats had been turned to face towards each other. In between them was an impressive breakfast spread laid out on a glossy maple table.
“Coffee, tea, anyone?” asked Charles’s personal assistant.
“We’ll be fine, thank you. No calls or visitors for now,” said Charles. The cabin door was shut, and Caleb, Charles, Max, Trent, and Renee all sat down. “Help yourselves.” Charles waved towards the pastries and coffee cups on the table.
Wilkes began, “Max, I read your report. So far it sounds like Upton isn’t cooperating.” Max had typed up a short summary of the Upton interview on Renee’s computer the night before and sent it to Wilkes.
“That’s my opinion. But as I wrote, I think she’s hiding something.”
Wilkes nodded. “She claims she’s here as Senator Becker’s secret lover?”
“That’s it.”
“And no connection to Ian Williams or the ISI?”
“Correct. According to Miss Upton,” Max said skeptically. “But Renee did some research and uncovered something interesting this morning.” Max filled Wilkes and his father in on what Renee had uncovered relating to the international trips then-congressman Becker had made to Afghanistan back in the 2000s.
Wilkes didn’t look very surprised.
“Excellent work, Renee,” Wilkes said. He turned to Charles, who was quiet. “What was your read on the senator, Charles?”
Max looked at his father, who was staring back at his son, a look of admiration in his eyes. So, Wilkes was indeed using his father to probe Senator Becker, eh? It made sense, Max thought. The senator and the CEO had known each other for decades.
Charles said, “He’s worried about something, I know that much. I ate dinner with him and his daughter, Karen, last night. When I wasn’t at the table, they engaged in a tense private conversation. Were you going to share that?”
“In a moment, yes. Charles, if you would, please continue to shadow the senator today. Try to keep him in your sight as much as you can, and keep your guard up. His daughter performs this afternoon. The senator’s official schedule has him heading back to D.C. this evening, after his daughter’s performance.”
Max said, “You think they’ll target Senator Becker while he’s here at Oshkosh?”
Wilkes folded his hands in his lap. “I do. Max, I think it’s time that I provide you with a bit more about the senator’s history.”
Chapter 24
It began during the Cold War.
When the Soviets had occupied Afghanistan in the 1980s, they’d accused the CIA of helping the Mujahideen smuggle opium out of the country in order to raise funds. While a connection between Western intelligence agencies and the Afghan drug trade had never been proven, the various Afghan factions had increased opium production in the country after the Soviets fled in 1989. This was partially due to the loss of alternative sources of financial support from the West.
Opium production continued to flourish as the Taliban rose to power in the 1990s. That was until Mullah Omar, the effective leader of the Taliban, declared it un-Islamic in the year 2000. For a brief period, the Taliban enforced the eradication of poppy farming in Afghanistan, which resulted in a sixty-five percent drop in global heroin production during the year 2001.
Then, on a clear sunny morning in September of that year, Al Qaeda terrorists hijacked four commercial airliners and the world changed forever. Soon after the attacks, the United States demanded that the Taliban hand over Osama bin Laden. The Taliban responded that they would not extradite bin Laden unless the United States provided “evidence that bin Laden was behind the September 11 terrorist attacks.”
The US military soon began deploying to Afghanistan, and the Taliban was removed from power.
Afghan farmers quickly returned to growing opium, which was much more profitable than anything else they could produce. Soon Afghanistan was supplying ninety percent of the world’s heroin and expanding its production each year. Opium was the lifeblood of the Afghan farming economy. In 2007, when Afghan leader Hamid Karzai addressed all thirty-four provincial governors in Kabul, he began his speech by denouncing the drug trade. The line was greeted by a few polite claps and many looks of concern. Later in the speech, he admonished the international community for wanting to spray Afghan opium crops. The room erupted in cheers.
Wilkes said, “By the late 2000s, more than half of Afghanistan’s economy — around three billion dollars — was based on the drug trade. Three billion. That’s a lot of money, right?”
Max said, “Sure. It’s a lot of money.”
Wilkes leaned forward. “But it isn’t. Not compared to what it turns into. That’s damn pocket change. From there, the drugs flow across trade routes through Iran and Turkey on their way to Europe. In the opposite direction, they flow through India and by sea to East Asia and Australia. The drugs gain value every inch of the way. The closer they are to the customer, the more middlemen, the higher the risk, which needs to be built into the price. The heroin is sold on the streets for twenty times the original price. The Afghans only see a tiny piece of the action. So, who gets all that money?”