Night of the Hawk, page 64
part #4 of Patrick McLanahan Series
“Because Markwright can see a career-enhancing step in this investigation,” Ormack said angrily. “That geek is going to push his way to NSA director on the back of Dave Luger.”
At that moment an ambulance drove up to the base operations building. The rear doors opened up and two plainclothes security guards stepped outside and stationed themselves nearby. A physician from HAWC’s medical staff remained in the back of the ambulance, sitting on a long, wide, enclosed cargo bench that doubled as storage space for rescue equipment. He looked restless and wary, as if unsure about some action that he’d been asked to perform. He visually sought out Brad Elliott, but he said nothing to the three-star general when they locked eyes.
Dave Luger, wearing a plain white shirt, blue jeans, and tennis shoes, stepped onto the back step of the ambulance. The group of well-wishers pushed forward. The security officers told everyone to step back away from the ambulance, but they realized the group’s emotions at the moment were very intense, so they weren’t too insistent. Finally they decided to wait in the front of the ambulance to at least let them say their good-byes in private.
“I guess this is it,” Luger said. Angelina and Wendy were the first ones to embrace him. “I never thought I’d ever see you guys again,” Luger said. “I’m glad I could.”
“You’ll be okay, Dave,” Wendy reassured him. “They’ll take good care of you—we’ll see to that.”
“We’ll never forget you, Dave,” Angelina said, tears welling up in her eyes. “We still owe you a party. When you come back, we’ll throw you a real doozy.”
“I can’t wait,” Luger smiled halfheartedly. “But seeing you two again is the best celebration I could have.”
General Elliott was the next one in line. “Hey, thanks for the promotion, sir,” Dave said.
“You deserved it, Major, and much more,” Elliott replied. “God, I’m going to miss you. I’m glad you’re ad right.”
“What are you going to do with the Fisikous-170?”
“Everyone’s denying the thing ever existed;” Elliott said. “The Russians don’t want it, the Lithuanians don’t want it, so I’ll keep it. When you come back, you can have it.”
“No way,” Dave said. “I’m sorry I ever had anything to do with it. I’m just glad we were the ones to use it.”
They shook hands, then embraced one last time. “I’ll be seeing you, sir,” Luger said.
“Soon. Very soon,” Elliott said confidently. “The security review will be over before you know it. And I’ll be looking out for you. Don’t let Markwright give you any shit.”
“I’ve taken shit from the best,” Luger smiled. “He won’t be a problem.”
Paul White, Kelvin Carter, the Lithuanian officer Fryderyk Litwy, Gunny Lobato, and some of the other officers and engineers came forward to say their good-byes. The press of well-wishers was so great that the ambulance was nearly surrounded, and after a moment the guards finally warned the crowd to step back. They did so reluctantly. Ormack, Briggs, and McLanahan were the last ones to step forward. “I can never repay you guys for saving my life,” Dave said. “It’s still like a dream—an incredible dream.”
“We’ll push for an early release, and visitation rights, and correspondence rights,” Ormack said. “We’ll make those bastards in Washington believe you’re a hero, don’t worry.”
“Even if it means going out there and standing on some desks,” Briggs said. “I’m so pissed I could take on the Prez himself.”
“With guys like you behind me”—Luger grinned—”I’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Finally it was just Luger and McLanahan. The two looked at each other, then gave tight, strong hugs. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened,” McLanahan said. “We lost you, then found you, and now we’ve lost you again … Shit.”
“You haven’t lost me,” Luger said. He was determined not to get teary-eyed, so he smiled. “Remember when you suckered me into coming to this place, Patrick? You said this was an opportunity I’d never forget. Well, you were right.”
“Jesus, I’ve gotten you into a lot of scrapes, haven’t I?” McLanahan asked. “The Old Dog, then Tuman … boy, what’s next?”
“Whatever it is, I’m looking forward to it,” Luger said. He paused, then glanced at the guards, who were now back and ready to close the ambulance doors. “Whatever they’ve got in mind”—Luger sighed—”I know it’ll be an adventure. Good-bye, Patrick. I’ll see you… whenever.” Luger stepped back into the ambulance.
Patrick tried to climb in with him, but the guards pushed him away. “Let me ride with him to the plane, at least!”
“No one goes with him except for the doc,” one of the guards snapped.
“Oh, fuck you!” exploded McLanahan, as Luger lay down on a gurney and the HAWC physician began attending to him. McLanahan shoved the guard aside and tried to climb into the back of the ambulance.
The guard firmly pulled him back. “Stay back, Colonel, or we’ll place you under arrest. And I’d hate to do that.”
“I can’t even ride with him to the plane? What kind of shit is this, you motherfucker?”
“Orders,” said another guard, now holding McLanahan from the other side.
McLanahan glanced at Luger, who was shaking his head. “Don’t, Patrick. We’ll see each other again. It’s not worth an arrest.” Luger smiled and gave a gentle wave to the crowd gathered around the ambulance, then lay back on the gurney for the short ride.
The doors were shut and the ambulance finally roared off down the tarmac. The guards held McLanahan until the ambulance was at the C-22 and Luger was being carried into the plane through the rear boarding stairway. He noticed that a white sheet had been pulled over Luger’s face, completely shielding him from view.
“I can’t fucking believe this!” raged McLanahan.
“He’ll be all right, Patrick,” Elliott said. He motioned for the guards to release McLanahan; they did so after seeing that Luger was safely on board the plane and the aft airstair was retracted. The guards scanned the faces that were still assembled near the base operations building. A few people had departed, including the one young officer with the foreign uniform that they had noticed earlier.
But something did not quite feel right …
“Baker, this is Markwright,” a message suddenly announced. One of the guards pulled a small transceiver from a coat pocket. “What’s your status?”
“Baker here. Slight difficulty with one of the officers—guy named McLanahan.”
“Everything under control?” Markwright asked from the plane.
The guard hesitated, still wondering about the faces he didn’t see, but replied, “Yeah, everything secure.”
“We’re ready for departure. Close it up and let’s move. Out.”
“Baker roger.” The two guards trotted toward the plane, glad to be away from that hostile group.
“We’ll be monitoring him, Patrick,” Elliott was saying. “Don’t worry. He’ll be taken care of, I promise.”
“Do you know where he’s going? Did you bug the plane?”
“We thought of that,” Briggs admitted. “We tried NIRTSats to track the plane, we tried micro-transmitters implanted in his intestines, we tried bribing someone at the NSA. Nothing. He’s going to be clamped down on, hard, until the security review is completed.”
“That’ll take years—at least six years before the board can meet—and who knows how many years after that?”
“Well, you’ll be the General by then,” Elliott said, “and maybe you’ll even be the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs or even the President. Then you can decide.”
“Dave thought that someone might try to do away with him, do away with us, “McLanahan said. “He was afraid that he knew too much, that he wouldn’t be safe anywhere. Brad, we’ve got to do something-”
“There’s nothing we can do, Patrick,” Elliott said. “Just be patient.”
They watched as the airstair was closed, the engines started, and the C-22 taxied and launched several minutes later. The group slowly departed as the C-22 was lost from view. Wendy Tork took Patrick’s hand, and together they left the flight line and headed back to their cars.
Paul White, Gunnery Sergeant Lobato, and Brad Elliott were the last ones remaining on the tarmac. After a few long moments of silence, Elliott said, “Paul, Jose, I want to thank you for all you’ve done. I’ll never forget your service to me and my unit.”
“We were glad to help, General,” Paul White said. He clasped Lobato on the shoulder and said with a smile, “It was one hell of a ride, wasn’t it?”
“It certainly was, sir. It certainly was.” Lobato walked to the car, leaving White with Elliott.
After a few moments, when everyone was out of earshot, Elliott asked White, “So. Do you know where they’re heading yet?”
“Not yet,” White said. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll find out.”
“Okay.” Elliott paused a bit. They watched the HAWC ambulance slowly return to the base operations building: it eased up to them, then passed without stopping. The HAWC flight surgeon in the front passenger seat nodded to Elliott, who then remarked to Paul White, “That Lieutenant Litwy is a hell of a nice guy, isn’t he?”
“He certainly is,” White agreed. “He certainly is.”
THE WHITE HOUSE OVAL OFFICE, WASHINGTON, D.C.
28 APRIL, 1744 HOURS (29 APRIL, 0844 HOURS, EASTERN AUSTRALIA)
It was the last staff meeting of the day before the President’s evening meal, and as usual the topic of conversation, as it had been for the past several days, was the press’s treatment of the events in Lithuania and Byelorussia.
“You can say ‘don’t worry’ all you want, Case,” the President said to his Chief of Staff, “but I get hounded everywhere I go. The press has locked on to the story that we launched bombers in support of the Lithuanian attacks in Byelorussia. What am I supposed to do? Just keep denying it? If they ever find out, I’ll look like a total jack-ass.
“I’m telling you, sir, the report will fizzle away,” Case Simmons said reassuringly. “The story appeared two days ago, and it hasn’t been confirmed by anyone. We admitted we had Marines and Special Forces troops in Lithuania, but they’ll never find out about the EB-52s. Some reports are saying they were Americans, others say they were Ukrainians, and others say it was a Russian stealth bomber … they don’t know shit-sir. It’ll blow over.”
“I damned well hope so.” The President groaned. “I’m sick of this. Jesus, I want to get on with relations in Europe, and I can’t function with the press hounding me on the bomber attack.” He smiled, then added, “Although I do have to hand it to Elliott—the old war horse came through. Again.”
“That he did,” agreed the Chief of Staff with a wry smile.
There was a knock on the Oval Office door, and National Security Advisor George Russell was admitted. He strode right over to the President’s desk, looking almost apoplectic.
“George, what’s the matter?” asked the President, concerned.
“That bastard Elliott!” exploded Russell. “He’s done it again! lie’s … he’s, oh, fuck it. I’m going to kill him!”
The President and his Chief of Staff were staring at Russell. “George,” the President said, hoping he would calm down. “What exactly has Elliott done?”
Russell gritted his teeth. “That crazy sonofabitch swapped prisoners on us! Sometime when David Luger was being transported to his plane, Fryderyk Litwy, the Lithuanian defector we picked up last October, was switched in his place. That fucking doctor must have been in on it, too, goddamn it!”
“What doctor?”
Russell scowled. “Oh, one of Elliott’s staff physicians. They must have snuck Litwy in the cargo bench storage area in the ambulance, then made the switch on the way to the plane. Dammit, when I get my hands on Brad Elliott… ! This time he’s gone too far. He thinks he can do anything he wants and I’ve had it. Sir, I want him court-martialed. I want his head on a platter! I want—”
The President was now laughing so hard that Russell looked as if he were ready to pull his hair out in frustration.
“Sir, I fail to see the humor—”
The President was laughing even harder now, tears welling up in his eyes. “Never mind, George. Never mind. Just forget about it.”
“What? But, sir, Elliott—”
“—will take good care of Luger, and he’ll see that he stays out of the public eye until the security review is completed. He knows what’s best for his people, George. He always did. He’s a sonofabitch, all right … but at least he’s our sonofabitch!”
Dale Brown, Night of the Hawk
