By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1)

“Yes, sir. That’ll do it. What am I supposed to do with the airplane if it’s there?”

“Right now, just find out if it’s there or if it was there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Will communications be a problem?”

“No, sir.”

“I mean to communicate between there and here?”

“We’ll have communications between here and there; linking to you is not a problem.”

“Why do you want backup for your airplane?”

“I’d sort of like to get my people back, sir. And the communications equipment. Some of that stuff costs a lot of money.”

“How quietly can you do this, Scotty?”

“I doubt if anyone will even suspect we’re there, sir. Unless, of course, the airplane is there and you tell me to take it out. A blown-up airplane would tend to make people suspect that something was not going quite the way they wanted it to.”

“Worst-case scenario, Scotty. Something goes wrong and they find out you’re there?”

"That’s why I want a little backup. A C-17 would be nice.”

The Boeing C-17 Globemaster III was a cargo aircraft, capable of using unimproved landing fields. Its four 40,400-thrust -pound engines could drive it at three-quarters the speed of sound to a service ceiling of 45,000 feet with nearly 160,000 pounds of cargo. With in-air refueling, it was capable of flying anywhere on the globe.

Naylor looked at McFadden, who nodded, meaning there was a C-17 immediately available.

And probably more than one; McFadden’s nod had been immediate.

“How do you plan to use it?”

“I’m an optimist. They don’t find out we’re there. Abéché is not what you can call a bustling airport. Tommy just handed me a data sheet saying there’s a once-a-week flight from N’Djamena and that’s irregular. I’m going to put maybe four or five people on the ground. They find out about the 727. I am not ordered to take it out. They hide out somewhere near the end of the runway. The C-17—en route somewhere; I haven’t figured that out yet—makes a discretionary landing at Abéché. It goes to the end of the runway, opens the door, my guys jump in, and the C-17 takes off. More or less the same scenario if I’m ordered to blow the 727, except that my guys hide out in the boonies near the nearest flat area a C-17 can use. Worst scenario, my guys are on the run from indignant Chad authorities. I’ll have some heavy firepower on the C-17 and twenty people. They jump onto the flat area and hold it long enough for the C-17 to touch down and get everybody on board.”

“I don’t want you to start World War III, Scotty,” Naylor thought aloud.

“Funny, I thought we were already fighting World War III,” McNab replied.

“I think you take my point, General,” Naylor said, coldly.

“I take your point, sir.”

“Where do you want the C-17?” Naylor asked.

“Here, as soon as I can have it. It can follow us to Menara.”

“Menara?” General McFadden asked.

“Menara, Morocco,” McNab replied. “Who was that?”

“General McFadden,” Naylor said.

“Good evening, sir,” McNab said.

“Good evening, General McNab,” McFadden said. “Have you considered a Pave Low?”

“Yes, sir. Time- and distance-wise, it wouldn’t work here.”