“We use one of the other carriers to help out on cargo shipments when we’re short-handed on planes,” Cook went on, laying strategy for the siege. “So we’ll be able to Trojan Horse our way to within a few hundred feet of the Far East hangar before we have to show our hand. After that, it’s just a matter of how much fight they have in them when our boys pile out like clowns in a circus car.”
Bolan glanced into the rear of the supply truck, then told Cook, “It looks a little cramped in there. We were hoping to be able to get in on the action.”
“Not a problem,” Cook told him. “I think we can throw one of our Hummers into the mix without raising any eyebrows. You guys can ride inside with me and we’ll convoy behind the truck.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Jayne Bahn said.
Ed Scanlon, who was glancing over a schematic map showing the layout of the cargo facility, put in his two cents’ worth.
“I know you said the control tower isn’t run by Far East,” he told Cook, “but it’s located right behind their hangar, so we gotta make sure we get in there and commandeer it before they can gain access.”
Bolan interjected, “Once we’re close enough, we can peel away from the supply truck and pull up to the control tower in the Hummer.”
“That should do the trick,” Scanlon said.
“I’m wondering, though,” Bahn said. “Maybe the North Koreans aren’t in the loop as far as the control tower goes, but if the island’s as crucial to their smuggling operations as we think it is, you gotta figure they’ve got their own radio facilities somewhere. Probably in the freight hangar.”
“Good point,” Cook said. “And the thing is, nobody flagged these bastards for what they are until today, so we don’t have much intel on the inner workings over there.”
“If you can get me a secure line out of here,” Bolan suggested, “I know some people who might be able to help out on that end…”
Stony Man Farm, Virginia
ONCE THE ELECTRIC tram car delivered John Kissinger to the Annex at Stony Man Farm, he put his crutches to use and hobbled his way to the Computer Room. Aaron Kurtzman was the first to spot him.
“Hey, Cowboy!” the cyber commander called, glancing up from his station. “Got yourself a war wound, I see.”
“Something like that,” Kissinger replied, “but I take war over flying coach any day.”
Kissinger had caught the first available plane out of Laughlin shortly after helping Harmon Wallace track down the address of Shinn Kam-Song, and the flight had been an overbooked gambler’s special. The cabin had been cramped and he’d quickly lost track of the number of times his bad leg had been banged into. Sleep had been out of the question, so he’d had to endure more than five hours of sad luck stories from passengers who’d been cleaned out at the casinos. The incessant complaining had given him a headache that was just now beginning to let up.
“Striker sends his regards,” Kurtzman said. He quickly filled Kissinger in on Bolan’s failed attempts to intercept the REDI agents before they’d left the States, concluding, “Looks like he’ll have a chance to have the last laugh, though, once that cargo plane lands.”
“And we’re sure the plane’s gonna land where it’s supposed to?” Kissinger asked.
Kurtzman nodded. “We’ve had it on radar nearly from the get-go, and we’ve managed some radio intercepts that confirm they’re planning to refuel on schedule at Zane. I was just telling Striker they’ve got a separate radio link with Far East at their hangar facility there, and unless they’re speaking in code, neither the pilot nor the ground crew know that we’re sending a welcoming committee.”
“Sounds promising,” Kissinger said. “Is Jayne Bahn still tagging along?”
“Yep. And it sounds like she’s earned her keep.”
“Only if you don’t take off points for being obnoxious,” Kissinger said with a grin. “I tell you, if you thought we were bad when it came to slinging the trash talk, let me put you in a room alone with her sometime.”
“I think I’ll pass,” Kissinger said. He eased back in his wheelchair and gestured over his shoulder at Carmen Delahunt and Huntington Wethers, who were preoccupied at their work stations. “If you want, you’re more than welcome to roll up your sleeves and pitch in.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Kissinger said, stifling a yawn. “Is it all right if I use Akira’s station?”
“Help yourself,” Kurtzman said. “Looks like you could use a cup of my special coffee, too.”