Strike Force

Yassini paused…then shook his head, and Buzhazi’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. “You realize that I have to report this contact, don’t you?” Yassini said instead. “I have no choice. I could be executed just for the very thought of being seen with you.”

“Then why did you want to meet here, Hoseyn?” Buzhazi asked. “I know the reason — you’re unsure of what to do. I’ll tell you what you should do, my friend — get out and come with me, now. I have a squad with me standing by that can get us all out safely. I have more men ready to get your family out of the capital as well.”

Yassini turned and looked away, out onto the assembly area. “You know I can’t do that, Hesarak,” he said after a long, quiet moment.

“You’re a fool, Hoseyn.”

“I’m not like you, Hesarak. I believe in my country and its leaders, right or wrong. They may not be perfect — they may not even be right. But I’m a soldier, and I’m sworn to live by my oath and defend this nation. You may think I’m crazy or suicidal, but that’s what I have to do.” He took a deep breath, turned, then said, “And part of my duty is to call for the guards and…”

But it was too late — when he turned to look at his old friend, he was gone — most certainly for the last time.

General Yassini took his time walking back to his quarters, but upon arriving he immediately picked up the phone. He didn’t have to dial any numbers — he knew someone was listening and would inform Zolqadr right away. He probably didn’t even need to pick up the phone — the entire apartment was probably bugged, like the phone.

“This is General Yassini,” he spoke. “I would like to report contact with a known wanted criminal, General Hesarak al-Kan Buzhazi, near the assembly yard duty officer’s station on the Imam Ali Military Academy campus, just a few minutes ago. He said he was here with a squad of men. He was dressed as an orderly or kitchen laborer. He did not appear armed, but he should be considered armed and dangerous.”

General Yassini shook his head as he hung up the phone. Poor bastard, he thought — Buzhazi doesn’t have a chance, and he still doesn’t realize it.

ELLIOTT AIR FORCE BASE,

GROOM LAKE, NEVADA

THE NEXT MORNING

“I hope everyone realizes that we’re not going to be making this a regular thing,” Hunter Noble said, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. He had already bumped his helmet on the canopy a dozen times, and he dreaded having to touch any switch in the cockpit. Not only was he bumping into things, but he wasn’t even in his seat — he had been relegated to the mission commander’s seat, the dreaded “Guy in Back,” for the second time.

“Quit your complaining, Boomer — I think this is very cool,” “Nano” Benneton said, strapped into the passenger module of the XR-A9 Black Stallion spaceplane. “I think making you ride bitch every now and then keeps you humble.”

“I let the general fly his mission in the front seat,” Boomer said. “I’m still trying to live that one down too.” It was also the first time he had ever worn a spacesuit in the cockpit of the XR-A9 Black Stallion spaceplane, so he was feeling doubly uncomfortable. It was an older-style Skylab-type spacesuit, a design at least thirty years old, the first series of spacesuits not custom-fitted for a particular astronaut — and it felt like it too. Underneath the suit was a thin mesh garment with fluids circulating through tubes to help keep the wearer comfortable, and under the helmet he wore the classic “Mickey Mouse” cap — style headset. The suit was not yet pressurized, and Boomer still had complete mobility in it, but he still groused. He had to put it on hours earlier and seal it up so he could pre-breathe pure oxygen, and then he had to suffer the indignation of having to be helped into the cockpit by Nano and the smiling, laughing ground crew. “I can’t see or feel a thing, it’s noisy, I can’t hear the radios, and it smells. The cockpit pressurization system is just fine.”

“Boomer, if I hear you complain about the suit one more time, you’re staying on the ground,” Lieutenant-General Patrick McLanahan radioed from the Dreamland command center.

“I know, sir, I know,” Boomer responded.

“Poor baby’s got to wear a spacesuit,” Ann Page said, chuckling. She was seated with Nano in the passenger module. “Get over it, Boomer.”

“Hey, you old farts had to wear them all the time,” Boomer argued. “This is the twenty-first century. Our stuff works.”

“Captain, you are about to experience the thrill of a lifetime — enjoy it,” Colonel Kai Raydon said. He was in the front seat as pilot of the XR-A9. Raydon was a little over average height — which meant tall for an astronaut — with short blond hair and quick, piercing blue eyes. Everyone found it amusing that Raydon’s fingers were always in motion, as if he couldn’t wait to start flipping switches or entering instructions into a computer. “We are going to knock your socks off this morning, I guarantee it.”