Like an art deco building or classic car, the aging 707 had once represented the zenith of modern design. It was the aircraft that had ushered in the jet age, the icon that spread the logos of Pan American and other airlines around the world. In its later years, the design had gone on to become the stalwart of the American military’s aerial refueling fleet, using the designation KC-135.
This particular aircraft had been built and delivered to the United States Air Force in 1985. After years of service, it was sold to the Philippine military, where it performed admirably for another decade or so. It was finally retired to a boneyard after thirty-five years of loyal service.
Through his newfound allies in Taiwan, Ahab had purchased the old military bird. The Philippine government pulled it out ofmothballs, brought it up to minimal flight standards, and flew it toward Taiwan, only for the plane to be “lost” en route.
An old plane vanishing over the sea with only two pilots on board did not make the headlines, not even in the Philippines. And no one, other than Ahab and the Yellow Tigers, had given it a second thought since.
Here on Siabat, the tanker had been repaired, refitted, and redesigned. It was now painted to match a KC-135 operating out of Japan. It carried matching registration numbers, correct squadron patches, and even the names of the crewmen displayed on the fuselage in red paint.
It matched the aircraft it was attempting to impersonate in every detail except two: instead of carrying large internal fuel tanks from which short-range fighters could draw jet fuel, it carried heavy electrical generators and Ahab’s version of the laser system. The second distinction was a smoked-glass dome sitting on top of the fuselage thirty feet aft of the cockpit. The dome looked vaguely like an observation cupola, but was actually the port through which Ahab’s laser would fire.
While the CIA had been correct about Ahab’s own abilities, they’d discounted the possibility of him gathering technical personnel under his wing. The Yellow Tigers had taken care of that, finding pilots, mechanics, and weapons specialists, including men and women who’d worked with advanced laser systems on the island.
Between their expertise and stolen technical documents provided by Ridley, Ahab had been able to build his own version of the Enhanced Aerial Gunnery Laser in less than a year. All it lacked was the waveguide and other experimental parts that could only be found on the EAGL aircraft itself.
Knowing he was in a race against time, Ahab had pushed the Tigers to complete the work before he obtained those parts. Nowafter eight months of work refurbishing the plane and a few short test flights, the faux tanker was being prepared for its first—and almost certainly last—mission.
Ahab boarded the plane at the main door, turning forward and passing the bundles of cables and other electronics that would operate and guide the laser. The laser sat amidships, directly above the wingbox—the most stable part of the plane. The generators were behind it, making the plane into a tail-heavy machine that was cumbersome in takeoff and landing. They needed one good takeoff, Ahab thought. There would be no landing.
He reached the cockpit to find Captain Chen in the left seat. A copilot chosen by Chen sat in the right seat. Behind them was a control space, where a young weapons officer trained on radar and laser operations sat. Ahab took a seat beside him.
“Starting number three engine,” Chen said, stretching for the controls and holding the switch down.
As the high-pitched wail of the jet engine rose up, the men pulled on their headsets. Ahab did the same, then pressed the intercom switch to speak. He figured one more rousing word couldn’t hurt. “Today shall be a day the world never forgets.”
The three men around Ahab nodded. The words meant something different to them than they did to him.
Chapter 59
As Saber One started up on the far side of the tarmac, Saber Two was pulled out of its hangar and into the night. The ramp outside the hangar remained dark, illuminated only by a smattering of flashlights and the glow of orange marshaling wands in the hands of the ground crew.
In the dark and tense moment—with their immediate duties and ultimate fates competing for attention—none of the crew took notice of two additional men in green coveralls and ear protection walking slowly behind the plane.
Kurt and Joe had found the rack of uniforms at the back of the hangar, not far from where the briefing had occurred. The coveralls were either actual American flight duty uniforms or extremely accurate copies.
The big aircraft came to a halt ninety feet from the hangar. An auxiliary power unit was started up, providing juice to the aircraft’s lighting system. The tail ramp was lowered and tempered lighting came on inside the fuselage.
As Kurt and Joe walked casually toward the open ramp, the second tug came rumbling out of the hangar, towing the baggage trainof cruise missiles. It approached the tail ramp and then climbed it slowly, pulling the cruise missiles into the plane link by link.
A group of crewmen checked the missiles as they were loaded, working diligently in the dim space to lock the carts down, ensuring that the missiles were properly held in place until they were needed.
Kurt saw no sign of an advanced launching system. He noticed that the tug remained on the aircraft. It seemed as if they planned on simply shoving the missiles out the back of the plane when the time came for launch, a crude but effective way to get a significant load of ordnance airborne in a short amount of time.
As ground and aircrew moved in and out of the aircraft, Kurt and Joe pretended to inspect the underside of the tail. When several members of the ground crew lumbered down the tail ramp on their way back to the hangar, Kurt spoke.
“This is our chance.”
They eased toward the fuselage and walked calmly up the ramp and into the plane. They passed a trio of crewmen who were struggling to secure one of the bulky carts, and then a technician who was securing a new battery pack to one of the missiles. No one looked up.
A few seconds later they arrived near the front of the cargo compartment, where they hid in the darkness behind a stack of survival gear, including two large containers holding inflatable rafts.
From their hiding spot, Kurt and Joe heard the work progressing. Before long, the hydraulics kicked in, raising the tail ramp. The engines began to wail shortly after, and the Starlifter began to move.
Kurt had hoped they would be alone in the cargo compartment, but a group of four men in charge of the payload had remained on board, strapping themselves into a set of folding seats along the fuselage wall.
By now the plane was moving, rumbling, and juddering as itrolled over the cracked, uneven pavement. It reached the far end of the runway, turned awkwardly, and then paused.
With the wheel brakes on, the engines wound up from a scream to a howl. With the brakes released, the jet began to move. It picked up speed slowly at first and then gained pace more rapidly. Finally, it tilted skyward and raced into the dark night.
