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SPECTRE COULD FEEL his chest tighten as he passed the Blue Angel F/A-18 on display outside the front gate of the Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base New Orleans. He made a right turn at the red light and joined a short line of cars waiting for the sentry to check their credentials.
He wasn’t quite sure why he felt so apprehensive. It wasn’t that he thought the sentry would arrest him or that he might be denied entrance as a civilian. Kruger had made sure that his credentials as a Department of Defense (DOD) Contractor were valid, and his record had been wiped completely clean by Kruger’s hacker named Julio Meeks.
There was no record of him being an unwitting participant in a plot to assassinate the President of the United States and tear apart the fabric of Western society. There was no trace of his time spent in prison after being framed for the murder of a sitting U.S. Senator. To everyone outside of his inner circle, Cal “Spectre” Martin was nothing more than a combat veteran who had left the military to pursue a civilian career.
But Spectre knew better, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that going back to his most recent squadron was the cause of his distress. It had been here that he had finally hung up his G-suit for good. It had been with this A-10 squadron that he had finally had enough of dealing with bureaucrats posing as leaders and their extreme risk aversion. He had sworn he would never deal with the military again.
And yet here he was, waiting in line as the sentry gave directions to the driver in the car in front of him. He had managed to let Kruger talk him into one more mission. That’s the way it always seemed to go.
After Kruger had left, he had discussed Kruger’s proposal in great detail with Michelle and Bear. It had been a tough decision, but by the end of the night, Spectre had decided it was in the best interest of his family and his country to accept. Besides, he reasoned, it was a fairly low-risk advisory role. It wasn’t like he was parachuting into Pyongyang or anything.
With the decision made, he had called Kruger and told him that he was willing to help. Kruger thanked him and then gave him his first assignment – go to the Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility (SCIF) at NAS JRB New Orleans for a Top Secret briefing. He had left a contractor ID and visit certification letter in Spectre’s mailbox on his way out. That would be all he needed to get in. They would discuss the plan via secure video teleconferencing once inside the SCIF.
He studied the ID as he waited in the line to enter the base. It was an older picture, but Spectre doubted the guard would care. As the car in front of him cleared, Spectre lowered his window and pulled up to the sentry.
“Good morning, sir. Any firearms or contraband to declare today?” the guard asked as Spectre handed over his ID.
“None to declare,” Spectre said. It wasn’t exactly the truth – he had a concealed Glock 19 holstered near his appendix and a short-barrel M4 rifle locked in a case under the back seat. But it wasn’t a lie either, since he was only answering the question of whether he intended to declare either of those weapons to the guard standing in front of him. And that was an honest no.
The guard scanned the ID with his handheld scanner, then returned the ID and motioned for Spectre to continue. Spectre thanked the guard, then raised his window as he maneuvered through the barricades and onto the main road.
He turned left and headed for the address and building number Kruger had given him. He parked in a visitor's space, and then walked into the building's lobby and signed in with the sailor manning the security desk. After Spectre’s credentials and visit certification were verified, an intel analyst emerged from behind a steel door and escorted him in.
The analyst walked Spectre to the inner vault and then handed him a red folder. As Spectre opened it, the analyst set up the video teleconferencing software and then excused himself, closing the door as he walked out.
The MI-6 liaison for the covert unacknowledged group known as Project Archangel appeared on screen. Agent Sierra Carter gave Spectre a short briefing on the situation in North Korea, reiterating much of what Kruger had already told him.
“Your folder contains a list of aircraft possible for this mission,” Sierra explained.
Spectre flipped through the aircraft profiles in the folder. They were standard data sheets on various countries’ fighter, attack, and even cargo aircraft.
“Kruger believes you are the most qualified to plan this mission; however, he is working another angle that he is holding close to the vest. I recommend you find two pilots that have experience in a variety of aircraft,” Sierra said.
“I think I have a candidate or two in mind,” Spectre said. “I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
SPECTRE LEFT THE SCIF and headed out of the building to retrieve his truck. As he drove out and reached the main road, he turned left toward the flight line instead of right to exit the base. He hoped his first candidate was working today.
Spectre followed the base’s main road until it came to a T intersection and then turned right to parallel the flight line. As he neared the squadron operations building where he used to work, he looked to his left and saw a pair of A-10s taxi under the sun shelters and shut down. It was hard not to miss flying the “Hawg.” Despite being relatively slow and underpowered compared to his first jet, the F-16, it was still his favorite aircraft.
The parking lot of the operations building was mostly full, but Spectre was able to find a spot near the back of the lot. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he killed his truck’s diesel engine.
He walked to the front door of the building and picked up the phone to call the Ops Desk to have someone let him in. Although he was pretty sure they had been lazy and hadn’t changed the door’s cipher combination, he didn’t want to cause any issues by walking in unannounced. He was a civilian now, after all, and had no business being in the squadron without an escort.
When a female airman answered, Spectre identified himself and his reason for the visit. A minute later, the door opened and Major Tim “Kaiser” Von Rader greeted him.
“Spectre!” Kaiser said as he extended his hand. “What brings you here?”
Spectre shook Kaiser’s hand. When Spectre was the Director of Operations, Kaiser had been the squadron’s token single dude, constantly getting into trouble with online dating. One such encounter led to Kaiser’s abduction and eventual rescue by the secret paramilitary organization run by Kruger called Odin.
“Is Woody around?” Spectre asked, referring to Major Trent “Woody” Hardick. Woody was a former Navy F/A-18 pilot who had transitioned to the Air Force Reserve to fly A-10s. Although still new to the A-10, Woody was an experienced combat aviator, and a good friend in the squadron to Spectre. The perpetual businessman, Woody flew with the squadron ten days per month while spending the rest of the time pursuing real estate ventures.
“Yeah, man, he’s just about to brief for a flight. Is he expecting you?” Kaiser asked.
“I don’t think so,” Spectre replied. “Can I talk to him real quick?”
“Sure,” Kaiser said as he turned to escort Spectre through the building.
“Still doing the online dating thing?” Spectre asked as they walked toward the ops desk.
Kaiser laughed. “Nah, I gave that up after the incident. I met a girl at a car show a few months ago. I think I’m hopefully done with the single life.”
“Nice, man, congrats.”
“How are Michelle and Cal Jr.?”
“Doing great,” Spectre said. “Michelle opened her own private practice and Cal Jr. is growing like a weed.”
“You still with the airline?”
“Nah, I moved on from that,” Spectre answered. “Long story.”
As they reached the ops desk, Woody and a few other pilots that Spectre didn’t recognize were huddled around a computer looking at the weather radar.
“Woody, you have a visitor,” Kaiser said as the group turned to see Spectre.
“Spectre!” Woody yelled. “Holy shit, man!”
Woody and Spectre exchanged a half-handshake, half-hug. “It’s been forever, broski. How the hell have you been?”
“Doing great,” Spectre replied. “Listen, I know you’re about to brief. Can we talk for a second somewhere private?”
“Sure, man,” Woody said with a quizzical look. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” Spectre said.
Overhearing their conversation, Kaiser said, “You guys can use my office if you need to.”
Spectre turned around as Woody pointed to the Director of Operations office. “You’re the DO now?”
“Somebody had to do it after you left,” Kaiser said.
“Congrats, buddy. You’ve earned it.”
Spectre and Woody walked into the office and closed the door behind them. Spectre took a seat at his old desk while Woody sat in the chair across from him.
“Let me guess, you’re recruiting me for a secret mission,” Woody said with a grin.
“Actually, yes,” Spectre said.
Woody laughed. When Spectre didn’t respond, Woody suddenly turned serious. “Wait, what? You’re serious?”
“Very serious.”
“I thought you were writing books now,” Woody said with a confused look. “Is this about the sequel? Are you finally ready to be a bestseller after writing the Woody Chronicles?”
“Depending on how this goes, we may have plenty of source material.”
“Okay, seriously, what’s going on?”
“You did some contract work in Southeast Asia flying the F/A-18, didn’t you?”
Woody nodded slowly.
“And some of the countries you flew with had a mix of American and Russian equipment, right?”
“Yeah, but I never flew anything other than the Hornet.”
“But you’re familiar with the other aircraft?” Spectre asked.
“Dude, what’s this about?” Woody asked impatiently.
“I can’t talk about specifics here. We’d need a TS/SCI vault and a higher level of classification, but I came here because I need your help. I’ve been tasked to put together a team for a highly sensitive mission that I believe your background makes you uniquely qualified for.”
Woody sat back and considered it for a moment. “Go on.”
“You’ll be put on military orders and sent TDY to Nellis for training.”
“Working for...”
“Me.”
“Is this some UAV gig?”
“No, it’s definitely manned. Which is why I’m putting together a team of people I can trust.”
“Flying what exactly?”
“That’s not something I can talk about here,” Spectre said, eyeing the door. “I’m also not quite sure yet, if we’re being completely honest.”
“What about my background? What kind of gig is this?”
“I wish I could tell you more, but I promise you that it’ll be perfectly clear once you’re read in.”
“So, I’m just supposed to leave my family on trust?”
“Yes. But you’ll be paid generously for it.”
“Sorry, brah, but this is just my part time job now. I’m doing real estate development now. I don’t do this for the money. But just out of curiosity, how much are we talking?”
“Eight figures.”
Woody’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of diapers. But still, I don’t know, man. I learned in the Navy not to sign up for anything unless I knew every detail, disclaimer, and every word of the fine print. You’re my friend and I trust you, but this sounds sketchy, brah.”
“How about this – come to Nellis with me. Listen to the full-up briefing of what we’re trying to do. If you’re on board, great. You’ll be generously compensated above and beyond just going on orders. If not, no worries. We’ll make you sign a non-disclosure and send you back home. No harm, no foul.”
Woody sighed. “Fine, but if the Woody Chronicles becomes a bestseller because of this, I want royalties.”
“Deal,” Spectre said with a grin.