SOAR: A Black Ops Novel

Umarov nodded. “I do.” He exhaled deeply. “This is truly something big?”

“Yes.” Ritzik looked at the big Kazakh. “And I will need your help if I am going to be successful.”

“My help?”

“Your participation.”

The Kazakh’s eyes widened. “I can do more than observe?”

“Absolutely.” Ritzik was happy with the effect his words were having. “But first things first, Talgat. Will you black out the airport for me?”

Umarov fingered the end of his mustache. Finally, he said, “It will be done.”

“Good. Zero three-fifty to zero four forty-five. No runway lights. No taxiway lights. No apron floodlights.”

“Agreed.”

The Kazakh pulled a tin of cigarettes out of his pocket, tapped one on his watch crystal, and stuck it between his lips. “When this is all over, you and I will share a bottle and talk things over.”

Ritzik watched as the Kazakh lit the cigarette and exhaled pungent smoke through his nostrils. “Yes,” he said, “we will, Talgat, I promise.” Then he reached inside his soft briefcase and withdrew a small radio receiver. He switched the device on, then checked the signal-strength indicator. He pressed the transmit button. “Cocoa Flight, this is Urchin.”

There was a four-to five-second pause. Then a female voice answered, “Urchin, Cocoa Flight.”

“Confirm arrive-arrive.”

“Roger. Arrive-arrive zero three fifty-five SOL-Two confirmed.”

“Roger your message.” Ritzik paused. “Urchin out.” “Cocoa Flight out.”

“It’s done.” Ritzik clapped the Kazakh on the shoulder. “You’re going to be a busy man tonight.”

“More than I expected, my brother,” Umarov said. He stomped the accelerator and the 4x4 lurched forward.

“Whoa, Talgat,” Ritzik continued. “There are other things to discuss before we go anywhere.”

The Kazakh sighed and held the cigarette between his thumb and index finger. “Such as?”

“What about the aircraft? You told Rowdy it would be no problem.”

“It is not such an impossible problem as you would think. But it is still — how you say? — delicate.”

This demurral Ritzik understood. He’d seen it before. In Central Asia, just as in many other places in the world, it was considered impolite to say no directly. And so you told people what they wanted to hear. It wasn’t considered lying, simply being polite. The problem was, from Cairo to Bishkek, you seldom got the unvarnished truth when you asked for a sit-rep. Ritzik had learned from bitter experience in the region never to assume anything. He also understood that direct confrontation was not the way to get results.

And so he followed Umarov’s lead. “Delicate, Talgat? How so?”

“Kazakhstan Airlines has six Yak-42s,” Umarov said, twisting the end of his mustache. “Two are used on the Almaty-Ürümqi route during the high season — the rest of the year, only one. The others are on — how you say it? — haul shorts. To Kiev, to Astana, and Ashgabat. Normally, taking one Yak for two days would not be a problem. Shingis Altynbayev — he is my cousin, the pilot you met when we did the jump training last year — will pilot the aircraft, because he will take time off from his normal routes.”

“Where does he usually fly?”

“Ürümqi, Astana, and Ashgabat. But listen, my brother: when I asked after Rowdy spoke to me, Shingis checked — quietly, just as Rowdy asked — and then reported to me two of the Yaks are this week suddenly out of service, and the spare-parts inventory is very low. So the remaining planes are heavily scheduled. The chief mechanic says if he gets one of the out-of-service planes air ready there will be no spare-parts inventory.” The Kazakh paused. “I believe it is a question of money.”

“You do.”

“Shingis agrees. He believes that if some”—the Kazakh fought for the word—“accommodation could be found, it would all be easier. And would guarantee OPSEC, too.”

“OPSEC from the chief mechanic.”

“And his people,” Umarov said. “So, if there is some way to … you know…”

Ritzik didn’t waste any time dancing around the bribery issue. In fact, he’d anticipated it and brought a briefcase full of greenbacks. “You tell Shingis to pass the word to the chief mechanic that his spare parts will be covered — payment in American dollars — as well as his overtime and his people’s overtime,” Ritzik said quickly. “But I need the plane this afternoon, Talgat. Ready to go. Full tanks. No excuses.”

Umarov’s face displayed relief. “Then it can be done, God willing.”

Ritzik was relieved to discover it had only been a question of money. His initial fear had been that Talgat had promised something that couldn’t be delivered.

“Masele joq, my brother. No problem.”

“Good.” Ritzik slapped the Kazakh on the shoulder. “C’mon, Talgat — Miss Wei-Liu and I are both tired and hungry. You have to deal with the control tower. And I’d like to see how well this uniform of yours is going to fit me before my troops land.”

160 Kilometers Northwest of Mazartag,

Xinjiang Autonomous Region, China. 0420 Hours Local Time.