Threat Level Black

Howe suggested a pair of F/A-22Vs as long-range, stealthy escorts. While an excellent idea in theory, there were only three Velociraptors in existence and all were currently involved in a suspended NADT test program in Montana; obtaining the planes and making sure they were ready would take more than a week. A squadron of regular F/A-22s were envisioned as standby escorts, operating off the coast and only getting involved if needed. The planners believed-and Howe agreed-that the Berkut would have a better chance of reaching its target area and returning undetected if it flew alone; even if it was seen, the initial reaction would be that it was a Russian aircraft, and radio transmissions could be made to reinforce that. The Raptors, while stealthy, were not quite invisible, and some of the long-range radars the North Koreans used had a reasonable chance of finding them.

“We know it’s a long shot,” said Tyler. “The question is, is it possible?”

Howe folded his arms, realizing that the real question wasn’t whether it could be done or not: It could be. The question was whether he would do it. There were no other American pilots familiar with the plane. It would take several weeks to find another pilot and then train him to fly the aircraft.

“I can do it,” he said. “When do we go?”

Tyler smiled. “Choice isn’t ours, Colonel. We have to take the plan over to the White House in an hour and a half.”

“Well, let’s work out the details, then,” said Howe, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

Chapter 9

The evidence fit on a single sheet of lined yellow paper: two calls from a cell phone in New York City to New York addresses, and an e-mail message that, when decrypted, read: Friends in NY Thursday. Both the cell phone and the e-mail account had been paid with a credit card associated with a member of a terrorist group called Caliph’s Sons, one of nearly a hundred on the CIA and FBI watch lists. The check used to pay for the credit card was drawn on a bank account that had paid for another e-mail account, this one with two messages about the potency of E-bombs. The messages were in clear text but were vaguely worded, with no indication that the sender or recipient had access to such a weapon. There was as yet no connection to North Korea.

As for Caliph’s Sons, little was known about the group beyond its name and the fact that one of its members had blown himself up accidentally in Queens six months before, and that the same man had used the Internet to find out information about high-power microwave (HPM) bombs: weapons that attacked gigahertz-band frequencies, commonly known as E-bombs.

“So, what do you think?” asked Macklin.

“You got the case nailed here, Michael, I have to say.”

“Come on, Fisher. Be serious.”

Fisher looked over at Macklin. The task force had set up its headquarters in Scramdale-on-Hudson, roughly twenty minutes by train from midtown Manhattan. The compound had been seized from a drug dealer some months before; it included a six-car garage, heated swimming pool, and access to the Hudson River over the nearby railroad tracks, no doubt convenient for disposing of troublesome business associates. The heart of the operation was a low-slung contemporary house with more bathrooms than bedrooms. Most of its furniture was still in the house, including the 1970s-style waterbed in the master bedroom suite. Apparently the dealers had had a thing about animal skins: The couch and chairs in the living room were made of stretched tiger fur, a bearskin rug sat between them, and what looked like a gutted ocelot gazed from the wall opposite the fireplace. If the drug charges didn’t hold, the U.S. attorney could easily obtain a conviction for poaching.

“Maybe a sauna will help you think,” suggested Macklin. “Want me to stoke it up?”

“As a general rule, I try to sweat as little as possible, especially when I’m working.” Fisher stood up and walked over to the massive fieldstone fireplace, squatting down to sit on the slate ledge in front of the hearth. He shook a Camel out and contemplated it, considering the alignment of the tobacco.

“You’ve staked out the places where the calls were received?” he asked.

“Around the clock.”

“You couldn’t run down the address on the e-mail?”

“Only that it was sent from overseas.”

Fisher turned the cigarette over in his hand. Who was the first person to figure out that you could use a machine to pack tobacco? he wondered. Truly he had made a valuable contribution to the human race, and yet, he had been forgotten.

The way of the world.

“This reminds me of that case we had in Detroit that time,” said Macklin. “Where we tapped the phone to find that kidnapped girl. Remember? We tracked those two bozos who were AWOL from the Army?”

Fisher lit up. “The mother killed the girl, Michael. How is this like that?”

“It just reminds me of that.”

“Let’s go see where that cell call was made from.”

“I told you, it’s, like, a ten-block radius at least,” said Macklin.