What he did not say, but which everyone at the table understood, was that McNab intended to parachute people from his 727 onto the Abeche airfield.

"You think that'll do it, Scotty?"

"Yes, sir. That'll do it. What am I supposed to do with the airplane if it's there?"

"Right now, just find out if it's there or if it was there."

"Yes, sir."

"Will communications be a problem?"

"No, sir."

"I mean to communicate between there and here?"

"We'll have communications between here and there; linking to you is not a problem."

"Why do you want backup for your airplane?"

"I'd sort of like to get my people back, sir. And the communications equipment. Some of that stuff costs a lot of money."

"How quietly can you do this, Scotty?"

"I doubt if anyone will even suspect we're there, sir. Unless, of course, the airplane is there and you tell me to take it out. A blown-up airplane would tend to make people suspect that something was not going quite the way they wanted it to."

"Worst-case scenario, Scotty. Something goes wrong and they find out you're there?"

"That's why I want a little backup. A C-17 III would be nice."

The Boeing C-17 III was a cargo aircraft, capable of using unimproved landing fields. Its four 40,400-thrust-pound engines could drive it at three-quarters the speed of sound to a service ceiling of 45,000 feet with nearly 600,000 pounds of cargo. With in-air refueling, it was capable of flying anywhere on the globe.

Naylor looked at McFadden, who nodded, meaning there was a C-17 immediately available.

And probably more than one; McFadden's nod had been immediate.

"How do you plan to use it?"

"I'm an optimist. They don't find out we're there. Abeche is not what you can call a bustling airport. Tommy just handed me a data sheet saying there's a once-a-week flight from N'Djamena and that's irregular. I'm going to put maybe four or five people on the ground. They find out about the 727. I am not ordered to take it out. They hide out somewhere near the end of the runway. The C-17-en route somewhere; I haven't figured that out yet-makes a discretionary landing at Abeche. It goes to the end of the runway, opens the door, my guys jump in, and the C-17 takes off. More or less the same scenario if I'm ordered to blow the 727, except that my guys hide out in the boonies near the nearest flat area a C-17 can use. Worst scenario, my guys are on the run from indignant Chad authorities. I'll have some heavy firepower on the C-17 and twenty people. They jump onto the flat area and hold it long enough for the C-17 to touch down and get everybody on board."

"I don't want you to start World War III, Scotty," Naylor thought aloud.

"Funny, I thought we were already fighting World War III," McNab replied.

"I think you take my point, General," Naylor said, coldly.

"I take your point, sir."

"Where do you want the C-17?" Naylor asked.

"Here, as soon as I can have it. It can follow us to Menara."

"Menara?" General McFadden asked.

"Menara, Morocco," McNab replied. "Who was that?"

"General McFadden," Naylor said.

"Good evening, sir," McNab said.

"Good evening, General McNab," McFadden said. "Have you considered a Pave Low?"

"Yes, sir. Time- and distance-wise, it wouldn't work here."

"How are you, Scotty?" Potter said.

"I recognize that unpleasant nasal voice. How are you, George? More important, how many other people are eavesdropping on this fascinating conversation?"

"That's it, Scotty," Naylor replied. "Generals McFadden and Potter, Wes Suggins, and me."

"Good. I'm a devout believer in the theory that the more people who know a secret, the sooner the secret is compromised."

"On that subject, General," Naylor said, "the CIA is not privy to this operation and are not to be made privy to it."

"Jesus, I must have done something right! Thank you for sharing that with me, General."

General Naylor glanced at Command Sergeant Major Suggins and Lieutenant General Potter, both of whom were trying and failing to suppress smiles.

"How soon can you get started on this, Scotty?" Naylor asked.

"We shoot for wheels up in sixty minutes and generally shave a chunk off that."

"Okay," Naylor said. "Get the operation going, General McNab."

"Yes, sir."

[TWO]

Royal Air Force Base

Menara, Morocco

0930 9 June 2005

Among other modifications made to USAF C-22 tail number 6404 was provision for removable fuel bladders. When installed, they gave the aircraft transoceanic range. When 6404 landed-after a six-hour ten-minute flight from Pope Air Force Base-at Menara, which is 120 miles south of Casablanca, it had 2.4 hours of fuel remaining in its main tanks.

Enough, for example, so that it could have diverted to any number of U.S. airbases in Europe, from Spain to Germany, had that been necessary. Diversion was not necessary. At 0805 local time-an hour off the Moroccan coast-the Casablanca control operator cleared U.S. Air Force 6404 to make a refueling stop at Menara.

It touched down smoothly at 0925 and, five minutes later, it had been tugged into a hangar, whereupon the hangar doors had closed.

Royal Moroccan Air Force technicians quickly plugged in power and air-conditioning ducts. The rear door of the aircraft-under the tail-extended from the fuselage, and two men came quickly down the stairs, both wearing khaki pants and white T-shirts.

A slight man in a light brown flight suit stood at the foot of the stairs. A leather patch on the chest of the flight suit identified him as a colonel-and pilot-of the Royal Moroccan Air Force. Behind him stood another pilot colonel in a flight suit. He was older, much stockier, and had a thick, British-style mustache.

Both Moroccan officers saluted and both Americans returned them.

"Good morning, General," the slight man said in only faintly accented English.

"Good morning, Your Royal Highness," Lieutenant General Bruce J.

McNab, USA, replied as he returned the salute. "I am deeply honored that Your Royal Highness has found time in his busy schedule for me."

"I always have time for you, General," the colonel said. "And not only because I'm fond of you."

"Let me guess," McNab said, "a member of your family has questions."

" 'I need a favor' covers a lot of ground, General, even between friends."

"You remember Colonel Thomas, don't you, Your Royal Highness?"

"Of course," the colonel said. "It's good to see you again, Tommy."

"Always a pleasure, sir," Lieutenant Colonel H. Alexander Thomas said.

"And how are you, Colonel?" McNab asked.

"Very well, General," the man with the mustache said.

The slim man made a gesture with his hand and McNab followed him until they stood beside the landing gear.

"An American 727 was stolen a couple of weeks ago from Luanda," McNab said.

"I saw that."

"There is some reason to believe it's either on the ground, or was, at Abeche, Chad. I'm supposed to find out if that's so."

"And retake it? Or destroy it?"

"My orders right now are just to see if it is, or was, there," McNab said.

"Orders subject to change, of course."

"I don't think they will be. If retaking it was on the agenda, I would have been told, I think, to send a crew with my people. If they wanted to take it out, sending in an unmanned aerial vehicle would be a lot cheaper and less riskier than this." He pointed to the C-22.

The slim man didn't say anything for a long, thoughtful moment.

"That's it, General?"

"That's all I have, Your Royal Highness."

"And the basic plan?"

"Drop five people on Abeche. From a Royal Air Maroc transport overflying Chad en route to Jiddah. Have them find out what they can."

"How are you going to get them out?"