to him and entered a number. A voice answered after a few seconds and he whispered several words in a foreign tongue, then switched the phone off and turned to look at the three packs stowed in the rear of the plane.
“How long until we’re over the Gulf of Aden?” he asked Henri, moving to the front of the plane, grabbing the seats for support as the craft bounced through a patch of turbulent air.
“No more than half an hour and we’ll be over water. Why?”
Sol retrieved a slip of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to him. “Change of plans. Head to this point. We’re going to make a little detour on the way to Yemen. My boys and I will be saying goodbye before we get over land again.”
Henri nodded warily and entered the coordinates into his GPS. “That’s northwest of our flight route.”
“Correct. Just fly the plane. Drop down to a few hundred feet above the terrain so we don’t get picked up by any of the longer-range radars.”
“You’re the boss. But there aren’t any in these parts – at least not around here.”
“Humor me. Hug the ground until we’re over the water. Once we get closer to the coordinates, we’ll ascend to where we can safely do a low-altitude jump. Have you ever done this before?”
The pilot grinned humorlessly. “There’s not much I haven’t done.”
“That’s what we were told. What’s our time till we’re in position?”
Henri consulted the GPS and performed a quick mental calculation. “Hour and a half, maybe an hour forty-five.”
“Good.” Sol reached over and jerked the headset cable out of the radio. “If you don’t mind, I’d just as soon not have any communication.”
“What about if we’re pinged by one of the naval vessels?”
The passenger took the seat behind Henri as they began their descent.
“Let’s hope we aren’t.”
~ ~ ~
An aide pushed through the doors of the conference room and cleared his throat, staring at the balding man seated at the head of the table. As chief of the Middle East division of the CIA, he wasn’t unaccustomed to being pulled out of meetings for one crisis or another, but by the look on the underling’s face, whatever had happened warranted serious and immediate attention.
“Gentlemen, would you excuse me for a minute? I’ll be right back,” he said to the assembled men, rising and making his way for the door before anyone had a chance to comment.
“What is it, Jackson?” he barked once the door had closed behind him.
“This is big, sir. NSA just informed me that a nuclear detonation occurred on the coast of Somalia twenty minutes ago.”
“What? Are you serious? Jesus. Somalia? What the hell…”
“Exactly, sir. It got picked up on satellite, and there’s no mistake. The signature is definitive.”
“Who the hell would nuke Somalia?” he asked, almost to himself.
“Unknown at this time, sir. What’s odd is the size of the blast. Preliminary estimates are that it’s in the five kiloton range.”
“That’s…that’s small. I mean, really small…”
“Yes, sir.” The aide was waiting for instructions.
“Call a crisis meeting in conference room C. I want everything we can get on the explosion, real-time feeds, the works. See if they can reposition a satellite so we can get visual. Do we know anything else besides it was a small nuke? Where in Somalia did it go off?”
“That’s the weirdest part, sir. It’s the middle of nowhere, on the coast. There’s literally nothing there. Closest town, if you can call it that, is eleven miles away – far outside the blast zone. Although there could be small amounts of fallout depending on the wind direction. But there’s nothing strategic there. Not that there is anywhere in Somalia. But still. It’s the ass end of the planet, literally.”
“So you’re saying that someone nuked a bunch of goats and scrub…?”
“I know. It doesn’t make much sense, sir. Unless it was some kind of a test…”
“Get everyone into
“How long until we’re over the Gulf of Aden?” he asked Henri, moving to the front of the plane, grabbing the seats for support as the craft bounced through a patch of turbulent air.
“No more than half an hour and we’ll be over water. Why?”
Sol retrieved a slip of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to him. “Change of plans. Head to this point. We’re going to make a little detour on the way to Yemen. My boys and I will be saying goodbye before we get over land again.”
Henri nodded warily and entered the coordinates into his GPS. “That’s northwest of our flight route.”
“Correct. Just fly the plane. Drop down to a few hundred feet above the terrain so we don’t get picked up by any of the longer-range radars.”
“You’re the boss. But there aren’t any in these parts – at least not around here.”
“Humor me. Hug the ground until we’re over the water. Once we get closer to the coordinates, we’ll ascend to where we can safely do a low-altitude jump. Have you ever done this before?”
The pilot grinned humorlessly. “There’s not much I haven’t done.”
“That’s what we were told. What’s our time till we’re in position?”
Henri consulted the GPS and performed a quick mental calculation. “Hour and a half, maybe an hour forty-five.”
“Good.” Sol reached over and jerked the headset cable out of the radio. “If you don’t mind, I’d just as soon not have any communication.”
“What about if we’re pinged by one of the naval vessels?”
The passenger took the seat behind Henri as they began their descent.
“Let’s hope we aren’t.”
~ ~ ~
An aide pushed through the doors of the conference room and cleared his throat, staring at the balding man seated at the head of the table. As chief of the Middle East division of the CIA, he wasn’t unaccustomed to being pulled out of meetings for one crisis or another, but by the look on the underling’s face, whatever had happened warranted serious and immediate attention.
“Gentlemen, would you excuse me for a minute? I’ll be right back,” he said to the assembled men, rising and making his way for the door before anyone had a chance to comment.
“What is it, Jackson?” he barked once the door had closed behind him.
“This is big, sir. NSA just informed me that a nuclear detonation occurred on the coast of Somalia twenty minutes ago.”
“What? Are you serious? Jesus. Somalia? What the hell…”
“Exactly, sir. It got picked up on satellite, and there’s no mistake. The signature is definitive.”
“Who the hell would nuke Somalia?” he asked, almost to himself.
“Unknown at this time, sir. What’s odd is the size of the blast. Preliminary estimates are that it’s in the five kiloton range.”
“That’s…that’s small. I mean, really small…”
“Yes, sir.” The aide was waiting for instructions.
“Call a crisis meeting in conference room C. I want everything we can get on the explosion, real-time feeds, the works. See if they can reposition a satellite so we can get visual. Do we know anything else besides it was a small nuke? Where in Somalia did it go off?”
“That’s the weirdest part, sir. It’s the middle of nowhere, on the coast. There’s literally nothing there. Closest town, if you can call it that, is eleven miles away – far outside the blast zone. Although there could be small amounts of fallout depending on the wind direction. But there’s nothing strategic there. Not that there is anywhere in Somalia. But still. It’s the ass end of the planet, literally.”
“So you’re saying that someone nuked a bunch of goats and scrub…?”
“I know. It doesn’t make much sense, sir. Unless it was some kind of a test…”
“Get everyone into
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