By Order of the President by Griffin W. E. B

Author:Griffin, W. E. B. [Griffin, W. E. B.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Action & Adventure, Fiction - Espionage, Fiction, Suspense, Thriller, War & Military, Thrillers, Intrigue, Espionage
ISBN: 9780515139778
Publisher: Jove
Published: 2010-08-16T23:00:00+00:00

"Off the top of my head," General McFadden said, "I don't know where the nearest Air Commando Pave Low*(1) is. But I can find out in a couple of minutes. We could send one in under the radar—I don't imagine there's much of that in Chad."

Goddammit, Naylor thought, there you go again. Doesn't the Air Force teach its officers to let—make—the junior officer speak first, so he says what he thinks, rather than what he thinks his seniors want, or don't want, to hear?

"That would probably take longer than the time we have," Naylor said. "I think the president wants an answer as soon as he can get it. We're talking about hours."

"Delta, sir," General Potter said. "Maybe… probably… Gray Fox."

Delta Force was Special Forces' elite unit. It was famous; there had even been movies—almost hilariously inaccurate—about it. There had been no movies about Gray Fox, which was an elite unit within Delta, because very few people had even heard rumors about it.

That's the answer I knew I was going to get. And knew I wouldn't like.

"Let's see what General McNab has to say, what he can contribute," Naylor said. "Get him on the horn, please, Wes."

"Yes, sir," Command Sergeant Major Suggins said and went into the "phone booth."

Fifteen seconds later, Suggins called from the phone booth: "Sir, General McNab will be on the line momentarily."

"Bring it in here, Wes, and put it on speakerphone."

Sergeant Major Suggins came into the office carrying the secure telephone, and its thick connecting cable, and placed the instrument on a table between Naylor, Potter, and McFadden. Then he pushed the speakerphone button.

Why do I know telling him to do that was a mistake?

The answer came immediately.

"Good evening, sir," the voice of the commanding general of XVIII Airborne Corps, Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab, boomed over the speaker. "My delay in getting to the telephone was caused by an irresistible summons of nature. My apologies, sir."

"Thank you for sharing that with me, General," Naylor said, his annoyance audible in his voice.

"You're most welcome, sir," McNab said, brightly.

"Goddammit, Scotty, do you always have to be such a wiseass?" Naylor flared.

Naylor was immediately sorry and embarrassed.

"If the general has in any way offended the general, sir," McNab said, sounding very much like a West Point plebe answering the wrath of an upperclass-man, "the general is sorry. Sir."

When Naylor glanced at the others, Sergeant Major Suggins was studying the ceiling, General McFadden the floor, and General Potter his wrist-watch.

Sonofabitch!

"Scotty, do you know where Abéché, Chad, is?" Naylor asked.

"One moment, sir," McNab said.

Everyone heard what sounded like fingers snapping.

Ten seconds later, General McNab went on.

"Sir, Abéché, Chad, is in a remote section of the country. The coordinates are 13.50.49 north latitude…"

"I know where it is, Scotty," Naylor interrupted. "The question was, 'Do you know?' A simple 'Yes, sir' would have sufficed."

"Yes, sir."

"There is a possibility that the 727 stolen from Luanda, Angola, is, or was, there."

"There's a 9,200-foot runway; more than enough for a 727. What's your source?"

Naylor did not answer the question.

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