The airport in downtown Hong Kong, literally inside the very developed and crowded downtown area, was one of the most dangerous commercial airports to land in and take off from worldwide. Kai Tak was a civilian airport controlled by the city of Hong Kong through the Airport Authority of Hong Kong. No military flights, visiting or otherwise could violate that facility’s flight and tax rules. Werner Erhard, Murphree, Nguyen, Kingsley, Mack, and I waited silently but impatiently, and with some anxiety, for clearance to take off. The Pratt and Whiney PF-33 engines, generating 21,000 pounds of thrust at takeoff apiece were running at idle, but even so, the poor insulation inside the fuselage made conversation all but impossible.

I examined the inside of the cavernous space of the long, wide, and very high cargo hold and tried to imagine what it was like to have ridden back home from Vietnam inside a plastic bag attached to side panels and center sponsions that had been built into the cargo hold of that plane now seeming to have happened so long ago. It was all a distant haze to me as my mind at that time had been so dulled by the effects of heavy hits of morphine sedation. I couldn’t identify the space I was in with the one from that fragmented mess of barely assembled pieces of questionable fragments.

There was only one organization that concerned everyone on the flight, except possibly the four crew members. Only cargo chief Mack, of the crew, had any understanding of why the organization, otherwise known as China, might have a solid reason to not only interdict the flight or deny its take-off approval until some excuse could be made to arrest the passengers, or simply shoot the plane down after letting it take off, although that potential wasn’t a likely one at all, given the aircraft was an unmistakable part of the United States Air Force.

Nguyen and Kingsley had taken nylon net seats across from me, while Mack and Murphree had gone forward toward the crew area at the front of the waiting aircraft. I was left alone, with Werner Erhard right next to me and he was frozen in place, his mind likely trying to catch up to a new reality he could not have expected to be in and that might disintegrate in seconds. I looked over at the side of his face, as he stared straight ahead over to where Nguyen and Kingsley sat facing us.

“Next stop,” Mcconnell Air Force Base,” Mack said, half cupping his mouth with his right hand and leaning in close to my ear. “Once the Starlifter is at cruising altitude we’re feathering back since there’s no reason to do the express thing again, nor to ignore holding to FAA reserve regulations. It’s also going to get a good bit quieter.” He smiled a big smile down to where I sat, comfortable enough, although I’d never get over the fact that military aircraft, for whatever reasons, never had cushioned seats.

A few minutes after Mack had left me the big cargo plane seemed to hesitate a bit and then lurch its way down to a slower speed. The four giant engine turbines dropped in their high-frequency buzz-type of whirling and the cargo cabin began to be about as quiet as that of a regular commercial airliner.

“What were you going to do if I decided not to take the deal, or even if I took the deal but still got the stuff into Chinese hands?” Werner asked as I turned my head to face him. The interweaved nylon web of the seats kept us apart but not by very much. I tried to ease a bit away from him as I much preferred the distance Americans like me were used to instead of the much closer quarters Asians and even South Americans were accustomed to.

“Make a decision,” I responded, trying to be abrupt and short in my answer as I just wanted him to sit out the flight and remain silent. The mission was over as far as I was concerned, so anything that happened on the plane was not only extraneous but could potentially interfere with a successful outcome, although I had no idea how such a thing could happen. It simply seemed wise to remain silent, get off the plane in Albuquerque, and then go home and forget all about Werner Erhard.

“Make a decision,” Warner quoted back to me, a laugh coming forth after saying the last word. “You were going to kill me right then and right there if I didn’t cooperate, and don’t bother denying it. I saw that potential in your eyes.”

“I admit I wanted you to feel that way,” I replied, growing ever more uncomfortable. The man’s mind was sharp as a razor and just as dangerous as such a blade in the wrong hands.

“It’s what I do,” I followed up with, hoping the man would simply let things go from there, but, in looking into the intensity of his eyes, I knew he wasn’t going to spend the many hours of flight left to us in being silent.

I tried to look away from the man and fall into some dreamlike reverie that might cause him to simply let me be, but that was not to be.

“I have no idea of who, or what, you really are,” Erhard said, looking away from me, his head swiveling around to take in the hugeness of the great empty cargo hold “I do know that you brought quiet, unassuming professionals with you. They don’t look like you but they are like you. You are a man who has about the biggest business aircraft anyone could imagine at his beck and call. I wondered what the fuel alone for this flight might be, and then there was the flight to get out this far.

“The plane holds about a hundred and fifty-three thousand pounds of fuel fully loaded, which translates to about twenty-two thousand gallons,” I recalled from my discussion with Mack about the plane’s maximum range. At about a buck a gallon, give or take for Jet Fuel A1 that should tell you the answer, or close to it.”

“You’re a pilot too?” Erhard asked.

“No, just remember a lot of things,” I said, still wanting to cut the conversation off if I could.

“Like the things you don’t know that you don’t want to know?” Erhard replied, laughing again at my line from so long ago.

“That’s the other edge of the memory sword,” I said, showing my displeasure at even the sharing of such stuff. “I remember most of what happens or is written or is pictured before me, but I don’t get to forget those things even if I want to…which doesn’t always mean I remember where I left my car keys, however.”

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“No, I don’t always do that,” I said, holding nothing back because the entire conversation had nothing to do with anything mission-related or much of anything else.

“What about me?” Erhard, suddenly asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“What about you?” I replied, stalling for time and thinking to change the subject once again if I could.

“When I get home, what’s to ensure that I can travel freely, lecture, rebuild my network, or feel safe with my family…and get the money?” Erhard stopped talking and waited, his penetrating eyes looking into my own.

I blinked first and then looked away I didn’t have a definitive answer for such a question as my mission had been accomplished. I had no idea what was in store for the man but there were many more hours of flying to go.

“You just played an extortion game with the United States Government. You won, but how clean are your winnings? I don’t know. Somehow you got what you wanted. That means that the government had to know what you wanted, and only you could have supplied such information. I don’t know whom you’ve talked to or met. I don’t know if the data you held was data that could be copied and given to the Chinese later if you didn’t give it to them already. The reason that the government sent this expensive and immediate response, Air Force Starlifter included, plus Nguyen, Kingsley, Murphree, and me, was to arrange your life or the continuance of it. I don’t know all the details and don’t want to know them. In my limited experience, if you want my opinion, you won. The USA does not go back on deals like this unless there’s a damned good reason. This is not the EST you are playing at. There’s a ton of stuff about what you were involved with here that you don’t know you don’t know. The check will be good and clear when you cash it. You are back home to do as you please. Don’t poke the bear again, as whatever you come across in the future might not warrant you remaining on this planet, at least not in the same condition you’re in right now.”

“You think I’m not a good citizen, not a good man, but you don’t know what really happened,” Erhard said, shaking his head.

“Look Werner,” I said, in exasperation, “Whatever happened you need to keep it close to your chest and tell no one, and that much I’ve learned since I started this career and in the careers before that. I was impressed with you back when I met you, further on when you became famous, and now for what you just pulled off. I have nothing compared to you and I’m needed on the flight deck.”

I laboriously got out of my nylon webbed trap and stood up. I probably wasn’t allowed on the flight deck, and that was if the Starlifter had such an area for visitors to wander around on, which I knew it most probably didn’t, but I didn’t want to spend more time with a man who was as convincing and also wrong-headed as Erhard was proving to be. He’d pulled off his stunt, fought his way back into the country, and gotten himself a giant check from the government…and he’d done it while never being fully aware that he was very close to death the whole time, if not from a team sent in like mine, then one from the Chinese side.

The plane’s cargo deck beneath my feet was vibrating at a very high frequency like it was trying to stay in tune with the spinning titanium blades inside the four big turbines, but I knew the feel and sound were exactly as they were supposed to be. I began to turn away and head toward the front of the cargo bay when Erhard grabbed my hand and pulled himself up to stand beside me. He didn’t let go of my hand right away, which made me feel funny…but I didn’t disengage.

“What?” I whispered to the man, his head so close to my own that only he could hear me.

“I have information, and I want more,” he whispered back, his intense expression telling me that he wasn’t kidding.

I eased my hand out of his. “What do you want this time?” I asked, almost not believing I was bothering to ask. Poking the bear was the expression I’d used, hoping to get through to him that he was in a game where the bear had all the advantage and ate people like Erhard for breakfast without even burping afterward.

“Not that,” Erhard said, backing up a step as if he was truly offended by my sarcastically bitter tone of voice.

“What?” I asked, trying to understand the man but not having much success.

“I know more about what the Chinese are planning, and what the Russians are going to allow. I want to have a position where I can sleep at night knowing my family is safe and that I’m considered to be working on the right side, like you.”

I stood still, in a sort of frozen shock, almost but not quite giving in to look down at my hand, the one Erhard had held. The man, the gifted, now rich and successful man wanted to be like me. I was no one and I’d been no one of real individual worth or value. I was like the minute hand of a clock, coinciding with what was wanted by the shorter hour hand twenty-two times every twenty-four hours, never stopping and never really understanding why it was twenty-two times and not twenty-four.

“There has to be some way you can bring me in from wherever I’ve come to be,” Erhard said, his low voice near begging me. “You’re gifted. I know it. I knew back then. Help me and I’ll help the country and everyone in it for the rest of my life. Help me.”

“Sit down and wait,” I ordered, pointing my right index finger toward the low seat he’d stood up from.

I didn’t wait for him to follow the order, instead turning and walking briskly toward the nose of the aircraft. I pulled aside the loosely held canvas back leading into the crew cabin area, thankful that there was a rather large, expansive area there. Four of the five seats were occupied. Other than the aircraft having a pilot, copilot, and Mack, the loadmaster, I was unaware there were more crew members until that moment. The pilot and copilot were facing forward next to one another while the two seats behind them, on swivels, were placed back to back. A fold-down seat was sprung up against one bulkhead, and one of the swivel chairs was empty. I sat down, pushed myself as deeply into the thick cushions of the seat, and tried to relax every muscle in my body.

I slowly turned the seat until I was staring at the back of the opposing seat. The man in it finally swiveled his chair around but before he could inquire about why I was there I spoke.

“Do we have communications with the ground?” I asked.

“Yes, but only commercial air and ground,” he replied. “I’m the flight officer. Whom may I be addressing?’

“How long will it be until we land at McConnell in Kansas?” I asked, ignoring his request.

“Little more than an hour,” he replied, looking at me like he expected his identity question to be answered next.

“I’m going to nap in this chair for a bit so please wake me when the plane is down. I’ve got to use a landline to reach Washington.

I was awakened by two large hands grasping my shoulders and shaking my shoulders. My eyes popped open in shock and surprise. I didn’t bolt out of the chair or do any of the things I’d heard it reported that combat veterans like me were supposed to do after coming home. Loud noises didn’t bother me all that much although I did find distant drumming to be difficult to accommodate.’

“What?” I said, trying to shake loose from his tight grasp.

“We’re on final approach into McConnell and the crew needs to know what their orders might be.”

“Orders?” I asked, shakily, getting my bearings as Mack released me and backed off a bit, although there was no place to back off to inside the tightly designed and sparingly furnished cabin. “Who do they think I am?” I looked at the backs of the three crewmen but they didn’t turn or attempt to look back to where I sat.

“God,” Mack said, not smiling at his own joke.

“I need to get to a landline so it would be good if a Jeep could meet the plane, and that phone call will determine what we do next. How long does it take to refuel and get back in the air?”

“Half an hour, tops, if ordered to minimums, or fifteen minutes, maybe a bit less if there’s an emergency, but that would be a partial refill and therefore depend on where we’re going next.”

“What’s the difference in time, just the speed of the pumps?” I asked, not awake enough to realize it didn’t make much of a difference why things were the way they were for such normally mundane things as fueling a big cargo jet.

“The propellers keep turning on emergency and the runway is cleared and waiting for a maximum ascent to altitude,” Mack replied.

“Emergency, then,” I said, since although it might not matter at all I was feeling emergency-oriented.

It hadn’t slipped right by me that Erhard must have something powerful to report if he was going to present some bit of information that would guarantee his safety…not that anyone had questioned that part of the mission. The intelligent powerful man had been physically threatened, although in only a passing malevolent way which had to have induced real malice into his life, probably for the first time ever.

“Come on, the cargo hold where you were is the best place to weather an STOL landing,” Mack said, before leading me out through the cabin door.

I knew the STOL meant ‘short take-off and landing’ but could not see what that might be necessary as McConnell’s runway had to be miles long as it was the base where the United States Air Force maintained almost all of its tankers.

“We could have refueled in the air,” I said to Mack’s back as we headed toward where the others were now belted in.

“Didn’t call ahead. You were asleep.”

Maybe there were rules about waking up God, I thought, shaking my head in mild amazement. I was fast coming to understand that so many things could only be learned by being out in the field and experiencing them. I was being trained, although no formal classroom instruction was provided.
Mack took the seat next to me with Erhard till to my right belted in for the landing. As the big aircraft began its final run onto the tarmac it almost seemed to jolt to a partial stop in midair.

“Reverser buckets deploying,” Mack said when I turned my head to look at him in question. Seconds later the Starlifter’s rear tires hit the pavement while at the same time, the engines went up to full power and began to slow the machine very quickly.

“A Jeep is standing by to take you to the tower,” Mack said, getting out of his seat before the cargo plane was fully stopped. “Refuel tanker is waiting nearby but the delay will be extended if you think we need more than twelve thousand gallons.”

“We’ll be fine,” I replied.

With what was left in the plane’s tanks from the flight in and three thousand more miles of range, there was nowhere I could imagine that Herbert would deploy us to upon listening to what I had to say.

Cables and gears whined and clanked as the giant rear cargo door went down until it hit the tarmac with a surprisingly light bump.
Before I could take more than a few steps a Jeep sped up the ramp and stopped in front of me. I backed up a bit, the vehicle seeming so much out of place.

“Commanding Officer?” the Air Force driver of the Jeep, standing up but still behind the wheel of the Jeep asked.

I ignored the question.

“I need to get to the terminal and make a phone call,” I replied, climbing into the passenger seat.

“Terminal’s mostly for Space Available travelers, sir, and today there are none so it’s closed. Telephone to the outside at the tower though.”

“Tower it is,” I replied with a sigh. Dealing with military personnel and procedures was analytically accurate but so devoid of amenities like real seats on airplanes, an airport terminal with coffee shops restaurants, and regular people.

The Jeep backed down the ramp and then took off across the airfield concrete runways and taxi areas toward what appeared to be a twenty-story, or so, concrete tower in the distance. I knew there would be a telephone there and was fast becoming resigned to the likelihood that there would be nothing else.

Once inside the outer door, I saw immediately that there was no elevator, only a winding set of steel stairs. I began the long slog up but was stopped by the sergeant, who’d followed me inside from the Jeep.

“Phone’s on the wall,” he said, pointing back toward a black box located on the wall next to the door. “You don’t have to go up unless you want to. You can pick up the receiver and dial nine for an outside line.”

I dialed the CIA number when the outside line connected. There was no way to tell who might be listening to the phone call but what I had to say to my control officer wasn’t anything I could conceive of that might be classified. I waited for a full ten minutes for the duty officer in D.C. to reach and then connect me to Tony’s phone, wherever he and the phone were.

“You’re back in CONUS?” he asked, without preamble after I said hello.

“Yes, target in tow, although I have not reached the end of the mission yet. I need to have Warner Erhard declared as an asset of the agency.”

There was silence at the other end of the phone as Herbert either consulted with someone else or was merely taking his time thinking about what I’d said. He was a bright man and his response when it came was what I expected, along with the resignation in the tone of his voice.

“What is the nature of the declaration making him an asset?” he asked.

“Can it be done on an immediate basis, incidental to the success of this mission?” I asked back, avoiding telling him about a foundation for the odd designation, a designation that would make Erhard a very protected creature no matter what he did or where he went.

“I’ve got to have an acceptable declaration,” Tony replied immediately and with iron in the tone of his voice.

“Please hold,” I said, taking the phone receiver and gently letting it dangle down on the wall beneath the wall-mounted base.

I gestured toward the sergeant to follow me as I went back out through the door, then waited until he was out to close it.

“Get back to the plane, gather in, and bring me the three men in the cargo hold named Erhard, Nguyen, and Kingsley.”
The sergeant wasted no time in replying, instead jumping back inside the Jeep and taking off out toward where the Starlifter was refueling less than a quarter mile away.

I paced and waited, wondering just how frustrated Herbert had to be at being put on hold for such a lengthy time.

In minutes the Jeep was back, with all three men aboard. I motioned to both Kingsley and Nguyen but said nothing. Both men would make assumptions if things went astray where we were, which was many miles from any center of civilization, and that was only if Wichita could be considered that.
I took Erhard by his arm and walked a short distance away from the tower, too distant for the others to hear. I explained the situation and the demand Herbert had made.

Erhard thought for almost a full minute, staring first down at the concrete and then eventually up toward the very top of the tower. Finally, he faced me and smiled a wry smile while shrugging his shoulders.

“Nuclear,” was all he said.