Desert Shield Action Packed Techno Thriller (1/3)

By Jeff Dejent

Desert Shield Iraq War Technothriller (1/3) Keywords: Fiction, Adventure, War & military, Mystery, Thriller and Suspense, Action Packed, Technothriller, Iraq War, Gulf War, CIA

On the tenth day of April 1990, Randy Lapeer, a Captain in the United States Air Force lands his U-2 Reconnaissance aircraft on the runway at Beale Air Force Base. Unfortunately for his long-range career plans, he flipped an off limits switch to the on position while up in the air over hostile territory. His gesture does not go unnoticed by the decision makers in Washington. Lapeer points to flamed out gauges on his instrument panel as a certain proof the Iraqis used a beam weapon against his ship. Think tank nerds from Washington think otherwise, so- Captain Lapeer needs a new job.

On the First of May, Randy begins an assignment as an A-10 Pilot at Grissom Air Force Base in Kokomo, Indiana. This turns out to be a step in the right direction rather than a lateral move. For at Grissom, Lapeer meets a fetching A-10 Pilot with her own band, Detroit born, Roxanne Denise la Fontaine. The first date between Randy and Roxanne turns out to be a live fire exercise on the air to ground gunnery range at Grayling, Michigan. It is not a very romantic encounter as they have a Chaperone, Flight Leader and Captain, Wendy Melvin.

The weeks before the outbreak of the First War in the Gulf (2 August 1990 – 28 February 1991) find Stanley Craypool, Electrical Engineer, at the Grand Corporation in Washington, under threat from two directions. On his own initiative, Stanley has taken up spying against the Iraqi embassy. The reason for this effort, his research into the writings of an Iraqi physics professor. Leads him to believe that the Iraqi’s have a secret weapon. An ultra high intensity laser capable of knocking both airplanes and attack helicopters out of the sky.

Stanley’s clumsy efforts surveilling the Iraqi embassy brings him to the attention of some very dangerous people in the Iraqi intelligence community. They break into his office where they find evidence of his work on the theory of their secret weapon. The Iraqi’s launch a campaign to kidnap and kill the unsuspecting Electrical Engineer, but before they can bring their plan into effect. Stanley is committed to a psychiatric hospital on the flimsy testimony of his crotchety superiors at the Grand Corporation and his equally crotchety father, Elmer Craypool.
Two Senior Officers in the Action Officer’s Unit at the Central Intelligence Agency, Andy Howell and Moses Anderson, leave off a satellite phone at Stanley Craypool’s above garage lodgings. Then they board a C-130 Hercules transport plane at Andrews Air Force Base for the flight to Saudi Arabia.

Not surprising, a C.I.A. Psychiatrist, Edgar Coolidge, MD, sends them off with a bang. Coolidge is the kind of a zealot who thinks the Diagnostic and Statistical Coding Manual, the DSM, ought to replace the bible. Moreover, that churches around the world should be renamed Freudian Counseling Centers. With his residents in tow at the Andrews flight line, Coolidge waves poster board signs in the air with slogans reading:
KILL THEM ALL! LET FREUD SORT THEM OUT!
And, TOPPLE HUSSEIN’S STATUE!

That's how the trilogy starts. The men in the C.I.A. Action Officer’s unit are off to war. Even though Stanley stays behind in Washington, he is just as much in harms’ way as the men who go off to fight- ‘Um M’ aarak’ , ‘the Mother of All Battles’.
Keywords: Fiction, Adventure, War & military, Mystery, Thriller and Suspense, Action Packed, Technothriller, Iraq War, Gulf War, CIA

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff Dejent
• Release date: Jan 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781940028071

Jeff Dejent

Jeffrey Dejent grew up and went to school in Milwaukee Wisconsin. He graduated from college in June of 1970. Away from the keyboard Jeff likes to ride bicycles and go jogging. When it snows he dabbles in things like software defined radio and computer hacking. Jeff welcomes comparisons / criticisms of his novels and screenplays against the works of the late greats Stephen J. Cannell, Mister Tom Clancy, and of course Mister James Patterson. He would be happy to ghostwrite for one of the big names in the industry. Problem is, the lines are so long, you have to take a number. If you cannot find anything new by Tom Clancy or James Patterson, you should give Jeff a try. If your favorite television shows include: Criminal Minds, NCIS, and Numbers, you will enjoy Jeff. Jeffrey Dejent, Novelist, Screenwriter, in association with: Dynamic Entry Productions. LLC

Book preview

CHAPTER 1 STORM CLOUDS GATHERING

Scene 1 Runway Left? Runway Right?

Scene 2 Two Very Important People in an Air Force Ready Room

Scene 3 The V.I.P. Reception Party For Captain Lapeer

Scene 4 Roxanne Denise La Fontaine Has A Check To Cash

Scene 5 You Can Go Parochial, ... You Can Go Secular...

Scene 6 A Psychiatrist Wants To Make Assassins Out Of Action Officers

Scene 7 Will Naadi Baspinar, PhD, Ever Receive Tenure?

Scene 8 Stanley Craypool Has A Problem With A Nosy Neighbor

Scene 9 Captain Randy Lapeer First Lays Eyes on Lieutenant Roxanne La Fontaine

Scene 10 Roxanne Holds On To Her Canon Fire

Scene 11 Elmer Ain't Been Here are In A While

Scene 12 Inside the Elmer Craypool Residence On The Fourth Of July

Scene 13 Naadi Baspinar Reviews the Physical Evidence

CHAPTER 2 MAKE READY FOR ALL OUT WAR

Scene 14 Mission De-Brief, the 404th Combat Air Support A-10 Squadron

Scene 15 Sometimes a Little Girl Needs To Talk With Her Priest

Scene 16 Professor Lakhdar Al Khayyami Provides A Physics Lesson

Scene 17 We Don't Want To Be Called Baby Killers!

Scene 18 Rope and Boiling Water! I Will Have the Truth From Craypool!

Scene 19 Infinite Series and Base 10 and Base 60 Systems of Numeration

Scene 20 Morrie Tietelbaum Upstages Stanley at the Monthly GENSA Meeting

Scene 21 What to Do About Craypool? An Informal Breakfast Conference

Scene 22 Stanley Craypool Needs A Piece of 'Open Source' Computer Code

Scene 23 Major Benjamin Hazeva Has a Collection of Surveillance Photographs

CHAPTER 3 STANLEY'S FIRST INVOLUNTARY COMMITMENT

Scene 24 Elmer Orders Laverne To Make A Phone Call

Scene 25 Doctor Coolidge Assembles His- 'Evidence'

Scene 26 Drop The Slide Rule, Craypool!

Scene 27 Iraqi Intelligence Operatives Pay A Visit To The Stanley Craypool Garage Loft Apartment

Scene 28 Memo For Record On The 'Known Facts' Of The Situation

Scene 29 Stanley Craypool Assembles a Covert Listening Post In Silver Springs, Maryland

Scene 30 See What You Can Do With A Media Player And A Sound Card!

Scene 31 There's Nothing In Your Obstetrical Record, Mrs. Norman

Scene 32 Billy Norman Has His Blood Drawn

CHAPTER 4 STANLEY DUELS WITH THE MUKHABARAT

Scene 33 It's A Guy Thing, Stanley! Why Don't You Go By Yourself?

Scene 34 The Iraqi Embassy People Take a Lunch

Scene 35 Stanley and Elizabeth Take Sam for a Walk Down Wisconsin Avenue

Scene 36 'Hassan' Has a Blade, Kamel Abu Kamal, Has a Pistol

Scene 37 Mystery And Romance In A Restaurant Dumpster

Scene 38 Where Are The Infidels?

Scene 39 Dumpster Diving Can The Rough And Tumble, It Can Be!

Scene 40 Roxanne la Fontaine and The Motor City Air Hammers Play A Gig

Scene 41 The Guys Pay A Visit To Stanley Craypool

Scene 42 Moses and Linda Anderson Say Good Bye

Scene 43 Maybe Billy Is Taking A Nap!

Scene 44 The Andrew George Howell Family Is Expecting

Scene 45 Estelle Wingate Promises To Look In On Karen and Linda

Scene 46 Joe And Robin On The Joys Of Family Planning

Scene 47 Don't Forget Your Derringer, Bo!

Scene 48 The Action Officers Get A Send Off From Edgar Coolidge, MD

CHAPTER 1 STORM CLOUDS GATHERING

A USAF U-2 Dragonlady Makes a Safe Landing

Quote from af.mil: Information presented on Airforce Link is considered public information and may be distributed or copied. Use of appropriate byline photo image credits is requested. ... Picture prepared for www.af.mil/photos by Staff Sergeant Matthew Hannen. ... This image or file is a work of a U.S. Air Force Airman or employee, taken or made during the course of the person’s official duties. As a work of the U.S. Federal government, the image or file is in the public domain.

Scene 1 Runway Left? Runway Right?

Location: Runway approach, Beale Air Force Base, California

Captain Randall Aaron Lapeer, USAF, brings the wheel of his ‘Dragon Lady’ to the right about fifteen degrees with the thickly gloved palm of his right hand. While he gingerly works the steel rudder pedals beneath his boots to roughly the same angle. For just a moment or two, he holds his breath. Below a certain threshold, air speed the U-2 has a tendency to ignore the attitude of the rudder, rendering precision maneuvers difficult- if not impossible. Thankfully, luck is with Randy this early morning hour in the bright blue skies above Chico, California.

Graceful and sure, the dull grey painted fuselage of the U-2, formally U-2 BB 78 223, obediently banks to the right and turns from a heading due east facing into the rising sun to a new heading south-south east, with the sun now glaring in through the tiny cockpit window at his left shoulder. Almost immediately above the city of Thermalito, Randy’s ship bolts upwards a few feet as he hits a stray air pocket. The jolt is enough to remind him it is time to key his microphone.

Beale Tower? U-2 78 223 on final for runway nine.

Despite the early morning hour, the air traffic controller comes back with alacrity. Randy hears a tense man’s voice made grainy by his earphones say:

Copy U-2 78 223. On final for runway nine.

Randy lets out a sigh of relief. He wonders if ARTCC, Air Route Traffic Control Center, at Hickam Air Force Base, Honolulu Hawaii, has relayed his heads up to Beale. Captain Randall Lapeer clears his throat and speaks into the microphone sewn in his spacesuit.

Beale Tower? Copy message from Hickam re cockpit fire?

Randy quite reasonably expects a brisk and professional reply, maybe even with a solicitous tone. The com coming back over the radio, however, is both slow to arrive and a bit distant.

Roger U-2 78 223, landing runway right.

Lapeer bites down on his lower lip while he deliberates. In three plus years of reconnaissance flights over the Middle East, he had always touched down runway left. The blond haired Captain feels like muttering but he restrains himself.

Runway right Beale tower?

Asks the tired young man dressed in a bulky space suit and cramped helmet. The voice in the tower comes back a little too fast and formal to suit Randy Lapeer!

Affirmative, U-2 78 223, runway right.

Randy checks his gauges to see if his rate of descent falls within the limits of the envelope. Satisfied he is on course he goes back on the microphone.

Clarify please- Beale Tower? Crash truck? E. M. T?

The response is a long time coming. While Lapeer waits patiently for clarification- the broad streets of Palermo roll underneath his fuselage. Somewhat tense he brings the nose of his plane up to induce a slight stall. The plane responds by dipping its right wing slightly. Now Lapeer knows there is too much fuel in the right wing tank. As quickly as he is able, he works several switches on the control panels before him causing an electric pump to transfer jet fuel from the right wing tank to the left.

The U 2, first flown by the United States Air Force during the cold war years- has at best a 1960’s dashboard. Lapeer’s control panel includes a fuel gauge, but the unit reports only the total amount of fuel remaining and not the distribution of the fuel amongst its several holding tanks. Thus, he is required to trim the plane with seat of the pants rather than space age technology.

After a bit, Lapeer turns off the electric fuel transfer pumps and gingerly induces a second stall. This time the plane’s long wings hold level against the horizon. Lapeer lets out a little air from his lungs in relief and leans back in his seat. Soon however, the Air Traffic Controller in the Beale tower wipes the smile off Randy’s face.

That’s a negative 223, V.I.P. reception and Squadron Commander.

Captain Randall Lapeer opens his mouth to speak but then wisely decides not to pursue the unusual command with a request for clarification. If it is going to be a write up, they were probably tape recording the conversation. An out of place remark at this juncture, could lead, as he well knew, to a judicial punishment.

Barely a hundred feet above the soil, Randy, leans forward in his seat. Straining for a glimpse of the rotating mars lights on the roof of the Camaro or Firebird that customarily chases him down the concrete as he brings his ‘Dragon Lady’ to rest in front of the squadron hanger. He works the wheel slightly to the right- soon rewarded with a distant glimpse of a set of flashing red roof lights out the tiny forward cockpit window. Gingerly he brings the wheel back to the neutral position and checks on his instruments.

Lapeer shrugs his shoulders, sighs, and softly says to himself Home sweet home, runway left or runway right. Then he enunciates into his button microphone one more time, just as detached and professionally as he is able, ‘for the record, so to speak’.

Copy Beale tower. Affirmative. U-2 78 223 landing runway right.

Scene 2 Two Very Important People in an Air Force Ready Room

Location: The Ready Room of U 2 Squadron Four, Ninth Reconnaissance Wing, Beale Air Force Base.

Common to most United States Air Force ready rooms the building space allocated to Squadron Four, holds chairs, couches, and a television set. A weight lifting bench with bar bells and dumb bells, and a billiard table in the center of the main room. Moreover, there is an open bookshelf loaded with hard copy editions of well-thumbed action adventure novels written by the likes of: Tom Clancy, Dale Brown, and W. E. B. Griffin. Yet past the Spartan accommodations usual for fighter pilots, the Squadron Four, building includes a more private room set aside for V.I.P.’s.

It was in the nature of things. Reconnaissance flights out of Beale often begin with an impromptu phone call from the White House. The kind of information collected following the call so important, so time sensitive, as to warrant a reception from a member of the president’s cabinet or senate intelligence committee. Just as soon as the pilot lands his plane and shuts down his engines. Thus, there has to be a quiet and private space for one or more dignitaries, in the ready room building, whether or no the Wing Commander actually wants a gaggle of annoying civilians underfoot.

For political reasons, the Air Force furnished the V. I. P. room like the parlor of an exclusive men’s club in Washington, D.C. Overstuffed chairs, bookshelves with glass front doors, floor lamps with conical shades, magazine racks filled and overflowing, and of course, wall to wall carpeting.

Will there be anything else, Gentlemen?

The server stands inside the parlor, just past the doorway, with the drink tray held flat against her right thigh, having just placed two vodka tonics on the end table separating the pair of overstuffed chairs seating Professor Benjamin Poore and Clifford Peter Strawbottom. Professor Poore ignores both the drink and the server- he holds a copy of the Wall Street Journal up in the air, struggling to read the fine print with bifocals no longer strong enough to meet his needs for near focus accommodation.

Just to the extent, Physics Professor Poore appears aloof and business like, Clifford Peter Strawbottom, Chief of Human Resources at the Grand Corporation in Washington, seems relaxed and in his element. At the sight of the tall glass filled with ice cubes, vodka, tonic, and a slice of lemon his face breaks out into a wide smile. Gently, he lets the leather bound copy of Rudyard Kipling’s poems and short stories down to his lap and reaches eagerly for the drink with his right hand.

Strawbottom takes a long satisfying sip from the glass. Then he remembers his lofty position in life as Poore’s confidant and sometime advisor to the President. With a hasty motion, he lowers the drink to the end table, next reaches into the wallet pocket inside his plaid sport coat where he always maintains a supply of dollar bills for serving people.

Extending his hand out to arm’s length Strawbottom rubs two folded dollar bills against one another while he smiles and says.

Here young lady, here…

In spite of the ingratiating smile spread across Mister Strawbottom’s face, the server feels intimidated in his presence. She moves across the carpet with small tentative steps, forcing Strawbottom to lean way forward in his chair to place the folded bills in her outstretched hand.

Thank you sir.

Replies the server mumbling in a small far away voice to the seated gentleman, with her eyes held off to the side.

After she anxiously slides the money into the front waist pocket of her lace fringed, apron. The young lady turns and begins to rush out of the room, but finds her egress blocked by two tall uniformed gentlemen standing just inside the doorway. She halts and then anxiously glances back over her shoulder at Mister Strawbottom and Professor Poore.

Both men in the doorway are clad in dress blues, set off by formal saucer caps on their heads. The man in the front, a full colonel wears silver eagles on his shoulder epaulets, the man in the back, a major; displays gold leaves on his epaulets.

He’s touching down right now, Professor Poore.

Says the full colonel in a soft and respectful voice to the man seated behind the day’s fresh copy of the Wall Street Journal.

The room goes dead silent while Benjamin Poore, PhD. Chairman of the Physics Department at University of Maryland, College Park, slowly lowers the newspaper down to his lap. Next, he blinks repeatedly while his aged eyes slowly become accustomed to seeing objects at a distance across the room.

Let’s get it done.

Says professor Poore; to the room at large while he rises slowly to his feet.

Responding to the tension in the air of the room the server scurries out of the parlor. Moving so quickly, she nearly brushes up against the two tall men dressed in blue- standing at attention in the presence of Professor Benjamin Poore. The young Hispanic lady disappears in a heartbeat. A moment later, Poore leads the way out of the parlor, with the Colonel standing in solicitude at his side.

Just to the right of the light switch in the parlor hangs a photograph of Clarence ‘Kelly’ Johnson, Aeronautical Engineer and primary designer of the U-2 airship. Ben Rich’s favorite picture, the one with Kelly’s head and shoulders off to the left hand side and profiles of the U-2 and the SR 71 ‘Blackbird’ above white puffy clouds to the right.

Between the window and door to the building outside the men stride in silence past a plywood medallion emblazoned with the coat of arms for the Ninth Reconnaissance Squadron and the motto: In God We Trust, all others we monitor.

Scene 3 The V.I.P. Reception Party For Captain Lapeer

Location: Beale Air Force Base runway

Captain Randall Aaron Lapeer cuts the whining jet engines of his ‘Dragon Lady’ and peers anxiously out the tiny windows of his cockpit. The signs are all bad. First off, his buddies in the chase car drive off towards the Squadron Four Headquarters building without so much as a wave or thumbs up; as soon as they hear, his engines start to wind down.

Next, he notices that while the enlisted men roll the platform stepladder towards his cockpit with their usual speed and efficiency, they look grim rather than cheerful. Last Lapeer catches site of a brand new four door, Chevrolet, and a stretch Cadillac limousine with smoke black glass windows all around. The Chevrolet, he knows, belongs to the unit intelligence officer, the stretch Cadillac, he kens, is a worrisome unknown.

Through his tiny cockpit window, Randy sees four men dismount from their chauffeured automobiles and stand stiff in pairs in front of the two cars. His Squadron Commander, Colonel La Roche, his Squadron intelligence officer, Major Perkola, and two aged gentlemen. These men in bow ties, eyeglasses, and with grim looks on their faces, dressed in plaid sport coats set off with leather elbow patches.

Uh Oh! Mister professor Poore here for a visit! Think tank nerd with the bloody hatchet!

Randy mutters while reflexively hunching down in his cockpit seat.

Nothing adds up. Why would a colonel and a major tremble in the presence of two middle aged egg heads? Then, while Randy sits there shaking his head, the enlisted men climb the steps of the platform ladder and tap on the cockpit to remind their pilot it is time to release the latches.

Captain Lapeer reaches for the cockpit restraining latches and levers them into the open position. Soon warm April air and early morning sunshine flood the tiny cockpit that had been home for the last eight hours or so. He holds still while a solicitous enlisted man leans into his space to help him remove his helmet. With the helmet off and in his grasp, the enlisted man whispers:

Reception party for you, Captain Lapeer.

As soon as he finishes speaking the white in the face green fatigue suited airman, bolts backwards down the metal stairs of the platform ladder in a rattle of combat boots on aluminum tubing. All alone and isolated, Randy Lapeer sits bolt upright with his head turned to the right. His cockpit seat is some sixteen feet above the tarmac so it is a few seconds until the head of an older, scholarly appearing gentleman begins to hove into view. Huffing and puffing and with both hands on the railing, Professor Benjamin Poore climbs the ladder up to the open cockpit.

Soon the man in the eyeglasses, bow tie, and plaid sport coat stands directly above him and looking down into the cockpit. The Squadron Commander standing next to the civilian dignitary but a respectful pace or two to the rear. The angry look in Professor Poore’s eyes tells Lapeer the whole story.

Lapeer raises his arms up in the air, still encumbered by the spacesuit and begins to plead.

The whole cockpit lit up! The deck turned white hot!

With resolute motions, Benjamin Poore puts his clenched fists into the hollows above his hips and sneers. In Poore’s mind, Lapeer’s remark is as good as a signed confession. He glares down into Lapeer’s wide frightened eyes and exclaims.

YOU WERE UNDER DIRECT ORDERS NOT TO TOUCH THAT SWITCH LAPEER!

Lapeer lets some of the air out of his lungs and bites his lower lip. He tries again.

Saddam Hussein has to have beam weapons on the ground! There were sparks and flames all over the panel, Professor Poore, Sir.

As Randy explains, he waves his right hand towards the instruments on the panels to his front and sides. Professor Poore is not the least bit impressed. He barks in reply.

R. V. Jones couldn’t invent a beam weapon! Edward Teller couldn’t invent a beam weapon! I couldn’t invent a beam weapon!

Lapeer groans softly and opens his mouth to speak. Then he catches sight of the cold anger in the eyes of Colonel La Roche. For a moment, he sits there, looking collapsed inside of his bulky spacesuit. A weary and anxious rabbit corned by two accomplished voracious hounds. Professor Poore breaks the heavy silence.

It won’t ever be reconnaissance, young man! You’re through! Washed up!

Benjamin Poore does not linger even for a moment for a reply. With the Colonel flinching backward reflexively, Poore wheels angrily on his heels and stomps down the steps of the steel ladder towards the waiting limousine. Randy watches the elderly professor make his exit as an enlisted man closes the rear door of the stretch limousine behind him and the stately vehicle then rolls slowly away.

With the Cadillac out of earshot, Randy glances up directly into the eyes of Colonel La Roche. In a voice filled with resignation, he asks.

Is this a write up, Colonel La Roche Sir?

The Colonel shakes his head back and forth and then replies.

They need an A-10 Pilot in Kokomo.

Lapeer’s mouth wrinkles up in self-pity. He perceives dive-bombers a step backwards in his long career. Now he begins to plead.

Does it have to be dive bombers?

The Colonel hunkers down on his right knee to reply. Then he glances up to be certain the professor is out of earshot. Nearly face to face with the younger man seated in the cockpit, he explains.

You almost lost your United States Citizenship, Captain Lapeer.

Scene 4 Roxanne Denise la Fontaine Has A Check To Cash

Location: Foyer of the La Fontaine Family Restaurant in Detroit, Michigan.

Though a beautiful brunette, in her own right, twenty-six years old, shapely, and with dark brown eyes, Roxanne Denise la Fontaine still has a heroine, the lead singer of the Pretenders- Chrissie Hynde. Even with a bachelors’ degree in American history and a teachers’ certificate, Roxanne lives, breathes, and loves rock and roll music. She openly scorns the staid predictable life of a high school teacher, setting it aside for the roller coaster experience of fronting her own band- ROXY FONTAINE and the MOTOR CITY AIR HAMMERS.

This particular Thursday, in the month of June 1990, counts as nothing more than a hectic moment in the life of our young songstress. She has a check to cash. While standing on the concrete landing at the front door of her parents’ restaurant, Casa de La Fontaine. Roxanne finds herself waving her right hand at Lenny Pingatore, her full time steady and drummer for the band.

Drive around the block!

Exclaims Roxanne to the skinny young man in the tee shirt seated behind the wheel of his 1970’s vintage two door Chevrolet.

Lenny sneers at his girlfriend in his best imitation of James Dean. Then he works the eight ball on the end of the transmission shift lever from park to drive. With his right foot on the brake and his left wrist dangling over the top of the steering wheel, he grimaces at Roxanne and shouts a reply.

Hurry it up already!

With that, Lenny rams his foot down on the accelerator and speeds off headed east down Six Mile Road towards Evergreen. His rear tires squealing in response to the masses of torque fed to the rear wheels by his V 8 engine. Roxanne frowns at the noise, but it is too late to scold Lenny, he is already half way up the block.

With an air of