Targets of Opportunity (1993) Read Online Free
Author: Joe Weber
psychology, and had been a highly decorated navy combat pilot.
The rest--Spencer smiled to himself--was history: a rewarding career that had budded at Quantico, Virginia.
Spencer glanced back to Brad Austin's folder. The young aviator had performed extremely well in the advanced jet strike syllabus, graduating first in his class. Skimming the fitness reports, Spencer was impressed by the comments from Austin's senior officers. His previous commanding officer had written that Austin was a mature, professional young officer with a straightforward personality and excellent flying skills. Another CO called him a gregarious officer who fulfilled his responsibilities while maintaining a sense of humor. Spencer also read a brief note explaining that Austin's father, Vice Admiral Carlyle Whitney Austin, had recently retired.
"Cap," Henry Murray bellowed, "the aluminum overcast is on final." "Thanks," Spencer replied, slipping Brad Austin's file to the bottom of the stack. "Be right there."
He turned of the lights and walked to the entrance of the hangar. Trying to contain his excitement, Hollis grinned when he passed the sentry.
"Mister Spencer," the guard said enthusiastically, "is that the bird bringing in the secret plane?"
"It sure is," Spencer answered, smiling to himself He searched the sky as he walked across the ramp to join Hank Murray and the other men.
"I hear it," Spencer said to Murray, "but my eye hasn't adjusted to the darkness."
The navy captain pointed toward the end of the dry lake. "He's just coming over the runway . . . made a wide, flat approach."
Spencer spotted the four-engined turboprop in the bright moonlight.
The C-130, flying with the external lights extinguished, had started to flare. The pilot snapped on the landing lights a few seconds before the cargo plane smoothly touched down. The lights went out as the pilot placed the propellers in reverse pitch.
Hollis Spencer watched the lumbering plane roll to the end of th e w ide runway, then awkwardly turn and follow the flight-line jeep. Spencer and Murray stepped away from the group of men. "Hank," the CIA officer said as the Hercules approached the hangar , "how soon do you think you can have the aircraft ready to fly, withou t c utting any corners?"
The noisy C-130 taxied past, turning ninety degrees to point the tail at the closed hangar doors.
"We should have it," Murray paused, bracing himself against the gale-force propwash, "ready for the first hop in ten days . . . fifteen at the outside."
"That'll fit just right," Spencer responded, turning away from the pungent odor of burned jet fuel.
They looked at the back of the plane when the cargo ramp was lowered. The engines wound down, then mercifully spun to a stop as the hangar doors opened. Shielded red floodlights illuminated the aircraft parking area as the men hurried to unload the airplane components.
"I'm going to take a walk," Spencer said, rubbing his hands for warmth, "and see if I can work off some of my anxiety."
"I know what you mean," Murray responded, glancing at the gray forklift approaching the airplane. "We'll all breathe a sigh of relief when the parts are in the hangar."
Out of habit, Spencer looked at his watch. "Let's hope the other Herc is on time."
"It will be," Murray assured him, then walked toward the cargo plane. "You know CIA Air better than anyone."
"You're probably right," Hollis laughed, then turned and set off toward the runway.
He had worked with the CIA airlines before, including Civil Air Transport, Air Asia, Intermountain, Southern Air Transport, and Air America. His most recent assignment had been in the Agency's Directorate for Plans. The department engaged in covert operations throughout the world.
The activities of the Directorate for Plans were handled with the utmost secrecy. The department was exempt from the CIA's interna l r eview procedures, a step many senior CIA officials continued to question. The answer was standard. A review might
The rest--Spencer smiled to himself--was history: a rewarding career that had budded at Quantico, Virginia.
Spencer glanced back to Brad Austin's folder. The young aviator had performed extremely well in the advanced jet strike syllabus, graduating first in his class. Skimming the fitness reports, Spencer was impressed by the comments from Austin's senior officers. His previous commanding officer had written that Austin was a mature, professional young officer with a straightforward personality and excellent flying skills. Another CO called him a gregarious officer who fulfilled his responsibilities while maintaining a sense of humor. Spencer also read a brief note explaining that Austin's father, Vice Admiral Carlyle Whitney Austin, had recently retired.
"Cap," Henry Murray bellowed, "the aluminum overcast is on final." "Thanks," Spencer replied, slipping Brad Austin's file to the bottom of the stack. "Be right there."
He turned of the lights and walked to the entrance of the hangar. Trying to contain his excitement, Hollis grinned when he passed the sentry.
"Mister Spencer," the guard said enthusiastically, "is that the bird bringing in the secret plane?"
"It sure is," Spencer answered, smiling to himself He searched the sky as he walked across the ramp to join Hank Murray and the other men.
"I hear it," Spencer said to Murray, "but my eye hasn't adjusted to the darkness."
The navy captain pointed toward the end of the dry lake. "He's just coming over the runway . . . made a wide, flat approach."
Spencer spotted the four-engined turboprop in the bright moonlight.
The C-130, flying with the external lights extinguished, had started to flare. The pilot snapped on the landing lights a few seconds before the cargo plane smoothly touched down. The lights went out as the pilot placed the propellers in reverse pitch.
Hollis Spencer watched the lumbering plane roll to the end of th e w ide runway, then awkwardly turn and follow the flight-line jeep. Spencer and Murray stepped away from the group of men. "Hank," the CIA officer said as the Hercules approached the hangar , "how soon do you think you can have the aircraft ready to fly, withou t c utting any corners?"
The noisy C-130 taxied past, turning ninety degrees to point the tail at the closed hangar doors.
"We should have it," Murray paused, bracing himself against the gale-force propwash, "ready for the first hop in ten days . . . fifteen at the outside."
"That'll fit just right," Spencer responded, turning away from the pungent odor of burned jet fuel.
They looked at the back of the plane when the cargo ramp was lowered. The engines wound down, then mercifully spun to a stop as the hangar doors opened. Shielded red floodlights illuminated the aircraft parking area as the men hurried to unload the airplane components.
"I'm going to take a walk," Spencer said, rubbing his hands for warmth, "and see if I can work off some of my anxiety."
"I know what you mean," Murray responded, glancing at the gray forklift approaching the airplane. "We'll all breathe a sigh of relief when the parts are in the hangar."
Out of habit, Spencer looked at his watch. "Let's hope the other Herc is on time."
"It will be," Murray assured him, then walked toward the cargo plane. "You know CIA Air better than anyone."
"You're probably right," Hollis laughed, then turned and set off toward the runway.
He had worked with the CIA airlines before, including Civil Air Transport, Air Asia, Intermountain, Southern Air Transport, and Air America. His most recent assignment had been in the Agency's Directorate for Plans. The department engaged in covert operations throughout the world.
The activities of the Directorate for Plans were handled with the utmost secrecy. The department was exempt from the CIA's interna l r eview procedures, a step many senior CIA officials continued to question. The answer was standard. A review might
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