A low-flying, fast-moving ship headed to the border was presumed to be hostile. The alarm sounded when such an aircraft was spotted.
“It’s heading almost due west,” Rodgers said. “The speed and height indicate that it’s a chopper.” There was concern in his voice, but also excitement. The ROC was doing its job flawlessly.
Mary Rose crouched beside a console to Rodgers’s left. “Are you surprised to find one traveling alone?”
“Border patrols travel solo,” Rodgers said. “But this one is going too fast for just a look-see. It’s got a destination.”
Mary Rose punched an auto-tune button on the console. At once, an antenna hidden in the van’s dark, domed sunroof turned toward the ABA’s target. It began listening to communications to and from the target vessel. The computer was programed with hundreds of languages and dialects. After digitally cleaning away static and other imperfections, the monitor displayed a simultaneous translation of any electronic transmission it received.
“…find out there?”
There was silence from the chopper.
“Repeat, Mardin One. What did you find at the crossing?”
There was still no answer.
“The chopper is from the Turkish air base at Mardin,” Rodgers said. He punched a few keys and brought up data on the facility. “What’ve they got there? Two choppers, both Hughes 500Ds; and a Piper Cub.” He glanced at the ABA speed indicator. “This one’s traveling at one hundred and thirty-four MPH. That sounds about right for the 500D.”
“So what have we got?” Mary Rose asked. “A lost pilot?”
“I don’t think so,” Rodgers said. “It looks like a crew was sent out to reconnoiter and hasn’t reported in. He wouldn’t be flying at his maximum speed if he were lost. And it sure doesn’t look like he’s defecting because the chopper’s headed further into Turkey.”
“Could the radio have been damaged?” Mary Rose asked.
“Possibly,” Rodgers said. “But again, they’re butting right up against their maximum cruising speed. These guys are in a hurry.”
Jabbing at the keys with his index fingers, Rodgers asked the computer to check on military facilities in the southwestern section of eastern Anatolia. Unlike the rest of Turkey, which was mountain or desert, Anatolia was mostly flat plateau with areas of low hills.
The screen quickly flashed a red X for negative.
“They’re not headed for an emergency landing,” Rodgers said. “These guys are after something.”
Outside, over the low hum of the air-conditioner, Mary Rose could hear the putter of a motor approaching the van. She continued to read the transcript as it scrolled up one of the monitors.
“….are out of our radar range and we are not picking up your signal. Is there a problem? Why do you not answer?”
“Maybe someone’s gotten into the country and they’re chasing them down,” Mary Rose suggested.
“Then why wouldn’t they report that to base?” Rodgers shook his head. “No, something isn’t right here. I’ll tell the TSF what we’ve got and see what they say.”
“Don’t you think they’d have been alerted if there were a problem?” Mary Rose asked.
“To the contrary,” Rodgers said. “Out here, the rivalries between government factions make Washington politics seem like triple-A ball. They’re almost as intense as the rivalries between religious factions.”
There was a knock on the door. Mary Rose leaned over, turned the handle, and peeked out. It was Private Pupshaw.
“Yes?” she said.
“Colonel Nejat Seden is here to see General Rodgers,” the hulking Pupshaw said.
“Please send him in, Private,” Rodgers replied without looking over.
“Yes, sir,” Pupshaw replied.
The private stepped aside and Mary Rose opened the door. She smiled pleasantly as a short, light-skinned man entered. He was powerfully built, with a neatly trimmed mustache and deep-set eyes that were also the darkest Mary Rose had ever seen. His curly black hair was damp and pressed down. From a motorcycle helmet, she guessed. He wore a .45 in a belt holster.
Seden returned her smile. He bowed his head. “Good afternoon to you, miss,” he said. His English was thickly accented, with the lengthened vowels and clipped consonants of his native tongue.
“Good afternoon,” Mary Rose replied. She had been warned that Turkish men, even enlightened ones, would be no more than courteous to her. Though Turkey had long ago granted equal rights to women, equality was a myth in the minds of many Muslim men. As Op-Center’s staff psychologist Liz Gordon had told her, “The Koran decrees that women should always cover their heads, arms, and legs. Women who do not are regarded as sinners.” Yet this man had a warm smile for her. He seemed to possess a sweet, natural charm.
Colonel Seden turned to General Rodgers and saluted. Rodgers returned the salute. Seden took two steps toward Rodgers and handed the general a crisply folded yellow paper.
“My orders, sir,” Seden said.
Rodgers looked at them quickly, then turned back to the screen. “You’ve come at an opportune moment,” the general said. “We have one of your choppers on the screen… here.” He pointed to a sharp red object moving across an ever-changing green grid.
“That’s strange,” Seden said. “Military helicopters usually travel in pairs for security. Do you know where this one is from?”
“It came in from Mardin.”
“Border patrol,” said Seden.
“Yes,” said Rodgers. “The radio operator there has been trying unsuccessfully to raise it. What kind of armaments do you put on those ships?”
“Typically, General, there is a machine gun and a side-mounted rotary cannon,” Seden replied. “Usually the cannon is 20mm with a rotating barrel with one hundred fifty or so shells.”
“Where could it be headed in such a hurry?” Mary Rose asked.
“I don’t know that,” Seden replied. He didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “There’s nothing out that way. There are no military targets and the villages are small and not strategic in any way.”
“You’re sure there are no terrorist groups based in any of them?” Rodgers asked.
“I’m certain,” Seden said. “Nor has there been any movement to the region. We watch all of them very closely.”
“Couldn’t this simply be a hijacking?” Mary Rose asked. “Someone hides the chopper before it can be spotted, then uses it later for any number of things.”
“That is unlikely,” replied Seden. “It is easier for helicopters to be purchased in Russia or India and smuggled into our country in pieces.”
“In pieces?” Mary Rose said.
“On boats, by air, or by land, amidst shipments of machine parts,” Seden said. “It isn’t as difficult as you might think.”
“On top of which,” said Rodgers, “the Turkish Air Force is certainly looking for this chopper by now.”
“But not there,” Seden said. “Somewhere along its original flight plan.”
“We’ve picked it up,” Mary Rose said. “Other radar is sure to. It will be found before very long.”
“Obviously, whoever has it doesn’t care,” Rodgers said. “They’re planning to use it now. Colonel, do you want to let the Air Force know where it is?”
“In another moment,” Seden said. “I’d prefer to tell them where it’s headed rather than where it will not be when they arrive.”
Mary Rose gave a sideward glance at the officer. She caught Mike Rodgers doing the same. She could tell from his expression that the general was thinking the same thought she was, Is Seden interested in gathering intelligence or in delaying them?
The colonel watched as the map scrolled with the chopper. “Can I possibly see a larger view of the area?”
Rodgers nodded. He touched a key, and an expanded view of the region appeared on the screen. The chopper was now a small red dot.
Seden watched the screen for a moment and then said, “General, may I ask—do you know the range of the helicopter?”
“It’s around four hundred miles, depending upon the load they’re carrying.” Rodgers looked back at Seden. “Why? What are you thinking?”
The Turk replied, “The only conceivable targets are several dams along the Firat Nehri—what you call the Euphrates.” He pointed at the river, then traced its course southward through Turkey into Syria. “The Keban Dam, the Karakaya Dam, and the Ataturk Dam. All of them are within range.”
“Why would anyone want to attack them?” Mary Rose asked.
“It’s an old conflict,” Seder said. “Islamic law calls water the source of life. Nations may fight over oil, but it’s a trifle. Water is what stirs the blood—and causes it to be spilled.”
“My friends at NATO tell me that over the last fifteen years or so, the dams of the Greater Anatolia Project have been a sore subject,” Rodgers said. “They allowed Turkey to control the flow of water into Syria and Iraq. And if I’m not mistaken, Colonel Seden, Turkey is now embarked on an irrigation project in southeastern Anatolia which will reduce the water supply of those nations even further.”
“forty percent less water will reach Syria and sixty percent less to Iraq,” Seden replied.
“So some group, perhaps Syrians, steals a Turkish chopper,” Rodgers said. “They keep the military guessing as to whether it actually has been stolen. Guessing just long enough for them to strike their target.”