A young man wakes up in the desert. He doesn't remember anything, not even his name. But he does recall the face of a young woman. And somehow he knows she is somewhere out there looking for him. He stands up over the dry sand and resolves to find...
Conan pulled a tiny black lozenge from a drawer and put it on the desktop.
"What's that?" asked Skyler, sitting on the other side of the table with a glass of soda in his hand.
"That, my friend, is why we're here." Conan opened another drawer from which he took a toolbox. He popped the latches open and took a hammer out of it. "It's the transmitter with which they've been tracking us."
"What's up with it now?"
"It's time to destroy it. I'll do it when Cedric gives me the green light."
Skyler threw a look of condescension as he took a sip.
"If this has to do with the fighter six hours ago, I think you've had enough time to take care of it."
"If you haven't noticed, we're already flying over Afghanistan, which is where we want your trail to cut. The 'zais have gotten here early to help us with the groundwork. Look out the window and see what's going on."
Skyler finished the drink and went to sit on the couch, where he could see through the window another jet approaching their position amidst the night.
"I see another plane. And it looks like ours."
"It's exactly the same as ours; same model, same paint, whole nine yards."
"Who's at the wheel?"
"Siraj. Nadim's on the ground, matching up with him to bring it down with an RPG. Siraj will parachute out of it, and then I'll cut off the transmitter signal at the same moment the plane crashes. That way, our followers will think we've crashed, but they'll know we're still alive when they look over the rubble and don't find any corpses."
"Why isn't it the other way around? Jumping and then shooting down? Seems safer."
"Then what if Nadim misses the shot? Wouldn't be another chance. The plane wasted. The timing gone to shit." He looked at his watch with some disdain. "We're warmongers. We're trained not to give a fuck about being scared."
"Seiber!" cried Cedric from the cockpit. "Ten seconds!"
"OK!"
Seiber approached a window, from which he watched, with Landau, the luminous arrival of a projectile from the dunes that reached the left wing of the other aircraft in a clean shot. Skyler thought he felt the cushioned blast in his eardrums and jaw. The side door opened wide, and from it Siraj parachuted into the void, totally collected. The jet then swerved precipitously to the ground, like a wounded bird, while Seiber walked back to the desk, grabbed the hammer, and busted the transmitter in one blow, in synchrony with the rumble he felt under his feet.
"How was that, Seiber?" Cedric asked.
"Pretty good!"
"Hour and a half to the hangar!"
Conan swept the shards into a small trash can and sat in an armchair with Skyler in the sitting area.
"So, the hangar's the end of the journey?" asked Landau as he kept staring through the window, trying to make out the wreckage.
"Rather the start," pointed out Seiber.
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