PANAMA CITY, PANAMA
Jason Ryan stood in the giant hangar and watched as the modified Boeing 747–400 aircraft taxied after landing in the hot afternoon sun. Ryan was dressed in casual clothes, as was his two-man Delta escort. Each was armed with a nine-millimeter Berretta. As the giant plane approached they heard the whine of her four large engines slowly throttling down. Her falsified camouflage had been painted on by the United States Air Force and was styled after the livery colors of blue, white, and red. The words federal express were written across her side and the giant tail.
Ryan could see almost no variation from a regular civilian cargo carrier. But he did notice the strange protrusions on the nose of the 747. There were no windows; it was one long, sealed aircraft. The Boeing plane taxied slowly to the front of the hangar, where the engines shut down. A large yellow vehicle streaked forward, and a ground crew immediately hooked up the nose wheel and started pulling her in.
“So this is Proteus?” he said as he watched the plane being pulled inside. The large hangar door began to lower after the five-story tail section cleared the opening.
When the aircraft stopped, a gangway was driven forward just beneath the crew door and it opened. Several men scrambled down. They were air police and two came quickly forward. Four others remained in back with two lethal-looking MP-5 machine guns pointed toward the hangar offices and two others pointed somewhat toward Ryan and his men. Two advanced and asked for identification from Ryan and his men. He examined each, looking very doubtful about Ryan’s navy card, enough to give him a nervous moment. Then the man quickly handed the cards back and then turned and waved toward the giant plane. Twenty U.S. Air Force personnel started down the gangway.
“Which one of you is Ryan?” asked the largest man the lieutenant had ever seen in a military uniform. He was a black full-bird colonel. His voice boomed throughout the hangar.
“Lieutenant, JG Ryan, sir,” replied Ryan as he again handed over his military ID.
“So, I was told you have the targeting data? I hear it’s a small one.”
“Yes, sir, think you can hit it?” Ryan asked, putting his ID back into his wallet.
“Son, we haven’t hit a goddamned thing yet in thirty-one attempts, and two of the test targets were an ocean, an ocean! Hell, the last time out we nearly blew the fucking tail off this thing,” he said with half a smile.
Ryan looked over at the two Delta men and closed his eyes, “Be sure we bring the high-altitude chutes just in case, I have a feeling Operation Spoiled Sport may not work out.”