7
“Three nights.” Kara rubbed at her temples and slumped lower in her armchair pilot’s seat. “Three straight nights we’ve been running at the desert without a peep.”
Her Gray Eagle had swept ever-increasing circles over the vast wilderness of the Negev. Overlaps, grids, high-altitude flights hunting for any sign of a US military signal.
The first night she’d only monitored on the radio frequency that Wilson had provided her.
Justin had tried to help, but he only knew helos. Might as well have sat her down in the cockpit of Calamity Jane and said, Go! If he’d been a jet jockey, it still wouldn’t have helped much. The RPA was too different an animal.
When she’d looked to Wilson, he simply shook his head.
Michael had raised his hands as if fending her off. “I use your data. I’m no pilot
