means to traffic product. Navy is the lead agency, and we have assets here in the Atlantic, and in the Pacific, to interdict the flow.”
“How long has this been going on, sir?”
“That’s need-to-know, but we’ve been involved since we arrived here. Weed and Mongo and the other operational testers are involved with testing of the Fire Scout based on Max Leslie. That much is true. But they are also involved with kinetic operations like you saw today. This operation hides in plain sight, and you stumbled across it. So now you’re read-in. The name of the program is called Century Ratchet.”
Wilson took it in, his mind full of questions. “Who else aboard is read-in, sir?”
Matson glanced at Weed, then back at Wilson. “Several. Without naming them, I’ll allow you to ask, and I’ll answer with a nod.”
Taken aback, Wilson formed a mental list of likely confidants for Century Ratchet. “The captain?”
Matson nodded.
“Ship’s Operations Officer?”
Another nod.
“The admiral?”
CAG shook his head no. Wilson was stunned. The strike group admiral was not read-in? He continued.
“Other aircrew like me?”
“Yes, two JOs from another squadron, in a similar scenario.”
Wilson absorbed this information before he asked the question he knew he must: “So, no one in my squadron?”
Matson pursed his lips and shook his head. “There is one.”
“Who, sir?’
The airwing commander pointed toward the other room. Wilson reacted with wide-eyed shock when he realized CAG’s gesture meant his new intel officer. Shane Duncan.
“My wet-behind-the-ears ensign! She’s read-in?” he asked, astonished.
“Intel needs to be collected and recorded, and cleared people need to do that.”
When Wilson slumped back in his chair, Weed piped up. “Sir, may I take over now and spend some time alone with Skipper Wilson?”
“Yep,” CAG agreed. “You’ve got it.” As he stood, he said, “Flip, you know the gravity of this. Century Ratchet is a classified term, and we are not going to discuss it further. As far as you are concerned, our activity down here is ops normal. Make it fast, Weed, so he can get back to his squadron.”
“Thanks, CAG,” Weed replied. He then turned to Mongo and said, “Mongo, why don’t you take a walk?”
“I need his tapes, sir.”
Weed raised his hand. “I’ve got it, Mongo. You can go now.” With a scowl, Mongo followed CAG out the door and closed it.
Wilson spoke first. “Is he really a naval officer?”
“Yep.”
“Could’ve fooled me. I don’t want him flying my jets. I don’t want him to even set foot in my ready room.”
“Fine. Anything else?”
Wilson looked at Weed as if to say