Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 02 (63 page)

 
          
Elliott
studied her bright eyes, nodded.

 
          
“Plan
on your fighters recovering in the
Cayman Islands
,” she said. “The deputy governor of the Caymans happens to be an old
family friend. I hope you can bring a two-seat fighter with you—he and members
of his family will probably ask for a ride. He’s a nut about fighters.”

 
          
“I
doubt this mission will turn out to be a joy-ride,” Elliott said, and shut up
as Wilbur Curtis joined them and they all walked down the hall from the Oval
Office to O’Day’s office. Major Preston served coffee as the three took seats.

 
          
“We
need to get our staffs together and fine-tune this thing,” Curtis said.
“Briefing the Old Man is one thing—getting two squadrons of interceptors together
for an extended deployment is another.” He looked at Elliott. “Problem, Brad?”
“Something doesn’t make sense.” Elliott walked over to a large map of the
southern
United States
and
Central America
. “Between naval units normally on-station
and our airbase in
Puerto
Rico
, we’ve got
the eastern
Caribbean
covered pretty well right now. It’s the
western
Caribbean
where we don’t have enough coverage. Yet
we’re assuming the Russians would fly DreamStar east toward
Russia
.”

 
          
“Naturally,”
Curtis replied. “Where else?”

 
          
He
pointed at the map. “
Cuba
.
Cuba
is only six hundred miles from Sebaco. Once
DreamStar is in
Cuba
. . . hell, it might as well be in
Russia
. We couldn’t touch it there.
Cuba
is no
Nicaragua
...”

 
          
“But
why put those external tanks on DreamStar?” O’Day asked. “Why spend the extra
time and bother?”

 
          
“I
think they still intend to fly it to
Russia
,” Elliott said. But we caught them
red-handed preparing for a long flight. They know we can close off the eastern
Caribbean
. For now,
Cuba
is a more logical destination.”

 
          
“It
doesn’t make sense to go to
Cuba
, Brad,” Curtis insisted. “Sure, they can
protect it better, but
Cuba
is right on our back doorstep. We have
round-the-clock surveillance on
Cuba
. If we could get the President to buy off
on it, we could blockade that island by sea and air. DreamStar could never get
out. Besides, we
saw
those extra
tanks on DreamStar. Why would they waste the time putting those things on if
they only intended to take it to
Cuba
?”

 
          
“I
disagree with your assessment of
Cuba
’s security,” Elliott said. “We don’t have
the same military superiority we did back in the sixties—a cordon would be much
more difficult. And I think the Russians realize that we aren’t going to use a
lot of military force to get DreamStar back. This is an election year— they
figure
Taylor
won’t hang it out over one fighter.” He
paused, then rapped his knuckles on the long, thin island south of
Florida
. “Nope, I’m convinced—they’ll take
DreamStar to
Cuba
instead of flying it east.”

 
          
“What
you’re saying doesn’t make sense, Brad,” Curtis argued. “I think we should
concentrate our forces on the southern and eastern
Caribbean
. It would be stupid to fly to
Cuba
— that wouldn’t get them anywhere.”

 
          
Elliott
was silent for a few moments, then: “All right, sir. But we’ve got the eastern
Caribbean
covered pretty well. I’ll take command of
the western task force.”

 
          
“The
Old Man expects you to take the east.”

 
          
“I
only told him I’d be airborne in an AWACS—I didn’t say which one. I’ll be in
real-time contact with the eastern forces at all times from the AWACS out of
Honduras
. I’ll bet my pension they try to pull a
fast one on us.”

 
          
“Let
me assure you, Brad,” Curtis said, “you
are
betting your pension on this one.”

The Consulate of the
Soviet
Socialist
Republics
,
Washington
,
D.C.

Friday, 19 June 1996
, 2015 EDT (Saturday, 0415 EET)

 
          
The
voice and data-scrambler system was experiencing severe distortion from
solar-flare activity, but the elation in the KGB chiefs voice was obvious.

 
          
“That
is very good news,”
Kalinin
said. He was sitting in the Kremlin communications center in
Moscow
, sipping tea and waiting impatiently for
his aide, Molokov, to finish buttering a plate of
pirozhoks,
his favorite small turnover pastries, with fruit and
creme fillings. “The Americans are obviously anxious to avoid an embarrassing
conflict so close to their national elections.”

 
          
“The
Americans may have extended their waiting period, comrade
Kalinin
,” Vilizherchev said from
Washington
, sipping a snifter of brandy, “but they
have certainly not relented. They are expecting a message from
Moscow
in no more than twelve hours agreeing not
to move their aircraft out of Sebaco and agreeing to turn the aircraft over to
them in five days. If you do not comply they have well-supported and vocal
elements of their military that are ready to invade Sebaco and take their
property back. They’re led by General Bradley Elliott of their air force.”

 
          
“Elliott
... a paper tiger, an anachronism,”
Kalinin
said. “Too hawkish for the current
government. I estimate he will be forced to retire soon. After all, we removed
the XF-34 from
his
base.”

 
          
“Elliott
was at the White House tonight,” Vilizherchev said. “Apparently he was the one
who staged the overflight at Sebaco today. If he has fallen from grace in the
eyes of
Taylor
’s government, they are hiding it very
well.”

 
          
“Don’t
worry about Elliott—”

 
          
“I
am not worried about him,” Vilizherchev said. “I am concerned about you, sir.
On your behalf I agreed to take their message to my government. The Americans
are expecting a reply. But I sense that you are unconcerned about any possible
agreements and that you plan to take that aircraft out of
Nicaragua
regardless of any tentative agreements . .
.”

 
          
“You
will be vindicated in this, Sergei,”
Kalinin
said. “The aircraft will be gone from
Nicaragua
long before the Americans expect a reply
from the Kremlin. The KGB will accept the responsibility for the aircraft, and
you can tell the Americans that the rotten KGB ignored your agreement and acted
on their own. There’s nothing they can do once we have the aircraft except
protest. And they will get their aircraft back— after we finish studying it, of
course. I understand it is a fabulous machine.”

 
          
“I
agree, it must be a fantastic machine,” Vilizherchev said, “because I believe
the
United States
will retaliate in ways other than just
protest.” There was a pause, with both men listening to the crackles and snaps
of solar-generated electrons interfering with the satellite transmission. Then:
“About my report to the Foreign Minister . . .”

 
          
“Delay
it for twenty-four hours.”

 
          
Vilizherchev
had been expecting this. “That is impossible,” he said. “I went to the White
House. I spoke with the President. I left the Consulate at night without
escort, without leaving an itinerary or contact log. What shall I report—I went
on a drive around
Washington
to see the sights? What if someone in the White House mentions my visit
to someone in
Moscow
and they find out I did not report it? What if this whole incident ends
up in the newspapers—the media is behind every lamppost in this city.”

 
          
“Calm
yourself,”
Kalinin
said. “The missing report will not surface
for at least twenty-four hours, perhaps more. By then this incident will be
concluded and I will explain everything to the General Secretary and the
Politburo.”

 
          
“I
expect it,” Vilizherchev said. “Unauthorized contact with the American
government by a member of our government is still punishable, as you know, by
life at hard labor. I have a desire to retire to warmer climates than
Siberia
.”

 
          
Kalinin
broke the connection without replying. The
signal, in any case, was deteriorating rapidly; so was Vilizherchev’s resolve.
He was not a stupid man but he had not been in government long enough to
represent a danger to
Kalinin
’s power. Unless everything came completely unraveled, Vilizherchev
could be trusted to keep silent—after all, having the director of the KGB as a
co-conspirator was not such a bad position.

 
          
But
now it was up to Maraklov to get that aircraft safely out of
Nicaragua
. All of their futures now rode on him.

Sebaco
,
Nicaragua

Saturday, 20 June 1996
, 0451 CDT

 
          
Andrei
Maraklov awoke to bedlam. Dozens of faults were being reported to him at once,
ranging in severity from complete system short-circuits to oil leaks. But the
familiar rush of power and energy that always accompanied a successful
interface with ANTARES was a welcome feeling, in spite of the faults being
reported.

 
          
DreamStar
had undergone a major transformation. Her newest additions were two large
cigar-shaped stainless-steel fuel tanks, one suspended under each wing. Two of
the four weapon hardpoints on each wing were combined to hold the Lluyka tank’s
pylon; that, plus the size of the tanks themselves, left DreamStar with the
capability to carry only two missiles instead of eight. Inside each tank pylon,
the fuel tank’s pressurization line was spliced to the wing tank’s bleed
air-pressurization system, which allowed fuel to flow from the tanks and feed
the engines before wing-tank fuel was used. The hard- point’s
jettison-circuitry was spliced into jettison-squibs in the pylon, which would
blow the pylon off the wing.