Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 02 (85 page)

 
          
“I’m
threatening over your lies, your deceit. And your murdering. You stole our
aircraft, murdered our soldiers, killed and destroyed and killed again all
through
Central
America
just to
steal one fighter. What you’ve done is declare war on the
United States
. I’m going to start answering you by
destroying Puerto Cabezas.” He picked up the telephone and punched two digits
on the keypad.

 
          
“This
is the President. Unlock file nine-six-zero-six bravo, authenticate with line
charlie-charlie and execute immediately. Send reports to the Situation Room.
I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He hung up the phone and pointed to
Vilizherchev. “Good day, sir.”

 
          
“Will
we not discuss this, Mr. President . . . ?”

 
          
Just
then two beepers went oflF—Vilizherchev spun around at the sound as if it had
been a gunshot. Both Kemp and Curtis retrieved their tiny credit-card-sized
pagers from jacket pockets and checked the message on its tiny liquid-crystal
screen.

 
          
“Execution
cross-checks, Mr. President,” Curtis said. “Crews are responding. I’d like to
take it in the Situation Room.”

 
          
“You’re
dismissed, John, Wilbur . . .”

 
          
“Wait,
Mr. President, Secretary Curtis, Secretary Kemp, please,” Vilizherchev said.
“We must discuss this ...” Curtis and Kemp turned and headed for the door.

 
          
The
President turned to his Secretary of State and his aide. “Dennis, Paul, escort
the ambassador out of the White House. Deborah, I need you to call your staff
down to the Situation Room in ten minutes to—”

 
          
“I
am authorized to release the aircraft to you, Mr. President,” Vilizherchev
shouted. Everyone in the room froze. The President pointed to the Secretary of
the Navy.

 
          
“Get
going, John. This sounds like a stall to me. Get your planes from the
George Washington
airborne. I want a
prestrike briefing from the Navy when I get there. Wilbur, hang on for a
minute.” Kemp opened his mouth, was about to say something, then decided
against it and hurried out.

 
          
“I
came here to organize a transfer of the aircraft back into your control, Mr.
President,” Vilizherchev said, staring at the closed door of the Oval Office
through which Kemp had just exited. He turned back to the President. “The
General Secretary has directed that the aircraft be turned over to you
immediately.”

 
          
“So
what about all that garbage about retaliatory strikes, bombers and cruise
missiles?” Deborah O’Day asked. “Was that a bluff?”

 
          
“The
same as your bluff with the attack on Puerto Cabezas . . .”

 
          
“That
is no bluff, Vilizherchev,” the President said. “I’ve got bombers from the
George Washington
lined up to attack
that base, whether DreamStar is there or not. When the air attack is completed
I’ve ordered a company of Marines to land, occupy that base and take control of
the area. If they don’t find that aircraft they’ll move down to Bluefields and
level that base. After Bluefields they’ll move inland all the way to
Managua
.”

 
          
“This
is not a bluff, Mr. Ambassador,” Curtis said. “Once those planes are airborne,
we’re committed.”

 
          
“The
President has approval from Congress, sir,” Van Keller said. The Speaker of the
House of Representatives and the congressional Majority Leader was sweating.
“The plan was presented early this morning to the Senate and House committee
chairmen. We stand behind the President.”

 
          
“All
right
, ” Vilizherchev said. “The bombers,
the cruise missiles, the attacks against
Honduras
... I invented them. I had to find a way to
regain at least some of my bargaining position—”

 
          
“This
is not the time for diplomatic face-saving, Mr. Ambassador,” the President
said. “In five minutes those planes launch.”

 
          
“I
have been ordered to negotiate a way to turn the fighter back to you,”
Vilizherchev said. “No conditions. The General Secretary has directed it be
done immediately.”

 
          
“Is
the aircraft flyable?” Curtis asked.

 
          
“Yes.
It is at Puerto Cabezas, as you already know. It was flown there to avoid the
attack against Sebaco.”

 
          
“What
about the pilot? What about James?”

           
“A KGB agent, the project was run by
the KGB. The General Secretary learned of the theft of the aircraft only after
it landed in
Nicaragua
. The General Secretary never agreed to keep
the aircraft in
Nicaragua
—he never knew of the plan to move it out of
your country. The whole affair was run by Vladimir Kalinin of the KGB.”

 
          
“So
why should the KGB turn the aircraft over to us now?” Deborah O’Day asked. “If
they control the aircraft . . .”

 
          
“The
aircraft is now in the hands of the Soviet army, not the KGB. Colonel Maraklov
has been ordered to return to Sebaco to await transportation to
Moscow
via
Managua
. The army has orders to make the aircraft
ready to be flown out of
Nicaragua
.”

 
          
Deborah
O’Day looked at the President. “Sir, it is over . . .”

 
          
“Not
yet,” the President said. “I’ll cancel the air strike, but I’m keeping the
George Washington
on station. I don’t
trust these people. Not any more. Wilbur, I want you in the Situation Room for
a meeting. Postpone the air strikes for now.” Curtis nodded, a faint hint of a
smile on his face not detectable by anyone, and departed.

 
          
“Then
I suggest sending in a security force to guard the aircraft,” Stuart said,
“until we can figure out how we can get the aircraft out of there.”

 
          
“General
Elliott is in the
Cayman
Islands
in control
of the air forces,” O’Day said. “He has a man that can fly DreamStar— only
specially trained pilots can fly it. He can send in a security unit with the
pilot and some technicians that can inspect the aircraft. He can make the
decision on how to get DreamStar out.”

 
          
The
President nodded to O’Day, then looked at the Russian ambassador.

 
          
Vilizherchev
understood that look. “I assure you, the General Secretary is anxious to be
done with this . . . incident.”

 
          
“Bill,
get down to the Situation Room, advise Mr. Kemp to hold the Second Fleet’s air
raid but tell them to stay on the alert.” Stuart nodded and departed.

 
          
“Deborah,
set up a satellite call in the conference room with General Elliott. We will
plan this thing together so the ambassador knows what we’ll want from his
people and the Nicaraguans. I’ll meet you all there in a minute.” Van Keller,
Danahall and Vilizherchev filed out of the Oval Office, led by Cesare, but
Deborah O’Day stayed behind.

 
          
“What
is it, Debbie?”

 
          
“Did
I hear all this correctly a minute ago? Did I hear you say you had elements of
the Second Fleet ready to invade
Nicaragua
?”

 
          
“You
must have heard it correctly,” the President said with the hint of a smile.
“Kemp and Curtis heard it, too.”

 
          
O’Day
said, “Strike aircraft with heavy bombs on board usually have to jettison their
bombs before recovering back on the carrier. But I’m confused. I didn’t know
anything about an invasion plan. Did you formulate a plan with John and—” She
stopped, then stared at the President. “You
made
that up?”

 
          
“I
thought Vilizherchev might be lying to me again,” the President said, “so I
raised the stakes on him. He had nothing in his hand but he wanted to challenge
me. The guy has balls. Without authorization, without anything to back himself
up with, the guy stood in front of me and threatened us with war if
we
didn’t back off.”

 
          
“So
what will you do if the Russians won’t turn DreamStar over to us? Will you
invade
Nicaragua
after all?”

 
          
“Yes.
He forced my hand, whether he knew it or not. Now we both have to live with
that threat. Hell, I wish we did have congressional authorization for an
invasion. Van Keller makes a good poker player, too. He played right along,
just like you and Wilbur.

 
          
“If
the Russians don’t turn over DreamStar, I’m prepared to destroy Puerto Cabezas,
then order the Marines to occupy it. We’ll have to make a decision on whether
or not to go after those other airfields and bases after that.”

Sebaco
,
Nicaragua

Sunday, 21 June 1996
, 1192 CDT (1092 EDT)

 
          
“Am
I under arrest?” Andrei Maraklov said, pulling himself away from the KGB Border
Guards that had escorted him into Sebaco’s command post.

 
          
General
Tret’yak turned toward him, waving at the guards to leave him. “Arrest? No,
Colonel, you are not under arrest. Why would you think such a thing?”

 
          
“Because
some Russian and Nicaraguan army bozos dragged me out of DreamStar and threw me
into a helicopter to take me back here,” Maraklov said. “What the hell is going
on? I can’t allow DreamStar to be left alone and unprotected like that. And I
want my flight suit back. That’s a delicate piece of equipment—”

 
          
“It’s
no longer your concern, Colonel. You don’t look so well, Colonel Maraklov.
Apparently Central
America
does not agree with you.”

 
          
Actually
Maraklov did look in poor health. Most of the men under Tret’yak’s command,
because of bad water, stress and the spicy food had lost weight after coming to
Nicaragua, but Maraklov had only been here a week and he looked emaciated. The
elastic belt on his flight suit was drawn in so much that the ends overlapped
halfway around his waist, and his eyes looked almost ghostly in the command
center’s stark overhead lighting. He also seemed to be losing hair. Could he be
on drugs? No—Maraklov was guarded night and day and observed through hidden
cameras while in his room. If he was doing drugs he was being very crafty
indeed to escape detection.

 
          
Maraklov’s
anger flared. “Forget my waistline, General. What do you mean, DreamStar is no
longer my concern?”

 
          
“The
army has been ordered to take control of the aircraft, effective immediately.”

 
          
“And
what are they going to do with it?”

 
          
“I
don’t know or care. My job is to get this base operational again. Your fighter,
or you for that matter, are no longer my concern.”

 
          
“My
mission was to deliver that aircraft to
Ramenskoye
Test
Center
in
Moscow
,” Maraklov said. “I have authority to
demand assistance from all Soviet or allied forces. That includes you—”