No reply. Strange.
A crew chief was hauling a huge Halon fire bottle over to the left inboard engine pylon and several of his assistants were positioning themselves around the B-52 to act as safety observers for this engine start. Briggs suddenly found himself in the middle. He got inside his sedan, closed the windows against the sound of external power carts being started, switched on the engine, and headed for the security checkpoint to watch the taxi and takeoff.
But as the first dull roar of the number four engine began to invade the early morning air, Briggs stopped the car just short of the checkpoint. He was perhaps four hundred yards from Hangar Five. Still no sign of Jacinto. Hal picked up his car microphone. “Five Foxtrot, this is Hotel. How copy?” No reply. “Five Foxtrot, this is Hotel. Come in. Over.”
There may have been a reply but Briggs couldn’t hear it over the steady scream of the eight turbofan engines on the massive B-52 bomber. The crew was running through their pre-takeoff equipment checks. The three-thousand-watt taxi lights on the front landing gear trucks flashed insistently at him, indicating that the B-52’s attack radar was on. Briggs was parked right in front of the bomber. He started his car and moved away from the B-52’s front quarter.
The pre-takeoff checks were running quietly. As Hal Briggs continued to try to raise Five Foxtrot, the crew chief ran in front of the Megafortress Plus with two lighted wands, and using hand signals ordered his assistants to pull the B-52’s wheel chocks.
Hal considered cruising over to the guard post but it was too late. The crew chief swirled his wands in the air, a signal to Ormack and Khan in the cockpit that they were clear to run up their engines for taxi. The engines, began a deafening roar and the huge bomber lumbered forward. It stopped briefly to test its brakes, then taxied out quickly onto the ramp and moved toward the open exit-gate. Rover Nine and Rover Seven, the two M113 combat vehicles, fell in on either side of the B-52, their gun turrets now manned and armed with automatic cannons.
Briggs let out a loud sigh of relief when the B-52 taxied clear of Hangar Five — if there had been a commando or terrorist there he would have struck then, as the Megafortress taxied right in front. He almost expected to see a bazooka or TOW anti-tank missile round hit the Old Dog’s jet-black surface, but there was no movement. Hal keyed his car’s mike:
“All units, be advised aircraft exiting main parking ramp heading for taxiway delta. Begin pre-launch sweep check and report to Red Man when complete. Red Man, report status to Hotel when complete.”
“Red Man, wilco.”
Hal put his car in gear and fell in well behind the B-52 as it headed down the taxiway toward the sand-colored four-mile-long runway. The security units surrounding Dreamland were reporting in to Red Man Security Control as briefed. Individual tactical units would report to their sector commands, who would report to their team leaders, who would report to Red Man. Everything was going smoothly.
The last to report in were the units not involved with the B-52’s operations — base security, individual building security and standing flight-line checkpoints. It took several minutes, by which time all units had reported in as ordered … all except Five Foxtrot.
That did it. Definitely something wasn’t right here. Hal Briggs stopped his car dead in its tracks and picked up the mike: “Five Foxtrot, this is Hotel. Check in immediately. Over.”
He couldn’t wait any longer — Lovyyev could hear the irritation in the voice of whoever this Hotel character was. Orlov had disappeared into the hangar. For an instant he thought that Orlov was running, escaping before the security patrols closed in, but he knew better. Orlov was one of the best KGB operatives in North America. He would never run out on a mission unless it was completely hopeless, and he certainly wouldn’t run out on another operative.
He had to answer, but he needed to sound convincing. What was the nationality of the security guard they killed? Spanish? Mexican? Why didn’t the United States use one damned race in the military like most of the rest of the world? In the Soviet Union they used Russian soldiers. Other nationalities swept floors or collected garbage.
Taking a deep breath, he composed his reply in his mind, as taught to him in an all-day cram course by Orlov, and keyed the mike: “Five Foxtrot, all secure. Over.”
A chill ran down his spine. Hal had a tough time hearing the faint response, but even if it had been a whisper it wouldn’t have made any difference.
That was not Rey Jacinto on the mike.
The Old Dog had now reached the end of the runway. It paused for a few moments as it aligned with the runway centerline. For an instant Hal thought that now would be the perfect time to strike — here, away from the ramp, isolated and vulnerable — but as he began to issue orders to cover the bomber from attack, the engines slowly accelerated to full thrust and the huge plane rolled down the runway.
Hal Briggs stared transfixed at the huge dark creature blasting down the runway. He could see huge puffs of dust and sand erupting from the edge of the semi-camouflaged runway, those could be mortar rounds impacting near the plane — which conjured up the memory of the last time he had seen the Old Dog take off eight years ago, not five hundred yards from this very spot, when there were mortar rounds exploding all around them. The same sense of fear gripped him …
But this time it turned out to be huge dust clouds kicked up by the wingtip vortices generated by the Old Dog. A few moments later the bomber was airborne, the gear was up, the SST nose retracted into flight position and the Old Dog was racing skyward once again. It climbed nose-up, more like a light fighter plane than a half-million-pound strategic bomber.
In minutes the B-52 was out of sight. No alerts, no warnings. Members of the M113 Rover crews had gotten out of their ACVs to watch the takeoff. Hal checked Five Foxtrot once again. He could see clearly inside the hangar, but there was no sign of any munitions maintenance men in there, and the missiles were still on DreamStar’s handpoints beside the air intake. A power cart was hooked up to DreamStar, with hoses and cables snaking around to the fighter’s service panel, and now that the Old Dog had departed, Hal could hear the roar of the external power cart’s jet engine. It was as if the MMS crew had simply left the plane alone and on power to watch the Old Dog’s takeoff. That was a major breach of security, not to mention good sense. You never left a plane unattended with power and air on. Jacinto knew that — where was he during all this? And whose was that voice on the mike? Or was he imagining …?
The upper hatch on the armored car was open, and Briggs noticed that a fifty-caliber machine gun was now mounted on the armor-shielded gun bracket on the car’s roof. Still no sign of Jacinto. Maybe he had watched the takeoff, after all. But why mount his machine gun now? Or had he done it during taxi?
Briggs picked up his microphone. “Five Foxtrot, report status and location of the work crew at your location. Over.”
No reply.
“Red Man, this is Hotel, radio check.”
“Hotel, this is Red Man. Five by.”
It wasn’t his radio. Was there a radio “blind spot” out here? Was Jacinto’s radio malfunctioning? If it was, he should have gotten a replacement long ago—if it was Rey Jacinto in there.
“Roger. Break. Rover Nine, meet me at Five Foxtrot on the double. Over.”
“Rover Nine on the move.” Briggs could see the two alert crewmen run back inside the ACV. The low-slung, eleven-ton mini-tank made a tight turn and headed back toward the parking ramp on its twin-steel tracks.