Curtis and Elliott felt their hearts drop.
“You’d be placing those pilots in great jeopardy because you don’t trust the Russians to keep their word in this thing. You act like Stalin or Khrushchev is still in charge there.” He did not try to curb his temper; exhaustion, tension, concern and frustration had all built to a point he had to let loose. “And all to stop one aircraft and one pilot from possibly being flown out of Nicaragua, and all because you two failed to uncover a Soviet agent in your own organizations. No. You’re asking me to place more men’s lives at risk because of your screwups. You’re asking me to put this presidency in jeopardy to satisfy your need for revenge.”
The President swiveled his chair around and stared at the Central American chart. Secretary of Defense Stuart had trouble hiding his satisfaction — there was little doubt that he was going to enjoy being Taylor’s hatchet man when the order came down to get rid of Elliott and Curtis. Cesare had motioned in a young steward with a pot of coffee, quietly telling him to keep the president’s cup far out of reach in case his temper exploded again.
Elliott glanced at Deborah O’Day, who, to his surprise, seemed to be wearing a confident expression. What did she know? After that tirade, the President wasn’t going to—
“General Elliott.” The President was pointing at the chart. “I want another option for those pilots. Six to seven hours over-water in a single-seat fighter is too much, especially if they have to keep it up for days. What else have you got?”
Elliott stepped quickly to the chart, finding the place he wanted and putting a finger on it. “I’m afraid there are few other options, sir. In the eastern Caribbean we have landing rights only in Puerto Rico and Grenada, and possibly in Montserrat or Anguilla, but it still requires long overwater periods. It’s worse in the western Caribbean. There are several other coastal airfields in Honduras, including Puerto Lempira here, thirty miles north of the Nicaraguan border, but they’ve been abandoned by the military and probably aren’t secure. I wouldn’t recommend landing fighters there — the drug traffickers control the area better than the militia. Honduras has a small island, the Santanilla, between Honduras and the Cayman Islands, but their airfield is very small. Nine U.S. fighters and their support teams would quickly overwhelm the place. La Cieba is the best option—”
“Maybe not,” Deborah O’Day said. “General Elliott, you’ve already mentioned the Cayman Islands. Your assessment of that government’s response to a request for landing rights may be a bit premature. Sir, I’d like to follow up on this. Allow General Elliott’s fighters to take up their stations in the Caribbean. We can get permission from Honduras for landing rights in La Cieba. While the planes are airborne I’ll get permission from the Cayman Islands and the Brits to land and service our fighters. The Navy goes in there all the time — I don’t think a few fighters will bother them too much. I’ll work on landing rights in Montserrat too.”
“I don’t like this,” the President said. “We’re risking dozens of lives to guard against a breach of a legitimate deal with the Soviets. But like Reagan once said, ‘Trust, but cut the cards.’ All right, the operation is approved, General Elliott. Provided that we get landing rights in the Cayman Islands and Montserrat. If we don’t get authorization, your western fighters will refuel with their tanker, recover in Honduras for crew rest, then return to Panama, and the eastern fighters will stay in Puerto Rico. I’m not going to authorize extended overwater patrols. If they’re allowed to recover in Georgetown on Grand Cayman, or Plymouth on Montserrat, I want no more than four-hour patrols over-water. I’ll reserve judgment about follow-on naval operations until I get a briefing from the Navy. Understood?” Curtis and Elliott quickly said it was.
“Brief your pilots that I want no interference with normal air traffic in the area,” the President said. “It’s probably full of high-speed jets. I don’t want your people scaring any airliners or, much worse, pulling the trigger on the wrong target. Is that clear?”
“Absolutely, sir,” Curtis replied.
“I’ll be on board the AWACS and take on-scene control of the situation,” Elliott said.
“I’ve heard that one before. Wilbur, I want briefings every hour once this thing kicks off, beginning first thing in the morning. And be prepared to stand down your fighters if we get the right answer back from the Soviets.”
“Yes, sir.”
The President stood and walked out of the conference room without another word. Deborah O’Day went up to Elliott, a smile on her face.
“Thanks for the assist,” Elliott said quietly.
She stepped closer. “You owe me one, Bradley Elliott. And I expect prompt repayment, in full.”
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 to 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.”