He updated Cross on the FBI’s investigation.
“This tell you anything, Marvin?”
“A couple things, Hannibal. First of all, there’s a relatively large organization involved.”
“Tell me about it, would you?”
“They had assets inside CONUS to stage the missile theft, and they feel they can waste manpower by killing off these guys, probably to prevent interrogation.”
“That’s one,” Cross said.
“Then, every incident has been well-planned, and there’s a sequence to the events. One, grab the MakoShark. Two, divert a shipment of fuel for it. Three, arm it.”
“That’s good planning, but not necessarily an organization, Marv.”
“No, but I don’t see one renegade pilot taking it on by himself.”
“You go along with Pearson on the pilot angle?”
“I have to, after McKenna briefed me on Delta Green’s evasion tactics. The pilot has experience in the machine, Hannibal.”
“All right, I’ll buy it, too. What next?”
“If it’s a terrorist group, we can expect attacks on something important and attention-getting, say, commercial air liners.”
“Jesus, Marv! Don’t tell me that”
“I don’t want to, believe me,” Brackman said. “It’s a scenario we have to consider, though.”
“Okay, you’re right. So let’s say we’ve got an organization of some kind involved,” Cross said. “Whether it uses terrorist tactics or something else, there’s got to be a political ideology involved.”
“I’m with you, Hannibal.”
“They go to the trouble of stealing themselves a massive piece of firepower.”
“You know my position,” Brackman said. “I see each MakoShark as equivalent to a squadron. At least.”
“They do this for one of two reasons. To protect the organization or to impose their ideologies on everyone around them.”
“Or both,” Brackman said.
“Right. We need to know the objectives of the organization, Marv.”
“Pearson’s scenario has ex-Soviet pilots involved. And she has leads, through connections to the pilots, on ex-Soviet general officers. Right-wing types.”
“People who don’t think the Party’s dead and buried, you suppose, Marv?”
“It’s probably worth investigation, Hannibal.”
“I’ll spread that word among the right agencies,” Cross said.
Aleksander Maslov and Boris Nikitin returned to New World Base after moonset.
After spending so many hours parked in orbit, waiting for darkness to return to Southeast Asia, Maslov was rested and he thought that Nikitin had come down from his fear high.
The former Soviet major had become irritatingly repetitious, recounting a dozen times their amazing escapes from violent and explosive death. He could not commend Maslov enough on his skill as a pilot.
Maslov had modestly accepted the praise, well aware that it was indeed his skill at the controls, rather than technology, that had allowed them to evade six Wasp II missiles. The MakoShark was equipped with radar and infrared threat sensors that sounded warning beeps in the helmet earphones and illuminated alert notices on the Head-Up Display when the craft was under attack by missiles homing on its heat emanations or by missiles utilizing semi-active or active radar. The attacks on them, however, had not initiated any alarms. The Wasp II missiles had been guided visually by the weapons system operators in the pursuit craft, and the metallic content of the small Wasp IPs body was not sufficient to trigger the radar alarm. Maslov’s keen eyes spotting the missiles in flight and his acute sense of timing before wrenching the MakoShark into violent evasive maneuvers were the basic factors of their survival.
Maslov had allowed Nikitin the luxury of endless reconstructions of the episodes, not for Maslov’s ego, but for Nikitin’s personal development. The weapons officer had not served in Afghanistan, had never been in combat, and had never been under attack except for simulations. Now he knew the edge of fear and the lure of battle.
Maslov, too, had learned. He had discovered that the Americans were far more cunning than he had expected. Someone, somehow, had very rapidly made the connection between the theft of missiles in California and his expected return to the Southeast Asia region. And whoever they were, they had estimated the timing very well. In the future, he would not be so easily predicted.
He had also discovered, not only the capabilities of the MakoShark fighter, but its limitations when it was visible to the naked eye. Both factors must be weighed in his future decisioning.
He had also learned about luck. Despite Nikitin’s praise, Maslov knew that his skills as a pilot had been reinforced by luck.
They did not use the radar on the approach to New World Base this time. He relied strictly on the inertial navigation system to pinpoint the destination and issued only one radio message to prepare the airstrip for their arrival.
The landing was uneventful, and as soon as the MakoShark was parked in its revetment and the ground crews were unloading the missiles, General Oleg Druzhinin came across the runway to greet them.
Portable work lights lit the underside of the craft, and Maslov was overseeing the lowering of the crates from the payload bay. He was quite protective of his craft for there were no replacement parts available if a clumsy mechanic damaged a cargo door or access hatch.
Druzhinin walked under the wing and stood next to him.
“Comrade General.”
“We are very happy to see you again, Aleksander. I had to place a call to Chairman Shelepin, for he has been quite anxious.”
“We are here, General, and complete.” Maslov waved a hand lazily at the crates. “Complete with sixty of the advanced missiles.”
“That is excellent! And what of those who delivered them to you?”
“No one will mention an inappropriate name. Ever”
“That is good,” Druzhinin said.
“However, events may have proceeded beyond that point, General. They were waiting for us.”
“They?”
“I assume the pilots of the 1st Aerospace Squadron, on which I was once briefed. A colonel named Kevin McKenna is the commander. The chief pilots are Franklin Dimatta and Wilbur Conover.”
Standing under the wing in the humid night, slapping at the growing population of mosquitoes seeking bare skin, Maslov briefed his superior on the mission, from the loading of the cargo to the ambush by the MakoSharks to his decision to await darkness in orbit.
“I don’t believe it will be long before they pinpoint this base, General.”
Druzhinin pointed westward, toward the hospital.
“And I don’t believe the ruse of the hospital will hold them back for long.”
Druzhinin nodded slowly. “You are suggesting, Aleksander Illiyich, that we move up the schedule?”
“The third phase must be accomplished immediately if we are to protect this base, Comrade General. As well as protect the objectives of the Party.”
“I suspect that you are correct. I will speak to the Chairman.”
“As soon as possible, I think. Where are the warheads?” Maslov asked.
Druzhinin evaded the exact answer. “I could have them here in a matter of days.”
“Or sooner,” Maslov suggested. “We have now lost the luxury of time.”
Chapter Eleven
All of the letters or comments in Amy Pearson’s personnel file were commendatory. The adjectives describing her in Officer Efficiency Reports were “superior,” “responsible,” and “outstanding” She couldn’t remember once having harsh words directed at her orally or in writing as a result of her action or inaction.
Until now. And I’m a full colonel in the United States Air Force, for God’s sake.