It had to happen sometime, and Maslov chose not to attempt faking a response.
The ground controller tried several more times over the next ten minutes. He then apparently went to another frequency because it was his voice which came up on another radio.
“Carrier, this is Baikonur Cosmodrome”
“Baikonur, Carrier.”
“Carrier, I want to talk to your commanding officer. Immediately.”
Several minutes went by, and Maslov waited. His anticipation built quickly.
“Baikonur Cosmodrome, Carrier. I am Colonel Volontov.”
Volontov. The bloody bastard who failed me in the Mako training course. If Volontov could but see me now…
“We may have an emergency, Colonel Volontov. Soyuz Fifty did not make its routine check-in, and we cannot raise them on the radio now.”
“Perhaps it is simply a communications problem,” Volontov said.
“The commanding general would like to know when your next resupply flight is scheduled.”
“It is planned, just a minute… for tomorrow morning at eight o’clock our time.”
“Is it possible to advance the time?” the ground controller asked.
“Certainly,” Volontov replied with his customary assuredness. “I can launch within the hour.”
“The commanding general requests that you prepare for the flight. He is now calling General Sheremetevo to confirm the request.”
“Very well, Baikonur. We will initiate preparations. I will pilot the craft personally.”
Maslov smiled to himself. Events could not have progressed better if I had planned them myself.
“Andrews, Delta Blue.”
“Delta Blue? Uh, this is Andrews. Go ahead.”
“Delta Blue now squawking IFF. Requesting permission to land.”
“Ah, Blue, we see you. You got awfully close before we did.”
“That’s the idea, Andrews. I need a runway.”
“Well, ah, Blue, we don’t have a flight plan on you. I don’t think you’re authorized to land here.”
“We have been summoned, Andrews. What you do is divert traffic for fifteen minutes and shut down the lights on one of your runways. We’ll land in the dark and park in one of your hangars. We’ll want security on the craft.”
“Hold on, Blue.”
On the ICS, McKenna said, “Tiger, let me have the night vision.”
“Comin’ up, Snake Eyes.”
The navigational map disappeared from the CRT and was replaced by the green-tinged view from the night vision lens. The traffic on the Capital Beltway was clearly defined. Ahead were the lights and runways of Andrews Air Force Base, twenty miles away. On his right, through the canopy, McKenna saw the lights of Washington, D.C., with the Washington Monument impressively illuminated. At nine o’clock at night, with an October snow on the ground, the scene was clear and clean and pure. It wouldn’t be that way when they got into it.
“Delta Blue, Andrews Air Control.”
“Andrews, Delta Blue.”
“Blue, we’re going to give you two-seven-right. We’ll be cutting the lights in four minutes.”
“Roger, Andrews. Two-seven-right.”
“Somebody told him we’re welcome, jefe.”
The air controller gave him the visibility, wind, and barometric pressure.
“Delta Blue requesting right-hand approach, Andrews.”
“Blue, right-hand approach approved.”
“No sense in wasting all that fuel by going clear around, hey, Snake Eyes?”
“We may be wasting the precious time of important congressmen, Tiger.”
“Congresspersons,” Munoz said. “You gotta come of age, Snake Eyes.”
“Keep me straight,” McKenna told him.
“Doin’ my best.”
McKenna eased into a left turn to give himself some distance from the eastern boundary of the air base, and after covering ten miles, turned back to the right. He moved the throttles back and dropped the speed to 350 knots.
“Altitude one-two-hundred, amigo. There’s a plane goin’ over us by five hundred. He’s the one got kicked out of his landin’ approach, I’ll bet.”
“He’ll be cussing us,” McKenna agreed.
Through the windscreen, he saw the runway lights align themselves with the MakoShark as he sideslipped to the left, then abruptly, the lights went out. He refocused his eyes on the video image.
At Peterson Air Base in Colorado Springs, the runway had infrared lights, and they normally landed there using the infrared imaging. Here, it was enhanced night vision, but it was about the same as landing at early dawn. The runway was clearly visible, coming up fast.
“Flaps,” Munoz called.
“Twenty percent,” McKenna replied as he deployed the flaps.
“Gear.”
He hit the switch. Three greens.
“Down and locked.”
“Two-sixty… two-fifty. Put her down nicely now,” Munoz intoned.
The MakoShark settled onto the darkened runway easily and the rollout took them to the western end of the base. A pickup met them and led them back to a cluster of hangars, all of which had had their lighting doused. The operations officer wasn’t taking any chances on having the MakoShark seen on his turf. He didn’t want to respond to a disciplinary hearing if a picture of Delta Blue showed up in the morning papers.
With the engines shut down inside a hangar, and the massive doors rolling closed, McKenna and Munoz opened their canopies and unhooked. They left their helmets and environmental suits in the cockpits and descended to the floor on ladders designed for some other aircraft.
The welcoming committee consisted of one lieutenant and one grizzled master sergeant.
There were no lights on in the hangar. The sergeant carried a six-cell flashlight aimed at the floor, and in its reflected glare, the two of them saluted.
McKenna and Munoz returned the salutes and accepted the scrutiny. They were both in wrinkled flight suits and scuffed flight boots. They donned overseas caps during their examination.
Both of them sported a day’s growth of beard, which, judging by the distaste displayed on his face, didn’t seem to strike the lieutenant as appropriate for the center of the government and the military. McKenna suspected they smelled about as grubby as they looked.
The lieutenant said, “Colonel, General Madden has informed me that we are to keep this aircraft secure. I have guards posted, and we will keep the lights off.”
“Good, Lieutenant. We need a car right away.”
“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant unclipped a portable radio and spoke into it.
McKenna turned to the sergeant. “Sarge, we need to top off the JP7 tanks, but that’s all the service she’ll need.”
“I’ll take care of it personally, Colonel.”
“If you’ll go with Major Munoz, he’ll show you the access panels.”
The two of them walked under the MakoShark as Munoz led the man to the rear.
“We’ll have a car outside for you in about ten minutes, Colonel,” the lieutenant said. “Will you be needing anything else, sir?”
“If the car has a phone, no.”
“It is equipped with a telephone,” the young officer assured him.
McKenna patted the underside of the nose. “Take care of her, Lieutenant.”
“Uh, sir?”
“Yes?”
“Am I allowed to look?”
McKenna grinned, “As long as you don’t tell anyone what you’ve seen.”
“Yes, sir.”
He and Munoz were waiting outside the hangar when the Air Force blue Chevy sedan pulled up. McKenna waved the driver back into his seat, and they crawled in the back. The sergeant at the wheel asked, “Where to, sir?”
“I don’t know, yet. Head into the district and hand me the phone.”
McKenna took the telephone and dialed the general number for the Pentagon. He asked for the duty officer and told him he wanted to speak to anyone in the office of the Air Force Chief of Staff.