‘You want a what?’
‘A fighter interceptor,’ Litvinoff insisted. ‘The Americans have managed to organize an air ambulance to fly them out of Russia. The only way to stop them is to shoot it down.’
‘How do you know they’re leaving the country? Perhaps this American is genuinely sick and they are heading for a hospital.’
‘I very much doubt that. I’ve just talked to one of the controllers at Sochi Airport, and the aircraft is now heading south, towards Turkey. The pilot advised the controllers that the American’s condition had worsened, and they’d decided to fly him to a hospital in Egypt.’
‘And how do you know that isn’t true?’
‘Three reasons,’ the investigator replied, with as much patience as he could muster. ‘First, Egyptian medical care is no better than you can find in our Russian hospitals, and it will take them even longer to reach Cairo than get to Moscow. Second, the pilot wouldn’t risk his licence by flying outside Russian airspace without first filing an international flight plan.’
‘And the other reason?’
‘The third reason,’ Litvinoff almost shouted, ‘is that the fucking aircraft has a stolen nuclear weapon on board. Now, do I get a fighter or not?’
‘Very well. I’ll make the call.’
Chapter Nine
Wilson was pleased: Vassily was doing exactly what he was told but, despite his own earlier assurances, the biggest problem they now had was fuel. The Cessna was flying at around twenty-two thousand feet, but they’d increased speed to just over two hundred knots, and that would have reduced the Cessna’s range significantly.
The other worry was that the Sochi controller — who hadn’t approved their change of route, but merely acknowledged the pilot’s transmission — might have alerted a Russian fighter base, and a couple of MiGs could be heading towards them right at that moment. If that happened, neither American was under any illusions about the outcome. Even at the Cessna’s maximum speed, it stood no chance of out-running a Mach 2 interceptor.
Before leaving London, Richter had drawn an Enigma T-301 mobile phone, a unit that offers military-level encryption as long as both parties are using compatible equipment.
He first checked into his room, then took the Enigma outside the building. He had absolutely no reason to believe that the hotel might contain surveillance devices, but Richter never trusted anyone, and he certainly didn’t want his conversation with Simpson to be overheard. It took only a few seconds before he heard the less than amiable tones of his superior.
‘Yes, Richter, what is it? Have you seen this man Holden?’
‘No. I’m in Bahrain, not Dubai.’
‘I know that. I sent you there, remember? I thought you might have seen him before you left the Emirates.’
‘There wasn’t time. Do you actually know why Six wanted me out here?’
‘They needed someone to run an identity check.’
‘Did they tell you who they think the subject is?’
‘No.’
‘Osama bin Laden.’
For a few moments there was silence. When Simpson spoke again, there was an angry edge to his voice. ‘No, they didn’t tell me that. The fucking idiots just requested one of our operatives, and stated that a briefing would be given on-site.’
Richter explained why they thought the hospital patient might be the Saudi renegade.
‘That’s rubbish, and you and I both know it. There’s no way bin Laden could have got to Bahrain without somebody tipping off the intelligence services. There’s just too much reward money involved.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘Well, since you’re there, you might as well do what Six want. Go run the check, then get back to Dubai and see Holden. Meanwhile, I’ll have a quiet word with Vauxhall Cross.’
Richter smiled as he ended the call. Simpson’s ‘quiet word’ would be the kind of debriefing that could end a man’s career.
The call from FSB headquarters didn’t produce the rapid results Litvinoff had hoped for. The colonel commanding the 960 IAP at Primorsko-Akhtarsk — the closest airfield to Sochi that had fighters immediately available — hadn’t accepted the identity of the FSB officer, and had insisted on calling him back through the military telephone system just to verify his location and authority to issue intercept instructions.
That had taken precious minutes. And, when the colonel had finally realized the genuine urgency of the matter, it had taken a further sixteen minutes before a MiG-29 aircraft and pilot had been assigned and four R-60M air-to-air missiles loaded. Known in the West as the AA-8 (NATO reporting name Aphid), this weapon is a short-range Mach 2 missile designed for tactical air combat.
The colonel delivered the mission briefing personally over the telephone to the pilot, Lieutenant Viktor Beleshayov.
‘The target’s a Cessna three four zero air ambulance. It left Sochi and is now heading for Turkey. Once you’re airborne, we’ll pass you an accurate fix from the air-defence system.’
‘And you want me to shoot it down? An air ambulance?’ Beleshayov was incredulous.
‘Yes,’ the colonel confirmed. ‘The orders from Moscow are absolutely specific. The target is to be intercepted and shot down. The aircraft has been hijacked by American spies who have stolen an item of highly classified military equipment.’
‘What kind of equipment?’
For a few moments the colonel didn’t reply, wondering whether to divulge what the FSB officer had told him. Finally he decided it might be a good idea if his subordinate knew exactly how serious the situation was.
‘Is there anyone near you? Anyone who can overhear?’
Beleshayov glanced round. ‘No, nobody.’
‘Right, this is for your ears only. The Americans have stolen a tactical-yield nuclear weapon. Now you know why it’s vital you stop that aircraft getting away.’
Beleshayov held the Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-29C (NATO reporting name Fulcrum) on the toe brakes, pushed the throttles forward to run the Kilmov/Sarkisov RD-33 turbojets up to full cold military power, then released the brakes and engaged the burners as the aircraft started its take-off roll. Ninety seconds later the interceptor was flying level at thirty-five thousand feet, heading south and approaching twice the speed of sound.
‘Zero Six Eight, Primorsko. Vector one seven zero. Frequency change approved.’
‘Zero Six Eight chopping to operational.’
Moments later, Beleshayov had established contact with the air-defence radar unit. ‘Zero Six Eight, vector one seven five. Target bears one six zero, range four hundred.’
Beleshayov quickly did the calculations. His aircraft was now travelling at twice the speed of sound, still in afterburner, and on an intercept course with the Cessna four hundred kilometres ahead of him. He should get a radar lock on it within about seven minutes, and reach the missile release point just four minutes after that — the R-60M is a very short-range weapon. But he was going to have to come out of burner well before that, because his aircraft was travelling far too rapidly to engage such a slow-moving target.
And, despite his briefing, Beleshayov was planning to carry out one unauthorized action. He was going to do a visual fly-by, a final personal check that the target had been correctly identified. There were numerous aircraft flying around the area, and Beleshayov had no intention of releasing his missiles until he was absolutely certain that he was targeting the right one.