“What’s that for?” asked O’Neil.
“It’s synced to a satellite so I can see what’s going on outside.” Josh knew the ensigns were not happy, so he tried to smooth things over.
“Cool,” replied McLeary. “We’ll be able to see everything the spaceships see.”
“Yeah.”
The War Eagle began a steep dive. Josh grabbed the console and nervously hung on. “We’re going down.” He tried not to look alarmed.
The ensigns smelled the uneasiness and decided to play on it. “Yup. Then we’ll go back up. It’s a regular roller coaster as we try to shake things loose and resecure. It’ll go on for some time.”
“How deep will we go?”
O’Neil smiled. “As deep as you want.”
“Past two thousand?”
“Way past that, Captain. Believe me, we’ll be down there.”
The two grinned as they watched the beads of sweat roll down Josh’s brow. They offered no help.
The Satire Lounge was the only place in Washington that Dan went to hide from the rest of the world. It was an old bar, barely kept in working order with tired help and equally tired customers. Neither the decorations nor the people had changed since 1963. He was a regular now, and no one took notice of him. Dan was secretly making decisions that could affect the world. A buxom barmaid who had many miles on her approached. “Need another?”
“Yeah,” replied Dan. “A few more then I’ll hit the road.”
“It’s been a while since we’ve seen you here.”
“You probably won’t see me again for some time,” he said, sucking the foam from the top of the bottle.
“That’s too bad. You’re about the only guy I’d consider going to bed with in this joint.” The barmaid smiled, clearly indicating her sincerity.
Dan was flattered. “I’ll remember that. Who knows, I could hold you to it.”
“I hope you do,” she replied, walking away.
He was almost sad to see her go. For one brief moment, his mind had been distracted from the operation. It was a good feeling because his headache had disappeared. Now it slipped back. He was ready to immerse himself in self-doubt and pity when Admiral Sukudo burst through the door. Each was equally surprised to see the other.
“What the hell are you doing here, Dan?”
“I could ask you the same question, Ken.”
“I’ve got a little unfinished business to wrap up with a senator on the hill.” Sukudo took the stool next to him. “I always come here when I’m in town.”
“You sure travel a hell of a lot.”
Sukudo ordered a beer and lit a small cigar. “You get drunk?”
“Only here.”
“Good. We’ll both get drunk together.”
The barmaid approached and recognized Sukudo. “You haven’t been in here in ages, Captain.”
Josh smiled at her incorrect identification of Sukudo’s uniform.
“Well, honey, I may not be back for a couple of months.”
“That’s too bad,” she replied. “You’re about the only man in here I’d go to bed with.”
“I could take you up on that one day,” Sukudo said with a grin.
“I hope you do,” the barmaid returned with a sneaky smile. She left, and Dan chuckled quietly.
“Nice girl, don’t you think?” Sukudo said.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Positioning
This sucks, thought Nick. Why did I get a pilot’s license again? The ride in the C-141 was more than uncomfortable. Turbulence the complete distance, with two air refuelings. At times, he thought if the plane didn’t break apart he would die from being beat against his cold metal seat. He had thrown up three times, once in his lap.
It was obvious that the only people who knew the location of the drop zone were Nick and the pilot. The rest of the crew didn’t know why he was there, and the sailplane raised even more questions. He could see they were uneasy at times, especially after the last refueling. Half an hour from drop, the captain came back to tell Josh to prepare. “Fortunately, we’ll be able to give you a good dump,” he said. “It looks like we’ll be passing through a lot of clean air.”
“Just when I was getting used to it.” Nick undressed the sailplane from its restraints. “How long?”
“Twenty minutes. We’ll open the door and push you out on the green light.”
“Sounds fair enough.” He unlatched the cab and began prepping.
“This thing will hold together?” asked the pilot.
Nick grinned. “Will yours?”
“Be in the cockpit in ten. I’ll instruct my crew after that.”
“I’ll be ready.”
He was actually set in five. The waiting then seemed to last for ages. The cockpit on the sailplane was closed when a crewman rapped against it to signal the back door was to be opened.
Nick expected to see the sun, but instead he was met with pitch-dark. He reached for the navigational switch and flipped on a heads-up display against the windshield. I really hope there’s a field down there somewhere. A second rap against the cockpit gave the push signal, and the plane was thrust out of the C-141 and sent plummeting toward the ground.
The altimeter read forty-three thousand feet and dropping. Because the wings were still folded over the sailplane’s back it rocketed toward the earth in a vertical, undulating spin. Nick toggled the switch to hydraulically extend the wings forward and out. The air was still relatively thin, giving the wings little resistance so they could snap into place. He had to drop another ten thousand feet before there would be enough air to create a foil under the plane to start flying. The controls were mush against the relatively high altitude. His display began blinking, indicating that someone down there was expecting him. He was still three miles up with nothing but blackness below when his craft began to seriously glide through the night. His small radio crackled with the voice of the C-141 captain.
“How was the drop, little chicken?”
“The egg survived,” he radioed back. “See you when I get back.”
His indicator pointed due north so he sloshed the plane into position and let her ride for half an hour. He was dropping faster than anticipated, which told him there was very little warm air to push his plane against in case he had to make a circle. It didn’t matter, though, because out of the blackness came three lights in an upside-down L. It was his field, and someone was waiting for him. That, at least, was a relief. He dipped the nose and closed quickly on the lights. Then with the grace of a swan he went full on the ailerons and quietly set the plane down in a small field. It was a perfect landing, except that his single wheel on the belly became clogged with grass and locked, driving the nose into the ground. No harm to him, though.
Flashlights flooded the cockpit, and Nick opened it to the sweet sound of a young female. “You are Nicholas Shaw?”
“I am he,” he said, trying to see past the light beam.
“Good. You are to come with me.” She spoke Russian with a Ukrainian accent.
He understood her perfectly but mistakenly answered in English. “Who are you?”
“Use your Russian,” she replied angrily. The light bent to the beautiful face of a woman of about thirty. She had large, wide-set eyes and well-defined cheekbones. Her hair was deep black, and Nick could tell she had the body to match her gorgeous face. At the moment, it struck him as funny. He had just landed illegally in the marshes south of Minsk and east of Kiev, only to find a girl he was instantly attracted to. Now was not the time for him to think about the birds and the bees.
It was a private airport crammed with jets on every inch of the tarmac. To look at it one would think that every Arab owned a plane. The airport itself was busy with the international travels of the wealthy from all corners of the globe. Security was present but not invasive. There were three checkpoints for cars to pass through upon arrival, and once through, no one questioned a person’s motive for flying or what one was carrying onto a private plane. This made it easy for Mohsen to carry a small suitcase filled with money through the building as he waited for the pilots to ready the small, nondescript jet. He estimated that his flight would be ready in fifteen minutes, and still there was no sign of Akbar, as he knew George. Mohsen decided he was leaving when the craft was ready, with or without George.