Her question surprised Zhun Be. "I have met him," he acknowledged. "He is dangerous. It is rumored that he works for Colonel Quan."
Shu Li started for the door. "We will use the back elevator. My car is parked out back of the hotel. We will take the side streets until we get to Hangko Park; then we will go by way of the old airport road."
Zhun Be swallowed hard. Warning the Canadians was one thing. Driving to Zebo by treacherous back roads in the middle of a prolonged storm was another.
Bogner, again carrying Schubatis, located an access door at the rear of the refueling depot. He unscrewed a small light over the door and entered a darkened area littered with spare aircraft parts and workbenches. Through the open door he could see into the main bay of the hangar. With the exception of a lighted area at the far end, it was dark. The only light came from a bank of floodlights on tne roof overlooking the tarmac in front of the hangar.
Bogner waited and listened. When he was convinced no one had heard him, he propped the unconscious Schubatis in an area between two benches, stuffed the gag back in the Russian's mouth, unshouldered the SMG, and stepped out into the hangar, staying close to the wall in the shadows.
A small utility vehicle pulled into the hangar through the main doors. A man got out and walked to a nearby bench, picked up some tools, got back in the truck, and drove away. Moments later, a man wearing a flight suit emerged from the shadows and walked toward the Covert. Bogner held his breath.
Driver circled the Covert, kicked the chocks away from the nose gear and load wheels, and began groping his way along the fuselage in the semidarkness. He was systematically familarizing himself with the plane's exterior featuresmany of which would let him know what to expect in the Covert's cockpit.
He knew the F-117 like the back of his hand. More than a year of testing the plane at Tonopah had ensured that. Thus far he hadn't detected anything that would make him think Schubatis and his engineers had deviated much from the original design. Schubatis was goodbut he wasn't any smarter than the boatload of Lockheed engineers who had put the original Have Blue together. If Schubatis had made changes, they would be in the cockpit area where the Russians did their own thingand they would be in the performance parameters. If the Russians held true to form, the Covert was bound to be heavier and its performance would be sluggish by comparison.
Driver's hands traced along the inboard edge flaps and the outboard elevens, around to the front of the wings and then on to the nose of the aircraft. The Covert had the same large suck-in doors on top of the air intakes that provided extra air to the F-117 during taxi and takeoff.
At the base of the boarding ladder, he tightened the laces of Borisov's G suit to compensate for their minimal difference in size, mounted, and lowered himself into the cockpit. His hunch about Schubatis tinkering with the cockpit layout had been right. Everything was there, but in a different configuration. There was the predictable HUD, head-up display, and the conventional FLIR CRT. The main control panel had three standard multifunctional display CRTs instead of two, as well as the large screen used to convey data during hostile engagement. The electro-optical unit was lower and not as conveniently positioned as the one in the F-117. Driver figured that was because the forward-looking infrared sensor turret was bulkier and diminished the pilot's field of vision.
In addition to the cockpit layout, Driver had confirmed one other thing: The red light he had spotted from the catwalk was in fact a warmer button. He was in luck: Borisov had spent too much time in alert hangars. The Russian's precautions would save him precious minutes when he fired the Covert's engines. He checked his harness and the position of the throttles. Unlike the F-117, the Covert had two, one on each side of the twin-seated cockpit. He released the engage pin, shoved it into a lock down position, and locked out the right-seat controls.
It occurred to Driver that he could get the Covert out of therenow. All he had to do was wait until the engine temperatures came up, confirm fuel load and full fuel flow, achieve RPM, and hit the throttle with the butt of his right hand. No complications. No waiting for Bogner or Schubatis. Instead he terminated the sequence, positioned it in the SR, stand by/ready mode, and elevated the temp in the prewarming unit. Already the sensor was giving him an intermittent ready reading. When it gave him a consistent red glow, the Covert was ready.
A small smile played with the corners of Driver's mouth. The only thing that would be missing was a way of seeing the look on Quan's face when he realized some son of a bitch was high-tailing it out of Danjia with his Covert, stolen from right under his nose.
He had carried it as far as he could. The Covert was ready. He crawled out of the cockpit and examined the small area immediately behind the plane's flight station. He jerked out the wiring to the backup computer and the flight recorder; then he lifted the module out and sat it in the left seat. To make more room, he pulled out the firing mechanism for the left seat and inserted the hinged lock pin. If Bogner did make it and Schubatis had to be stuffed into the area behind the flight control center, the left seat wouldn't fire when Driver ejected.
This was the part of it Driver had though out very carefully. If by some miracle the Covert didn't disintegrate upon impact, and if the plane was recovered from the waters of the gulf, all they would find was the body of the missing Schubatis. Driver's smile intensified; let Colchin and his cronies try to explain that one to old Moshe.
He checked his watch and wondered if Bogner and Schubatis would make it. Time had run out; it was now or never. He picked up the computer module, climbed down, and headed for his rendezvous with Bogner at the north end of the hangar. If Bogner was there, so be it. It only ensured his being able to report that Schubatis was dead, somewhere in the depths of the Gulf of Tonkin. If Bogner didn't make it, the only difference was he wouldn't know how the two men had died.
Colonel Quan did not know the young officer by name, only that he had been recently transferred from the garrison at Huanglui. Thin and wet, still wearing a rain poncho, this officer was unlike the others. He did not cower. He stood erect and met Quan's eyes while he made his report.
''Are you certain?" Quan demanded.
"Yes, Colonel, one of the fire crew found the body of the guard after he helped extinguish the fire in the downed Komisko. He had been told to report for duty in the cell block. When he was unable to locate the guard, he thought he might be sleeping. He found the body behind the guard shack at the south entrance of the cell block. The guard's neck had been broken, and there is evidence to indicate that the man's body was dragged around behind the shelter to keep it from being discovered."
Quan reached for the telephone, but the officer held up his hand.
"I have already informed Lieutenant Yew. I insisted that he take a small squad of men and search the area."
Quan frowned. The young officer's brazenness had taken him by surprise. "You insisted?" he repeated. "Need I remind you, Lieutenant, that I am in command herethat I am the one who countermands standing orders?"
The officer inclined his head forward in a mock bow. "Perhaps I should inform the Colonel that I was assigned here by order of General Han Xihui, the son of Chairman Han. I have been in contact with the General a number of times over the past few weeks, and as recently as one hour ago."
Quan rocked back in his chair. "Perhaps I should remind you that I am the commanding officer in Danjia," he said. "Your General Han has no authority here."