"Yes, sir," Truesdell and Kerchner replied simultaneously. Brian Gaines, avoiding the vice president's eyes, nodded affirmatively.
Jarrett leaned back and turned his chair slightly sideways again. "Sam Gardner is scheduled to return this afternoon, so we'll plan to meet with him on his arrival. I want an opinion from our secretary of state before we go any further. In the meantime, Bernie, go ahead and implement your suggestions."
"Yes, sir," Kerchner replied.
"I'm going jogging," Jarrett said with determination. "Have some lunch and take a break. We'll get together with Norm Lasharr and Sam at three o'clock."
Steve Wickham sat on the DC-9's cockpit jump seat and watched the airport pass off to his left. The two young pilots, busy preparing the aging aircraft for landing, were in constant motion.
Wickham's mind drifted back to his conversation with the director of Clandestine Operations. More to the point, to the final topic of the covert operation brief-the method to be used to extract Wickham from Cuba.
The cargo jet turned from downwind of the airport to left base as Milligan's voice sounded in Wickham's mind. "We're going to use the skyhook to pick you up offshore the third night, if all goes according to plan."
Wickham, who was basically familiar with the challenging procedure, had listened carefully as Milligan explained the details. Approximately thirty minutes before Wickham was to reach the beach, which was estimated to be 0400 to 0430, the agent would send the signal for extraction. If the time was later than 0500, the pullout would have to be postponed until the following night.
The jet banked gently, turning on final approach for runway 12, as Wickham replayed the skyhook procedure. After sending the extraction signal, which would be transmitted via satellite to the OV-10 pilot orbiting off the Yucatan Peninsula, Wickham would slip back into his wet suit. Next he would don a special parachute harness connected to a 200-foot-long `bungy' cord. The tough, elastic cord was attached to a 140-foot-long thin nylon line with a modified weather balloon on the end.
After Wickham made his way out to sea, he would wait until he heard the OV-10, then pop the seal on the small cylinder of compressed helium attached to the balloon. The balloon would inflate to approximately 8 feet in diameter, carrying the strong elastic cord up 200 feet. At the end of the elastic cord, beneath a softball-sized rubber attachment, was a large cyalume chemical lightstick. Wickham would have to bend the end of the stick, prior to inflating the balloon, to activate the light.
The OV-10 pilot would be able to see the bright lightstick from a distance of five to eight miles. So would the Cubans. The risky extraction would have to be swift and flawless.
When the pilot spotted the eerie-looking light, he would head straight for it. He would place the glowing object in the center of a sight ring high on the front of his canopy, warn the winch operator in the back, then begin slowing to 100 knots.
The pilot would drop to 75 feet of altitude in order to be below the light and the rubber stop at the end of the tough elastic cord. The rubber flange would have to slide down from overhead the OV-10 to snag properly in the catch.
The wide, heavy-duty steel fork mounted through the nose of the aircraft would engage the elastic cord approximately 50 feet below the light. The hard rubber ball would snap into the V clutch as the nylon cord and balloon popped free.
Wickham, who would be facing the sound of the aircraft, would start accelerating through the water at a fairly rapid pace, then be snatched out quickly after the line stretched and recoiled. The pilot would add power and raise the Bronco's nose to assist the winch operator in snaring the elastic cord. The taut line, pressed to the belly of the OV-10, would be reeled into the small compartment below and behind the cockpit.
All well and good, Wickham thought as the DC-9 flared for landing, as long as the line did not touch either of the two spinning propellers. The pilot would have to fly perfectly straight until Wickham was safely inside the aircraft.
The jet slowed rapidly, turned off the runway, and taxied smoothly past the terminal building. As the pilots completed their after landing checklist, Wickham surveyed the various hangars. He looked down the shimmering ramp at the wide array of civilian aircraft. There was not a single airplane that looked even remotely like a Marine Corps OV-10 Bronco.
Wickham unbuckled his seat restraints after the cargo jet rolled to a smooth stop in front of a small, pale green hangar. The two sliding doors were open three feet, revealing the camouflaged nose of the OV-10 counterinsurgency (COIN) operations aircraft.
Wickham thanked the cargo crew for the smooth ride, waited for the copilot to open the door, then picked up his canvas bag and walked down the air-stair ladder. The scorching afternoon heat was a shock after the cool, dry atmosphere in the DC-9 cockpit.
Wickham could see a small group of people standing in the hangar. They were all staring at him. He hesitated, then started toward the open doors when a man in a sage green flight suit stepped out into the sun. He was of medium height, with dark brown hair and twinkling brown eyes. His standard issue flight suit was bereft of any insignia, patches, or name tag. There was no visual clue that the man was assigned to the VM0-1 squadron at the Marine Corps Air Station, New River, North Carolina.
"Welcome to our tropical paradise," the cheerful, smiling pilot said as he extended his hand. "I'm Greg Spidel, captain incognito, USMC."
Wickham shook Spidel's hand solidly as he introduced himself. "Steve Wickham. I understand you're the resident ace in OV-10s."
Spidel laughed. "Let's say that's one of a number of things I've been called."
"Know what you mean," Wickham smiled, immediately liking the friendly pilot.
"Hey," Spidel said, displaying his infectious grin, "all my friends call me Spider." *
"Spider it is," Wickham replied, noting two agency personnel step through the door.
"You hungry?" Spidel asked as the CIA agents stepped forward to greet Wickham.
"I could go for some chow," Wickham responded as he shook hands with his colleagues. "What's on the menu?"
"South-of-the-border cuisine," Spidel laughed, pointing to a box of greasy enchiladas. "Your friends just introduced me to them… and they're great. Besides, we've got a tub of ice-cold Coca-Cola to wash them down."
"Actually, Spider," Wickham said as the group started toward the hangar, "I could use a beer."
"Got some of that, too!" Spidel replied, stepping through the hangar doors. "We'll keep it cold until you're back."
Chapter Fourteen
President Alton Jarrett watched closely as Bernard Kerchner briefed the secretary of state on the latest developments in and around Cuba. Samuel Gardner, a short, barrel-chested man whose snapping eyes seemed to penetrate their target, listened intently.
Kerchner always felt as though Gardner was silently critiquing his every word. The secretary of state was well known for his dry, humorless personality. "The intelligence reports we have," Kerchner stated, "along with current satellite information, confirm increased activity throughout Cuba and the surrounding waters."
"Excuse me, Bernie," Gardner responded, "but Castro did announce that he had scheduled a large military exercise during this period."
"True," the defense secretary replied, "but the magnitude of these maneuvers is quite different from previous exercises. Sure it may be coincidental that one of our B-2s disappeared at the same time, but it may not be. We simply don't know, so I have to plan for the worst case scenario." Kerchner clicked the slide projector and looked at his briefing agenda. "The Kremlin, we have to assume, knows we're aware of the regional locale of the B-2."