Navy F-14s and Navy/Marine F/A-18 fighter/attack jets, operating from the decks of Kitty Hawk, America, and Abraham Lincoln, would fly high air cover for the Harrier jets and helicopters.
Wasp continued on course, reducing speed to allow Essex and Nassau to close the gap. Her escort ships moved closer as the assault carrier approached Cuban waters. Supported by F-14D Tomcats from Kitty Hawk, S-3B Viking antisubmarine aircraft patrolled around the Wasp assault group.
Each minute increased the danger and tension aboard the amphibious aircraft carrier. Every crew member knew that they were sailing toward a Communist country that had declared war on the United States.
Gennadi Levchenko, seething and shouting commands, stormed into his office. He had been informed only minutes earlier that he had a double agent in his midst — an agent who had relayed live pictures of the B-2 bomber to Washington.
Levchenko, absorbed in ferreting out the spy, yanked his telephone across the desk and sat down heavily. "Who the hell am I supposed to call?" he bellowed at the skinny clerk/medical technician
The gaunt, hollow-eyed man flinched. "President Castro — Fidel Castro, comrade dir—"
"Bullshit!" Levchenko raged, eyes bulging. The director had a moment of pure panic, then attempted to recover as his racing heart pounded. He was boxed in between KGB chief Golodnikov and Castro. Levchenko knew that he would face a firing squad if he could not isolate the traitor under his command. Now, with his life on the line, Fidel Castro was meddling in the Stealth operation.
"I don't report to Castro," Levchenko continued, breathing heavily. "Who took the call?"
"I did, comrade director," the frightened man answered. "He said immediately. That's why the lieutenant chased after you.. comrade director."
"Get out!" Levchenko yelled as he scribbled notes on a scratch pad. "Get out!"
The clerk hurried through the door, knocking papers off a low filing cabinet.
Levchenko's mind raced. Shit, what does Castro want? Does he know about the security leak? Levchenko picked up the receiver, adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, then looked at the phone number on the message.
He placed the call. If he could only capture the treasonous member of his contingent. Who the hell was the bastard? Levchenko waited, fidgeting, while the phone rang three times. He yanked out a cigarette pack and snapped open his lighter.
"President Castro's residence," the pleasingly mild male voice said. "May I have your name and the purpose of your call?"
Levchenko, glancing over the rim of his glasses into the hangar, fought frustration and disdain. "Gennadi Levchenko, director of KGB operations in Cuba, returning President Castro's communication."
"Yes, comrade director. The president will only be a moment."
Levchenko, drumming his stubby fingers on the desk, did not acknowledge the comment. His thoughts were concentrated on retaining control of the situation at San Julian.
The KGB agent had met Fidel Castro on two occasions. He knew how quickly the Cuban dictator's personality could change from charming and hospitable to belligerent and raging.
"Levchenko," Castro's voice was loud and abrupt. "Have the American bomber ready to fly by the time my brother arrives at San Julian."
Levchenko was stunned by the order. "Comrade president, you cannot make such a demand."
"Have the B-2 ready to fly!" Castro ordered in a highly agitated voice. "Raul is on the way to San Julian."
Levchenko sat staring into the hangar after Castro had terminated the conversation. "Goddamned fanatic," Levchenko growled in disgust. He loathed the Cuban dictator, as did the majority of Russians remaining on the island, but he knew he had to be careful around Castro.
Levchenko's stomach churned as he considered his options. First, the director reasoned, he had to contact KGB headquarters in Moscow. Vladimir Golodnikov, the volatile chief of the KGB, would be incensed when he received word that Castro had assumed command of the Stealth bomber.
Levchenko sat quietly, pondering other options and thinking about Castro. He recalled clearly Castro's annual national holiday speech at Camaguey, Cuba. The Cuban dictator, accused by many of becoming an aged museum piece, had ranted for more than three hours to a throng of thousands. Clinging to Stalinist-style communism and ideology, Castro had delivered a bitter and emotional discourse to the sweltering crowd. The Cuban leader, yelling loudly, had stated that he would never surrender his brand of communism. Speaking on the anniversary of the revolution he had led, Castro talked about the civil conflict and national strife in the Soviet Union.
Levchenko could hear Castro's words clearly in his mind. "Cuba, our great and wonderful country, can expect serious shortages in Soviet economic aid."
Levchenko, like most Soviet officials, paid little attention to Castro's agitated, lectern-pounding speeches, in which he generally spotlighted past triumphs and focused on the 1953 Moncado barracks attack that had launched his revolution.
Now, Levchenko thought, Castro was on the verge of cutting ties with Moscow and directing communism in the West. The Stealth hijacking, now exposed, could destroy him.
Levchenko stood to go to the communications room, then stopped when he remembered what else Castro had said. It all tied together for Levchenko. The Cuban president had lashed out vociferously against the United States, saying, "We can survive and overcome any challenge by the imperialist Americans, be it blockade, invasion, or full-fledged war. If the Yankee troops invade or try to occupy Cuba, we will be on our own, forgotten by our Soviet benefactors, but we will prevail."
Levchenko walked out of the office and headed toward the communications center. He replayed Castro's speech in his mind. The Cuban dictator, a fervent Stalin purist in Levchenko's estimation, was going to present some difficult problems.
The KGB director, developing a strategy to protect himself, entered the sophisticated message center. He walked to one of two direct lines to KGB headquarters, dismissed the communications officer brusquely, then sat down and lighted a cigarette before he initiated the voice-scrambled call.
Chapter Twenty
The Soviet Foxtrot-class submarine, crewed by Cuban sailors and a KGB political officer, moved slowly through the depths of the Gulf of Mexico. The diesel-electric — powered attack submarine, quieter than her nuclear-powered counterparts, slipped through the water using freshly charged batteries.
Three and a half hours had passed since the General Abelardo Alvarez had submerged 280 kilometers northwest of Havana. The captain, Ricardo Esteban, had ascended to periscope depth twice during that time to receive messages informing him that President Castro had declared war on the United States.
The grizzled captain, three months from retirement, had been astounded. He had been thoroughly briefed about the war contingency but never dreamed it would happen. He told himself to remain calm, but he could not quell the thought that Castro must be senile, or crazy. The United States, the submarine skipper knew, could crush Cuba like an eggshell.
The KGB officer, a veteran submariner, showed little emotion when the message had been transmitted. Esteban, who privately had no desire to engage the Americans, knew that the Soviet political officer would label him a coward and traitor if he did not attack American targets of opportunity.
The General Abelardo Alvarez, freshly painted in dark gray, carried three Soviet-manufactured antiship torpedoes. The devastating weapons, fired from the bow tubes, had the power to sink an aircraft carrier. The reconditioned torpedoes, stowed aboard the Alvarez less than a month earlier, had replaced older, less powerful weapons.