"Yes, I read you," Brad replied tightly.
Spencer swung around to face Blackwell. "Lex, you're in the bullpen for now… until I decide if you'll remain a part of this operation or go back to a squadron."
Chagrined, Lex remained quiet, mentally kicking himself for getting plastered and shooting off his mouth. He wondered who in hell Allison had told about the MiG, and how it had reached Hollis Spencer so quickly.
"I want to explain something," Spencer declared as he reached to refill his mug. "We — the CIA — have an ongoing turf battle with the military intelligence empires. The navy, as I've previously mentioned, wants to take custody of our MiG."
"Sir," Brad interjected, "what difference does it make who controls the MiG, as long as we get the evaluation info to the pilots who are flying against it?"
Hollis Spencer stiffened as an awkward silence hung in the air. Finally, the project officer calmly folded his hands together. "Captain Austin, you do not understand the magnitude of Operation Achilles."
Everyone looked intently at Spencer, waiting to find out what the CIA agent had up his sleeve.
"I have received permission," Spencer continued patiently, "straight from Langley, to carry out the final phase of Operation Achilles."
The sounds of the hangar doors being opened momentarily interrupted him.
"Lex," Spencer said dryly, and paused. "Because of the time constraints of the mission, I'm going to keep you on the team… for now. - He watched the sudden relief sweep across Blackwell's face. "One little peep — one more cranial-rectal inversion, and you'll wish that you'd joined the Foreign Legion."
Spencer's single eye probed Lex for a long moment. "Any questions, Mister Blackwell?"
"No, sir."
Hollis shifted to view the entire group. "We are going to take the MiG to a well-concealed base in Laos," he paused, studying their eyes, "to fly clandestine fighter sweeps over North Vietnam."
Each pilot reacted in the same way. A look of shock was followed by almost wide-eyed excitement.
"You are going to fly the MiG in the back door," Spencer announced in a low, controlled voice, "and go after North Vietnam's best pilots."
Nick Palmer found his voice. "Jesus Christ, that will be like shooting fish in a barrel."
"Not quite," Spencer replied, glancing at the MiG as it was being towed out of the hangar. "Your air force and navy friends in the Phantoms and Crusaders won't know that an American pilot is flyin g o ur MiG. Except for the few of us involved in this operation, no one will have any idea who you are."
The significance of this disclosure stunned Brad. "We won't have any identification, in case we're shot down."
"You'll have identification," Spencer explained, "but it won't be your own. That's the reason for the heightened security. You were never here; the MiG does not exist, and the White House does not want any culpability if you vanish."
Enjoying a light breakfast, Leigh Ann gazed serenely at the swooping seagulls and thought about Allison van Ingen. The woman piqued her curiosity. There was something not quite right about her, and Leigh Ann wanted to get to know her better. Perhaps they could have lunch before Leigh Ann had to go to the airport.
After Leigh Ann returned to her room, she sat by the window and stared at the ocean. She had second thoughts about calling Allison, then made a decision. She would contact Allison and attempt to befriend her.
"Yes, it's the right thing to do," Leigh Ann said to herself as she reached for the telephone. Remembering that Allison had only recently arrived, Leigh Ann called information and jotted the number on the small desk pad.
She dialed Allison's number, but no one answered. Probably at her father's yacht, Leigh Ann thought as she replaced the receiver.
With little else to do before her afternoon flight, Leigh Ann decided to explore San Diego and the yacht basins. If she happened to see Bellwether, fine. If not, there were plenty of other interesting things to see.
Leigh Ann packed her belongings and carried her bags to the front desk. She rented a car and got a map, then marked the routes to the largest marinas and other boat basins.
Minutes later, she was breathing in the invigorating air as she approached San Diego. The trip was relaxing, prompting her to drive to the most distant yacht basin.
After a lengthy and fruitless search for Allison's yacht, Leigh Ann drove to a second group of docks. San Diego, as she had discovered, was an endless stretch of sand, palm trees, and sailboat masts.
The morning had become hot when Leigh Ann stopped at the lush grounds of the yacht club. The foliage surrounding the clubhouse was dotted with hibiscus, bougainvillea, poinsettias, and geraniums. She parked the car and studied the interesting array of boats along the docks.
She strolled down the main pier, which provided access to the graceful vessels. Leigh Ann came to an abrupt halt when she spotted Bellwether. An elderly man wearing dungarees was working on the fantail.
Leigh Ann looked at the other yachts while she watched the wizened man from the corner of her eye. Apparently a crew member or caretaker, she thought as he polished Bellwether's brass ornaments.
Mustering her courage, Leigh Ann walked to the afterdeck. "Good morning."
The old man turned to meet her gaze. "Morning," he replied while he continued to polish. His voice sounded gravelly. "What can I do for you?"
"I was wondering if Allison van Ingen is on board."
He gave her a curious look, then stopped polishing. "There ain't nobody on here, 'cept me and my cat."
"Do you know Miss van Ingen?"
"Never heard of her," he stated as he continued with his weekly chore.
Leigh Ann's curiosity was aroused. "Is this boat for sale, or did someone recently buy it?"
The man gave her a long, questioning look. "It's a yacht, ma'am, and it ain't for sale… as far as I know."
Leigh Ann could see that she was testing his patience. "Do you know who owns this yacht?"
"I wouldn't be workin' on it," he growled, "if I didn't know who owned it. This here yacht is leased to the government." He wiped the perspiration from his brow. "That's who pays me to keep her shipshape."
"I see," Leigh Ann absently replied. Warning bells were sounding in her mind. Brad, what have you gotten yourself into?
"Thanks," she said, turning to retrace her steps. Leigh Ann was fully convinced that Bellwether was leased to the Central Intelligence Agency. She walked to the shiny convertible, wondering what role Allison played in the operation.
Leigh Ann knew for a certainty that Brad had told her the truth — as much as he could. She had to inform Brad about Bellwether as soon as possible.
"Damn," Leigh Ann swore, suddenly remembering what Brad had told her about the remote test site. The only means of communication were secure lines, which the pilots were not allowed to use. She would have to wait until Friday afternoon to call Brad at his apartment.
Chapter THIRTEEN
"Who in the hell did you talk to?" Brad asked Lex while they waited for Palmer to take off in the MiG. He kept his voice low, even though the sound of the jet engine drowned their conversation.
Blackwell glanced at Hollis Spencer. The project officer was seventy feet away, standing inside the hangar next to the aircraft radio.
"I got drunk Friday night," Lex confessed self-consciously, "and told Allison we're testing a MiG for the CIA."
Brad was astonished. "For God's sake, Lex. Have you lost your mind?" He tossed a look at Spencer, who was speaking to Hank Murray. "You actually told her that we're testing a MiG for the Central Intelligence Agency?"
Blackwell exhaled softly. "Are you hard of hearing?"
"Jesus H. Christ," Brad answered, shaking his head. He thought about the beautiful blonde, especially remembering all the questions she had asked him. Allison van Ingen, besides Lex and Nick, was the only person who knew Leigh Ann was visiting him.