Shadow Flight

"Thank you," Jarrett responded, turning to Parkinson. "General, what is the current status of our search effort?"

"Not a trace, Mister President," Parkinson answered, pausing while Kerchner entered the room and seated himself. Parkinson sipped a glass of water. "They haven't found a single piece of evidence to indicate that the B-2 crashed into the bay."

"General," Kerchner interrupted. "Excuse me, but I have some disturbing news, I'm afraid. That was Fred Adcock on the phone. The background check on the civilian crew member disclosed a link to the KGB."

"What!" Jarrett exclaimed, anger registering on his face. "How could the FBI determine that so quickly?"

Truesdell and Parkinson stared at the secretary in disbelief.

"Fred said — and I quote—," Kerchner looked down at his hastily written notes. "The civilian technician, identified as one Lawrence Maynard Simmons, has categorically been linked to Irina Rykhov, a known KGB agent."

"Jesus Christ," Truesdell said softly, shaking his head in frustration. "How did that information get by the security people?"

"Apparently," Kerchner continued, "from the information Fred has now, Simmons holds a top secret clearance and has worked on the B-2 project for the past three years. He graduated from Cal Poly with honors and is an electronic engineering specialist. The liaison with the KGB agent was nurtured approximately four to five months ago, so the security people had no reason to suspect anything abnormal." Kerchner penned lines through two notations.

"Go on," Jarrett prompted, sitting back in his seat.

"The West Coast bureau," Kerchner continued, placing his pen down, "sent agents to Simmons's workplace, home of record, and usual haunts — the places he is known to frequent." Kerchner looked over the top of his reading glasses at the president. "He had moved from his home into an apartment three months ago. His wife had filed for divorce and left him debt ridden and overextended on all his credit cards. She left town in his only car, taking their daughter with her."

The vice president shook his head. "How did he become associated with the Soviet agent?"

"Well," Kerchner responded, turning to the vice president, "Fred admitted that the bureau backed into the answer. Neighbors and acquaintances of Mrs. Simmons told our agents that she ran away with a boyfriend — a handsome, dark-haired man with a foreign accent."

"I think I have the picture," Jarrett said, glancing at Truesdell.

"One of the FBI agents," Kerchner continued, "remembered a similar situation that happened about a year ago in San Diego."

"Oh, yes," Truesdell said. "The navy submariner — Wilson — the one whose wife jilted him, and he disappeared with his lover and the Trident D-5 information."

"The same team," Kerchner replied. "The FBI agent suspected it was the same KGB couple, and showed pictures to Simmons's neighbors and friends.

"Although Pankyev — Aleksey Pankyev — had altered his appearance since the San Diego operation, it was clearly evident that he was the same person. According to Fred, Pankyev and Rykhov have worked as a team for at least two and a half — possibly three — years."

"So," Jarrett said, "the couple finds a weak individual in a highly classified position, Pankyev romances the wife and destroys the relationship, then the woman — who I assume is very attractive — makes her move on the hapless, distraught husband."

"That is correct," Kerchner responded. "Both Soviet agents are very attractive and charming, and completely ruthless."

"Well," Truesdell replied, clearly disturbed, "we know how the hijacking was set up. Now we need to find out where the aircraft has been taken."

"Yes," the president said, "and who authorized the operation. Pankyev and the woman have to be reporting to someone tied to the KGB."

Truesdell looked at Kerchner, then turned to the president. "I'm sure the answers will fall into place when we locate the bomber." Jarrett nodded, then reached for his attache case. "We need to return to the White House and—," the president paused when he saw the intercom light flash, "get organized," he concluded, depressing the switch.

"Yes, Dorothy."

"Melvin Collins, FAA, for Vice President Truesdell."

"He will take the call in here," the president replied, motioning for Truesdell to answer the phone on the credenza behind him.

The vice president swung around and raised the phone receiver. "Hello, Mel. What have you found out?"

Jarrett, lowering his voice, spoke to the defense secretary. "Bernie, I want that airplane back — whatever it takes, whatever we have to do."

"I understand, sir," Kerchner responded, placing his pen in his shirt pocket. "My guess is that they most likely flew due north — over the pole."

"That's probably correct, sir," Parkinson added. "But they would have had to land for fuel. The best place, in my opinion, would have been on the ice cap."

Jarrett nodded in agreement, then opened his attache case and placed his notes inside.