Shadow Flight

Evans pulled over to the side of the road, cranked the wheel hard to the left, then gunned the engine. "Are you going to kill them?" The van spun around, slamming the prisoners against the right side, then straightened out and accelerated.

"No," Matthews answered, leaning against the back of the front passenger seat for balance. "I thought about running over their legs to immobilize them, but that—"

"Oh, shit!" Evans said as another DAAFAR vehicle rounded a curve a quarter mile in front of them. "Grab a couple of their caps."

Matthews scooped the two Cuban military hats off the floor, handing one to Evans. "Paul, if we get stopped for any reason," Matthews said, checking the safety on his Kalashnikov, "we've got to take our chances — we've got to shoot it out."

"I know," Evans replied as he shoved the khaki uniform cap on his head. "I'm with you."

The pilots watched the approaching vehicle. One headlight cast a beam straight toward the van, partially blinding the two Americans; the other headlight pointed slightly downward at the road.

"Uh, oh," Evans said, squinting into the bright beam of the single headlamp. "It's one of the Russian jeeps!"

"Keep going straight," Matthews ordered. "Don't turn off the road."

The Soviet GAZ field car passed the van, continued a hundred meters, then rapidly slowed.

"Son of a bitch," Matthews swore under his breath. "Keep going." At that moment, the brake lights of the DAAFAR field car illuminated.

Chapter Six

CIA HEADQUARTERS

The offices on the top floor of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), based at Langley, Virginia, were quiet. The deputy director of the CIA, David Ridgefield, sat staring out the window at the star-filled sky. The reed-thin, partially bald, fifty-three-year-old former attorney turned his gaze toward the twinkling lights of Washington. He waited patiently for his boss, Gen. Norman Lasharr, director of the intelligence agency, to conclude his phone call.

Lasharr, a ruddy-faced, no-nonsense leader, wrote two lines on his scratch pad, tore the page loose, and handed it to his second in command. Ridgefield reached over, grasped the piece of paper, then sat back. He could not believe his eyes.

Lasharr ended his conversation, placed the receiver on its cradle, and turned to his assistant. "I can't believe it either."

Ridgefield shook his head. "A renegade faction in Russia has one of our Stealth bombers?"

"I'm afraid so," the former marine corps commandant replied with a look of disgust. "Sorry to call you in at this time of the evening, but we have a major hill to take."

"No problem, general. I'm just astounded that anyone in the Soviet Union would even think of capturing a B-2, in light of their reforms."

Lasharr pushed himself back from his desk. "That makes two of us, but there are still hard-liners — many of them wearing stars — who are blatantly resisting the military restructuring."

"How did whoever…," Ridgefield paused, "how did this happen, sir?"

"It's a long story," Lasharr answered as he removed his military-framed reading glasses. Everyone at the intelligence agency called Lasharr either general or sir in his presence. When the director was out of earshot, his associates referred to him as Rambo. "I'll tell you about it later, Dave. Right now, we — the CIA — have a formidable task to accomplish."

"Find the B-2," Ridgefield stated.

Lasharr smiled slightly, then reverted to his normal, dour self. "That was Secretary Kerchner on the phone. The White House wants to use covert means to find out if the B-2 is in Cuba."

"Cuba?" Ridgefield responded, puzzled. "Are they — is the secretary positive it's in Cuba?"

"No, he isn't," the scrappy director answered. "However, all the evidence points to Cuba, and we have our marching orders."

"General," Ridgefield began, formulating a suggestion. "Should we use RAINDANCE?"

"Absolutely," Lasharr replied. "Secretary Kerchner made one thing very clear. The president wants that aircraft back in our hands as expeditiously as possible. The pressure is on the CIA, but we have carte blanche to find the B-2."

"We're not actually being charged with the responsibility to retrieve the aircraft," Ridgefield paused, "are we?"

"No," Lasharr answered, leaning back in his chair. "The White House doesn't want to make any accusations, or confront the Soviets or Cubans, until we know for certain where the Stealth is located. Our job is to find it, and find it fast."

Ridgefield looked concerned. "How far down in the agency are we going to reach, general?"

"You're looking at us, along with the director of covert operations," Lasharr answered, then gathered his messages into a pile. "Secretary Kerchner said to put a lid on it for the time being. Dave, I want you to initiate contact with RAINDANCE as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir."