Shadow Flight

The vice president turned to Jarrett. "I have a suggestion that would give us some leverage in Moscow. Even if the Kremlin is not behind the hijacking, they must be aware of the operation."

Jarrett looked at Kerchner, then back to Truesdell. "I'm listening.

"We could seize one of the new Soviet Akula submarines. The Russians regard them as supersecret — their "Walker-class" boats. The subs are the quietest in the world, with their state-of-the-art propellers and polymer friction systems. They've been tracked underwater at fifty knots." Truesdell glanced at Kerchner. "If an Akula disappeared, I'm positive that Moscow would help us locate our missing B-2."

Jarrett and Kerchner thought for a moment. "Kirk," the president responded, "I have two questions. Do you really believe that we have the capability to snare one of their submarines, and, in the event we are successful, what happens if they don't have the bomber?"

"We have the technical ability — the hardware — to seize an Akula, no question about it." Truesdell paused, evaluating the president's concerns. "Who else would hijack an American B-2? I feel that we need to play hardball with the Kremlin, beginning right now."

"Let me think it over for a while," Jarrett replied, looking at Kerchner. "Bernie?"

"Well, sir," the defense secretary responded, catching Truesdell's eye, "I feel confident that our Moscow informant will be able to ascertain the information we need."

The vice president rose from his chair and walked over to the window. "I suggest we form a contingency plan for every possible scenario we can envision, including the submarine option."

After a moment, Jarrett responded. "Kirk, I agree with you, and our first priority is to deal with the media. The pressroom has been packed since early this morning, and the rumors are spreading like a plague."

"True," Kerchner said. "We need some damage control — a press conference-to set the record straight. I recommend that I do that now, before we take any further steps."

Jarrett, deep in thought, nodded his head in agreement.

"I agree," Truesdell said, walking back to his seat. "It's very simple. The secretary of defense tells the media the truth. A B-2 is missing, and an investigation is under way. More details when they are available. Period."

"I concur," Jarrett responded, then faced Kerchner again. "Bernie, what about the agent-I've forgotten his name — who Lasharr wants to drop in Cuba?"

"Wickham," Kerchner answered. "Steve Wickham."

"Oh, yes," Jarrett nodded. "He did a magnificent job rescuing our Kremlin mole when that Russian madman was about to destroy the world."

Stephen Wickham, former marine corps captain, and decorated combat veteran of the Grenada invasion, was a minor legend in the Central Intelligence Agency. The rugged, dark-haired, six-foot-oneinch agent was considered a real-life hero. Wickham had been reassigned to Clandestine Operations after he had recuperated from injuries sustained during the Moscow rescue.

"General Lasharr," Kerchner continued, "believes that Wickham should reconnoiter the island — actually the location of the bomber, if we can ferret out the information — before we confront the Soviets."

"I agree," Jarrett said. "We need to move fast, and aggressively. Bernie, I want the latest satellite information, along with aerial reconnaissance of Cuba, at daybreak."

"Yes, sir," Kerchner responded. "I'll set it in motion, then go to the pressroom."

THE YAKOVLEV-18

"See if there are any life jackets back there!" Matthews shouted over the roar of the big radial. "I'm going to circle close to shore, in case the engine quits."

Evans searched frantically under his seat, along each side, and under the instrument panel. "Nothing back here!" Evans reported. "Anything up front?"

"No!" Matthews said, tapping the oil pressure gauge. It continued to indicate zero pressure. "We may have taken a round in the oil line."

"Chuck, the gauge could be faulty. Let's take our chances and get the hell away from here!"

"Okay," Matthews replied, checking the engine RPMs, then the two fuel gauges. The right wing tank indicated full; the left side showed three-quarters of a tank. "One more circle," he yelled over his shoulder, "and we'll head for Key West. We've got plenty of fuel."

Matthews banked the Yak-18 to the left again, visually checked his height above the water, then rapped the oil pressure gauge with his left fist.

The aircraft, bathed in soft Caribbean moonlight, circled once again over Cayo de Buenavista. Matthews knew that they could glide to the beach if the engine seized. "Here we go!" Matthews said, rolling out again on the northeasterly heading.

The air force pilot flew the Yak-18 along the Cuban coast, skirting the coastline at an altitude of 100 feet. They quickly passed Dimas, Nombre de Dios, and Cayo Ines de Soto, then turned a few degrees to the left, leaving the coastline.

Matthews checked the engine parameters for the thousandth time, looked down at the water, then turned to Evans. "So far, so good."