Shadow Flight

"I'm just concerned about her," Simmons said with an anxious look. "She said she would meet me here."

"I understand," Levchenko replied patiently as he leaned forward, "and you will be reunited with Irina soon. Now, we have, let us say, priorities we must meet."

"Yes… comrade director."

The Stealth project officer leaned forward, fixing his eyes on the apprehensive American. "I would like for you to outline any problem areas, or weaknesses, in the B-2."

"Well," Simmons began slowly, "the airframe-mounted accessory drive cases have been a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

Simmons, feeling more assured, opened up. "Many of the units have cracked and caused oil leakages, which delayed the flight test phase."

Levchenko, smiling pleasantly, lighted a cigarette. "Is it a significant problem?"

"I'm not very knowledgeable in that area," Simmons replied uncomfortably. "I know that the engineers have reworked the cases, but it is still a concern."

The KGB officer made a quick notation before he continued his questioning. "Okay, tell me about any problems or weaknesses in your field of expertise."

"Ah… as you know," Simmons responded, taking in the partially dismantled bomber, "the aircraft has very complex electronic and avionic systems."

Levchenko exhaled impatiently. "The electronic systems have been a problem?"

"Yes… and still are," Simmons answered hurriedly. "The extreme environment that the B-2 operates in has caused continual reliability problems."

Levchenko's face hardened. "You have to be more specific, Comrade Simmons. Define the nature of the electronic problems you have encountered thus far."

Simmons hesitated, then spoke rapidly. "The weapons systems have been adversely affected by a number of things, including shock, vibration, impact, salt fog, and heat."

Levchenko turned off the recorder and eased back his chair. "Comrade Simmons, your knowledge is invaluable to your new country. I have some business to take care of, so I want you to sit here and list every B-2 strength and weakness you can think of.. every one."

LEADFOOT 107

Steve Wickham dozed uneasily, dreaming sporadic scenes of Becky and Cuba. Interspersed were flashbacks to his harrowing escape from Russia. The mission to extract the Kremlin mole had almost cost Wickham his life, along with that of the Moscow operative.

"You awake back there?" Commander McDonald asked.

Wickham's eyelids fluttered, then squeezed shut when the early morning sun struck them.

"Reveille," McDonald said over the intercom. "Next stop is Key West."

Wickham groaned as he fumbled for the tinted visor on his helmet. "Key West?" he asked as he attempted to move his cold, stiffened limbs. "Aren't we going to take on fuel first?"

"You must've been out of it," McDonald laughed, "or my flying skills have improved. We tanked about an hour and fifteen minutes ago.

Wickham looked at his watch to confirm the time lapse. "You need to talk to management about these seats."

"Yeah," McDonald replied, "they have to have a solid bottom so your spine won't break if you have to pull the 'loud handle.' Can't allow any compression before the seat slams into your ass."

"How far out are we?" Wickham asked, yawning.

"A hundred and ten nautical miles," McDonald answered between conversations with the air traffic controllers. "We'll be overhead the air station in… nine minutes and fifty seconds."

Wickham was amazed. "Nine minutes?"

"And forty-five seconds," McDonald replied. "We're in projectile mode now, but I'll be throwing out the anchor when we approach the beach."

Wickham rubbed his eyes, checked to see that the top secret packet was still in place, then looked down at the Gulf of Mexico. He watched two oil tankers disappear rapidly under the right side of the F-14's fuselage.

"We're starting down," McDonald said as he smoothly lowered the Tomcat's nose. "This will be a steep descent, followed by a rapid decel in close."

"After landing on the carrier," Wickham responded, looking at the water, "I think I can handle about anything."

"You should ride through an ACM gaggle," McDonald replied, lowering the nose further.

Wickham looked in the rearview mirror again, catching the pilot's eyes. "A what?"

"Air combat maneuvering," McDonald explained. "A dogfighting hop."

"I'll pass," Wickham said, then returned to his sight-seeing while the pilot conversed with the controllers.

"Rog, Miami," McDonald radioed, "Key West approach on two-sixty-three point six, switchin'." McDonald programmed the frequency into his primary UHF radio. "Key Approach, Navy Leadfoot One Oh Seven with you outta one-seven thousand."

"Navy One Zero Seven, Key West Approach." The veteran controller spoke in short, clipped bursts. "Continue descent to three thousand, runway seven currently in use, wind one-two-zero at twelve, gusting to twenty. Altimeter two-niner-niner-eight."