Shadow Flight

Wickham unbuckled his seat restraints after the cargo jet rolled to a smooth stop in front of a small, pale green hangar. The two sliding doors were open three feet, revealing the camouflaged nose of the OV-10 counterinsurgency (COIN) operations aircraft.

Wickham thanked the cargo crew for the smooth ride, waited for the copilot to open the door, then picked up his canvas bag and walked down the air-stair ladder. The scorching afternoon heat was a shock after the cool, dry atmosphere in the DC-9 cockpit.

Wickham could see a small group of people standing in the hangar. They were all staring at him. He hesitated, then started toward the open doors when a man in a sage green flight suit stepped out into the sun. He was of medium height, with dark brown hair and twinkling brown eyes. His standard issue flight suit was bereft of any insignia, patches, or name tag. There was no visual clue that the man was assigned to the VM0-1 squadron at the Marine Corps Air Station, New River, North Carolina.

"Welcome to our tropical paradise," the cheerful, smiling pilot said as he extended his hand. "I'm Greg Spidel, captain incognito, USMC."

Wickham shook Spidel's hand solidly as he introduced himself. "Steve Wickham. I understand you're the resident ace in OV-10s."

Spidel laughed. "Let's say that's one of a number of things I've been called."

"Know what you mean," Wickham smiled, immediately liking the friendly pilot.

"Hey," Spidel said, displaying his infectious grin, "all my friends call me Spider." *

"Spider it is," Wickham replied, noting two agency personnel step through the door.

"You hungry?" Spidel asked as the CIA agents stepped forward to greet Wickham.

"I could go for some chow," Wickham responded as he shook hands with his colleagues. "What's on the menu?"

"South-of-the-border cuisine," Spidel laughed, pointing to a box of greasy enchiladas. "Your friends just introduced me to them… and they're great. Besides, we've got a tub of ice-cold Coca-Cola to wash them down."

"Actually, Spider," Wickham said as the group started toward the hangar, "I could use a beer."

"Got some of that, too!" Spidel replied, stepping through the hangar doors. "We'll keep it cold until you're back."

Chapter Fourteen

THE WHITE HOUSE

President Alton Jarrett watched closely as Bernard Kerchner briefed the secretary of state on the latest developments in and around Cuba. Samuel Gardner, a short, barrel-chested man whose snapping eyes seemed to penetrate their target, listened intently.

Kerchner always felt as though Gardner was silently critiquing his every word. The secretary of state was well known for his dry, humorless personality. "The intelligence reports we have," Kerchner stated, "along with current satellite information, confirm increased activity throughout Cuba and the surrounding waters."

"Excuse me, Bernie," Gardner responded, "but Castro did announce that he had scheduled a large military exercise during this period."

"True," the defense secretary replied, "but the magnitude of these maneuvers is quite different from previous exercises. Sure it may be coincidental that one of our B-2s disappeared at the same time, but it may not be. We simply don't know, so I have to plan for the worst case scenario." Kerchner clicked the slide projector and looked at his briefing agenda. "The Kremlin, we have to assume, knows we're aware of the regional locale of the B-2."

The room remained quiet. The president, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the national security adviser, the CIA director, and the vice president concentrated on the National Reconnaissance Office photos.

"Here's a Soviet task force," Kerchner pointed to a spot forty miles south of Largo Cay, "and here's a second group of ships."

The first aggregate of Russian warships, bunched tightly, was steaming west 145 miles south of Havana. The second flotilla was 120 miles west of the first group, 80 miles south of the San Julian airfield.

"Normally," Kerchner continued, punching the button on the slide projector, "the Soviet Union sends only one task force a year to Cuban waters. Now we have two Russian task forces, with more ships than usual assigned to each one."

The president leaned forward and addressed his coterie of advisers. "That might not be so odd, knowing the new Soviet leader's penchant for showcasing Russia's military resurgence." Jarrett leaned back and folded his arms. "Please continue, Bernie."

Kerchner flashed another slide on the screen. "This next series of photos causes me a great deal of concern. The Soviet aircraft carrier Novorossiysk, normally a Pacific Fleet ship, is operating off the northern coast of Nicaragua with a complement of twenty-seven Yakovlev-38s. As you can see, the carrier has five escort ships."