Shadow Flight

"The best approach," the captain continued, "is to have two marine expeditionary units assault San Julian. Navy and marine aircraft will provide close air support and air cover while the grunts secure the base."

The marine commandant leaned back and squinted at the naval officer. "Captain, while I agree with your basic approach, I must point out that battalion landing teams are too light to conduct sustained combat operations."

"Yes, general," the pilot responded, "I realize that. I'm suggesting that we go in fast, secure the base, destroy the Stealth, free the crew, and withdraw."

"What is our chance for success?" Jarrett asked in an interested tone.

"Mister President," the captain replied, "as the general knows, we've been working with two of his crack battalion landing teams. They're primed for this type of mission. We can have them on station in a matter of hours, and with increased helo and Harrier support, I believe we can successfully accomplish the objective."

"Thank you, captain," the president said, then stood. Everyone followed his lead as the commander in chief walked over to the surprised officer and extended his hand. "We appreciate your brief, and your recommendation. I feel more comfortable-and knowledgeable about-our current capabilities."

"Thank you, Mister President," the captain replied, shaking Jarrett's hand solidly.

The president walked the officer to the entrance, wished him a safe flight home, then returned to his chair. "Well, gentlemen," Jarrett said, "Secretary Gardner and I have a meeting with Minister Aksenhov. We will discuss our options in-"

The president stopped when the vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs stepped into the room. His face was flushed and he was carrying a message hard copy. "Mister President," the four-star general said, "three navy jets based at Guantanamo Bay have engaged in a dogfight with five Cuban MiGs."

"Jesus… Christ," Jarrett replied, trying to stifle his irritation and surprise. "When?"

"Only minutes ago, sir. We just received the flash message."

The president broke the shocked silence that had settled over the room. "What's the present situation, general?" Jarrett asked, casting a glance at his secretary of defense.

"The on-site commander's report states that our pilots were forced to defend themselves. The navy flight leader was apparently shot down."

"Are the other two pilots okay?"

"As far as I know, sir."

Jarrett turned to his secretary of defense. "Bernie, I want a thorough brief as soon as you can glean the details."

"Yes, sir," Kerchner replied, nodding soberly. "I suggest we have the on-site commander, along with the pilots involved, flown here immediately to get a clear picture of exactly what happened before we react."

"I agree," Jarrett responded, then added, "and expedite getting them here." The president was angry — and not in the best frame of mind to confront the Soviet foreign minister.

THE AGENT

Steve Wickham slowed his pace, then stopped at the edge of a tobacco field. He had heard a vehicle approaching and now saw the glaring headlights. He squatted down and checked his watch. Twenty-five minutes after eleven and he was already more than halfway to San Julian. Just three more miles to the MiG base.

Wickham watched the dilapidated automobile go past his hiding place and disappear down the winding dirt road. He waited another minute, silently cursing his wet feet. He had been forced to wade across a wide, stagnant marsh a half hour earlier.

A donkey suddenly brayed, startling Wickham. His senses tensed as he scanned his concealment. The bright moonlight made blending into the surroundings extremely difficult.

He could see a thatched roof lean-to sixty yards away. Directly behind it, next to the encroaching jungle, stood a small ramshackle house. The rickety-looking structure had rusted sheets of tin nailed to the exterior.

The donkey brayed again, causing the agent to freeze in his hiding place. He could see the animal moving around next to the lean-to. Wickham stood, hot and sweaty, and started walking slowly toward the road. He had taken only nine steps when a naked light bulb flashed on in the shanty.

"Shit," Wickham. said as he crouched down and ran for the sanctuary of the jungle on the far side of the road. Without warning, his right ankle snagged a trip wire designed to foil thieves.

"Goddamnit," Wickham swore when he heard the tin cans topple off the front porch of the shack. He broke into a sprint for the jungle as the donkey brayed loudly and a dog barked excitedly.

He had barely crossed the narrow road when a man stepped out of the front entrance to the house. The figure tucked in his shirttail and looked around. A moment later, he spoke to someone inside and a small boy appeared. The youngster carried a rifle and a flashlight.

Wickham bent down into the thick foliage and watched the man disappear around the back of his house. The Cuban reappeared with the barking dog on a leash, then took the rifle and flashlight from the boy.