Shadow Flight

Wickham's mind raced, seeking an avenue of escape. He reached behind his back, lifted the baggy shirt bottom, and eased his Excam out of the holster.

The youngster remained close to the house while the man and his dog started around the property. Wickham followed the search, then froze when the Cuban reached the point where the agent had entered the field. The man and his yelping dog hesitated a few seconds, then started across the tobacco field on the same course Wickham had taken. The agent knew that the Cuban could see his boot prints in the moist soil.

"Oh, Christ," Wickham whispered as he watched the Cuban and his dog approach his hiding place. The man carefully splayed the flashlight beam twenty feet in front of him. It would be only a matter of seconds before Wickham would be discovered.

WILLARD INTERCONTINENTAL HOTEL,

Washington, D. C.

The quaint hotel, located one and a half blocks from the White House, had become a meeting place for heads of state and foreign diplomats.

A group of the late night crowd, many attired in their native dress, gathered around the television set in the cocktail lounge. A Special Report sign had just been flashed on the screen by ABC news. The lively, noisy chatter hushed when the commentator appeared.

"Good evening," the anchor said, unsmiling. "Sources inside the government, who are familiar with the growing tension in Cuba, have told ABC news that Cuban fighter planes attacked three Navy A-4 Skyhawk jets over their base at Guantanamo Bay. The exact time of the aerial attack is unknown. Pentagon officials have confirmed that a confrontation between U. S. and Cuban jet fighters did take place. The number of aircraft involved, according to officials, is not available for release at this time. The cause of the attack is still unknown.

"A White House staff member, who insisted on anonymity, stated that a downed Cuban fighter, which crashed near Guantanamo Bay Naval Base, contained the remains of a Russian pilot."

The anchor continued in a somber manner, glancing to someone off camera. "Elsewhere in Washington, the United Nations Security Council has been summoned for an emergency session regarding the attack."

The cocktail lounge began to buzz with speculation as to what might have caused the aerial attack. The crowd continued drinking while the commentator paused to receive new material.

"I have just been handed a release from the Cuban news agency Prensa Latina," the well-groomed man said, scanning the page quickly before he continued. "A Cuban Air Force MiG-23 fighter jet crashed into a suburb of Holguin this evening, killing seventeen people on the ground. Witnesses in the neighborhood where the jet came down reported that the airplane was trailing fire before it plowed through five houses. Residents of the Loma de la Cruz section of Holguin said that the pilot ejected moments before the crash."

The anchor stared at the copy a moment, then looked back into the eye of the camera. "Cuban government officials have accused the U. S. of precipitating the attack."

Murmurs filled the room as the commentator switched to a White House correspondent for a series of questions.

Chapter Sixteen

THE OVAL OFFICE

President Jarrett, looking haggard and irritable, sat behind his desk. Samuel Gardner was seated at one end of two oversized sofas that faced each other in the middle of the room. Bernard Kerchner, reading a readiness report, sat at the other end.

"The son of a bitch is consistent," Jarrett spat. "Late as usual."

Gardner, frowning, nodded in agreement. "It's a game, sir. He has to convince you that his time is more important than yours."

Sergey Aksenhov was a typical career diplomat, having served his entire adult life in the Russian Foreign Department. This was his seventh tour in Washington, his first as foreign minister. He prided himself on being unflappable and emotionless. His cold, stony eyes never revealed what his devious mind was thinking.

"I apologize, gentlemen," the tall, heavyset foreign minister said in an orchestrated display of rushing to remove his overcoat. "This evening has been difficult for me."

The three Americans remained silent. The Russian seemed surprised at their lack of cordiality. The usual handshakes and polite banter had been replaced by an icy silence.

"Minister Aksenhov," Jarrett began as the diplomat sat down facing Gardner and Kerchner, "I have received some very distressing news in regard to American-Soviet relations."

Aksenhov feigned surprise. "If you are referring to this evening's unfortunate events, Mister President, I must inform you that we have no other choice than to file an official complaint with the—"

"Minister Aksenhov," the president interrupted tersely. "I suggest you cut the formality and listen for a change."