Shadow Flight

His assistant, holding the phone to his ear, rolled his chair over to the monitors. "What happened?"

"I don't know," the officer answered, staring at the blank screens. "He was giving us a long sweep when the picture angled down and went blank."

"Maybe he thought that would be enough to-" The assistant stopped when his call was answered in the communications center. "Sir, Wozniak at recon ops. We've received a visual on the B-2."

"We have tape," the excited watch officer prompted.

His assistant acknowledged with a nod of his head, then spoke again. "Yes, sir. We have it on tape."

SAN JULIAN

Wickham braced himself, felt a fleeting moment of near panic, then exploded upward, slamming the heavy iron grate into the Cuban's face.

The adrenaline-fueled effort smashed the soldier's nose, broke three of his teeth, and rendered him semiconscious. The guard stumbled backward, holding his face and moaning in agony, then fell between the photocell security system. A high-pitched siren immediately blasted the quiet night with a pulsating shriek. The guard, in shock and pain, never saw his attacker.

Wickham leaped out of the duct, yanked up the television camera, grabbed the squirming guard's rifle, and raced toward the palm tree — studded field. He glanced back and saw the other two sentries running across the ball field. They were headed toward the spot where their companion had disappeared.

The agent stopped suddenly when bright searchlights winked on around the perimeter of the air base. He dropped to the ground and searched frantically for a way out. Seconds passed before he realized he was trapped. The entire base was coming to life.

In desperation, Wickham jumped to his feet and ran toward the nearest cluster of administration buildings. He stopped halfway to the nearest structure, dropping to the ground as he saw a dozen Cuban soldiers pile out of the adjacent barracks. Then he belly-crawled as fast as he could toward the first building in the row.

Chapter Seventeen

THE WHITE HOUSE

Alton Jarrett walked into the Oval Office wearing a navy blue robe over his gray pajamas. The groggy president accepted a cup of steaming coffee from Brian Gaines, then sat down on one of the two facing sofas. The national security adviser, looking rumpled and tired, returned to his seat next to Bernard Kerchner.

The secretary of defense rubbed his bloodshot eyes before speaking to the president. "Is Sam joining us?"

Jarrett nodded, tasting his coffee. "Sam is on his way over. Should be here any minute."

"Good," Kerchner replied, sipping his hot tea.

The president settled into the sofa. "First I want to address Aksenhov personally. When will we have a copy of the B-2 tape?"

Kerchner glanced at the small clock sitting on the president's desk. He had forgotten his wristwatch during the mad dash to the White House. "I expected it here a few minutes ago, sir."

The three men heard an exchange of voices outside the main entrance to the Oval Office. "Thank you," the secretary of state said to the military courier as he grasped the tape container. Samuel Gardner closed the door and turned to the president. "Sir, Aksenhov is on his way."

"He better be," the president replied as Gaines accepted the tape from Gardner.

The national security adviser walked to the VCR, inserted the tape, and punched the play button. Gaines backed away a few steps and remained standing as Gardner took a seat next to the president.

The small screen remained blank a few seconds, then the Stealth bomber appeared in a well-lighted hangar. The black and white picture focused on the aircraft, then moved to the right and swept the entire enclosure. Soldiers and technicians surrounded the secret bomber. A few seconds later the picture returned to the stolen B-2, moving slowly from one section to another.

The nose of the Stealth came into view. Then there was a pause before the picture moved down the length of the bomber. A split second before the aircraft's trailing edge would have come into view, the picture stopped a moment, then tilted down and went blank.

"I'll be damned," the president said, placing his cup and saucer on the coffee table. "Brian, run that back."

"Yes, sir."

Jarrett turned to his secretary of defense. "Bernie, I'm going with the captain's recommendation, from the Strike Center. I believe we should assault San Julian with marine expeditionary units." The president leaned back. "We've got to have concentrated close air support and solid air cover. The Marines have to hit quickly, secure the airfield, destroy the bomber, and rescue the pilots — if they can locate them."

Jarrett paused, mentally reviewing the operation. "This is a different situation from what we had in Panama. I think we have to soften up San Julian before the Marines go in. Let's use a combination of carrier attack aircraft and air force bombers." The president removed his glasses. "Do you have any qualms about that?"