Shadow Flight

"No, sir, none whatsoever," Kerchner answered truthfully. "I fully endorse that course of action, as does the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. We have already discussed the option."

The president thought for a second. "How soon will our carrier battle groups be on station?"

"Approximately fifteen to twenty hours, sir," Kerchner answered. "America and her group departed Norfolk this — yesterday afternoon, and Kitty Hawk is preparing to get under way from Pensacola. We have an emergency recall out for her crew.

"The marine expeditionary units are en route to the Wasp and the Essex. I anticipate both assault carriers will be in the Gulf by early this evening. The commandant insisted we incorporate a third amphibious assault ship, Nassau, with an additional battalion landing team. It left Puerto Rico a little more than two hours ago. The general is also adding additional Harrier jets and helicopters to each carrier."

"Very well," the president replied, facing his secretary of state. "Sam, you know Aksenhov better than any of us. Any suggestions?"

Gardner paused, chewing on his pipe. "Mister President, we're well past the gamesmanship stage. We simply have to throw it on the table and take a stand."

The president nodded in agreement. "Almost the exact words Kirk used."

"Is the vice president coming over?" Kerchner asked as the Soviet foreign minister was announced.

"No," Jarrett answered. "I spoke with him before I came down-told him to get a good night's rest. We'll need a fresh, clear mind later this morning."

Gaines pulled a large stuffed chair to the opening between the two sofas. Aksenhov, visibly irritated and looking disheveled, walked to the chair and sat down heavily. "May I ask what this is about? We agreed on nine o'clock this morning, did we not, Mister President?"

"I have something special to show you," the president replied, stone faced.

The Soviet foreign minister, feeling the cold looks, steeled himself cautiously to contest any accusations. His face, concealing his trepidation, was deadpan.

"Brian," the president said calmly, "please run the tape again."

"Yes, sir," Gaines replied as he punched the VCR play button.

Aksenhov attempted to remain impassive as the commandeered Stealth bomber appeared on the screen. His expression gave way to a sudden uneasiness when he realized that the Americans had a spy in San Julian. He was caught completely off guard and unprepared.

He had not been informed about any operation involving the American bomber. Was the KGB involved, or had Castro acted alone?

Aksenhov knew that he had to transmit the shocking news to the Kremlin as quickly as possible. He watched the rest of the short tape without concentrating on the picture, searching frantically for a carefully phrased lie to refute the visual evidence.

The room remained quiet when the VCR clicked off. Aksenhov turned slowly to the president. "What is the point of this film, Mister President? I have seen pictures of your Stealth bomber many times."

Jarrett looked Aksenhov in the eyes, shaking his head in amazement. "My point, Minister Aksenhov, is that our missing B-2 bomber is sitting in a hangar at San Julian Air Base in Cuba — a satellite of the Soviet Union."

Aksenhov, confused and knowing the futility of continuing the charade, let out a convincing sigh. "Mister President, I have no knowledge of any operation involving your B-2 aircraft."

"Well," Jarrett responded coldly, "I strongly suggest that you contact your superiors in Moscow and find out who is responsible for the hijacking. We know that the individual who commandeered the B-2 had ties to the KGB."

Jarrett could see the question on Aksenhov's face. All Russian diplomats were suspicious by nature, untrusting of everyone, including their own countrymen. "I believe you understand," Jarrett continued. "We are on a collision course, Minister Aksenhov, and I urge you to intervene before we face off militarily."

Aksenhov, feeling a growing alarm, stood and inhaled. "I will contact Moscow immediately, Mister President."

"I will expect to hear from the Kremlin, Minister Aksenhov, as soon as you do."

SAN JULIAN

Steve Wickham peeked out cautiously from an opening in the foundation of the administration building. The air base was crawling with Cuban soldiers, all looking for the intruder.

The dank, mildewed hiding place was a maze of spiderwebs and rotting wood supports. Wickham thought about his options, knowing that it would be daylight soon. He replayed the lessons from the CIA covert operations classes, especially the chameleon course. If you are surrounded, and have access to the resources, blend into the environment.

"Great," Wickham said to himself, easing away from the opening. "What I need is a Russian uniform." He reasoned that the search would intensify once the sun topped the horizon. He had to think of a way to escape from sure death.