Shadow Flight

Levchenko hastily slipped on his boots and marched into the hangar. He surveyed the B-2, noting it was in the final stages of reassembly. The fuselage was still open, exposing the complex array of electronic equipment, but the few remaining access panels were being replaced.

Levchenko, kicking a loose hose out of his way, walked over to the senior airframe technician. The scowl on the director's face reflected his foul mood. "When will the Stealth be ready to fly?"

The aircraft engineer, matching Levchenko's serious look, calculated quickly how much longer it would take to restore the bomber to flying condition. "Two and a half — possibly three hours at the most, comrade director."

Levchenko looked at his watch, thoroughly disgruntled with the change of events. "It damned sure better be," Levchenko growled, then spun around and headed for the communications center.

The Soviet airframe technician, upset by Levchenko's rebuke, turned around and barked orders to his crew. Intimidated and uneasy, the men went back to work at an increased pace.

Levchenko was about to enter the communications room when the harried comm officer rushed out. "Comrade director, Moscow is on the line," he gushed, "and Castro's helicopter just landed at base operations."

"Sonuvabitch!" Levchenko yelped, brushing the officer out of his way. He stormed into the room and glanced at the sergeant manning the main console.

The portly young man, showing his anxiety, looked toward Levchenko. "Castro is on his way over, comrade director."

Levchenko ignored him and yanked up the receiver next to the blinking yellow light. "Levchenko!"

The KGB director was paralyzed momentarily when he heard the voice on the discreet phone. He sat down, fumbled for a cigarette, snapped open his lighter, and listened to the chief of the KGB. Not a subordinate, division chief, or operations director. THE director of Komitet Gosudarstvennoi Bezopasnosti.

Levchenko forgot about the cigarette. "Da, comrade director." He listened intently to Vladimir Golodnikov, motioning for the communications officer to close the door, then scribbled a note to the surprised man.

"Da, I understand, comrade director," Levchenko said as the comm officer read the scrawl and rushed out to find Obukhov.

"Da, comrade director," Levchenko continued, surprised by the order he had been given. "I will keep you informed, comrade director." Levchenko listened to the final statement, then said good-bye. "Do svidanya, comrade director."

KEY WEST NAVAL AIR STATION

Commander Doug Karns taxied his "borrowed" F-14D onto the runway and swung into position for takeoff. He had been cleared to hold in position until the A-6F Intruder that had landed cleared the runway.

The commanding officer of the Diamondbacks, along with his radar intercept officer, had received a thorough physical after their narrow escape. They were in excellent condition, except for strained muscles and contusions, and had been pronounced fit for flight duty.

Karns had made arrangements to have his wingman and RIO flown to the Kitty Hawk. He checked with the carrier air boss for an overhead time, then crawled into Diamond 107 and taxied to the duty runway.

"You ready, Scurve?"

Ricketts thought of an appropriate answer but decided not to utter the obscene expression to his CO. Instead, he voiced what he really felt. "A triple martini would help."

Karns grinned, keying his radio when the Intruder cleared the duty runway. "Key tower, Diamond One Oh Seven, ready to roll."

"Diamond One Zero Seven, wind one-zero-zero at eight, cleared for takeoff."

Karns rechecked his flight controls, navigation and anticollision lights, and engine instruments. He released the brakes, shoved the throttles into afterburner, then felt the powerful g forces push his helmet back against the headrest. "Diamond One Oh Seven on the roll."

The Tomcat accelerated down the 10,000-foot runway, afterburners lighting the night, then rotated smoothly and headed for the Kitty Hawk.

SAN JULIAN

Levchenko glanced at the Stealth bomber, then saw Obukhov rushing across the hangar. Both men arrived at Levchenko's office at the same time.

"We have more problems…, shit," Levchenko snarled, slamming the door. "Raul Castro is here."

"I was informed," Obukhov responded, sitting down on the hard metal bench.

Levchenko sat down at his desk and wearily removed his glasses. "I just had a conversation with our stubborn director — THE man."

Obukhov sensed trouble. The KGB chief's reputation for recalcitrance was known widely throughout the organization.

"He ordered us to cooperate with Castro," Levchenko sighed heavily. "They are backing off… washing their hands of the operation now that we have the goddamned airplane."

Obukhov, clearly uncomfortable, fidgeted for a moment. "I'm not sure I understand, comrade director."