Shadow Flight

"Damnit!" Levchenko snapped, showing his growing frustration. "The situation is out of control. Golodnikov knows the operation has collapsed. They can't contain or control Castro, and they have turned their backs on the operation… and us. I don't know what the hell is going on, but the Kremlin is not to be involved further. Golodnikov inferred that I am a man without a country-persona non grata in Moscow."

Levchenko yanked out a cigarette, lighted it, and inhaled deeply. "We are out of the picture. The Stealth belongs to Castro, as of now."

Both men sat in dumbfounded silence. So many months of intense work, training, and planning had been erased in one split second.

Levchenko started to speak, then noticed a commotion in the hangar. He stood, then walked to the door and opened it. "He's here," Levchenko said in a resigned voice. "I will need your assistance, Natanoly Vitelevich."

"You have it, comrade director."

Levchenko and Obukhov silently observed Raul Castro and his small procession enter the hangar, stop for a moment to take in the secret bomber, then walk slowly toward the work spaces and office.

Levchenko, watching Raul Castro, wondered about Fidel Castro's motivation. The dictator had always harbored a grudge against the Soviet Union for excluding him during the 1961 missile crisis-the October crisis in Cuban history. Stifling his rage and looking pleasant, Levchenko walked toward the commander of the Cuban army and extended his hand.

Raul Castro gave Levchenko an obligatory handshake. He was imposing as he stared at Levchenko, eyes focused, riveting. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and sideburns. His olive green utility uniform was damp with perspiration. "You do not have the bomber ready to fly," Castro accused.

"Comrade general," Levchenko replied uncomfortably, "the bomber will be ready to fly in three hours. The men are working as fast as they can."

Raul Castro remained silent a moment before he leaned into Levchenko's face. "I will be back in three hours — have it ready!"

Levchenko flinched, feeling the warm spittle hit his cheek. "Yes, comrade general."

USS KITTY HAWK (CV-63)

Sparks flew from the tailhook of Diamond 107 as Comdr. Doug Karns screeched to a halt in the number three arresting cable. The CO let the Tomcat roll back a few feet, dropped the wire, raised the tailhook, and followed the lighted wands held aloft by the flight deck petty officer. The pitch-black deck was alive with ordnance handlers and fueling crews.

Kitty Hawk began slowing as the plane guard helicopter, a Kaman SH-2F Seasprite, entered a hover over the angle deck, then settled to a gentle landing. Two F-14Ds sat on the forward catapults, manned and ready to launch at a moment's notice.

Seventy-five miles ahead of Kitty Hawk, off the port quarter, two Diamondback Tomcats flew barrier air combat patrol. They would refuel one more time from two KA-6D Intruders before being relieved by two F-14Ds from the Black Aces of VF-41.

On board Kitty Hawk, in flag plot, the carrier air wing commander had received the tactical air operations order. The battle plans had been approved by the Joint Chiefs of Staff before being forwarded to the three carrier groups. The operations order tasked the three air wings with attack and combat air patrol missions, along with a war-at-sea contingency.

SAN JULIAN

Gennadi Levchenko, unshaven and feeling the effects of fatigue, supervised the final assembly of the Stealth bomber. He had Simmons, who had become even more withdrawn, in the cockpit checking the avionics and weapons systems.

Levchenko had watched the time closely, expecting the Cuban general to return at the end of three hours. He observed the tired technicians reconnect the last avionics system and replace the last access panel, then went into the lavatory and washed his face with cold water. He was drying his neck vigorously when Natanoly Obukhov rushed in.

"Comrade director," Obukhov said breathlessly, "Raul Castro called. He wants an engine run-up on the Stealth, and then have it towed to the flight line."

Levchenko looked at his assistant through tired, bloodshot eyes. "What are you waiting for? It's his airplane now… we're out of the picture."

"Da, comrade director," Obukhov replied respectfully, turning to leave. "I will take care of everything."

Levchenko finished drying his face and flung the towel into a corner hamper. He was about to lie down when the sergeant from the communications center appeared at the door.

"Comrade director, you have an urgent call from Moscow!"

Steve Wickham, hearing the loud sound of jet engines being started, inched next to the opening in the foundation. The base was completely blacked out except for a group of men working with flashlights.