Shadow Flight

"Da, comrade director."

As Talavokine hurried out the door, Levchenko turned to Brotskharnov. "You will take off as soon as the bomber is fueled."

The air force commander, trying to assimilate the drastic change in plans, appeared perplexed. "I do not have any idea how many miles it is to our destination. We will be running a very high risk that—"

"General," Levchenko interrupted tersely, "the logistics have been worked out in Moscow. These orders were communicated to me by the director of the KGB. You will have approximately one hour of fuel left when you reach the Yelizovo airfield."

Brotskharnov started to speak but fell silent when Talavokine and the Cuban guards rushed by the door.

"Moscow," Levchenko continued, "wants you airborne as quickly as possible to take advantage of the dark. You will not be exposed to daylight until you are northeast of the Hawaiian Islands. They are confident that you will not be detected."

Brotskharnov inhaled deeply, then let the air out. "What are they thinking about in Moscow? This is crazy — if we get caught, it will jeopardize all the gains we have made."

"Goddamnit!" Levchenko exploded. "I'm not going to argue with you. The orders originated from the director of the KGB. You either comply, or contact Golodnikov."

Brotskharnov sat mute.

The KGB officer turned to Larry Simmons when he appeared at the door. "Come in and have a seat, Comrade Simmons." Brotskharnov shook his head. "We're digging ourselves a deeper hole, comrade director."

"We," Levchenko shot back, "do not question our orders."

Chapter Twenty-four

SAN JULIAN

Steve Wickham peeked out from the opening in the foundation of the administration building. The agent had been surprised by the escalating activity around the perimeter of the air base. The Cubans were amassing a tremendous amount of antiaircraft weapons.

Wickham leaned back and closed his eyes. The longer he had to wait, the more fatigued he would become. His best chance for escape was now. Besides, he reasoned, if an air strike was scheduled, San Julian would be pulverized.

The sound of approaching vehicles snapped Wickham back to the present. He watched a GAZ field car, followed by two motorized antiaircraft guns, approach the building from the path the B-2 had traveled. He suddenly realized that he would have to do something very unorthodox if he were to have any chance for survival. He would also have to hurry if he was going to make the rendezvous with the OV-10.

Wickham slid the assault rifle behind him and quietly eased out from under his hiding place. The agent stood, quickly brushed himself off, and walked boldly toward the GAZ.

Chuck Matthews, accompanied by Talavokine and the Cuban guards, walked unsteadily into Levchenko's office. He had been drifting in and out of sleep before Talavokine marched into the cell. The pilot's hands, bound securely behind him, had become painfully swollen.

"Sit down," the KGB director ordered brusquely. "You are going to fly your bomber again… to the Soviet Union."

Matthews, glancing at Simmons and the Soviet general, was stupefied. He noted the look of surprise on Simmons's face. Matthews was speechless, confronted by this unexpected turn of events.

"Take him to the van," Levchenko ordered as he turned his attention to Brotskharnov. "We'll be there in a minute."

Matthews had a premonition of impending disaster as he walked out of the office and started across the hangar. Talavokine walked next to him as they climbed the stairs and went out the entrance. Matthews stepped into the dark brown van, still absolutely silent. His mind searched for a clue to his fate. Listening to the guards converse in their native language, he contemplated his possible options.

Two minutes later, Levchenko, accompanied by Brotskharnov and Simmons, hurried out of the hangar and rushed to the van. Three soldiers boarded the vehicle as the fourth Cuban slid behind the steering wheel.

Steve Wickham stepped in front of the GAZ field car and raised his right arm. The Cuban driver mashed the brake pedal as Wickham hurried to the vehicle.

The GAZ shuddered to a halt at the same instant that Wickham recognized a Soviet officer in the passenger seat. The agent, thinking rapidly, approached the door and spoke to the officer in fluent Russian.

"Kapitan, I am Yuri Kuyev, KGB special operations."

The Soviet officer, taken unaware, looked at Wickham with suspicion.

Wickham continued quickly, seeing the doubt on the officer's face. "We have had another serious breach in base security. Take me to the director of the KGB — we do not have a second to waste."

"Yes, comrade," the captain replied as a brown van raced past the field car.

The Russian knew that the KGB had infiltrated most units at San Julian. The officer reasoned that the scruffy-looking agent was assigned to perimeter security. He would blend easily into the civilian atmosphere on the outskirts of the air base.