“So we definitely know that the XF-34 was flown back to Nicaragua, back to this Sebaco airfield?” the President asked Elliott.
“Positively, sir,” Elliott radioed back. “We’ve had continuous AWACS radar coverage of Sebaco since the XF-34 withdrew. It has definitely landed at Sebaco, and so far no aircraft have departed or arrived at Sebaco except for two MiG fighters from Managua that had tried to chase our AWACS plane away from Nicaragua. Our Falcons convinced him that it was all right for us to stay. We’ve been keeping watch on Sebaco via our AWACS plane, by satellite surveillance, and by sketchy reports from covert operatives in Nicaragua when possible.”
“But that doesn’t mean they can’t move it again,” William Stuart said testily. “It’s still a no-win operation, Elliott. So you caught the Russians trying to move the thing. They’re still not going to give it back until they’re good and ready—”
“We can stop them from moving that aircraft out of Nicaragua,” Elliott said, “if we act fast enough.”
“Is it true, General,” the President asked, “that we can’t detect them if they move it out of Sebaco?”
“I’m afraid so, sir. We have satellite overflights every ninety minutes to scan the base, and our radar plane can track anything in the sky. Our agents in the field are keeping watch on the area surrounding Sebaco, but the Russians have stepped up security around that base and our agents can’t get too close. There are gaps … But we don’t have to know the XF-34’s exact location,” Elliott added, readjusting his headset. “We know they have it — we don’t need to know anything else—”
“You’re recommending that we bomb Sebaco, regardless of whether we know that fighter is there or not?”
“Yes, sir, I am. It would help if the plane were returned to its hangar where it was first spotted, but there’s not too much chance of that. I’d expect them to hide it in the jungle or transport it to Sandino Airport, where we’d be less inclined to attack—”
“ ‘Less inclined’ is right, General,” Stuart said. “We will not attack a civilian airfield.”
“Sandino is a military airfield, sir. The Nicaraguans don’t operate any civilian airfields. Sandino is operated by the military but accepts civilian traffic. A surgical strike—”
“We’re getting off the point, General,” the President said. “I’ll end this right now — we will not attack Sandino Airport. It may in fact be a military airfield, but it is considered a civilian airfield. If the Soviets ship it to Sandino, then it’s just another step out of our reach.”
“Yes, sir,” Elliott said. “Sebaco is our target in any case. Our objective is to send a message that we don’t accept our fighter being stolen, our people killed and our so-called agreement being broken.”
For a brief moment the President thought about the upcoming election, the scrutiny he was under already, the criticism he could expect when the country learned that he had mounted an attack against Nicaragua. But Elliott’s carefully phrased statement seemed the bottom line — the Soviets had been banking on this election year to get away with killing American servicemen and stealing a multi-million-dollar aircraft …
“Let’s send that message, General Elliott,” the President ordered, and said a silent prayer.
Moscow, USSR
The General Secretary, as always, began the emergency meeting of his senior advisers precisely on time. He was dressed in a business suit and tie, in spite of the early hour, and bestowed a disgusted look on any of his civilian or military advisers who arrived in rumpled suits or unpolished shoes or who did not shave. The man set high standards for himself, and he expected each of those around him to measure up to the same standards. And, contrary to much of the rest of the world, Sunday was still a day of work in the Kremlin.
The General Secretary got right to business. He turned to his foreign minister, interlaced his fingers on his desk. “Comrade Tovorin, Vilizherchev has been expelled from the United States. Why?”
Tovorin looked anxiously at Kalinin, then cleared his throat. “I had intended to brief you this morning on Vilizherchev, sir. This deals with the experimental aircraft taken by Comrade Kalinin’s agent in the United States. Vilizherchev was called to the White House and questioned about the fighter. He agreed to consult with you and the Kollegiya on the Americans’ demands for returning the aircraft. Comrade Kalinin, however, was unaware of this. He ordered his agent in Nicaragua, Colonel Maraklov, to fly the aircraft to Cuba. When the Americans learned this they expelled Vilizherchev—”
“Why wasn’t I notified of any of this, Kalinin?”
“Vilizherchev met with the President very early Saturday morning, our time,” Kalinin said quickly. “The operation to fly the fighter from Nicaragua to Cuba began only a few hours after that meeting. You were in Leningrad for the day, sir — there was no time to consult you—”
“There was ample time to consult with me. Perhaps you chose not to consult me?”
“I didn’t wish to intrude on your holiday, sir.”
“Very considerate of you, Kalinin. Did you authorize any agreements with the American government yesterday morning?”
“No, sir,” Kalinin lied. “Vilizherchev consulted with me because the fighter was in our hands. I advised him to wait for a reply from Moscow before proceeding further.”
“The order expelling Vilizherchev says that he lied to the American President and gave assurances to the Americans that were not honored. Did Vilizherchev do these things?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Kalinin said, “but I doubt it. Sergei Vilizherchev is one of the most loyal and trusted of your advisers. More likely, the Americans are angry about their fighter and expelled Sergei in protest.”
“I want Vilizherchev to report to me immediately after he arrives,” the General Secretary said.
“Yes, sir.” Tovorin was relieved that the questioning on that score was over, at least for the moment.
“We lost five aircraft over the Caribbean yesterday,” the General Secretary said, “including a one-billion-ruble airborne-warning-and-control aircraft, of which we only have thirty. We have two pilots dead, two captured by the Americans, and four men from the Ilyushin transport seriously injured.” He never ranted or raved, never seemed to get too upset or angry — but the deep, resonant voice, the fixated stare that seemed to bore a hole right into your skull, the hawklike eyebrows, the knotted fists — all told their story.
He turned on Kalinin. “Your mission to bring this American super-fighter to Russia is becoming very expensive, Kalinin.”
“Our fighters were outnumbered four to six,” Kalinin said, “and we shot down four of their fighters and forced the other two to retreat. The XF-34 fighter shot down one and crippled another. If the XF-34 hadn’t been carrying long-range fuel tanks, sir, it could have destroyed all six American fighters — it is that superior, sir.”
“It’s no use to us, Kalinin, if we must kill off half our air force to get it … What’s the status of the project? Can you get this fighter to Russia in one piece without starting World War Three?”
“Yes, sir. We will make another attempt to fly the aircraft intact out of Nicaragua. Colonel Maraklov, the pilot, now believes it would be safer to fly it in a circuitous route to Moscow rather than trying to fly it first to Cuba. He tried that. It was a good plan … Cuba is more stable than Nicaragua, but—”