“We figure it has to do with DreamStar,” Richard Benson said. “General Elliott’s group found the aircraft in Nicaragua. We got photos.”
“Brad Elliott’s group, eh?” Danahall said with a shake of his head. “That explains why Vilizherchev is coming out here at this time of night. What did you do, General — create a new Lake Nicaragua with some Star Wars neutrino bomb?”
There wasn’t time for a reply. The President gave a nod to Cesare, who went to the formal waiting area and asked the Soviet ambassador inside.
Sergei Vilizherchev didn’t fit the image of the stereotypical Russian bureaucrat. Young as career diplomats went, in his early fifties, dark haired, tall and athletic, he wore an Italian-tailored suit, spoke with a slight, well-trained British accent. Altogether as polite and correct as could be. A Soviet cookie-duster, or so it seemed. It was common knowledge that this man would be the next Soviet foreign minister, in a few years, and possibly could become General Secretary.
Vilizherchev strode up to the head of the conference table, where the President was seated. Taylor stood just as Vilizherchev approached him. The Russian ambassador made a slight bow before extending his hand.
“Good evening, Mr. President, very nice to see you again, sir.”
“Dobriy vyechyeer, Mr. Vilizherchev,” the President said in awkward Russian. If Vilizherchev was amused by the President’s attempt, he was careful not to show it.
“Thank you very much, Mr. President. Your Russian is excellent. You will soon be able to dismiss all your interpreters.” The ambassador shook hands all around and seemed quite at home in the White House conference room — until he saw General Elliott. Then, for the first time, Vilizherchev looked genuinely surprised.
“Good evening, Ambassador Vilizherchev,” Elliott said, extending his hand. “I am—”
Vilizherchev took his hand as if he was accepting a delicate china cup. “General Bradley Elliott. It is a pleasure,” he said. He shook hands with Elliott, clasping it firmly as he spoke. “It is an honor.”
“Have we met before, Mr. Ambassador?”
“Your name and reputation are well known in the Soviet Union, General. I must admit, not always in a friendly fashion, but they are the short-sighted ones. I assure you, sir, many hold you in very high regard in my country. We recognize military genius and patriotism no matter what the nation or politics.”
The man knew how to lay it on, Elliott thought. “Spasiba, Mr. Ambassador.” Cesare motioned to a seat, and the ambassador sat down. Elliott remained standing.
“You asked to see us, Mr. Ambassador,” the President asked.
“From the group assembled here tonight, Mr. President, I think we all know what the topic of discussion will be. I must, as I’m sure you can appreciate, strongly protest the overflight of our military base in Nicaragua by your aircraft. It was, as you know, a violation of restricted airspace and territorial boundaries, as well as a serious violation of international aviation regulations.”
The President glanced at his advisers, looked at Vilizherchev with an exaggerated expression of confusion. “Ambassador, did you really come here at this hour to tell us this?”
Vilizherchev smiled, shook his head. Ever engaging, no matter the mission. “I would not be so impertinent as to waste your time like that, Mr. President.” His accent was so flawless it was hard to remember that he was a Russian. “That was the official statement, Mr. President, and the official airspace-violation protest will be sent through the proper government channels for processing. But I doubt if the pilots on that mission will ever be identified. No, sir, I have come to relay my government’s position concerning the incident with the very unusual aircraft.”
President Taylor waited, said nothing.
“This is, of course, being recorded,” the ambassador said. “And I understand that such a recording is for confidential use only, and I agree to the recording if you, sirs, guarantee that it will not become public and if my office is furnished an unedited copy of the transcript.”
The President nodded. Formalities over, Vilizherchev continued:
“We have concluded our initial investigation into this matter, including interviews with the pilot, a reconstruction of the flight path taken by the pilot, and an examination of the aircraft. We conclude that a formal, high-level military investigation must be conducted to discover how the aircraft in question came to arrive at our installation in Nicaragua, why it is there, and what, if any, ulterior objectives the pilot may have had. We are asking your cooperation while our investigation is underway.”
As Elliott stared in disbelief at Vilizherchev, Secretary of State Danahall reacted. “If I may … Ambassador, this sounds to me like your government is saying that you don’t know why this aircraft is on your base, that you don’t know the pilot and that you were all unaware of any aspect of the plan to steal that aircraft and deliver it to your country. Do I have that right?”
Vilizherchev appeared genuinely surprised. “Excuse me, Mr. Secretary, but I am to understand that you believe the media reports that the pilot of that aircraft is a Soviet KGB agent? You actually believe that a Soviet agent, somehow in place and undetected in your military for several years, actually managed to steal a top-secret military aircraft — and that this was a plan devised by our intelligence service? We must clear the air right now …”
“A good idea,” Elliott said.
Vilizherchev ignored him. “The pilot of that aircraft is not a Russian, sir. We have identified him as Captain Kenneth F. James of the United States Air Force, a test pilot in your organization, General Elliott. He has never had any connection with the KGB or our government in any fashion or capacity — no association with the Soviet Union in any way, except that his late parents traveled on occasion to the Soviet Union for purposes of business and pleasure. I am aware that your press reported that Captain James radioed he was a colonel in the KGB. That is nonsense. James is not, never has been, a KGB agent or any other kind of agent of the Soviet Union.”
The President glanced at Danahall and O’Day, and even though he returned his clinical gaze back at Vilizherchev, the momentary hesitancy in his eyes had been detected. This was not a possibility that anyone had seriously considered. Was it a KGB colonel in that jet? Just because he said he was KGB didn’t make it so, and the President, and the others, realized that they had no real evidence to prove the true identity of the pilot.
“Our intelligence service has interviewed Captain James at out installation in Nicaragua, and we have tapes of that interview that you are welcome to review. Captain James is not exactly cooperative, nor has he completely made clear his motivations, but he has stated that he requests asylum in the Soviet Union. His request has not been approved; it will become part of our investigation—”
“You’re saying he defected?” the President said.
“That, Mr. President, is precisely what I am saying.”
“That’s bullshit—” Elliott exploded. The President held up a hand to cut him off.
“General Elliott, I am telling you the truth,” Vilizherchev said. “Your Captain James acted on his own, without coercion or support from my government—”
“What about the refueling in Mexico?” O’Day asked. “Our pilots reported that it was a Soviet supply helicopter at that mountain airfield that refueled our fighter.”