“The details of that aren’t clear to us, Ms. O’Day. But apparently Captain James made contact with operatives in Las Vegas and arranged for refueling support. But I am pledging to you that your Captain James had no support from us in planning and executing this operation. We concede only that we were cooperative, mistakenly in my government’s view, once he left your country.”
“You’re lying,” Elliott said. Heads turned in his direction, but no one, including the President, made a move this time to silence Elliott.
Vilizherchev turned to face Elliott. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Look, we identified the two men killed on my airfield in Nevada. One was an experienced KGB operative. The other was a young, inexperienced infantryman. We’ve also identified the mortar rounds used during the escape. All were Soviet in origin. James was a KGB agent, and he killed twelve people while stealing a top-secret aircraft from a U.S. military installation. In my book they call that an act of war. Of course, I’m a general, not a statesman.”
It was all supposed to be a bluff. KGB Chief Kalinin had assured Vilizherchev that the identities of the two operatives were untraceable. By some standards, perhaps, but the Americans had sophisticated ways of identifying even a badly mutilated body. And Elliott now was describing the two operatives almost perfectly. Vilizherchev decided he had been caught in a neatly arranged trap. To use the American vernacular — he’d been set up.
But, again according to Kalinin, a trace of the mortars used in the attack should have revealed that they were Belgian in origin, not Soviet. They had never been consigned to anyone remotely connected with Russia until they were turned over to the two operatives by a dealer in the Dominican Republic days before the operation was to begin … Unless there’d been a terrific foul-up, Elliott was just talking to provoke him into reacting, showing his hand …
“I would like to see your report on those men and those weapons,” Vilizherchev said.
“And we would like to see Kenneth James,” Elliott said.
“It can be arranged very soon. I have been in contact with—”
“And I want the modification process discontinued on the aircraft,” Elliott added.
“Modification?”
Elliott hit one button on the remote control he held in his hand. The digital videotape cued itself to the preprogrammed point and the screen flared to life, showing the last clear image of DreamStar taken from Cheetah. The picture clearly showed access panels open, the fuel tanks in position under DreamStar’s wings, and jacks supporting DreamStar in position. Vilizherchev studied the image.
“Thank you, sir, for verifying that it was an American aircraft that violated our restricted airspace,” Vilizherchev said.
“Thank you for verifying that you have the aircraft and that you are in fact destroying something that is not your property,” Elliott shot back.
The film was a surprise as well — Kalinin had not mentioned anything about a reconnaissance film of such detail. “The aircraft was heavily armed when it arrived at our airbase. Since it is obviously an unusual aircraft with systems and devices unknown to us, a thorough examination was necessary to verify that the aircraft posed no threat to our people. Otherwise, immediate disposal would have been called for.”
“I’ll be happy to supply you with personnel to ensure that the aircraft is safe,” Elliott said quickly.
“That will not be necessary. Our technicians are well qualified to—”
“The bottom line is that the aircraft is not your property, it belongs to the U.S. We want it back immediately.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, General,” Vilizherchev said, surprised that the President or one of his advisers wasn’t stepping in. He turned away from Elliott and back to the President. “I trust you understand, sir, that a complete investigation must be conducted. The aircraft is material evidence in that investigation. We simply can’t release it until the investigation has been completed.”
Silence. Elliott was being left to carry the ball, for the moment. “That sounds like a dodge to me, Mr. Ambassador,” Elliott said.
Vilizherchev’s cool was wearing thin. “We have procedures that must be followed in serious matters such as this, just as you do. Let me assure this distinguished gathering that at the end of our investigation all property belonging to the United States will be returned—”
“Including James?” Deborah O’Day said.
“If he chooses to live in the Soviet Union, he will probably be allowed, just as you—”
“You still expect us to believe that James isn’t a Russian spy?” Elliott said angrily.
“That’s enough, General Elliott,” the President said, deciding the two had played out as much as was useful. “Mr. Ambassador, do you have any other message from your government?”
“Only this, sir. My government understands your reasons for the overflight of our base in Nicaragua, and we understand why you shot down our supply helicopter in Mexico. But I have tried to assure you that this aircraft intruded on our territory without our knowledge and that we must conduct an investigation to determine the facts. We expect no interference while this investigation is underway. We ask only for your patience. But we cannot, of course, tolerate any hostile or coercive acts. I remind you again that it was your aircraft and your pilot that intruded on our base and our ally’s sovereign borders. You must at least recognize our right to determine the truth.”
President Taylor moved forward in his chair, leaned on the conference table. “Now you give this message to the General Secretary, Mr. Vilizherchev. I don’t like threats, however diplomatically put. I don’t like being told what to do, especially by someone who has our property. You are in no position to make demands on us.”
Elliott was encouraged by these opening remarks, but they stopped quickly as the President continued: “I do, however, understand your request for a period of time to conduct an investigation, and I will allow it …”
Elliott rushed in. “Mr. President …”
“… On one condition, Mr. Ambassador,” the President went on, looking at Elliott out of the corner of his eye. “If your government guarantees me that the aircraft you hold will not be moved out of its present location, we will take no action against you for a period of five days. After that time we will take immediate steps to recover our property, including the use of naval, marine, and air forces. Clear, Mr. Ambassador?”
Vilizherchev paused. It was incredible — Kalinin apparently had actually got something right this time. The Americans did not want to precipitate a war over this aircraft. The other stuff was face-saving … “I will need to confer with my government about your proposal, sir.”
“Agreed. But the five-day timetable starts now. If we do not have our aircraft back in five days, we’ll go in and get it. I’ll expect your government’s reply in the morning. Good night, Mr. Vilizherchev.” Vilizherchev stood, made a polite but impatient bow to the President, and left. Cesare showed him out.
“Mr. President,” Elliott said, “you can’t give them five days. We can’t afford to give them five hours.”
“General Elliott, if I can get the Soviets to agree to keep DreamStar in the western hemisphere, and avoid hostilities at the same time, I consider that an accomplishment. Considering the situation I’ve been placed in.” He rubbed his eyes irritably, then pounded the armrest of his chair. “I’ve considered a military action each time you’ve presented your arguments, Brad, each time, and I always come back to this: we would lose the aircraft, the Russians would score a major propaganda coup, and it would be political suicide for this administration. That’s even supposing that we destroyed the thing on the ground. If we lost some of our soldiers or flyers in the process, or failed to destroy the aircraft, it would look even worse for us. A military response is just a no-win situation.”