Elliott was silent for a few moments, then: “All right, sir. But we’ve got the eastern Caribbean covered pretty well. I’ll take command of the western task force.”
“The Old Man expects you to take the east.”
“I only told him I’d be airborne in an AWACS — I didn’t say which one. I’ll be in real-time contact with the eastern forces at all times from the AWACS out of Honduras. I’ll bet my pension they try to pull a fast one on us.”
“Let me assure you, Brad,” Curtis said, “you are betting your pension on this one.”
The Consulate of the Soviet Socialist Republics, Washington, D.C
The voice and data-scrambler system was experiencing severe distortion from solar-flare activity, but the elation in the KGB chief’s voice was obvious.
“That is very good news,” Kalinin said. He was sitting in the Kremlin communications center in Moscow, sipping tea and waiting impatiently for his aide, Molokov, to finish buttering a plate of pirozhoks, his favorite small turnover pastries, with fruit and creme fillings. “The Americans are obviously anxious to avoid an embarrassing conflict so close to their national elections.”
“The Americans may have extended their waiting period, comrade Kalinin,” Vilizherchev said from Washington, sipping a snifter of brandy, “but they have certainly not relented. They are expecting a message from Moscow in no more than twelve hours agreeing not to move their aircraft out of Sebaco and agreeing to turn the aircraft over to them in five days. If you do not comply) they have well-supported and vocal elements of their military that are ready to invade Sebaco and take their property back. They’re led by General Bradley Elliott of their air force.”
“Elliott … a paper tiger, an anachronism,” Kalinin said. “Too hawkish for the current government. I estimate he will be forced to retire soon. After all, we removed the XF-34 from his base.”
“Elliott was at the White House tonight,” Vilizherchev said. “Apparently he was the one who staged the overflight at Sebaco today. If he has fallen from grace in the eyes of Taylor’s government, they are hiding it very well. “
“Don’t worry about Elliott—”
“I am not worried about him,” Vilizherchev said. “I am concerned about you, sir. On your behalf I agreed to take their message to my government. The Americans are expecting a reply. But I sense that you are unconcerned about any possible agreements and that you plan to take that aircraft out of Nicaragua regardless of any tentative agreements …”
“You will be vindicated in this, Sergei,” Kalinin said. “The aircraft will be gone from Nicaragua long before the Americans expect a reply from the Kremlin. The KGB will accept the responsibility for the aircraft, and you can tell the Americans that the rotten KGB ignored your agreement and acted on their own. There’s nothing they can do once we have the aircraft except protest. And they will get their aircraft back — after we finish studying it, of course. I understand it is a fabulous machine.”
“I agree; it must be a fantastic machine,” Vilizherchev said, “because I believe the United States will retaliate in ways other than just protest.” There was a pause, with both men listening to the crackles and snaps of solar-generated electrons interfering with the satellite transmission. Then: “About my report to the Foreign Minister …”
“Delay it for twenty-four hours.”
Vilizherchev had been expecting this. “That is impossible,” he said. “I went to the White House. I spoke with the President. I left the Consulate at night without escort, without leaving an itinerary or contact log. What shall I report — I went on a drive around Washington to see the sights? What if someone in the White House mentions my visit to someone in Moscow and they find out I did not report it? What if this whole incident ends up in the newspapers — the media is behind every lamppost in this city.”
“Calm yourself,” Kalinin said. “The missing report will not surface for at least twenty-four hours, perhaps more. By then this incident will be concluded and I will explain everything to the General Secretary and the Politburo.”
“I expect it,” Vilizherchev said. “Unauthorized contact with the American government by a member of our government is still punishable, as you know, by life at hard labor. I have a desire to retire to warmer climates than Siberia.”
Kalinin broke the connection without replying. The signal, in any case, was deteriorating rapidly; so was Vilizhervchev’s resolve. He was not a stupid man but he had not been in government long enough to represent a danger to Kalinin’s power. Unless everything came completely unraveled, Vilizherchev could be trusted to keep silent — after all, having the director of the KGB as a co-conspirator was not such a bad position.
But now it was up to Maraklov to get that aircraft safely out of Nicaragua. All of their futures now rode on him.
Sebaco, Nicaragua
Andrei Maraklov awoke to bedlam. Dozens of faults were being reported to him at once, ranging in severity from complete system short-circuits to oil leaks. But the familiar rush of power and energy that always accompanied a successful interface with ANTARES was a welcome feeling, in spite of the faults being reported.
DreamStar had undergone a major transformation. Her newest additions were two large cigar-shaped stainless-steel fuel tanks, one suspended under each wing. Two of the four weapon hard-points on each wing were combined to hold the Lluyka tank’s pylon; that, plus the size of the tanks themselves, left DreamStar with the capability to carry only two missiles instead of eight. Inside each tank pylon, the fuel tank’s pressurization line was spliced to the wing tank’s bleed air-pressurization system, which allowed fuel to flow from the tanks and feed the engines before wing-tank fuel was used. The hardpoint’s jettison-circuitry was spliced into jettison-squibs in the pylon, which would blow the pylon off the wing.
There was no time to test the aerodynamic qualities of the fuel tank with DreamStar — no way to determine if DreamStar could even fly with the tanks installed. The tanks could fail to feed properly, feed unevenly, rupture the wing tanks, hit the aircraft on jettison, or flutter so badly that even a normal takeoff would result in a crash. There just was no time to test it. The flight would have to go as scheduled in spite of the risks.
DreamStar’s anterior fins were replaced, and the aircraft put back together as best they could after being partially dismantled shortly after landing. The plan was to use DreamStar’s own self-diagnostic computer routines to check the aircraft and direct the aircraft maintenance technicians to the problems.
As always, Maraklov activated the radios first. “How do you read, General?”
General Tret’yak stared at Musi Zaykov as the machinelike words came over his headphone. He keyed his microphone: “Kw dyela? “
“This is Maraklov, General.”
“Colonel, are you all right? Your voice sounds different.”
“My voice is altered by computer. I don’t think I can speak in Russian. I have several faults that need inspection. The most serious is a left primary-bus short-circuit. The technicians will have to open the left number-four access panel. The bus-module is on the center electronics rack. I will deactivate the system when the panel is open.”
“Azhidan yah, “ Tret’yak said. “Wait, Colonel, I do not understand you.” There was a slight pause as Tret’yak passed the headphones to Zaykov.