“Aborting now, Semaphore.”
During the hard turn, Munoz tracked the station with the camera.
“No launch, Semaphore,” he reported.
“RTB Deltas,” Semaphore ordered.
“Return to base, copy,” McKenna said.
“Yellow copies RTB,” Conover called.
On the ICS, Munoz said, “Damn, amigo, I think they’ve got us now.”
Chapter Eighteen
Pearson and Overton were in the Command Center with Amber and Arguento, listening to the cryptic messages voiced on the tactical channels.
Intelligence specialists were supposed to be able to read between the lines, and this situation wasn’t difficult to decipher.
They were stalemated.
McKenna wouldn’t have broken off the attack unless he was certain the New World Order nuclear warheads were capable of being launched.
Don Curtis reported from the radio shack. “The National Security Agency and NORAD haven’t detected any launches from space.”
Pearson realized she had been holding her breath, and she let it out slowly.
“Alpha Two, Semaphore.”
It took her a second to remember that she was Alpha Two now, then she pulled herself close to the microphone.
“Semaphore, Alpha Two.”
“What’s your reading?” Brackman asked.
“Impasse, sir. I don’t have a report from Delta Blue yet, but I think we can assume they have at least one SS-X-25 on-line.”
“That’s affirmative” McKenna broke in. “One complete and apparently ready to go, and there’s now another warhead, less propulsion stage, anchored nearby.”
“Semaphore Two here,” David Thorpe said. “Delta Blue, is that second warhead on an umbilical?”
“Negative, as far as I could tell,” McKenna said. “We’ll try to get a closer look on the video replay.”
“So they can only prepare one vehicle for launch at a time?” Thorpe asked.
“Hold on,” Pearson said.
She turned to an auxiliary console and called up the video of McKenna’s first run on Soyuz Fifty, when he had severed the umbilical cable. When she found it, she ran it forward until the camera picked up the best and closest view of both the station and the SS-X-25.
“Semaphore Two,” she said, “on the video of the last run, I see only one receptacle for an umbilical. I cannot, however, see the other side of the station.”
“Fifty-fifty odds, then,” Thorpe said, “that they can launch more than ten MIRVs at a time.”
“Which means,” Brackman added, “that the threat is quartered. We lose ten cities instead of forty because we can take out the station before another rocket is in place.” “Correct,” Thorpe said.
“Are we actually talking about taking the risk on ten cities?” McKenna asked.
“Call it five,” Brackman said. “I think the 1st Aero can intercept at least half of the MIRVs while they’re en route. You think you can do better than that, Blue?”
“Maybe six,” McKenna said.
“The problem, if we wait,” Brackman said, “is that they may actually get all forty warheads on-line. Then we’ve got a larger problem.”
“Agreed,” McKenna said.
“Well, we’re not making the decision. Blue, you get on back and stand by, in case we come up with one. Alpha Two, you have any more on the Kampuchea base yet?”
“We’re waiting on photos,” Pearson said.
“Delta Red, Blue. You listening in?”
“Roger that, Blue. Red here.”
“Country Girl, what’s your status?” McKenna asked.
“Six minutes from the recon run.”
“Red, Semaphore. Take absolutely no chances. Go high the first time, and don’t rile any tempers.”
“Roger, sir,” Haggar said.
“Semaphore out.”
Pearson closed the circuit and looked over at Jim Overton.
He shook his head. “Doesn’t look good, Amy.”
She didn’t think so, either.
Lynn Haggar leveled out at thirty-five thousand feet and scanned the HUD. Everything was in the green.
“Swede?”
“One sweep?”
“Go.”
She waited while he scanned the area on radar.
“Jumbo jet to the south,” he said. “A pair to the west, probably Thai Royal Air Force. That’s it.”
“Roger. Set it up.”
“Angels thirty would be best.”
“When?” she asked.
“Your choice from now until a minute from now.”
“Thanks.”
Haggar eased the nose down and idled the throttles. They had been on the turbojets for the last four minutes.
She checked the rocket panel. All switches were set for an immediate rocket boost if it was necessary. She tapped the ignition information into the keyboard, then pressed the standby pad.
At thirty thousand feet, she leveled out and checked her heading. The readout displayed 005 degrees.
“Want to monitor, Country?”
“Of course.”
The copy of the video from the reconnaissance pod appeared on her screen.
Lots of green jungle, some craggy peaks, a stream.
Nothing to get excited about.
“One minute,” Olsen said.
She had the speed down to four hundred knots. At this altitude and velocity, the pictures they got would be steady and sharp.
She was checking the HUD when Olsen said, “My God!”
She glanced down at the screen.
The New World Order’s clandestine air base was no longer covert.
The camouflage hills had disappeared, and the two-mile-long airstrip, though painted to blend into the landscape, was clearly visible on the screen, along with nine or ten aircraft parked along its length. A fighter was taking off.
“They feel secure now,” Haggar guessed.
“I’d think so. I see MiG-27s and Sukhoi Su-24s. There’s an Antonov An-72, also.”
The picture changed to jungle once again.
“One more pass?” Olsen asked.
“One more, then we’ll get back to Wet Country and get these shipped to Amy.”
“This is kind of scary, Country. Why would they show their strength now?”
“Maybe to keep a suddenly reluctant host country at bay. I don’t imagine Phnom Penh is happy about the recent revelations”
“Or maybe they’re just showing their arrogance, having blocked McKenna?”
“That may be, Swede. Damn it, I wish we could take out those MiGs.”
“If we have to wait on a UN resolution,” Olsen said, “we could be waiting for a year.”
General Oleg Druzhinin stood out in front of his control center and watched the activity on the field. For the first time, it appeared to be bustling and real. Fuel crews moved their tankers in close to the MiGs and Sukhois. Ordnance specialists rolled dollies of AA-6 and AA-8 air-to-air missiles beneath the wings. He felt as if he had a true command once again.
Another MiG rolled down the runway and took to the air with a high-pitched scream of its afterburners. He had stepped up the training schedule this morning since the restricted night training had allowed the skills of many of his pilots to become dulled.
There had not yet been a complaint from Kampuchean air controllers about the unauthorized flights in central Kampuchea. He did not expect one to be voiced.
According to Pavel, who had read the major newspapers, and to Nikita Kasartskin, who had copied many of the radio and television broadcasts, the existence of the New World Order was now widely known.
They should have gone to the media in the first place, Druzhinin reflected.
Now, there was apparent activity around the world. The United Nations Security Council was meeting in emergency session. Most governmental leaders appeared to be closeted with their close advisors, according to their spokesmen.