“Be advised—” Johnson broadcast.
“We got them! You’re right! Damn it, we got them!” shouted the RC-135 controller. “We count eight! We only had six of them on the defensive fighter patrol earlier.”
“Roger, Weasel. Looks as if you have eight now. Black Three and Black Four, reform on my wing.”
What is Commander Lester Tyler-Cole up to? Franklin asked himself.
“Raptor 10, Raptor Leader; let’s put some speed on and catch up with them. I show fifteen minutes to rendezvous. Increase speed to Mach 1.2.”
The F-22A was the only aircraft in the world with the capability to reach maximum speed with full arms and full tanks. Most of that, thought Franklin, was thanks to the stealth technology hiding everything internally and creating a smoother fuselage. The missiles couldn’t slow you down while tucked inside the stomach of the Raptor.
“Weasel, Black Leader; can you give me a vector to the bandits?”
A few seconds passed. “Black Leader, we do not have the air-intercept skills to provide a controlled intercept. Sorry.”
“Roger, understand. Then guess we will have to wait until they reach us. Black Formation, this is Black Leader; armament switches on.”
“Raptor Leader, this is Raptor 20,” came the voice of Tight End Crawford over the F-22A tactical frequency.
Franklin let out a deep sigh. Finally, company is coming.
Johnson acknowledged with two clicks. “What is your location, Tight End?” she asked.
Franklin looked at his heads-up display. The two friendlies were southwest of Sea Base.
“We are 230 miles from your location. Fully armed and fueled. Unless otherwise directed, my intentions are to join your formation.”
“Roger, be advised we are—”
“Roger,” Crawford interrupted. “We have been following the chatter. You have the lead.”
“Of course—” Johnson snapped, but quickly let go of the transmission button before she finished whatever she started to say.
Franklin grinned. God! He’d hate to meet her in a dark alley if he ever pissed her off. Come to think of it, he hated to meet her in daylight when she wasn’t pissed off.
“What’s going on at Sea Base?” she asked.
Crawford spent a minute relaying what he knew.
Franklin was pleased the other Raptors were being launched. Even as he thought about it, two other F-22A icons suddenly appeared on the display. He grinned.
“Screw you, Chicoms,” Franklin whispered to himself. What a hell of a surprise they were going to get when six F-22As popped into the middle of an airspace already filled with Royal Navy F-35s. It was going to be one hell of a party. “It’s missiles in summertime for you and for me,” he sang.
Zeichner leaned against the bulkhead. His breaths came quick and shallow. Didn’t this woman ever walk to where she wanted to go? White spots danced across his vision.
“You okay, Mr. Zeichner?” Montague asked, pausing halfway up the ladder. Kevin stood two steps behind her, heading up.
He motioned them onward. “You and Kevin go ahead. I’m not as young as you two. I’ll meet you at the tower.”
“You sure? You look awful pale. Maybe we should call someone?”
Zeichner saw her and Gainer exchange “the look.” He had seen “the look” from others during his trip from lithe and lean to slow and fat. Almost a combination of concern and pity. He hated both.
“Go on,” he growled. “We need to know what he’s doing.” “He’s in the crow’s nest like last time,” Gainer added. “At least, he should be.”
Zeichner took a deep gasping breath. “If you haven’t seen him,” he gasped, “doesn’t mean he’s not there. Last time we had no idea where he was.”
“But, the Watch-Quarter-Station bill from Combat shows him as the tech rep for the antennas. When General Quarters is sounded, he’s supposed to be in the top of the masts,” Montague agreed, nodding once to Gainer. “It would be a bright red flag for him not to be there. Foreign agents tend to follow all the rules.”
“If they were following all the rules, they wouldn’t be spies,” Zeichner said. What are they doing? he asked himself. Ganging up on me? “Listen! I said go ahead. If I’m not there in fifteen minutes, you can send the corpsman to find me. You both have done your duty.”
“Let’s go, Kevin,” Angie Montague said with a sharp nod. “Mr. Zeichner is right.” She grabbed the railings of the ladder, and then looked at Zeichner. “Fifteen minutes and then we call the corpsman,” she said. Then she quickly disappeared up the ladder.
Gainer looked questioningly at Zeichner. Zeichner leaned forward putting one hand on his knee. He waved Gainer onward. In the back of his mind, he knew the leadership of the team had passed in those few seconds to Montague, who had only arrived a few hours ago. Her original idea had merit, but while they waited to discuss it with the Air Force, they should keep an eye on Dr. Zheng. He doubted the Chinese-American was unaware they were suspicious of him. If the man was a foreign agent, then there was no doubt Zheng was aware and had taken some precautions. Zeichner wondered what precautions he would take if he were betraying his country.
Nearly five minutes passed with Zeichner resting at the bottom of the ladder leading to the top of Sea Base. He raised his head, happy the spots had disappeared, and his breathing was even. Maybe he wasn’t in such bad shape. After all, it only took five minutes for his heart rate to slow and normal breathing to return. He slipped a finger around the waistband of his pants, surprised to see it slide in without forcing it. She’s only been on board less than a half day and already he could feel the difference, he told himself. He ignored other times in the past few months when he had been able to do the same thing. He pushed away from the bulkhead and walked to the bottom of the ladder. Zeichner slapped his hands together and smiled.
He grabbed the railings for a few seconds, released them, and then sat down on the second rung. By the time he climbed four flights of ladders, he was going to be in the same state he’d just spent five minutes recovering from. For a moment, he looked over his shoulder and up the ladder, nearly convincing himself to give it up and return to his stateroom. The idea that Montague would take charge and take credit for their hard work irritated Zeichner even if he was unsure whether a foreign agent even existed on board Sea Base. Headquarters had sent her to take credit. He could roll over and let her do it, return to his nondescript job in Chicago, or…
Zeichner freed his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead. What if he had a heart attack here? He glanced around. No one to be seen, and other than the background sound of ventilation and hydraulics, there was no noise. In this heat, it wouldn’t take long for a fat man like him to fade in with the ever-present odor of exhaust and fuel oil.
He glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes he’d been here. By now, Montague and Gainer will have notified the corps-man. How embarrassing. He pushed himself up, grabbed the railings, and started the climb, taking it slow. If he died, his nephew was going to be one lucky bastard, meager estate though it was. He had to start taking better care of himself. And he had to prove Headquarters was wrong. Who did Montague have as her mentor to get her sent out here? She wasn’t sent to help him and Kevin. She was sent out here to help her career.
At the top of Sea Base, his breath was rapid, but the white spots weren’t there. He congratulated himself on taking his time. His watch showed twenty minutes since he’d sent the two ahead of him.