“Wait.” The controller aboard the cruiser must be questioning his superiors.
The tanker lights flashed, and Jake flashed his; now he had the lead. He could see the reflective tape on the pilot and bombardier-navigator’s helmets whenever his own red anticollision light swept the plane. That was all. Just the outline of two helmets in the darkened cockpit. The tanker drifted aft so the pilot could look up the leading edge of Jake’s left wing. Jake checked his right wing. The other Tomcat hung there motionless, suspended in this black, formless universe.
“No, sir,” the controller finally said.
“Talk to you in a minute,” Jake replied. He glanced at his heading indicator. Passing 210 degrees. He rolled wings level when the indicator read 180 degrees.
“Toad,” Jake said over the intercom, “use your red flashlight to signal those guys to switch to two three two point six.”
Tarkington did as requested while Jake dialed the radio to that frequency. “Two, you up?” Jake asked.
“Roger.” This was the other fighter.
“Shotgun’s with you.” That was the tanker crew.
“Go secure.”
The response was mike clicks.
With the scrambler engaged, Jake said, “Who’s over there in the turkey?” He slowly nudged the throttles forward and lifted the nose. The needle on the altimeter began to move clockwise.
“Joe Watson and Corky Moran, CAG.” The needle on the vertical speed indicator swung lazily up past five hundred feet a minute, then eight hundred, and stabilized at one thousand. It was reassuring, in a way; he could make these little needles do precisely as he wished with the smallest displacement of stick or throttles. Jake added more power and tweaked the nose higher.
“Joe and Corky, huh? And you, Shotgun?”
“Belenko and Smith, sir.”
“Well, this is how it is, guys. I’m going after those terrorists. Sixth Fleet ordered me not to. The president will probably approve of a pursuit, but we’ll lose the chance if we wait around. Those people killed a bunch of our guys and stole two nuclear weapons. I’m going with or without you. If you want to go back, that’ll be fine. If you go along, the fact that I’m the man responsible and you’re just following orders may not be a big enough piece of armor plate to cover your ass. I don’t have any steel underwear to give you. Think about it.”
Silence. He had 90 percent RPM on both engines now and they were passing through 12,000 feet. He was wasting fuel climbing this slowly, but the tanker pilot probably had his throttles almost to the stops.
“Uh, CAG,” Toad said over the intercom. “Don’t I get a vote in this? I’d like to stay out of prison if at all possible. I’m pretty young, you know. Whole life before me and all that. It seems to me—”
“Shut up,” Jake Grafton said. “You’re flying with me.”
The scrambler beeped. “What do you think they might do with those weapons, CAG?”
“They’re not going to mount them on a wall somewhere as trophies.”
The jets passed thorough a thin cloud layer. Above it, Jake could see the pink light of dawn to the southeast. The stars were fading rapidly. It was going to be a good day to fly.
“Red Ace Two Zero Six. This is Volcano on Guard.” “Guard” was the emergency frequency, 243.0, which was constantly monitored by a separate radio receiver in each plane. “RTB. Return to base. Contact Volcano on …” and he named a frequency.
When that transmission ceased, the scrambler beeped in, and the voice from the other fighter said, “CAG, we hold Palermo five degrees port. What are we gonna do when we get there?”
“What about you, Belenko?”
“If you guys are going to tilt some windmills, we wanta be there to watch.”
“Oh, shit,” Toad sighed.
From his seat Colonel Qazi could see the light in the eastern sky. The airplane was heading right for the spot where the sun would shortly appear. The windows were round and small and covered with scratches which suffused the pink dawn.
El Hakim was in the after part of the cabin watching Jarvis complete the task of wiring the trigger to the bomb. In the seat facing him, the bodyguard with the Uzi kept the gun pointed at Qazi’s stomach. Qazi shifted in his seat and tried to get comfortable. His wrist and head hurt from the blows of the night and his entire body ached from the exertion.
He heard someone walking this way. The dictator fell onto the seat beside the guard and leered at him.
“You know, I assume,” Qazi said, “that the triggers won’t work.”
El Hakim’s lips pulled away from his teeth, exposing them. “Oh yes. I thought you might do something along those lines, so Jarvis checked them before he left Africa. He replaced the timing devices.” The dictator leaned forward. “They’ll work now.”
Qazi looked out the window. The fiery disk of the sun had peeped over the horizon. “You tipped your hand when you subverted Ali,” he said just loud enough for El Hakim to hear. “He was not a good double agent.”
El Hakim sat with his hands on his knees, the knuckles whitening. The muscles in his cheeks tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed, rhythmically. “Another possibility to be guarded against. Another precaution to be taken.” He leaned across and slapped Qazi hard. “Look at me!”
Qazi complied.
“You knew I might discover your sabotage of the triggers. What precaution did you take against that?”
Qazi merely looked at him.
“Answer!”
“Your only viable alternative,” Qazi said slowly, calmly, “is to take these weapons back to Africa and use them as diplomatic tools. They will give you stature and respect in international councils. Your voice in the Arab world will … That is your only alternative, Excellency.”
“What else did you do, Colonel? Tell me now.”
“I called the Israelis and told them you were coming. You won’t get within a hundred—”
El Hakim stood speechless, his mouth open. He licked his lips. It wasn’t true, of course, Qazi reflected. Too risky to give an aggressive bunch like that any advance warning of his acquisition of weapons that would change the entire power structure in the Mediterranean. But El Hakim was accustomed to calculating different risks.
“You’re lying,” El Hakim spluttered. “You’re bluffing.” He tried to laugh. “It won’t work with me.”
“The number in Rome is 679 93 62.”
El Hakim had him around the throat. He shook him like a dog shakes a snake. “Traitor! You filthy, slimy traitor!”
Qazi’s cuffed hands wouldn’t reach. He fought for air. He bit his tongue. The darkness closed in and his vision shrank to pinpoints. He could hear El Hakim shouting, but the words were being replaced by a roaring in his ears. Then suddenly the pressure on his neck ceased, leaving him gasping, chest heaving.
“… too good for you. Oh, no! I will kill you slowly, make you die by inches.” El Hakim stood over him, staring down. Perspiration glistened on his face. “You betrayed us. You betrayed me. And we will get through. We will use the weapon on the Jews.” El Hakim leaned down. Saliva flecked his lips. “I have fighters coming to rendezvous. They will escort us in and we will push the weapon out the back and the parachute will open and it will detonate in an air burst a thousand meters above Tel Aviv.” The perspiration was making rivulets on his face. “You will live to see it, Colonel.” El Hakim struck him, then turned away toward the flight deck, breathing hard.