Jarrett, thoroughly engaged, continued. "I want layers of aircraft all the way to the territorial limits of the Soviet Union. Sam, you notify the Kremlin… just in case… and make our position crystal clear."
"Yes, sir," Gardner answered, harboring reservations. Kerchner was already scratching a note for the chairman of the Joint Chiefs.
"Bernie," the president said sternly, "the only way we're going to find the B-2 is to spot it visually in the daylight."
"You're right, sir," Kerchner responded, then added a question. "What action do you want to take when we locate the B-2?"
Jarrett responded without hesitation. "If the pilot doesn't respond to the order to land, shoot it down."
Chapter Twenty-nine
The Stealth bomber cruised serenely at 44,000 feet as Matthews and Brotskharnov monitored the radios for converging air traffic. Matthews, to avoid a possible midair collision, continued to fly between cardinal flight levels. Simmons, exercising his numb limbs in the confined space, remained alert and uncommunicative.
The morning light was rapidly overtaking the B-2 as it passed a point 1,180 miles northeast of Honolulu. Shadow 37 would be visible to aerial observers in forty-five minutes.
Matthews was surprised when he heard a Northwest Airlines pilot call another Northwest flight. "Ah. Northwest Sixty-Seven, Northwest Three-Twenty-Nine."
"Sixty-Seven, good morning."
Brotskharnov cocked his head, listening to the exchange.
"Morning," the pilot responded, then hesitated a moment. "We just had a call from operations. Seems the word is being passed to look out for the B-2—the Stealth bomber that disappeared."
Matthews sensed Brotskharnov glance at him. He looked over at the officer, noticing the Russian gripping his armrest.
"Okay," the astonished copilot radioed. "Any idea of the general location?"
"Negative," the 747 captain answered. "The military has a full-scale search under way. They believe the B-2 is airborne somewhere between the North Atlantic and the western Pacific, and the commercial crews are being asked to be on the alert."
"Ah… Six Seven," the copilot said, then paused and keyed his radio again. "Any news on Cuba?"
"All we know," the captain answered in his gravel voice, "is that Jarrett kicked 'em in the dirt this morning."
"Copy, Northwest Six Seven. Have a good flight."
"Three Two Nine."
Matthews, concealing his emotions, began to hope. If he could only enhance the possibility of being intercepted. He needed to induce an engine failure in order to descend to an altitude where most of the traffic flew.
The supercarrier, 420 miles southeast of King Cove, Alaska, turned into the wind in preparation to launch aircraft. Every available airplane assigned to Carrier Air Wing 15 had been prepared for the extensive search mission. Locating the B-2, as the air wing commander had said, was a White House priority.
The navy carrier-based aerial tankers would be augmented by Air Force KC-135s operating from Elmendorf Air Force Base. The F-14s from the VF-51 Screaming Eagles blasted down the bow catapults, followed by Tomcats from the VF-111 Sundowners.
The remainder of the carrier air wing launched in rapid succession and raced for their respective patrol sectors. Carl Vinson had been assigned a surveillance area that extended from 200 miles southeast of the carrier to 600 miles west-southwest.
Four Hawaiian Air National Guard F-15 Eagles, afterburners blazing in the predawn, scrambled into the early morning air and turned northeast. The fighters, from the 199th Tactical Fighter Squadron, thundered over Halawa Heights as they headed for the shoreline of Oahu.
Their mission was to split into two sections and patrol the outer boundaries of the Hawaiian air defense area. They would be refueled twice by a KC-10 tanker. The pilots had been briefed to shoot down the B-2, in the event they located the bomber, if the Stealth crew did not comply with orders to turn toward Hawaii.
Ten miles to the east, four F/A-18s from Kaneohe Bay Marine Corps Air Station lifted off the runway. The VMFA-232 Red Devils, backed by a KC-130 tanker, would provide search coverage in a separate patrol zone. Two Boeing E-3C airborne warning and control aircraft were en route to central and northern Pacific stations. The AWACS would provide sector coordination for the fighters.
The first rays of sunlight began to illuminate the cockpit as Matthews prepared to execute his daring plan. He waited until Brotskharnov was occupied scanning the horizon, then eased his left hand down to the circuit breaker panel next to his seat.
Matthews felt along the rows of buttons, pinched the number three engine oil pressure breaker, and popped it out. He moved his hand back to his thigh as the engine instrument and crew alerting system annunciator lights flashed on, lighting the dim cockpit with a reddish amber glow. The synoptic display projected a diagram of the number three engine oil system, indicating a failure.
"Goddamnit," Matthews exclaimed as convincingly as possible, "we've lost oil pressure on number three." He retarded the number three throttle as he programmed the flight director to descend to a lower altitude.
Matthews turned to Brotskharnov, who sat transfixed, staring at the color-coded electronic displays. "General, watch our rate of descent while I go through the shutdown checklist."
Brotskharnov nodded, watching the altitude readout as Matthews followed the engine shutdown list on the bright display screen.
Simmons, leaning forward in his straps, was tense and jumpy. He suspected that Matthews had caused the malfunction deliberately, but he was confused by the sudden failure.
"I think—" Matthews started, then caught Simmons leaning to his left. The pilot snapped his left hand down, shoved the oil pressure breaker in, and yanked his hand back to the controls. "We should…, I think we can maintain forty thousand."
Brotskharnov, who did not suspect any chicanery, answered with a strained voice. "Whatever you have to do."
The Stealth bomber descended slowly toward 40,000 feet as sunlight filled the cockpit.
The new jumbo jet on Cathay Pacific Flight 12 flying eastbound at 41,000 feet, left four distinctive white contrails in the morning sky. The captain and first officer, enjoying fresh coffee and breakfast pastries, had pulled down their glare shields to block out the bright sunlight.
Both pilots, relaxed and monitoring their navigation plot, discussed the air strike to Cuba and the political unrest in Singapore. The veteran pilots were unprepared for what they were about to witness.
Chuck Matthews looked out to the horizon, studying the growing cloud cover in front of the bomber. He could tell that a major winter storm was developing over the northern Pacific.
Matthews selected cross-feed to balance the fuel load, then looked out of the windshield again. He was caught unprepared when he saw contrails approaching the B-2 from eleven o'clock high. The white trails, closing rapidly, appeared to be five to six miles away.
Matthews shot a glance at Brotskharnov, who seemed to be deep in thought. Simmons had his head lowered and was staring at the flight deck.
The B-2 pilot, knowing that the bomber did not generate contrails, had to do something to make the aircraft visible. He manipulated the fuel controls again, deliberately taking extra steps to conceal his next move. He raised his hand an inch, then activated the fuel dump switch. The caution light illuminated, but no one noticed. Hundreds of pounds of fuel streamed out of the bomber in two frothy white trails.
The first officer on Cathay Pacific Flight 12 handed his breakfast tray to the smiling flight attendant, then turned in his seat. He was peering out of the windshield as the B-2 commenced dumping fuel. The two white trails showcased the Stealth bombe'r directly in front of the 747.