He had never been particularly good at math. It was one of the reasons he became a pilot. But he was constantly amazed at the number of times he’d had to perform mental gymnastics to come up a number that nine times out of ten ended up being no better than a SWAG, a scientific wild ass guess.
Based on Devil One’s speed and route of flight, Colt calculated it would take the hijacked jet just under six minutes to reach the next checkpoint and turn back south to engage the target ship. If he cut across the northern border near Santa Cruz Island, Colt would need to fly close to six hundred knots to complete the intercept before the other jet made the turn. At the altitude he was climbing to, the speed of sound was just over that, and thumping the island with a sonic boom wouldn’t do him any favors.
It was a fine line. But like most things in Colt’s life, he had become accustomed to toeing that line.
He keyed the microphone switch to transmit over the datalink network. “Jug, you up?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
He breathed a sigh of relief that the hack hadn’t severed the communication channels. “How you doing, buddy?”
“How the hell do you think I’m doing?”
He figured the test pilot was still disoriented and confused by having his ability to fly the jet stripped from him. So, he kept his conversation casual, like they were just catching up over a few beers at the Country Luau in Kingsville. “I hear you, man. We’ll figure this out.”
“Where the hell are you?”
He had just passed over the eastern shore of Santa Cruz Island, but he wasn’t ready to give up that bit of information just yet. He wasn’t sure if the person who had hacked into the F-35 had the means of monitoring their datalink communications, but he wasn’t willing to risk it. The only thing he had going for him was that nobody knew where he was.
“Never mind that,” Colt said. “Let’s focus on what your jet is doing.”
There was a pause, and he could almost feel Jug’s fear radiating across the night sky in that silence. “I don’t know what’s going on, Colt.”
Colt watched his airspeed creep past six hundred knots, and he pulled the throttle back to come out of afterburner. If Punky was right and TANDY was on the island beneath him, the last thing he wanted to do was let her know he was there. He glanced down at the island again, then pulled up his EW page as an afterthought.
“I hear ya,” Colt said, straining to keep his voice calm and soothing. “You just keep observing what’s happening, and if you see anything that might give you an idea of the target, you just let me know.”
“Target? What are you talking about?”
He probably should have kept his mouth shut. But Colt also believed in giving the man in the seat all the information he needed to make the best decisions, however limited those decisions might be. “Listen, Jug.” Colt paused as he tried to find the right words. “The Chinese hacked into your jet for a reason. We don’t know why, but there is definitely a target at the end of this road.”
“Holy shit.”
“So, if you see anything that—”
Jug interrupted him. “A waypoint was added to my route south of San Clemente.”
A chill ran up Colt’s spine. There were a lot of reasons why the hijacked jet might fly south of the Point Mugu Sea Range, but there was only one target Colt could think of that would be worth the effort. “Holy shit is right,” he said without keying the microphone.
43
Beth blew onto the bridge, willing her eyes to adjust to the darkness as she made her way to the forward windows.
“Captain on the bridge,” the boatswain said.
She half expected to see the same mysterious glowing orbs from the night before, but she breathed a sigh of relief at seeing only pitch black. Still half blind, Beth turned to the lieutenant who had summoned her. “What’s going on?”
The Officer of the Deck walked up to give his report as Beth again surveyed the dark ocean outside. “The Anti-Submarine Tactical Air Controller reported Raptor Two Four taking fire over Santa Cruz Island.”
Her head whipped up to look at him. “What?”
He ignored her incredulous expression and continued giving her the status update. “They observed a small plane being engaged with what appeared to be small arms.”
“On Santa Cruz Island?” she asked, still not quite believing what she was hearing. She might have expected something like that off the coast of South America or Southeast Asia, but not less than one hundred miles from Los Angeles. She glanced at the ship’s heading, then turned to look in the direction of the island.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, before continuing. “After the plane made an emergency landing, they recovered the pilot and were en route here when they came under fire themselves.”
“Well, get them back here,” she said.
“We tried—”
“Get them on the radio,” she said. “Now.”
“Aye aye, ma’am.”
The Officer of the Deck turned back to hail the MH-60R crew when Master Chief stepped closer for a private discussion. “Ma’am, I recommend we divert them to Point Mugu and pass this off to Cutter Blacktip.”
She looked into his dark brown eyes and considered his words before shaking her head. “Not until I know the helicopter crew is safe.”
Having said his piece, Ben nodded his head in silence.
“Ma’am, I have Raptor Two Four,” the OOD said, holding a radio handset that looked like a red 1950s telephone.
She took the handset from him and held the earpiece to the side of her head before pressing the push-to-talk. “Raptor Two Four, this is Mobile Bay, actual,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” the pilot said, his voice punctuated by the percussion of his rotor blades.
“Are you okay? Did you sustain any damage?”
“Negative. We’re okay. We took accurate small arms fire, but all systems are green.”
She exhaled slowly, thankful the crew seemed to have come away unscathed. “Understand you have a civilian on board?”
The pilot paused. “Sort of,” he said. “She’s a special agent with NCIS.”
“NCIS?”
“Yes, ma’am. She said she tracked a hostile force to the island and that they are attempting to hack into the Joint Strike Fighter.”
Beth stiffened. Images from the dive-bombing fighter the night before flashed into her mind, and she glanced down at the deck where she had huddled in fear as it raced overhead, narrowly missing her ship. If there was any truth to what the NCIS agent had told the crew of Raptor Two Four, then maybe the previous night’s events hadn’t been the reckless flat-hatting of an overconfident jet jockey after all. It could have been a hostile act designed to take out her ship.
“Ma’am, are you there?”
“Wait one,” she said, then thrust the handset back to the OOD. “Master Chief, a word?”
She stepped through the open hatch onto the bridge wing and waited for Ben to join her. He saw the worried look creased on her face and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“The helicopter crew reported picking up an NCIS agent who is trying to stop an enemy force from hacking into the Joint Strike Fighter,” she said, looking at the distant outline of Santa Cruz Island on the horizon.
“Hacking into…” His voice trailed off, and he looked up at the starscape above them.
Seeing the Master Chief looking into the sky inspired a sickening thought. “You don’t think…”