It seemed to Yuri that his situation on board the carrier was increasingly precarious. His enemies were closing all around, both militarily and politically. The Turks as well as the Ukrainians were housed in this section of the carrier in a row of guest suites that ran partway down the corridor. He intercepted uneasy looks from them, pointedly accusing in some cases. He shook his head, trying to push away his fears. They couldn’t knowthey couldn’t. There’d been no indications on his mission that he’d been detected at all, not even by his own radar.
And now the matter of the bomb. The missile, then the bombif the Americans uncovered any evidence, any at all, he dreaded to think what his future would hold. In his own country, there would have been a summary execution following a trial that might have lasted fifteen minutes.
Although he’d heard protests to the contrary, and seen some evidence on his own while on board the carrier, he had no real deep conviction that in the end the Americans would deal any differently with him than his own country would have.
How had he gotten involved in this?
His mind circled around that one question, trying to find a point at which to begin to think about it. All he was was a pilot, someone who wanted to strap a MiG on his ass and take huge bites out of airspace. He was a pilot. Yes, trained in tactics, trained to kill other aircraft. But in reality he suspected he had more in common with the American aviators than he did his superiors in Ukraine.
He’d seen the looks on the Americans’ faces as they walked the corridors on the way to the flight deck, watched them as they talked about the powerful Tomcat. At one point over dinner, the unreasoning impulse to join in the conversation had shook him like a strong gale. The urge to talk about airplanes, about flying, about all of the things that made life worthwhile for an aviator. From the carefully edited remarks and unclassified stories he’d heard in the mess, he knew that he had more in common with these aviators than anyone would have expected.
And the missileGod, the missile. The briefing had simply said that it was an advanced model, intended to detonate near the flagship. He’d thought it was conventional, had no reason to expect otherwise. There’d been none of the precautions he would have expected with a nuclear warhead, not the dosimeters, not the special protective gear, not the post-mission medical checksnothing. Had that been meant to allay his fears, to deceive him?
Or was it simply evidence of what he’d come to know as a complete lack of concern on the part of his government for the people who worked around fissionable material.
It was an old joke, one grounded in cold, hard reality: Sailing on a Russian or Ukrainian nuclear submarine was never a family tradition. Too true, since the lead shielding surrounding the reactor had been cut back to minimal levels to allow more space for weapons and higher speeds. The residual radiation leaking into the submarine living spaces was enough to induce a high rate of cancer and sterility in the men who sailed in her.
And what about him?
How much had he been exposed to, flying with that thing on his wing all those hours?
Probably not much, the technical part of his mind concluded. Not too much, at least.
And what would he have done if he had known it was a nuclear weapon?
Refused the mission?
He shook his head, seeing immediately the difficulties that would have opened up. Refuse one mission and spend the rest of his life tainted with the fatal label: politically unreliable.
“Perhaps there is something we can do to assist our American friends,” Yuri said to the other Ukrainian. He glanced up at the overhead, wondering if there were listening devices planted in this area. Or perhaps the seaman escorting them even spoke Ukrainianyes, that would have been easier to arrange than surveillance along a corridor they normally would not have used. “These last two hoursI overheard one aviator say there may be a problem with one of the catapults.”
“How can we assist?” The broad, Slavic face of his compatriot looked puzzled. He gestured at the aircraft carrier. “This is American technology, not Ukrainian.”
“But Ukrainians build the finest ships in the world,” Yuri said forcefully. “Even the Americans would admit that was true. After all, we built the Russian carriers, did we not?”
“Yes, of course. The catapult on those is closely modeled on the American system,” his compatriot said slowly. Comprehension began to dawn on his face.
“So if the Americans have some concern about their catapult, what better way to assist them than offer an inspection at our nearby Crimean Peninsula facilities? After all, Ukraine is well noted for her open and willing assistance to any nation in need. Even in the midst of this conflict, we provide assistance to Turkey to combat the aftereffects of their own aggression, do we not?”
Yuri waited, letting the point sink in. A smile played around his lips as he watched his companion begin to nod. “It would be a generous gesture,” his compatriot concluded finally. “Moreover, it would offer the Americans an opportunity to demonstrate their trust, to cement their relationship with Ukraine. Their intelligence sources can tell them that we already have a working catapult system. Indeed, I would be very surprised if they do not have all of the details available immediately. And what we are offering is certainly nothing that would compromise their security. It is merely engineering services, the equipment and machinery and expertise that would allow them to assess the true operational status of one third of their launching facilities.”
“With the Americans the only nation to stand between Ukraine and the Turks, their presence in the Black Sea would be most welcome.”
And that, Yuri thought, would be of particular interest to the admiral. Particularly if he is eavesdropping on this conversation and believes that we do not know it. And especially if he is concerned about that catapult.
“I will make the offer,” the senior representative concluded finally. “After I check with my superiors, of course.”
He gazed approvingly at Yuri, the merest glint of acknowledgment in his eyes.
He understands, Yuri thought. Understands, and sees the advantages to it. Yuri felt chilled for a moment now that the danger had passed. He had been uncertain as to exactly how much of the entire plan the other man knew. Enough, it now appeared. Probably not all, but enough.
0600 Local
Admiral’s Conference Room
By the time the first call for morning chow went down, the plan was finished. Tombstone lifted his head from the chart of the Mediterranean and Black Seas spread out in front of him. He scanned the faces of the other officers seated around the conference room, noted the drained, sober look in their eyes, felt the distinct stirrings of pride as he thought about the last three hours. From disasterto a plan. Even as the smoke was being cleared, the last traces of fire-fighting water siphoned over the side of the ship, and reflash watches set, the staff had done exactly what they were supposed to doanalyze the situation and the alternatives and come up with something that would work.
And his unclehow could he ever have doubted him?
The same genes that had taken his father over to Vietnam, never to return, had rocketed both uncle and nephew up the ladder of responsibility within the Navy. It would have been impossible to have misjudged him so much, simply not believable. In the end, dealing with issues and pressures that Tombstone could not fully comprehend, his uncle had come through with the right answer.
“Then it’s settled.” Tombstone reached out one finger and circled a large area of the ocean. “Effective 0800, we’re declaring a no-fly zone one hundred and fifty miles around the carrier.”
“With a few exceptions, of course,” Batman chimed in. “I think we hammered that out pretty fairly. Commercial flights on a published schedule may proceed within one hundred miles of the carrier if they contact us ahead of time and arrange for a VID at the three-hundred-mile point.”
Batman shrugged, evincing little sympathy for the commercial air traffic. “It may slow them down some, screw up
some connecting flights, but better them than us.”
“I think they realize that,” Tombstone said soberly. “I’d be surprised if half the flights aren’t canceled anyway.”
Tombstone leaned back in his chair and said, “There’s one other matter. We’ve talked around it all morning and haven’t really resolved it. Responsibility for this bomb attack.”
A quiet murmur started around the table as the officers discussed their theories with their neighbors.
Tombstone cut it off with a wave of his hand. “Lots of arguments on both sides. But this one is my call.”
He turned to Batman. “Arrange a COD flight. I want all foreign nationals off this boat by noon. Every last one of them.”
0630 Local
“Of course, you have my deepest apologies for the inconvenience,” Bradley Tiltfelt said. The two Ukrainians stared at him impassively. “I assure you we have every intention of going forward with this investigation. As soon as I am able to contact the State Department again, this will be promptly straightened out. Promptly.”
“We could continue the matter in Ukraine perhaps,” the older of the two men suggested. “We would of course be willing to host those meetings ourselves.”
Tiltfelt nodded agreeably. “I plan on urging my superiors to take advantage of that very generous offer. As for Turkeywell, she may be somewhat reluctant to join us. A shameit is always preferable to have all concerned parties sitting around the table while these matters are resolved.”
“There is one other matter as well,” the elder Ukrainian said. “Your ship.”
“As I said, sir, that will be straightened out as soon as I can contact my superiors. Unfortunately, the one radio circuit that I’m allotted seems to be severely affected by local sunspot activity. The admiral assures me it should clear up by this evening.” Tiltfelt let his voice express his utter disbelief in this statement.
“When you speak with him, there is one other matter we wish to offer,” the Ukrainian continued. “We have heard about the damage to the catapult. It is a serious matter, as the Americans are the only force capable of standing between our country and Turkey. In return for continued protection by this aircraft carrier, we would offer the services of our excellent repair facilities in Ukraine.”
He held up one hand to forestall objections. “It is possible you do not wish the repair work to be done there. May I assure you, we will not be offended if that is the case. However, if the damage is less than you expect, we should be able to reassure you on that point. And you may consult your intelligence people as you wish. There is nothing about your catapult systems that we do not already know.”
And have improved on, Yuri thought. Still, it would be nice to see one of yours myself.
“Why… why…” For a moment Bradley Tiltfelt seemed to be at a loss for words. “A most generous offer. Really, this is soI cannot tell you how gratified I am. I shall of course urge my superiors to accept immediately.”
The two Ukrainians stood. “You will excuse us, but we have some preparations to make. I understand our flight is to be leaving shortly.”
“Of course. And again, my sincerest apologies for this inconvenience. I hope to see you both in Ukraine in the near future.”
The Ukrainians nodded. “Bring your aircraft carrier, Mr. Secretary. We will show you how valuable a friend Ukraine can be.”
As he watched the two men leave, Bradley Tiltfelt felt an overwhelming rush of exhilaration. This was what diplomacy was all about, and he’d been absolutely right to come here in person. Because of his personal intervention in this situation, a new bond of friendship was about to be forged between Ukraine and the United States. And it was all due to him, his foresight, his intuitive understanding of the ways of nations.
Bradley Tiltfelt was so happy he could almost cry. Vindication, particularly sweet following on the heels of the abusive treatment from the United States military. When this opportunity was presented to the United States, Tiltfelt’s stock would soar to record levels. Never again would a man in uniform embarrass him as Admiral Wayne had earlier that day. And as for Admiral Magruderboth of them, now that he saw how their nepotistic relationship influenced national policyboth of them would pay.
0700 Local
Admiral’s Conference Room
“Absolutely not.” Tombstone felt his temper careen up toward dangerous levels. He glanced across the table at Batman, and was not surprised to see a similar expression on his old wingman’s face. “We are no more taking this carrier into port in the Crimean Peninsula than we are-“
Words finally failed him, lost in the red haze of his outrage. “You understand that one of those men could have been responsible for the bomb planted on my ship?”
“And you would have us turn over custody of our ship to them?” Batman asked, his voice a dangerous, low growl. “I ought to have you shot.”
Tiltfelt recoiled slightly. “You misunderstand, Admiral. There would be no ‘turning over,’ as you said, at all. We would simply make use of some superb shipyard facilities to determine whether or not your catapult is as damaged as you think it is. The Ukrainian workers will be accompanied by American sailors every step of the way. They will not be permitted below-decks, except under escort to inspect and test certain portions of the catapult.”
Tiltfelt frowned for a moment, marshaling the facts he’d been briefed on only fifteen minutes earlier. “As I understand, you’re concerned about two things. First, the structural integrity of the shuttle and its adjoining mechanisms. Second, whether or not the explosion warped the deck sufficiently to throw it off straight and true. This doesn’t sound like it necessitates invasive testing. Not at all. Merely a correct truing and faring gear to ascertain the true extent of the damage.”
“But in Ukraine!” Tombstone still sounded adamant. “For all we know, they were behind the bomb.”
“I doubt it. It was most probably the Turks. After all, they’re the ones who attacked La Salle in the first place.”
Batman’s face crumpled slightly. “I don’t know, Admiral.”
He shook his head, reluctantly conceding a small point. “With La Salle out of commission, we could have a hell of a lot to handle in this part of the world. If that waist cat is okay, I’d sure like to know it. It wouldn’t take longmaybe eight hours.”
He turned and studied his old lead carefully. “Maybe we should talk about this alone.”
Tiltfelt stood. “I will be glad to excuse myself,” he said stiffly. “But before you arrive at a decision, you should understand thisthat I have little doubt that both of our superiors back in the United States will agree with this, at least in principle.”
He turned to Tombstone. “Your uncle because he needs every ounce of combat capability in this part of the world, or at least so he feels. And my superiors will see it for what it truly is-an era of unprecedented cooperation between Ukraine and the United States. If we turn this generous offer down because of old, outmoded hostilities, we lose the possibility of having extensive landing rights in Ukraine.”
Tiltfelt’s eyes narrowed as he assessed the possibilities. “Suppose your fears are true and there is someday a resurgence of Russian nationalism? What if you have to fight them again? Wouldn’t Ukraine be a perfect staging area? Long airfields, the Black Sea as an entry point for an amphibious force, flat plains to accommodate tanks and other equipment in a dash northdoesn’t that sound appealing?”
Tiltfelt tried to keep the disgust out of his voice as he delicately dangled the bait. “In short, would you throw away a superb strategic staging point just south of Russia based on something you can’t even provethat the Ukrainians were behind this bombing?”
He was quietly pleased when he saw Batman and Tombstone exchange a telling look, and felt the thrill of earlier exhilaration surge back through him. He was on a roll, riding the crest of his own superb abilities, and there was no way that the two admirals seated in front of him could withstand it. None at all.
“We’ll talk about it,” Tombstone said finally. He turned his back on the State Department representative as though dismissing him. He looked back over his shoulder at Tiltfelt. “And let you know. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”
Tombstone pointed at the door.
8
Saturday, 8 September
1300 Local
Istanbul, Turkey
I’ve lost itI know I have. For the first time in years, I’m in the right place and there’s nothing to report. This is itIstanbulI can feel it!
But there’s nothing happening.
Pamela Drake stared out at the horizon, so frustrated she could spit.
It was an article of faith that her instinct was infallible, all-knowing, and at least twenty-four hours ahead of any other reporter’s. It had never failed her, not in any part of the world. From the Aleutian Islands to the South China Sea, from Norway to the tip of India, Pamela Drake had been there. Been there first, been there in the middle, and reported via ACN the best stories of any news network in the world.
But after four days in Istanbul, rumors were starting to fly that the famed Pamela Drake was merely a reporter who got lucky sometimes.
Sometimes. As if that were even close to the truth. She’d been right every time, been there before all of them. But did they remember?
More importantly, did her editor?
She shook her head, the unfairness of it raging through her. All they remembered was the last story. What have you done for me lately?
Where is the story this week?
There was never any recognition of the fact that she’d been right every single other time in the past. Screw up once and you’re history. That was how it was, and she knew it.
Nuke Zone c-11 Page 17
