Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 02

by Day of the Cheetah (v1. 1)

The man knew how to lay it on, Elliott thought. “Spasiba, Mr. Ambassador.” Cesare motioned to a seat, and the ambassador sat down. Elliott remained standing.

  “You asked to see us, Mr. Ambassador,” the President asked.

  “From the group assembled here tonight, Mr. President, I think we all know what the topic of discussion will be. I must, as I’m sure you can appreciate, strongly protest the overflight of our military base in Nicaragua by your aircraft. It was, as you know, a violation of restricted airspace and territorial boundaries, as well as a serious violation of international aviation regulations.”

  The President glanced at his advisers, looked at Vilizherchev with an exaggerated expression of confusion. “Ambassador, did you really come here at this hour to tell us this?”

  Vilizherchev smiled, shook his head. Ever engaging, no matter the mission. “I would not be so impertinent as to waste your time like that, Mr. President.” His accent was so flawless it was hard to remember that he was a Russian. “That was the official statement, Mr. President, and the official airspace-violation protest will be sent through the proper government channels for processing. But I doubt if the pilots on that mission will ever be identified. No, sir, I have come to relay my government’s position concerning the incident with the very unusual aircraft.”

  President Taylor waited, said nothing.

  “This is, of course, being recorded,” the ambassador said. “And I understand that such a recording is for confidential use only, and I agree to the recording if you, sirs, guarantee that it will not become public and if my office is furnished an unedited copy of the transcript.”

  The President nodded. Formalities over, Vilizherchev continued:

  “We have concluded our initial investigation into this matter, including interviews with the pilot, a reconstruction of the flight path taken by the pilot, and an examination of the aircraft. We conclude that a formal, high-level military investigation must be conducted to discover how the aircraft in question came to arrive at our installation in Nicaragua, why it is there, and what, if any, ulterior objectives the pilot may have had. We are asking your cooperation while our investigation is underway.”

  As Elliott stared in disbelief at Vilizherchev, Secretary of State Danahall reacted. “If I may . . . Ambassador, this sounds to me like your government is saying that you don’t know why this aircraft is on your base, that you don’t know the pilot and that you were all unaware of any aspect of the plan to steal that aircraft and deliver it to your country. Do I have that right?” Vilizherchev appeared genuinely surprised. “Excuse me, Mr. Secretary, but I am to understand that you believe the media reports that the pilot of that aircraft is a Soviet KGB agent? You actually believe that a Soviet agent, somehow in place and undetected in your military for several years, actually managed to steal a top-secret military aircraft—and that this was a plan devised by our intelligence service? We must clear the air right now ...”

  “A good idea,” Elliott said.

  Vilizherchev ignored him. “The pilot of that aircraft is not a Russian, sir. We have identified him as Captain Kenneth F. James of the United States Air Force, a test pilot in your organization, General Elliott. He has never had any connection with the KGB or our government in any fashion or capacity—no association with the Soviet Union in any way, except that his late parents traveled on occasion to the Soviet Union for purposes of business and pleasure. I am aware that your press reported that Captain James radioed he was a colonel in the KGB. That is nonsense. James is not, never has been, a KGB agent or any other kind of agent of the Soviet Union.”

  The President glanced at Danahill and O’Day, and even though he returned his clinical gaze back at Vilizherchev, the momentary hesitancy in his eyes had been detected. This was not a possibility that anyone had seriously considered. Was it a KGB colonel in that jet? Just because he said he was KGB didn’t make it so, and the President, and the others, realized that they had no real evidence to prove the true identity of the pilot.

  “Our intelligence service has interviewed Captain James at our installation in Nicaragua, and we have tapes of that interview that you are welcome to review. Captain James is not exactly cooperative, nor has he completely made clear his motivations, but he has stated that he requests asylum in the Soviet Union. His request has not been approved; it will become part of our investigation—”

  “You’re saying he defected?” the President said.

  “That, Mr. President, is precisely what I am saying.”

  “That’s bullshit—” Elliott exploded. The President held up a hand to cut him off.

  “General Elliott, I am telling you the truth,” Vilizherchev said. “Your Captain James acted on his own, without coercion or support from my government—”

  “What about the refueling in Mexico?” O’Day asked. “Our pilots reported that it was a Soviet supply helicopter at that mountain airfield that refueled our fighter.”

  “The details of that aren’t clear to us, Ms. O’Day. But apparently Captain James made contact with operatives in Las Vegas and arranged for refueling support. But I am pledging to you that your Captain James had no support from us in planning and executing this operation. We concede only that we were cooperative, mistakenly in my government’s view, once he left your country.”

  “You’re lying,” Elliott said. Heads turned in his direction, but no one, including the President, made a move this time to silence Elliott.

  Vilizherchev turned to face Elliott. “I beg your pardon, sir?” “Look, we identified the two men killed on my airfield in Nevada. One was an experienced KGB operative. The other was a young, inexperienced infantryman. We’ve also identified the mortar rounds used during the escape. All were Soviet in origin. James was a KGB agent, and he killed twelve people while stealing a top-secret aircraft from a U.S. military installation. In my book they call that an act of war. Of course, I’m a general, not a statesman.”

  It was all supposed to be a bluff. KGB Chief Kalinin had assured Vilizherchev that the identities of the two operatives were untraceable. By some standards, perhaps, but the Americans had sophisticated ways of identifying even a badly mutilated body. And Elliott now was describing the two operatives almost perfectly. Vilizherchev decided he had been caught in a neatly arranged trap. To use the American vernacular—he’d been set up.

  But, again according to Kalinin, a trace of the mortars used in the attack should have revealed that they were Belgian in origin, not Soviet. They had never been consigned to anyone remotely connected with Russia until they were turned over to the two operatives by a dealer in the Dominican Republic days before the operation was to begin ... Unless there’d been a terrific foul-up, Elliott was just talking to provoke him into reacting, showing his hand . . .

  “I would like to see your report on those men and those weapons,” Vilizherchev said.

  “And we would like to see Kenneth James,” Elliott said.

  “It can be arranged very soon. I have been in contact with—”

  “And I want the modification process discontinued on the aircraft,” Elliott added.

  “Modification?”

  Elliott hit one button on the remote control he held in his hand. The digital videotape cued itself to the preprogrammed point and the screen flared to life, showing the last clear image of DreamStar taken from Cheetah. The picture clearly showed access panels open, the fuel tanks in position under DreamStar’s wings, and jacks supporting DreamStar in position. Vilizherchev studied the image.

  “Thank you, sir, for verifying that it was an American aircraft that violated our restricted airspace,” Vilizherchev said.

  “Thank you for verifying that you have the aircraft and that you are in fact destroying something that is not your property,” Elliott shot back.

  The film was a surprise as well—Kalinin had not mentioned anything about a reconnaissance film of such detail. “The aircraft was heavily armed when it arrived at our airbase. Since it is obviously an unusual aircraft wi
th systems and devices unknown to us, a thorough examination was necessary to verify that the aircraft posed no threat to our people. Otherwise, immediate disposal would have been called for.”

  “I’ll be happy to supply you with personnel to ensure that the aircraft is safe,” Elliott said quickly.

  “That will not be necessary. Our technicians are well qualified to—”

  “The bottom line is that the aircraft is not your property, it belongs to the U.S. We want it back immediately.”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible, General,” Vilizherchev said, surprised that the President or one of his advisers wasn’t stepping in. He turned away from Elliott and back to the President. “I trust you understand, sir, that a complete investigation must be conducted. The aircraft is material evidence in that investigation. We simply can’t release it until the investigation has been completed.”

  Silence. Elliott was being left to carry the ball, for the moment. “That sounds like a dodge to me, Mr. Ambassador,” Elliott said.

  Vilizherchev’s cool was wearing thin. “We have procedures that must be followed in serious matters such as this, just as you do. Let me assure this distinguished gathering that at the end of our investigation all property belonging to the United States will be returned—”

  “Including James?” Deborah O’Day said.

  “If he chooses to live in the Soviet Union, he will probably be allowed, just as you—”

  “You still expect us to believe that James isn’t a Russian spy?” Elliott said angrily.

  “That’s enough, General Elliott,” the President said, deciding the two had played out as much as was useful. “Mr. Ambassador, do you have any other message from your government?”

  “Only this, sir. My government understands your reasons for the overflight of our base in Nicaragua, and we understand why you shot down our supply helicopter in Mexico. But I have tried to assure you that this aircraft intruded on our territory without our knowledge and that we must conduct an investigation to determined the facts. We expect no interference while this investigation is underway. We ask only for your patience. But we cannot, of course, tolerate any hostile or coercive acts. I remind you again that it was your aircraft and your pilot that intruded on our base and our ally’s sovereign borders. You must at least recognize our right to determine the truth.”

  President Taylor moved forward in his chair, leaned on the conference table. “Now you give this message to the General Secretary, Mr. Vilizherchev. I don’t like threats, however diplomatically put. I don’t like being told what to do, especially by someone who has our property. You are in no position to make demands on us.”

  Elliott was encouraged by these opening remarks, but they stopped quickly as the President continued: “I do, however, understand your request for a period of time to conduct an investigation and I will allow it . . .”

  Elliott rushed in. “Mr. President . . .”

  “... On one condition, Mr. Ambassador,” the President went on, looking at Elliott out of the corner of his eye. “If your government guarantees me that the aircraft you hold will not be moved out of its present location, we will take no action against you for a period of five days. After that time we will take immediate steps to recover our property, including the use of naval, marine, and air forces. Clear, Mr. Ambassador?”

  Vilizherchev paused. It was incredible—Kalinin apparently had actually got something right this time. The Americans did not want to precipitate a war over this aircraft. The other stuff was face-saving ... “I will need to confer with my government about your proposal, sir.”

  “Agreed. But the five-day timetable starts now. If we do not have our aircraft back in five days, we’ll go in and get it. I’ll expect your government’s reply in the morning. Good night, Mr. Vilizherchev.” Vilizherchev stood, made a polite but impatient bow to the President, and left. Cesare showed him out.

  “Mr. President,” Elliott said, “you can’t give them five days. We can’t afford to give them five hours. ”

  “General Elliott, if I can get the Soviets to agree to keep DreamStar in the western hemisphere, and avoid hostilities at the same time, I consider that an accomplishment. Considering the situation I’ve been placed in.” He rubbed his eyes irritably, then pounded the armrest of his chair. “I’ve considered a military action each time you’ve presented your arguments, Brad, each time, and I always come back to this: we would lose the aircraft, the Russians would score a major propaganda coup and it would be political suicide for this administration. That’s even supposing that we destroyed the thing on the ground. If we lost some of our soldiers or flyers in the process, or failed to destroy the aircraft, it would look even worse for us. A military response is just a no-win situation.”

  “Sir, we’ve proved that the Soviets are planning to fly DreamStar out of Nicaragua. Just because we’ve heard from Vilizherchev doesn’t mean that they’ve changed their minds. They can make a deal with us and then go right ahead with their plans. We need to act, Mr. President.”

  Elliott, the President thought, was relentless. Twenty-four hours earlier this guy was on the edge of a dishonorable discharge. Tonight he was interrupting senior Cabinet members, calling a credentialed ambassador a liar, and trying to negotiate with the President of the United States. Still, or maybe because of all that, and despite Benson’s warning, he was starting to respect, maybe even like, this veteran Air Force officer. But the man was too ready to hit out with military force. He had no conception of the political realities involved. Generals rarely did.

  “I have to disagree, General, at least for now. Brad, the truth here is that we have few realistic options. I just feel the repercussions of an offensive against the Russians would be far worse than the loss of this aircraft, no matter how advanced it is. Let’s at least wait to see what their reaction to my proposal is.” “I’m not suggesting an offensive, sir. My concern right now is that they’ll go ahead with their plans to take DreamStar out of Nicaragua—that this visit by Vilizherchev was just a smokescreen to get us to relax and drop any plans to retake DreamStar. While we wait for a response from the Soviets, DreamStar could be on its way to Russia, and then we would have no recourse except to begin negotiations all over again. That could drag on for weeks, even months—as long as it took to export the XF-34’s technology to their development bureaus . . .” Before anyone could interrupt, Elliott continued: “I have a plan, sir, to set up a very small-scale air cordon in the Caribbean—very small, unobtrusive, easily managed but effective. The plan revolves around one AWACS radar plane based out of San Juan, with fighter escort, to cover the eastern Caribbean, and one AWACS operating overwater out of Honduras to cover the northern and western Caribbean.”

  “Why couldn’t DreamStar just blast its way out like it blasted its way into Nicaragua, General?” Stuart asked. “You said this XF-34 can fly rings around any other fighter in our inventory. If we put a radar plane and a few fighters right in its way, what’s to stop it from shooting them down?”

  “If the Soviets fit those external tanks to DreamStar, she won’t be in nearly as good condition to fight,” Elliott said. He sounded more optimistic than he felt—he was in the realm of pure speculation now. “DreamStar’s wings weren’t designed for external fuel tanks. My guess is that a small interceptor group can defeat DreamStar in this situation—at least the odds would be nearly even ...”

  “But your plan still calls for an armed response,” Stuart said. “You’re trying to force this government into a confrontation with the Russians. How many times does the President need to say no to you, General?”

  “If DreamStar stays in Nicaragua, sir, there won’t be a confrontation,” Air Force Secretary Wilbur Curtis spoke up. “Our interceptor task force will be on just another Caribbean training flight. If DreamStar tries to break out, then the Russians will have violated our arrangement and demonstrated a cynical unwillingness to resolve this matter—” he turned to the President—“in which case, in my opinion,
it justifies a much stronger response from us . . .”

  The President leaned back in his chair, massaged his forehead and stared at the chart of Central America. Exhaustion and strain made the colors in the chart begin to dance before his eyes. “What forces do we have in the area?” he asked.

  Elliott was already flipping to the page in his notes in anticipation. “Sir, the forces are essentially in place right now to cover the eastern Caribbean. We can step up interceptor activity to identify all low-flying high-speed aircraft that we detect. As for the northern and western Caribbean, that will be tougher. We should be able to arrange a fighter drag into the area in six to eight hours—”

  “A what?”

  “A fighter drag, a deployment. Nine fighters from Howard Air Force Base in the Canal Zone would deploy to our garrison staging base at La Cieba on the Honduras north coast. Three aircraft would go on station over the Caribbean immediately with the AWACS bird and a tanker, with the rest rotating in shifts. It may be possible to get support from the Cayman Islands for landing rights, but I’m anticipating difficulties with them allowing armed American aircraft to land there so I’ve planned this without the Cayman Islands.”

  The President was impressed that Elliott had already planned this mission in such detail. Still . . .

  “This would continue until we could bring up naval support from New Orleans or the eastern Caribbean, either of which would take approximately forty-eight hours to reach the area,” Elliott pressed on. “The best we’ve got available is the carrier Theodore Roosevelt, which is deployed north of Puerto Rico on a training cruise. She can be in position in about two days. CVN-73 George Washington is the better choice, but she’s in port in New Orleans and may take several days to deploy. Aircraft would be armed with short- and medium-range air-to- air missiles as well as long-range fuel tanks. They would intercept any aircraft within range and visually identify each one. If they become overloaded with targets, priority would be given to high-speed, high-altitude aircraft. Although it’s possible for DreamStar to make the flight at almost any speed and almost any altitude, the enormous distance he has to go would suggest he’d have to conserve as much fuel as possible, and that means high altitude and as little high-lift, low-speed flying as possible . . . Our pilot’s orders would be . . . and this hurts . . . to destroy DreamStar and any other hostile aircraft that may be escorting her that engage our aircraft. But if possible they would try to harass or divert DreamStar toward a forced water landing.”