Wide eyed, Jackie and Scott glanced at each other.

  "The bomb disposal people said it would've blown the car into the Gulf of Mexico--they called it a Wile E. Coyote bomb."

  Scott and Jackie remained quiet, contemplating their fortuitous escape from almost certain death.

  Hartwell reached for his pipe. "There's a definite correlation between your awareness of these crashes and the attempts on your lives. The driving force behind these attacks knows that the incidents are being officially denied for the time being, but they also know the two of you are conducting an unofficial investigation."

  Scott had a question. "Are these events the result of some black program gone askew, some kind of skunk works project so supersecret that an investigation invites murder?"

  "I honestly don't have any idea. I had a long session with SecDef and he's as befuddled as everyone else."

  "Befuddled?" Jackie asked.

  "Yes. The White House, the Pentagon, the FBI, the CIA, the National Reconnaissance Office, the National Security Agency, our entire intelligence community, and the spooks who head the black programs that operate outside the checks and balances of oversight had a coming to Jesus."

  Hartwell lit his pipe. "The president thinks we could soon be facing a fire storm of antigovernment paranoia. He pulled no punches during the meeting. He praised everyone for their hard work and achievements, then told everyone to come clean or face possible criminal charges and dismissal."

  Prost reached into his shirt pocket to retrieve his notes. "There weren't any surprises, so the spooks quietly went back to their bunkers and secret hangars while the Pentagon--actually, the navy--temporarily went into a state of paralysis."

  "Paralysis?" Scott asked.

  "For the time being, the navy is going to stand down from night flying operations from their carriers, with one exception. The Hawkeyes will continue to cover the battle groups, while manned and armed fighters will be standing by on the catapults."

  Scott slowly shook his head. That's a mistake.

  "Secretary Adair is deeply concerned about the strange objects. He doesn't want to take any chances until we know what we're dealing with, unless, of course, we're forced to conduct actual combat operations."

  Jackie frowned. "Sir, it won't take long for those who oppose the U. S. to realize that our carrier planes are grounded at night."

  "I know. The president wants to keep this, ah, situation as quiet as possible for as long as we can. In order to solve this mystery, we're going to use every resource we have, including your assistance."

  "How about launching some satellites with teeth?" Scott suggested. "We need an overview of the carrier battle groups and reconnaissance aircraft like Cobra Ball."

  "The president and the National Reconnaissance Office happen to agree with your way of thinking. The air force is going to launch two Orion SIGINT spacecraft into geosynchronous orbit--one over the Eastern Pacific and one over the Western Pacific."

  Hartwell looked at his briefing notes. "After the satellites are safely parked, they will monitor communications from the Sea of Okhotsk, Japan, North Korea, China, Indonesia, the west coast of Canada, the U. S., Mexico, and the western fringes of Central America. They will operate in harmony with our other spacecraft to provide continuous eavesdropping over most of the Pacific Ocean."

  Hartwell folded his notes. "Scott, I've arranged for you and Jackie to have access to the FBI, CIA, NRO, and NSA. If there is anything you need, including military assets, they will be at your disposal."

  Prost handed each of them a piece of paper. "These are the names and private telephone numbers of the contacts at the various agencies."

  Scott and Jackie immediately recognized the names of the directors of each of the government bureaus listed.

  "If you have any problems, don't hesitate to contact me. The president wants answers, and as usual, he wants them yesterday. Whatever it takes, find out what we're up against."

  "Yes, sir," Scott said.

  Zachary tapped on the door and hurried into the library. The perpetual smile was missing.

  "Mr. Prost, Secretary Adair is on your secure line."

  "Thank you."

  Hartwell rose and walked to the desk phone as Zachary left the room and closed the door. Jackie and Scott sat quietly while Prost took the call. He mostly listened, then swore softly as he placed the receiver down and turned to his visitors.

  "The air force lost a B-2 near Guam. According to the crew of a KC-10 tanker, the bomber was maneuvering into position to refuel when a bright, bluish-white object flashed into view and circled the planes. According to the boom operator, fifteen to twenty seconds later he saw a bright flash and the Spirit of Mississippi blew up, completely disintegrated in a huge fireball. The tanker pilots said the object streaked out of sight in a matter of seconds."

  "Does the press know about this?" Jackie asked with some alarm.

  "Not yet, as far as we can tell, but they'll know very shortly. It's hard to hide the loss of a two-and-a-half-billion-dollar stealth bomber, especially when foreign intelligence teams keep track of the whereabouts of each one of our B-2s. Later this evening, the Air Combat Command at Langley is going to confirm that a B-2 was lost during a show-of-force training mission to Guam."

  Prost cast his gaze at the floor. "According to SecDef, why it went down is going to be left to official investigators. The tanker crew, which has been confined to their quarters at Andersen, has been ordered not to say anything about the crash to anyone."

  Hartwell's voice was barely audible. "We have to resolve this crisis before we have a worldwide panic envelop us."

  Scott remembered Cliff Earlywine's tape and reached into his jacket pocket. "Sir, sorry to interrupt, but this is the tape I was telling you about."

  "Yes," Hartwell said as he eagerly reached for the miniature tape. "Yes, indeed."

  "Sir, I'd appreciate it if we could keep Mr. Earlywine, the reporter who made the tape, out of the loop for his sake."

  "As far as anyone is concerned, I received it in the mail--anonymously."

  "Thank you, sir."

  Hartwell rose from his chair.

  Jackie and Scott followed his lead.

  "We'll be in touch soon," Scott said.

  He and Jackie shook hands with Prost and walked toward the door.

  "Be careful."

  "Yes, sir," Scott said. He reached for the door handle and then hesitated. "By the way, sir, I do have one special request."

  Chapter 7.

  En Route to Georgetown

  After leaving Prost's estate, Scott skillfully negotiated the heavy traffic on Interstate 95 as they drove south toward Washington, D. C. Glancing at a line of dark thunderstorms, he was anxious to get his glossy red Ferrari back in his garage in Georgetown. An uncommon car, Scott's GTB Spider had made its first public appearance in the original movie version of The Thomas Crown Affair.

  With two phone calls, one of which was to President Macklin, Hartwell Prost had set in motion the ingredients to fulfill Scott's special request. It was the foundation for a daring plan to solve the mystery behind the series of deadly crashes.

  Scott couldn't wait to return to the Marine Corps Air Station at Cherry Point, North Carolina. Cheerless Point, as it was referred to by many of those individuals stationed there, was the home of VMAT-203, the AV-8B Harrier readiness-transition training squadron. The U. S. Marine Corps had been instructed to requalify former Capt. Scott Dalton in their two-seat TAV-8B Harrier trainers.

  Pleasantly surprised by Dalton's bold initiative, the president and Prost endorsed the scheme and imposed two conditions. Only a small coterie of people would know about the operation, and if anything happened to Scott and Jackie, they would be remembered as having disappeared while conducting personal business in South America. To authenticate the cover story for the White House, the Agency would leave a trail leading from Scott and Jackie's home to Venezuela.

  As always, regardless of the type of operation, Jackie and Scott would go in sterile. No form of identification or identifying jewelry or clothing. In addition, all articles of clothing and footwear had to be free of identifiable tags or logos. As far as the White House and U. S. government were concerned, Dalton and Sullivan were aviation consultants.

  While Scott was requalifying in the TAV-8B, Jackie would be receiving a thorough indoctrination to prepare her to fly in the back-seat of the unique attack aircraft. Also known as the Jump Jet, the Harrier is designed to land and take off vertically like a conventional helicopter, then fly at speeds in excess of six hundred miles per hour.

  "I'm having a problem with your plan," Jackie said.

  "Would that be the expendable part of the operation?" "Lucky guess."

  "That's why we get anything we want, any support we need, plus a huge infusion to our retirement portfolios."

  "If we pull this off without being incinerated."

  "We're going to be just fine, trust me."

  "Let's see, where have I heard that expression before? Oh, yes, our last operation--when we were involved in two helicopter crashes and an aircraft ditching, in the space of one week."

  "Hey, everyone has things go sour now and then."

  "Sour? That's your definition of an ongoing disaster?" Scott braced for the inevitable backlash.

  "Why didn't you discuss this harebrained idea with me before announcing your plan to Hartwell?"

  "It just came to me as we were about to leave."

  "Oh, no, no, n000. That didn't just fly out extemporaneously. You had thought it through and decided not to discuss it with me. Why?"

  "That's not true."

  "I've been laboring under the illusion that we're a team."

  "We are a team--a good one. I had thought about the idea, but it didn't really gel until Todd Justice told us he thought his flight leader could have been struck by a laser."

  "Come on."

  "Jackie, if you'll take the time to think about this, it isn't crazy.

  The Pentagon and the CIA are convinced that the Red Chinese, with the help of Soviet scientists, have developed an antisatellite laser that could cripple the U. S. military's orbiting reconnaissance spacecraft."

  She nodded. "It's probably like the MIRACL chemical laser--the vintage mid-infrared advanced chemical laser."

  "That's right, but the Chicoms may have come up with something much more powerful. Something that can fire a laser beam hundreds of miles into space and obliterate our spies in the sky, the space station, or even a space shuttle--who knows?"

  Jackie glanced at him. "If they can do that, it seems like hitting a rocket or an airplane would be relatively easy."

  "Sure--look at our breakthrough in directed-energy weapons. The future belongs to DEW, and they're making great strides at the Air Force Research Laboratory at Wright-Patterson and at Lockheed Martin."

  "But that's a system using an airborne laser in a radar-like function to foil SAMs and air-to-air missiles--send them off course."

  "I'm just looking at the concept," Scott said. "A laser can be pointed down to jam or destroy something as easily as it can be directed upward. If the Chinese do have the capability to hit our re-con satellites and space shuttles, we're facing an eventual war in the heavens. The same with our desire to control the ultimate high ground. When we deploy a whiz-bang weapon to protect our interests in orbit, it will trigger an arms race in space and eventually lead to a war with somebody."

  "just like the seventeen hundreds."

  He looked at her. "What?"

  "We had to form a navy to protect our interests on the high seas. And that led to a number of famous sea battles over the years."

  "Yeah, and space will be the battle zone of the future."

  "Well, that's the future. At the present time we don't know what the Chinese really have or what they plan to do."

  "Correct. That's why we're going to have spacecraft and reconnaissance planes eyeballing everything within a five-hundred-mile radius of our carrier. If there's an airborne laser or surface laser out there, we want evidence of the platform--the mother ship or whatever we find."

  "I still don't like the idea."

  "Jackie, we're going to be using an unmanned, brightly lighted Fox-4 as a drone--piece of cake."

  " That's the upside?"

  "What better target than a remotely piloted Phantom to draw fire from whatever it is we're up against?"

  Jackie slowly shook her head. "What if it, whatever it is we're trolling for, targets us instead of the drone--blows us out of the sky?"

  "Our Harrier is going to be blacked out and offset about two hundred yards. We won't be visible."

  "Let me try this again. What if it targets us?"

  "That should be obvious. We jump out--jettison the airplane." "And if we don't have time?"

  "Everyone who has witnessed these encounters says the same thing. The 'bogey' plays with the target before any--"

  "Before it turns them into crispy critters."

  "Jackie, there are a lot of tools of manipulation and deception that make potential enemies hear, see, and believe things that don't actually exist. Our job is to find out what's going on and who's behind it."

  He glanced at the dark clouds and turned to her. "I get the distinct impression that you're not uninhibitedly enthusiastic about the Phantom mission."

  "What gave you that idea?"

  "You know"--he paused and then gave her a sidelong glance "you don't have to do this with me."

  "Don't be ridiculous. Who else could you get to operate the camera and video equipment?"

  "Well, that could be a problem."

  She ignored him. "Besides, after the other dumb things I've seen you get away with, I'm convinced God isn't going to let anything happen to you."

  Scott laughed and then maneuvered the Ferrari into traffic on the notorious Capital Beltway. "New subject?"

  "Sure."

  "Are we positive the man we saw at the Grant Hotel was Chinese?"

  "I can't swear he was, but that was my impression."

  Scott reflected on the encounter. I glanced at him only once or twice. "You mentioned the passenger," Jackie said quietly. "The Oriental man in the white Mazda."

  "Yes."

  "Was he Chinese?"

  "I don't know," Scott said, trying to remember the details. "He could've been Japanese for all I know."

  "What was your first thought?"

  "Chinese, but I saw his face for only a split second." They locked eyes momentarily before Scott spoke. "Where are you going with this?"

  "I'm just thinking about all these strange encounters. A Hornet goes down off southern California, a Cobra Ball. down in the Bay of Bengal, another Hornet down in the Strait of Taiwan, and a B-2 downed near Guam."

  "Do you think the Chicoms or Japanese are behind these encounters?" Scott asked.

  "That's always a possibility. Except for the incident off the coast of California, the other planes were lost--attacked is a better description--in an area of the world with a lot of chilly relationships."

  "True." A flash of lightning caught his eye. "The steady growth of the Chinese military is an ongoing crisis for Washington--the jitters over the eventual clash between China and Taiwan."

  "Yeah, and the prowling dragon isn't going to ask Washington for permission."

  "Not on your life."

  She hesitated a few seconds. "Do you think China's burgeoning economy might keep Beijing from invading Taiwan?"

  "No, unless China breaks out in a flurry of democracy--about as likely as an orangutan piloting the space shuttle."

  Scott exited the beltway and turned toward their home in Georgetown. "In the last twelve years, China has increased military spending by more than three hundred percent. That buys a lot, including three Russian-made Sovremmennyy-class destroyers equipped with nuclear-tipped cruise missiles--antiship missiles that travel at twice the speed of sound. That's raising the stakes very high in the Taiwan Strait."

  Scott glanced at Jackie. "Wait until Taiwan takes delivery of our Aegis-class destroyers. They could defend the island against China's medium-range missiles."

  "Yeah, that could trigger a harsh response."

  The entire sky had turned black as Scott watched the first few drops of rain splatter on the Ferrari's freshly waxed hood. "Beijing may think we're too involved in our war against terrorism to respond to a Chinese attack on Taiwan."

  A brilliant flash of lightning and a booming clap of thunder signaled the beginning of a downpour.

  Jackie watched the rain stream across the window. "Yeah, that's the big one. Under the Taiwan Relations Act, an assault on the island would be tantamount to the Chinese attacking the United States."

  She thought about the scenario. "Do you think Beijing would really be crazy enough to test us over a renegade province?"

  "Who knows? America and China are at another crossroads in history. In 1992, China's National People's Congress passed a law asserting ownership of the Spratlys, the Senkakus, the Paracels, and Taiwan. The Chicoms may feel like it's time to recover the territories lost during the bainiande ciru."

  "The what?"

  "The century of shame."

  Her voice became flatter. "When I think about it, Beijing has shown an increased willingness to take risks."

  "Well, we've been treating the regime with kid gloves, and Beijing just keeps slapping us in the face--like holding twenty-four of our military personnel eleven days after the Chinese pilot slammed into our recon plane. Accommodating the Chinese leaders isn't going to prevent a military clash."

  "Bull's-eye." She half turned in her seat to face Scott. "After our past policy of appeasement, I'm afraid we're going to have an armed conflict with China at some point. It just seems inevitable."

  "That's the way I view it. Appeasement is not what you want to do with the People's Republic of China. Beijing is trying to convince Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, and the Philippines that we're a declining power that can no longer protect them."

  Scott turned onto their street. "They're making steady progress in the Western hemisphere too. From Canada, to Cuba, to Panama, to South America, Beijing is working on eroding U. S. ties to our allies. It's insidious and reaches into every segment of society, whether it's defense contractors, scientists, politicians, or whoever.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35