Dancing with the Dragon (2002) (5 page)

"He'll jump on that," she said.

"Yeah, he seemed to be miffed that he hadn't been briefed on the details surrounding the crash, especially under the circumstances." "What did he say about contacting the pilot?"

"He thinks it's fine, but he cautioned me to be careful. He doesn't want us setting off any alarms with the navy."

"We're always careful," she said with mock seriousness. "You've had a really tough day."

He nodded and opened his menu. "After dinner we'll find a recorder and listen to the tape."

Jackie reached for his hand. "How about a martini before dinner?" "You're on."

Eagle Rock One-One

High above the Bay of Bengal a U. S. Air Force RC-135S reconnaissance plane was preparing to observe a missile test that intelligence reports expected to take place hundreds of miles inside India. Data from the secret test would be transmitted directly from the Boeing Cobra Ball aircraft to the White House and the State Department. The ongoing conflict over Kashmir was again ratcheting up the tension between Pakistan and India. With no buffer zone between the rival nations, the possibility for a nuclear confrontation was nearing certainty.

Deployed from the secretive 55th Wing at Offutt Air Force Base, Nebraska, the sophisticated four-engine Cobra Ball spy plane, call sign Eagle Rock One-One, could instantly detect a missile launch, track the object into space, mark the missile engine's cutoff, then quickly calculate its trajectory and point of impact.

The airplane was equipped with an upgraded sensor suite and sported four large windows on the right side of the fuselage. Made of optical-quality glass, the windows were designed to enhance the capabilities of the Cobra Ball's primary sensor systems. The package included a medium-wave infrared array, a real-time optical system that recorded visible light using a combination of thirteen sensors, and a large-aperture tracking system, which was an optical telescope that provided a clear resolution to small targets.

Long surrounded by secrecy, Cobra Ball's capabilities were well known and feared by the Soviet Union during the Cold War. In order to observe missile testing on Kamchatka Peninsula on Russia's east coast, the RC-135s from the "low-density, high-demand" 6th Strategic Wing at Eielson Air Force Base, Alaska, routinely flew established patterns in international airspace.

A disastrous incident was triggered in 1983 when senior commanders in the Soviet military attempted to shoot down an unarmed Cobra Ball. Instead of destroying the secret reconnaissance aircraft, the Russian fighter pilot mistakenly downed Korean Airlines Flight 007 with a missile, killing all 269 on board. The lone RC-135 was hundreds of miles east of the accident site.

Although night had fallen over the Bay of Bengal, the Cobra Ball crew would be making visual observations and spectral analyses of the fireballs that surround intercontinental ballistic missiles when they reenter the earth's atmosphere. Working with the CIA and the Big Safari reconnaissance program at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Ohio, the Cobra Ball crewmen were expecting India to test a new long-range ICBM in approximately twelve minutes.

Major Dale Kirby, the aircraft commander of the complex spy plane, glanced at the pale crescent moon highlighted in the dark sky and then did a double take. What the hell is that?

"Hey, Gregg, take a look--one o'clock high." Kirby motioned toward a bright, circular, bluish-white object slightly above the moon. "At what?" Capt. Gregg Tyndall asked.

"The bright object passing over the top of the moon."

Moving at high speed in the opposite direction, the strange aberration appeared to be a bright ring of light with a large dark center. The object slowed, then reversed course and began ascending at an astonishing rate of climb. It then abruptly leveled and hovered in place.

Kirby stared in disbelief. "Do you see it?"

"Oh, yeah," Tyndall said, staring intently at the light. "How could I miss it?" He studied the object for a few seconds and let out a slow whistle. "I've never seen anything like that."

"I haven't either." Kirby craned his neck to watch. The eerie object climbed, then began a shallow descent. "It's there, we can see it, and it's being maneuvered by some form of intelligence."

"No question about it." Tyndall turned and glanced aft on the flight deck. Unaware of the strange light, both navigators were working on last-minute preparations for the missile test.

"Hey." Tyndall motioned for the navigators to come forward. "Take a look at this thing."

The captains joined the pilots and quietly stared at the highly maneuverable object.

"We'd better alert the crew," Kirby said. He pressed the intercom switch to inform the mission commander and turned to his copilot. "I'm going to take pictures."

"Maybe it's an advanced UAV," Tyndall said.

Kirby reached for his Minolta. "I don't think we have anything with that kind of performance."

"What about Area Fifty-one and all those black programs?" "Yeah, but we're over the Bay of Bengal."

"True, but I guess it could've come from anywhere."

"Look at that thing move," Kirby said. "I remember when we were off the coast of China and our mission commander said--" Kirby froze in midsentence, then stared wide-eyed as the bluish-white object rapidly slowed to a halt and descended. Without warning, it changed direction and crossed the flight path of the Ball.

"Holy shit!" Kirby reached for the control yoke. "I don't like this--someone is screwin' with us!"

"It's coming straight at us!"

The object shot past the cockpit, causing the four men to duck. "Son of a bitch," Kirby said.

The light disappeared behind them for a few seconds and then reappeared a few hundred feet off the right wing.

Fascinated and clearly frightened, Tyndall spoke in a halting voice. "It's huge--easily the size of a 747."

Shocked by the close call, the navigators quickly returned to their crew station and strapped themselves into their seats.

The mission commander and the other crewmen in the back of the airplane went into shock. The intercom became a party line when everyone began talking at the same time.

"Get a camera on it!" the mission commander ordered as he initiated voice contact with the State Department and the White House. "We gotta have this on film--hustle!"

"We're getting it," a technician said.

Seconds later, the object accelerated straight ahead and climbed at a sixty-degree angle, then appeared to be coming straight at the Ball. It shot past, made a sweeping right turn, and flashed over the cockpit.

"We need to get the hell out of here," Kirby announced.

The object climbed straight up, appeared to stop in midair, and then turned toward the airplane.

Kirby felt his blood chill. "Oh, shit . . ." He trailed off. "We better take evasive action," Tyndall said.

Suddenly a bright flash startled the pilots and crew. Seconds later the RC-135S exploded into millions of fragments, lighting the night sky with a mushrooming fireball that arced toward the Bay of Bengal.

Chapter
4.

Pensacola, Florida

Scott lowered the Mustang's convertible top, shifted into gear, and drove away from the regional airport.

"You're right," Jackie said.

"Right about what?"

"The climate here really is ideal." The soft southern breeze was tousling her hair and she seemed to be, enjoying it. "I didn't realize what a paradise this place is."

"Yeah, it's hard to beat--once you've become acclimated to the humidity. That's why I've planned to retire here."

"Really? You never told me that."

"You never asked."

"I figured you'd be the type who would have a rustic cabin in the Smoky Mountains, maybe on a picturesque lake."

Scott winked. "There are lots of things I haven't told you." "Well, now's a good time to fess up."

"First things first," Scott said. He turned north on Tippin Avenue.

"We're going the wrong direction, aren't we?"

"Just a short detour."

Scott jockeyed the Mustang into the flow of traffic. "I thought we'd take the postcard route to the air station."

"No complaints here."

Scott tightly gripped the steering wheel and thrust his head above the windshield. His short hair blew wildly until he plopped into the seat. "This is paradise, no doubt about it."

"The Redneck Riviera."

Scott laughed out loud. "Exactly, and I love it this way."

Jackie was making every attempt to keep Scott's spirits up. After listening to the tape recording of Sammy Bonello's last flight, Scott had been unusually quiet and reserved. Around nine o'clock, he had left the U. S. Grant and gone for a long walk alone. When he returned, it was as if nothing had happened.

His normal effervescent personality remained the same until they landed in Pensacola. Then the memories of Sammy and flight school came pouring out, causing Scott a few minutes of uneasiness.

"We have to come back here for a real vacation," Jackie said, basking in the warm sunshine.

"Count on it."

"I'm going to hold you to that."

"I won't forget." He put on his sunglasses. "We'll get a sweeping view of Escambia Bay from Scenic Highway. It'll only take a couple of minutes longer to get to the air station."

Jackie closed her eyes, allowing the sun to warm her eyelids. "You're the tour director."

They drove in silence until Scott turned south on Scenic Highway. He glanced in the rearview mirror. "Don't turn around." "What's wrong?"

"I think we're being followed."

"What?" Jackie fought the instinct to look behind her. "There's a white car with two men in it about a quarter of a mile behind us. They're maintaining a constant position."

"Are you sure they're following us?"

"I'm pretty sure."

Scott glanced in the side mirror. "That car--I think it's a Mazda--was parked just outside the airport. The driver pulled in behind us."

"Maybe you're becoming paranoid?"

"Well, I'll tell you what--ninety-nine out of a hundred people wouldn't have taken the route I chose."

He increased his speed and headed south toward Summit Park and Mallory Heights. "They're still with us."

The Mazda quickly matched their pace.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"It may be a coincidence, but I don't think so."

"I agree."

"Why would someone be following us?"

He darted a look at her. "I haven't the foggiest idea." "Maybe they're the prize patrol."

Jackie let her gaze roam until the Mazda came into her periphery. "You're the sweepstakes winner and don't know it."

He glanced at her and then checked the mirror again. "Yeah, I think that's definitely the answer."

"What do they want with us?"

"I don't know, but I have a hunch we're about to find out."

After reaching Cordova Bluffs, Scott was forced to slow down for traffic on the two-lane highway. He checked the rearview mirror. The Mazda remained in formation.

He felt the first spike of pain in his chest. "We need to lose these guys and concentrate on finding Hamilton."

"I'm with you."

"Uh-oh," Scott said.

The white Mazda was rapidly closing on them.

"They're making their move."

"Great--why are you always driving when we get ourselves into one of these situations?"

"Just lucky, I guess." Scott unbuckled his seat belt. "You're the high-speed driving instructor--do your stuff."

He kept one hand on the steering wheel and crawled into the cramped backseat. "It's all yours."

"Get a grip," Jackie said. She quickly slid over the console and into the driver's seat. "This is going to be tricky with all this traffic."

Scott reached for his 9mm Sig Sauer P226. Carrying both FBI and CIA "smart-card" identification supplied to them by Hartwell Prost, Scott and Jackie could carry a weapon on board any domestic airliner.

Alternately glancing in the mirror and checking the road ahead, Jackie was becoming more concerned about being able to escape their pursuers. "We're getting pinned in by traffic in front of us."

"You have to do something."

"I'm doing the best I can."

"Okay, stay with it," Scott said, bracing his six-foot frame. He aimed his Sig Sauer and then lowered it. There were too many vehicles and too many innocent people in the line of fire. "Hang on--they're going to ram us!"

Jackie checked the rearview mirror. "They're crazy!"

With a high closure rate, the Mazda pulled out to the left, then sharply swerved into the left rear of the Mustang. With reckless abandon, the driver of the Mazda kept the throttle to the floor as Jackie mashed her accelerator to shoot out in front and correct the slide.

The kinetic energy generated from the desperate maneuver caused the Mustang to brush the rear bumper of a Nissan Sentra. The driver of the Nissan ran off the road and frantically locked her brakes, sliding sideways to a safe stop.