Dancing with the Dragon (2002) (7 page)

Scott drove past the National Museum of Naval Aviation. "I'm interested in knowing why the admiral acted the way he did."

"At first I thought it was an overreaction. Many people who have encounters with 'strange things' are labeled crackpots. It can ruin careers, as I'm sure you know."

"A bubble off center," Scott said.

"That's all it takes. In retrospect, I still don't know what precipitated the events that happened next."

"What happened next?" Jackie asked.

"After Lou and I saw the flight surgeon, we had some medicinal brandy and went to our staterooms. About ten minutes later, our squadron skipper called us back to the ready room. That's when Lou and I found out we were being transferred, immediately, to separate commands. No explanation, no questions allowed. Pack your trash and keep your mouth shut."

She leaned back in the seat. "That's all I know. I'm waiting for orders to become a flight instructor at VT-6. Any chance of becoming the first female Blue Angel pilot has gone straight down the toilet."

Scott and Jackie remained quiet, sensing the anxiety and animosity Merrick was experiencing.

"What do you think it was, the object you chased?" Jackie asked.

"I honestly don't know what to think. It happened so quickly--it's like a horrible, chilling nightmare that haunts me day and night. Whatever it was, I can assure you there weren't any humans in it."

"How do you know?" Jackie asked.

"They'd be dead from the G-forces."

Without exchanging a word, Scott and Jackie contemplated what Hamilton had revealed. He politely changed the subject. "Merrick, you mentioned being watched--feeling that someone was tailing you."

"Yes. From the day I arrived here, I've had this, call it intuition, that someone was watching me. Sometimes close by, sometimes at a distance. I keep trying to shake it, but I can't."

Scott turned toward the officers' club. "After our experience today, you may be right."

Caution flashed in Hamilton's eyes.

"Let me explain how Jackie and I got involved in this and what happened to us this afternoon."

Scott related the story, including the evidence Cliff Earlywine had gathered on board the carrier. He explained how they had met Earlywine and what had happened after they left the Pensacola airport.

When Scott was finished, Merrick sat in silence for a moment. "Now I'm really confused. What's going on?"

"We're not sure ourselves," Jackie admitted.

Merrick's normally unshakable demeanor began to crack. "Is my life in jeopardy--is that what you're trying to tell me?"

There was a pause before Scott answered. "Merrick, we don't know any more than you do. We came down here to listen to your version of what happened the night of the accident, and that's all. We had no idea we would be ambushed, and we don't want you to be caught off guard."

Merrick remained silent, void of any expression.

Jackie turned to her. "My advice would be to take some leave and don't tell anyone where you're going, not even the navy."

"I'll have to give them an address and phone contact, but I could be camping in the wilds of Alaska."

Jackie handed Merrick a slip of paper with a telephone number written on it. "That's my satellite phone number. If you want to contact us, we'll keep you informed about our investigation."

"Yes, I do want to stay in touch with you. I have about three weeks on the books and I could use some time off. I'm almost certain I can leave in the morning--hopefully."

"Good," Jackie said.

"I'll let you know where I can be reached."

"Please do," Scott said, approaching the club. "Stay alert and stay with friends until you go on leave. If you notice anything strange, call security."

"I will, and thanks."

Chapter
5.

The Taiwan Strait

Returning from the Persian Gulf and war-at-sea exercises in the South China Sea, the USS Kitty Hawk and her battle group were transiting the Taiwan Strait en route to their homeport at Yokosuka, Japan. The night was coal black with calm seas and a humongous line of thunderstorms between the carrier and Taipei, Taiwan.

Ninety-five nautical miles northeast of the carrier, Lt. Comdr. Wade "Tex" Denton and his wingman, Lt. Todd Justice, were returning from a simulated long-range air strike in the Ryukyu Islands.

Caught off guard by the size and intensity of the storms, they didn't have enough fuel to go over or around them. Their tanker, an S-3B Viking, was waiting on the other side. Rather than diverting to Taipei, Denton was determined to reduce speed and punch through the teeth of the raging thunderstorm.

With Justice welded to Denton's right wing, the single-seat F/A18Cs penetrated the line and immediately flew into heavy rain and severe turbulence. Todd tried to hang on to his flight leader as they lost and then gained hundreds of feet of altitude, bouncing and bucking wildly.

Tossed from side to side and up and down, the pilots fought to control their planes while hail pounded the fighters and lightning flashed around them. Moments later, St. Elmo's fire caused a blue web of sparks to form on their canopies. The sensation was like going over Niagara Falls in a kettledrum while strobe lights flashed in your face.

As hard as he struggled, Justice lost sight of Denton's recognition lights in the dark haze and blinding rain. Fearing a midair collision, Todd banked his F/A-18 away from Denton's fighter and flew an offset heading nearly parallel to his section leader. With his heart stuck in his throat, he eased his throttles back and began nursing his plane lower. Seconds later, after being struck by lightning, the two fighters blasted through the line of storms and found themselves in clear skies and calm air.

Denton keyed his radio. "Todd, I have you at three o'clock low. Close it up and we'll hit the tanker."

"Roger that." Justice forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. Well, that was an experience I don't care to repeat.

As they began their rendezvous with the Viking, Denton and Justice noticed a large, round, bluish-white object streak out of the western sky, flash by their fighters, and climb almost vertically directly over them.

"Tex, what the hell was that thing?" Todd asked.

"I don't know, but it scared the bejesus out of me."

"Oh, shit, here it comes again." He drifted away from his flight leader as he craned his neck to follow the course of the strange object.

While Denton attempted to call Kitty Hawk's carrier air traffic control center, the bluish-white object slashed downward and stabilized about a hundred yards off the port side of the formation.

"It's huge," Todd said. It looks like a big Frisbee flying at a thirty-degree angle to the horizon.

Denton was talking to a CATCC controller when the object accelerated, climbed skyward, paused a few seconds, then came hurtling straight at them. Todd saw a bright flash at the same instant Denton's plane exploded like an aerial fireworks display. The bright, bluish-white object slashed by Todd's Hornet, made a tight 180-degree turn, and accelerated out of sight in a matter of seconds.

Todd instinctively turned on his master armament switch. He frantically radioed the carrier. In shock and suffering from visceral fear, he reported what had happened. Todd began searching for unidentified targets using his air-to-air radar and the heat-seeking head of an AIM-9 Sidewinder air-to-air missile. Nothing registered on the scope, and the missile remained inert.

Trying to calm himself, Justice gave the CATCC controllers the coordinates of the downed Hornet and then managed a shaky rendezvous with the tanker. Because of the overwhelming adrenaline rush he had experienced, it took five attempts to ease the fighter's refueling probe into the Viking's basket.

After he finished taking on fuel, Todd turned toward the carrier and replayed over and over what had happened only minutes before. Nothing made sense. He was certain that whatever it was that had destroyed Denton's plane was under the control of some form of intelligence, artificial or human. He quietly talked to himself until he began his approach to the carrier and then relied on the LSO to coach him in the groove.

Following normal procedures, Todd went to full power when his plane slammed into the flight deck. Thrown forward against his straps when the Hornet snared the fourth wire, he was still pushing on the throttles seconds after the plane had come to a violent halt. Finally, when his situational awareness caught up with the jet, Todd yanked the throttles back, raised his tailhook, and extinguished his exterior lights.

His landing, although it made everyone on Vulture's Row cringe, was reasonable considering the emotional state he was in.

After he taxied clear of the landing area, Justice realized his legs were shaking uncontrollably. He shut down the engines and leaned his helmet back against the ejection-seat headrest. His heart was pounding and his breathing was ragged. Expecting his teenaged plane captain to greet him, Justice was surprised to see his squadron commanding officer appear next to the cockpit.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you see a chute?"

"No, sir. He didn't get out."

"What happened?"

"Skipper, something, I don't know what it was, jumped us and blew Wade's plane out of the air. The whole thing happened in a matter of seconds, literally. Whatever it was disappeared at a speed that had to have been at least eight maybe Mach ten or more."

"It?"

"Yes, sir."

"Could you see what kind of shape it was, you know, what kind of wings it had?"

"Sir, this thing, whatever it was, it wasn't an airplane." A long silence ensued.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying . . ." Justice trailed off. "Sir, it, whatever it was, made turns at warp speed. It looked like a gigantic Frisbee, and it could accelerate faster than anything I've ever seen."

The CO stared at Justice for a long moment and then patted him on the shoulder. "Let's go see the fighter doc, then we'll have a chat while everything is fresh in your mind."

"Sir, I'm not crazy."

"Todd, no one is accusing you of anything."

There was a sudden tension between them.

"I just want the doc to see you before we talk to anyone." "Skipper, I'm telling you the truth. Something shot him down, something unlike I've ever seen before."

Another awkward silence followed until a synapse finally took place in the recesses of Todd's brain. "Skipper, as God is my witness, I didn't accidentally shoot him down. You can check it out, sir. I still have all my ordnance--nothing's missing."

Pensacola, Florida

Flounders Chowder House on Pensacola Beach was crowded with tourists when Jackie and Scott were seated at an outdoor table. The bright, warm sun was high in the clear blue sky and tiny waves gently lapped the shoreline of Santa Rosa Sound. Scott unfolded his Pensacola News Journal, glanced at the headlines, then turned the page and froze.

Associated Press

YOKOSUKA, JAPAN--A U. S. Navy F/A-18C jet crashed into the Strait of Taiwan during carrier exercises Monday night, Pentagon sources said. The pilot was missing and the cause of the crash was not known. The name of the pilot is being withheld pending notification of next of kin.

The Hornet disappeared at 10:48 P. M. local time while conducting routine flight operations from the USS Kitty Hawk approximately 45 miles southwest of Taipei, Taiwan. An extensive search is currently under way, said Comdr. Audrey Satterwhite, spokeswoman for commander, naval air force, U. S. Pacific Fleet.

The armed fighter plane was taking part in joint exercises when it went down 60 miles from the carrier. The pilot was a member of Strike Fighter Squadron 195, based at Naval Air Field Atsugi, Japan.

The crash came seven days after another F/A-18 Hornet was lost off the southern coast of California, killing its two crew members. Anonymous sources close to the Pentagon admit both accidents were similar in nature and happened under very unusual circumstances. Five members of Congress plan to hold hearings early next week in an effort to unravel the mystery surrounding both crashes.

Absorbed in the article, Scott was startled when his satellite phone rang. He shoved the paper toward Jackie. While he took the call, she ordered lunch for them. Jackie carefully studied the people in their immediate vicinity and around the perimeter of Flounders's outdoor seating area. Satisfied that no threat existed, she divided her attention between the employees, the other patrons, and the article about the F/A-18 crash.

"That was Hartwell." Scott placed the phone on the table. "We're officially on the case."

"Interesting. What's the latest news?"

"He wants us to meet him in D. C.--actually at his home." "When?"

"As soon as we can get reservations."

"I'll take care of the tickets."

"Hartwell will give us a complete brief tomorrow afternoon." "Has he met with Secretary Adair?"

"He just left a meeting with the president and SecDef. They're giving this Hartwell's euphemism was `mystery'-- the highest of priorities."