Dragon (54 page)

The ocean was rising rapidly, the scattered whitecaps growing larger. They darted through a wisp of cloud. There was almost no sensation of speed except for the screaming engines that Pitt held on full power. It was next to impossible to judge ‘height above water. Pitt put his faith in Giordino, who in turn relied on the instruments to warn him when to pull level.

“Where are they?” he asked into his microphone.

“This is Ray Simpson, Dirk,” came the voice of the commander who had briefed them on the Ibis. “I’ll talk you in.”

“Where are they?” Pitt repeated.

“Thirty kilometers and closing fast.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Pitt. “They can’t be more than a thousand knots faster than this bus.”

“Fifteen hundred,” read Giordino. “Speed five-ninety.”

“I wish I’d read the flight manual,” Pitt muttered under his breath.

“Twelve hundred meters. Speed six-fifty. Looking good.”

“How do you know?”

“It seemed the thing to say.” Giordino shrugged.

At that instant, an alarm gong began sounding in the cockpit. They had taken the aircraft beyond its safety limits into the realm of the unknown.

“One thousand meters. Speed seven-forty. Wings, don’t fail us now.”

Now within visible range, the lead Japanese aircraft’s pilot centered the red dot that appeared in his targeting system’s TV monitor on the diving tilt-turbine. The optical computer took over the firing sequence and launched the missile.

“Air-to-air missile on the way,” Simpson warned them in an ominous voice.

“Alert me when it’s closed to within one kilometer,” ordered Pitt quickly.

“Six hundred meters,” Giordino warned Pitt. “Speed eight hundred. Now is the time.”

Pitt did not waste his breath on a reply but pulled back on the control column. The tilt-rotor responded as if it was a glider gripped by a giant hand. Smoothly, in a perfectly curved arc, it swooped into level flight perilously low, less than seventy meters above the water.

“Missile closing, three kilometers,” Simpson said, his voice flat and empty.

“Al, begin maximum tilt to engines.” Pitt hesitated.

Almost instantly, it seemed, Simpson called out, “One kilometer.”

“Now.”

Giordino shoved the levers that tilted the engines from horizontal to full vertical.

The aircraft seemed to shoot from level flight into a near ninety-degree angle upward. The tilt-turbine shuddered as everyone was thrown forward under the sudden change in momentum and the skyward pull of the engines still turning on full power.

The missile streaked beneath, missing the aircraft’s belly by less than two meters. And then it was gone, flashing away and eventually falling into the sea.

“Nice work,” complimented Simpson. “You’re coming within range of our Vulcan. Try to stay low so we have an open field of fire above you.”

“It’ll take time to swing this bus back to level flight on the deck,” Pitt told Simpson, frustration displayed on the furrowed lines of his face. “I’ve lost my airspeed.”

Giordino returned the jet turbines to horizontal as Pitt nosed the aircraft over. It leveled and screamed a scant twenty meters over the water toward the looming outline of the ship. From Pitt’s view, hurtling across the wave tops, it looked like a stationary paper ship on a plastic sea.

“Aircraft closing but no indication of a missile launch,” came Simpson’s anxious voice. “They’re delaying until the last second to compensate for your next maneuver. You’d better hit the deck and damned fast.”

“I’m surfing the waves now,” Pitt snapped back.

“So are they. One above the other so you can’t pull your flying saucer stunt again.”

“They must be reading our minds,” said Giordino calmly.

“Since you don’t have a scrambler to encrypt voice transmissions, they listen to your every move,” Simpson warned them.

“Now he tells us.”

Pitt stared through the windshield at the
Ralph R. Bennett.
He felt as if he could reach out and touch its giant radar array. “The next play action is yours,
Bennett
. We’ve run out of surprises.”

“The gate to the fort is open,” came the voice of Harper suddenly. “Swing five degrees to port and don’t forget to duck when the mail goes out.”

“Missile away,” Simpson called.

“I read,” said Pitt, “but have nowhere to go.”

Pitt and Giordino instinctively crouched in anticipation of the impact and explosion. They poised as helpless as homing pigeons under attack by a falcon. Suddenly their salvation erupted in a maelstrom of fire that flashed in front of the tilt-turbine’s bow and roared overhead and to the rear.

The
Bennett
’s thirty-millimeter Sea Vulcan had cut loose. The modern Gatling gun’s seven barrels rotated and spat 4,200 rounds a minute in a swath of fire so thick the shells could be followed by the naked eye. The stream cut across the sky until it met the incoming missile, blasting it into a mushroom of flame less than two hundred meters behind the fleeing tilt-turbine aircraft.

Then it walked toward the lead aircraft, caught up with it, and chewed away one wing like teeth through a potato chip. The Mitsubishi Raven jet fighter flipped into a series of contorted rollovers and smacked the water with a great splash. The second jet went into a steep bank, barely staying ahead of the river of shells that raced relentlessly toward its exhaust, and whirled around on a course back to Japan. Only then did the Sea Vulcan fall silent as the last of its rounds swept the blue and fell, spraying the crests of the swells into white foam.

“Bring her on in, Mr. Pitt.” Harper’s vast relief could be clearly distinguished in his voice. “Wind is off the starboard beam at eight knots.”

“Thank you, Commander.” said Pitt. “And thank your crew. That was nice shooting.”

“It’s all in knowing how to make love to your electronics.”

“Beginning final approach.”

“Sorry we don’t have a brass band and a proper reception committee.”

“The Stars and Stripes flapping in the breeze will do nicely.”

Four minutes later, Pitt set the tilt-turbine on the
Bennett
’s helicopter pad. Only then did he take a deep breath, sag in his seat, and relax as Giordino shut down the engines.

For the first time in weeks he felt safe and secure. There was no more risk or danger in his immediate future. His part of the MAIT team operation was finished. He thought only of returning home, and then perhaps going on a dive trip to the warm waters and tropical sunshine of Puerto Rico or Haiti, hopefully with Loren at his side.

Pitt would have laughed in absolute disbelief if anyone had walked into the cockpit and predicted that within a few short weeks Admiral Sandecker would be delivering a eulogy at his memorial service.

Part 4 

Mother’s Breath

59

 October 20, 1993 

Washington, D.C.
 

“T
HEY’RE OUT!”
J
ORDAN
announced exuberantly as he slammed down a telephone in the National Security Council’s Situation Room deep under the White House. “We’ve just received a signal that our MAIT team has escaped Soseki Island.”

Dale Nichols stared at Jordan suspiciously. “Is that confirmed?”

Jordan nodded in tight confidence. “Solid information. They were attacked by Japanese Self-Defense fighters, but evaded and broke clear.”

The President came forward in his chair. “Where are they now?”

“Safely landed on board the
Ralph R. Bennett
, a naval surveillance ship stationed a hundred kilometers off the island.”

“Any casualties?”

“None.”

“Thank God for that.”

“There’s more, much more,” Jordan said, wound like a clock spring. “They brought Congresswoman Smith, Senator Diaz, and Hideki Suma out with them.”

The President and the rest stared at him in wordless astonishment. Finally Nichols murmured, “How was it possible?”

“The details are still sketchy, but Commander Harper, skipper of the
Bennett
, said Dirk Pitt and Al Giordino hijacked the aircraft that was to carry Smith and Diaz to Edo City. Somehow they also managed to snatch Suma and his secretary and take off during the confusion.”

“Suma,” muttered CIA Director Martin Brogan in awe. “Now there’s a gift out of the blue.”

The surprise and delight in the President’s eyes turned to thoughtfulness. “This puts a whole new face on the situation.”

“Under the circumstances, Mr. President,” said Defense Secretary Jesse Simmons, “I advise we cancel the nuclear strike against the Dragon Center.”

The President glanced at the big countdown clock on one wall of the situation room. It read nine minutes to launch. “Good lord yes, call it off.”

Simmons simply nodded at General Clayton Metcalf, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, who immediately picked up a phone and began issuing orders. After a brief half minute, Metcalf nodded.

“They’re standing down at the launch site.”

Secretary of State Douglas Oates wore an expression of triumph. “A near thing, Mr. President. I was against a nuclear strike from the beginning.”

“The Dragon Center and the Kaiten Project haven’t gone away,” the President reminded Oates. “They still pose a dangerous threat. The crisis has merely moved from critical to temporary hold.”

“True,” Oates argued, “but with Suma in our hands, we’re holding the snake by the head, so to speak.”

“I can’t wait to hear what an expert interrogation team digs out of him,” muttered Brogan blissfully.

Oates shook his head in strong disagreement. “Suma is not some small fish in the pond. He’s one of the richest and most powerful men in the world. You can’t expect to use strong-arm tactics on him without grave consequences.”

“Fair is fair.” Jordan’s voice was filled with satisfaction. “I see no reason to show mercy with a man who kidnapped two members of Congress and was planning to detonate nuclear bombs on American soil.”

“I’m with you, Ray,” said Brogan, giving Oates an acid stare. “This guy is as rotten as they come. I’ll bet dinner for everyone in the room, the Japanese government will remain silent and issue no protest.”

Oates was adamant. “It is not in our national interest to act barbaric.”

“Nice guys finish last,” said Jesse Simmons. “If we’d played hardball like the Russians, we wouldn’t have hostages in Lebanon.

“Jesse is right,” Nichols agreed. “We’d be idiots to set him free to return to Japan and resume his private war against us.”

Brogan said, “Prime Minister Junshiro and his cabinet won’t dare create a fuss, or the whole sordid mess would leak to the international news media and come down on them like a ton of bricks. No, you’re wrong, Doug, the next step in removing this terrible threat against our people is to twist Suma’s arm until he reveals the exact locations of the bomb cars.”

The President looked around the table with an expression of weary patience. “Mr. Suma is no friend of this nation. He’s all yours, Martin. Make him sing like a canary. We’ve got to get to those bombs and neutralize them damned quick.”

“How soon can the Navy airlift Suma off the
Bennett
?” Brogan turned and asked Simmons.

“With no aircraft carrier in that part of the ocean,” answered the Defense Secretary, “we’ll have to wait until the ship is within helicopter range of Wake Island, the nearest pickup point.”

“The sooner we get Suma to Washington, the sooner we can extract data from him,” said Brogan.

The President nodded. “I’d be interested in hearing what Congresswoman Smith and Senator Diaz observed as well.”

Don Kern entered the room and spoke softly to Jordan, who nodded as he listened, and then looked up at the President. “It appears our friends from NUMA have solved another problem for us. Commander Harper has signaled that the tilt-turbine aircraft Pitt and Giordino hijacked for their flight from the island has been refueled on board the
Bennett
. They’re in the air and flying toward Wake Island as we speak.”

The President turned his attention to Metcalf. “General, I leave it to you to arrange military transportation for Suma and our legislators to the capital as quickly as humanly possible.”

“I’ll alert General Duke Mackay, commander of Anderson Air Force Base on Guam, to send his personal jet to Wake. It should be on the ground and waiting when Pitt sets down.”

The President then focused on Jordan. “What’s the status of the Dragon Center?”

“Sorry, sir,” replied Jordan. “Commander Harper’s signals were brief. There was no word from our MAIT team on whether their operation was a success.”

“Then we won’t know anything until they reach Wake.”

“No, sir.”

Oates thrust a hard stare at Jordan. “If your people failed in their mission to halt the Dragon Center from becoming operational, we could be facing a terrible calamity.”

Jordan stared back. “If they escaped in one piece, they accomplished what they set out to.”

“We don’t know that for certain.”

“Even so, we surely bought some breathing space, with the architect and builder of the Kaiten Project in hand,” said Simmons. “Suma’s co-conspirators will be demoralized. They won’t attempt any major aggression without their leader at the helm.”

“I’m afraid your theory won’t hold water,” Jordan said slowly. “We’ve overlooked Harper’s message from the
Bennett
.”

“What about it?” asked the President.

“The part about the aircraft surviving an attack by Japanese fighters,” Brogan pointed out.

Jordan nodded. “They must have known Suma was on board. And yet they tried to shoot the plane down.”

Simmons doodled on a notepad as he spoke. “Then we must assume they… whoever they are—” 

“The old kingpin of the Japanese underworld, Korori Yoshishu, and his financial crony, Ichiro Tsuboi,” explained Jordan, interrupting. “They’re criminal partners in Suma’s industrial empire.”

“Then we must assume,” Simmons repeated, “that Hideki Suma is expendable.”

“It comes down to that,” said Kern, speaking for the first time.