Shadow Flight (1990) (23 page)

"Hey," Spidel said, displaying his infectious grin, "all my friends call me Spider." *

"Spider it is," Wickham replied, noting two agency personnel step through the door.

"You hungry?" Spidel asked as the CIA agents stepped forward to greet Wickham.

"I could go for some chow," Wickham responded as he shoo
k h
ands with his colleagues. "What's on the menu?" "South-of-the-border cuisine," Spidel laughed, pointing to a bo
x o
f greasy enchiladas. "Your friends just introduced me to them .. .

and they're great. Besides, we've got a tub of ice-cold Coca-Cola to wash them down."

"Actually, Spider," Wickham said as the group started toward the hangar, "I could use a beer."

"Got some of that, too!" Spidel replied, stepping through the hangar doors. "We'll keep it cold until you're back."

Chapter
Fourteen

President Alton Jarrett watched closely as Bernard Kerchner briefed the secretary of state on the latest developments in and around Cuba. Samuel Gardner, a short, barrel-chested man whose snapping eyes seemed to penetrate their target, listened intently.

Kerchner always felt as though Gardner was silently critiquing his every word. The secretary of state was well known for his dry, humorless personality. "The intelligence reports we have," Kerchner stated, "along with current satellite information, confirm increased activity throughout Cuba and the surrounding waters."

"Excuse me, Bernie," Gardner responded, "but Castro did announce that he had scheduled a large military exercise during this period."

"True," the defense secretary replied, "but the magnitude of these maneuvers is quite different from previous exercises. Sure it may be coincidental that one of our B-2s disappeared at the same time, but it may not be. We simply don't know, so I have to plan for the worst case scenario." Kerchner clicked the slide projector and looked at his briefing agenda. "The Kremlin, we have to assume, knows we're aware of the regional locale of the B-2."

The room remained quiet. The president, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the national security adviser, the CIA director, and the vice president concentrated on the National Reconnaissance Office photos.

"Here's a Soviet task force," Kerchner pointed to a spot forty miles south of Largo Cay, "and here's a second group of ships."

The first aggregate of Russian warships, bunched tightly, was steaming west 145 miles south of Havana. The second flotilla was 120 miles west of the first group, 80 miles south of the San Julian airfield.

"Normally," Kerchner continued, punching the button on the slide projector, "the Soviet Union sends only one task force a year to Cuban waters. Now we have two Russian task forces, with more ships than usual assigned to each one."

The president leaned forward and addressed his coterie of advisers. "That might not be so odd, knowing the new Soviet leader's penchant for showcasing Russia's military resurgence." Jarrett leaned back and folded his arms. "Please continue, Bernie."

Kerchner flashed another slide on the screen. "This next series of photos causes me a great deal of concern. The Soviet aircraft carrier Novorossiysk, normally a Pacific Fleet ship, is operating off the northern coast of Nicaragua with a complement of twenty-seven Yakovlev-38s. As you can see, the carrier has five escort ships."

Kerchner pointed at a ship on the enhanced satellite picture. "This is a Kara-class guided missile cruiser, and this," Kerchner tapped the screen, "is a Kashin-class guided missile destroyer. We believe they are operating with at least two or more hunter-killer submarines."

Kerchner paused for effect. "The carrier task force could be in Cuban waters in a matter of hours. It could become an explosive situation. If an armed conflict erupts, it could spread to American shores very quickly."

Glancing at Jarrett, Kerchner continued. "By now, Castro and the Kremlin should know we are damned serious."

"Bernie," the secretary of state spoke finally. "What's actually happening in Cuba--on the island?"

Kerchner picked up a paper marked top secret. "The Soviet signal intelligence collection facility at Lourdes has turned into a beehive of activity. They've been soaking up every scrap of military communications, including domestic telephone calls. The increas
e w
as noticed within an hour of our notification that the Stealth bomber was in Cuba."

"Also," Kerchner continued, "the vast majority of Cuban warships have put to sea, or are about to get under way. Bear H and J aircraft--a total of nineteen--have been dispensed all over the island. The Soviets normally have a total of seven or eight Bears in Cuba."

Kerchner clicked the projector again, showing detailed satellite photos of the entire Communist island. "Here we have MiG-23s, -25s, and -27s scattered from one end of Cuba to the other. You can see two
-
and three-plane groups at a number of remote civilian airfields. We also know that the Cubans, since late '89, have acquired at least forty-seven MiG-29s, if not more. There are eight of them dispersed around Havana, but the majority are kept concealed in various forms of camouflage."

Kerchner flashed his last slide on the screen. "This is a high-resolution photograph from the latest satellite shots. These concentrations of equipment, including T-62 and T-55 tanks, are moving toward the San Julian air base."

Kerchner clicked off the projector light and turned on the overhead lights in the basement room. "We have also seen a number of helicopter gunships and MiGs repositioned close to the Cienfuegos nuclear power station. Ignatyev and Castro know that we aren't going to sit here and wring our hands if we locate our B-2."

Alton Jarrett leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the table. "If Ignatyev is bluffing, I'm going to call his bluff."

The president looked at his vice president, then faced Gardner again. "If the B-2 is not at San Julian, we're going to have to step back and reevaluate our position. If it is located at San Julian, and I am convinced it is, we have to respond swiftly and boldly."

"I understand, Gardner replied evenly, "but I recommend that we attempt a diplomatic solution when we have conclusive evidence that the B-2 is in Cuba."

Truesdell softened slightly. "I concur with your diplomatic initiative, but we know that the Soviets are going to disavow everything."

Gardner picked up his pipe and clamped it in his mouth. "If we have clinical evidence--photos--"

Jarrett's intercom buzzed. "Yes?"

"Mister President," the male voice announced, "the reconnaissance aircraft is about to take off from Cancun."

"Very well," Jarrett replied, then looked at his secretary of state. "Sam, go ahead and contact Minister Aksenhov and set up a meeting this evening. Just the three of us--here in the White House."

"Yes, Mister President."

Jarrett turned to Kerchner. "Bernie, let's have the Strike Warfare Center briefing."

"I'll get the captain," Kerchner responded as he finished stacking his slides.

Marine Capt. Greg Spidel taxied the sinister-looking, olive-drab North American Rockwell OV-10D Bronco to the end of runway 12. The fuselage sat between two stubby wings with long engine nacelles. The two nacelles ran the length of the armed reconnaissance aircraft, forming twin tails that connected the tall, wide horizontal stabilizer.

The aerial observer seat behind the pilot was vacant, and the two underwing hardpoints held AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles. Every indication of country of origin, along with the serial number, had been sanded clean or otherwise removed.

Steve Wickham sat alone in the cramped compartment behind and below the cockpit. He was isolated in the dark interior except for his communications link with Spidel. The rear quick-disconnect cargo door had been removed, allowing Wickham an unobstructed view out the back of the aircraft.

Wickham, uncomfortable in his wet suit, sat on a sliding seat mounted flat on the floor. He was restrained by a seat strap and a shoulder harness. Greg Spidel would inform him when to unbuckle and prepare for the paradrop.

"All set, Mister Wickham?" Spidel asked as he cycled his flight controls.

"Hey, Spider, drop the Mister," Wickham replied, adjusting his Clark headset. "I'm ready when you are."

"We'll be rolling in a couple of seconds," Spidel said over the intercom.

"Cancun tower, Tailback One is ready to roll," Spidel radioed as he pressed on the brakes and walked the throttles forward, checking his engines and propellers.

"Taxi into position and hold," the controller instructed with a pronounced accent.

"Posit and hold," Spidel radioed, taxiing to the center of the active runway.

"Tailback One, wind one-three-zero at seven, cleared for takeoff," the tower operator replied, then added a cheerful send-off. "Tell 'em hello in Pensacola."

"Will do," Spidel replied into his lip microphone as he rechecked his engine instruments. His visual flight rules (VFR) flight plan showed his destination to be Pensacola Naval Air Station. After Wickham parachuted out of the Bronco, Spidel would return to Cancun from the north with a purported engine problem.

"Tailback One rolling," Spidel radioed as he shoved the twin throttles forward. Both Garrett T-76 turboprop engines, producing a collective 2,080-shaft horsepower, howled in unison as the camouflaged Bronco accelerated rapidly down the 11,483-foot runway.

Spidel, feeling the composite propellers clawing the air, watched the airspeed indicator race past his takeoff speed as he eased back smoothly on the stick.

Wickham watched the runway drop away, then felt the landing gear bang into the wheel wells. He could see the last purple and gold rays of the shimmering tropical sun sinking below the horizon.

Spidel leveled the OV-10D at 300 feet above the dark Yucatan Channel and rechecked his global navigation display. The readout corresponded precisely with the manual navigation plot he had completed before his passenger had arrived.

He turned north and remained on course to Pensacola, Florida
,
until he was out of sight. At that point, he dropped to 100 feet over the smooth water and turned east toward Cuba. The Bronco would not be visible to radar at their transition altitude.

Spidel cast a quick glance at his vertical tape engine instruments, then concentrated on keeping the OV-10D at the prescribed altitude. He could tell he would have good moonlight for low-level flying.

Wickham sat with his arms folded on top of his equipment pack and thought about his mission. He had checked and rechecked his gear a half-dozen times. He adjusted his camouflage parachute and felt again for the static line snap. Hooked properly and free to slide.

The waterproof equipment bag connected to Wickham's chest straps contained his extraction harness and balloon. It also contained worn-looking dark khaki trousers and a soiled green peasant shirt. A tattered straw hat and scuffed work boots completed the outfit. Wickham also carried a 9-mm Excam with a clip containing fifteen rounds, along with a Burbour tactical knife.

Cushioned inside the clothing were two very important items-a small transmitter to signal for his extraction, and a compact Sony television camera. The lightweight camera, a fraction of the size of the Sony Betacam, had a built-in power pack capable of generating a continuous picture for eight to ten minutes. Provided he could locate the Stealth bomber, Wickham would be able to send real-time photos of the B-2, via satellite. The picture would go to a Transat-16 satellite receiver before being flashed to a monitor in the National Reconnaissance Office.

The last piece of equipment Wickham had attached to his harness was a small hydrogen-powered tow vehicle. The underwater tow conveyance had been designed for covert operations by Ingenieurkontor Lubeck. Small fuel cells produced electricity by combining hydrogen and oxygen in a quiet electrochemical reaction. The energy turned a shielded propeller, which supplied the swimmer or scuba diver with an effortless ride. Wickham knew that the tow vehicle would take him to the beach from one mile offshore. Returning to his extraction point would expend the limited fuel and require him to swim most of the way.

Wickham keyed his intercom. "Spider, let me know when we're five minutes from the drop."

"Will do," Spidel replied from the darkened cockpit.

The pilot could see a half-dozen aircraft navigation and recognition lights traveling north and south over the channel. The diversionary aircraft flew at staggered altitudes ranging from 4,500 to 16,500 feet. He knew that there were at least another ten aircraft crisscrossing over the Bronco's flight path with their lights extinguished.

Cuban radar hopefully would not be able to pick out the low-flying OV-10 in the mass of airborne traffic. The string of small prop and turboprop aircraft provided a screen to fully occupy the Cuban radar operators. The CIA pilots would make their trips every night while Wickham was in Cuba.

Spidel carefully reset his specially mounted Collins AL-101 radio altimeter at seventy-five feet and lowered the OV-10's nose. The precision instrument provided the pilot with altitude accuracy within plus or minus two feet, or 2 percent accuracy, below 500 feet.