“Lock-on!” Major Joshua Hamamoto, the reconnaissance systems operator, called over the intercom.
“Break it!” Colonel McAtee ordered.
“I did,” Hamamoto replied. “Those bastards were waiting for us. There’s another, and yet another radar trying to track us. They’re all in Iraq. They must have all of their long-range radars on us.”
“I said break them!” McAtee snarled angrily.
“They have ten goddamn radars painting us, Colonel,” Major Hamamoto snapped. “There is a limit to how many different frequencies I can spoof at a time. They’re overwhelming me. It’s like they were waiting for us.”
“Goddamnit!” McAtee swore. “So much for sneaking in unnoticed. I bet they have that goddamn valley covered with smoke by the time we get there! How much time until we take the pictures?”
“Six more minutes,” Major Hamamoto answered. A second later, he cried, “Oh, god!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Now they have radars coming at us from eastern Iraq. They’re targeting radars.”
“Don’t let those bastards get locked onto us,” Colonel McAtee shouted. “Even though they aren’t supposed to have anything fast enough to catch us, it doesn’t mean that they didn’t come up with something new.”
“Colonel,” Hamamoto asked hesitantly, “didn’t they tell us at the briefing that the Russians might have a high-powered laser in that valley?”
“Shit! I wish you wouldn’t think of such things,” Colonel McAtee replied, imagining a powerful laser beam blasting up from the valley and burning his airplane into two.
“Targeting radars painting us, Colonel.”
“Don’t let them target us.”
“They’re throwing everything they have at us,” Hamamoto warned. “They have two, six, now nine different target-tracking radars on us.”
“Are you keeping them from locking-on?”
“Yes, sir. Just barely.”
“How much longer until we get there?”
“Three minutes,” Hamamoto said. “And I hope to hell it’s covered with smoke so they can’t fire that laser.”
“Can you see it?”
“No, sir. The cameras are on automatic,” the major replied. “I haven’t time to spoof their radars and watch the camera. … Oh, god! No!”
“What?” the colonel yelled.
“They have us,” Hamamoto answered. “They have fifteen goddamn radars looking for us, and I can only block twelve. Oh, god, they have two of them locked-on us now. If they shoot, we’re dead meat.”
“Break their lock-on!” the colonel snapped harshly.
“I am,” Hamamoto responded anxiously. “But every time I switch one of my jammers to one of those radars with a lock-on and break it, a new one replaces it. Oh-shit! They fired a missile. And it’s ahead of us!”
“Spuff it!”
“I’m trying. It’s one of those Russian S-300Vs.”
“300Vs?”
“SA-12s,” Hamamoto answered. “It’s an antiballistic missile, but it can get us. Shit! It just blew up! What the fuck? They blew it themselves. They had us and they.…”
“Time to target?”
“Fifty seconds.”
“Can you see the target?”
“Oh, my god!” Major Hamamoto cried when he saw the yellow flash from their target. “THEY FIRED THE LASER AT US!”
“Fuck!” Colonel McAtee exclaimed. He glanced around anxiously looking for damage. “Did they hit us?”
“Just a second,” Hamamoto replied in a high-pitched voice. He suddenly broke into hysterical laughter. “No, it wasn’t the laser! It was one of those smoke rockets! I can see the target! It’s got smoke over it now! Yes, they’re putting smoke up. I can see more flashes now … and, and … the target is covered! Thank god! They can’t fire that laser through that smoke! We’re safe!”
It was silent in the cockpit of the SR-85 for a moment. “Colonel?”
“Yes?”
“They’ve just turned off all of their targeting radars,” Major Hamamoto said slowly, as though still not believing it. “They left just the tracking radars on us. It’s like they were playing with us. They had us dead to rights. All they had to do was let that missile takes us or fire that laser, and we would’ve been instant burnt shish kebab.” Hamamoto paused, “I think they were warning us not to come back.”
The president was in a sour mood. “You say they saw the SR-85 as soon as it was launched?”
“They must have been expecting us to try something like it,” Admiral Hillman admitted. “They were tracking every C-5B flying anywhere within two thousand miles of Iraq. It’s no wonder they spotted the mother ship flying over the Persian Gulf in a perfect position to launch the SR-85 for a run at the Gomazal Valley.”
“Then they know about how the SR-85 operates?” the president asked.
“Well, sir,” Admiral Hillman answered, “I’ve got to believe that about the only people who don’t know about it are the taxpayers who paid for it.”
“What the hell good is it?” President Hayward grumbled.
“Well, sir,” the admiral responded in obvious discomfort, “the only reason they saw it was they were putting virtually every radar asset they had into the effort. They couldn’t do that during a war—it would leave everything else wide open. As it was, the SR-85 got over the target.”
“But it didn’t get the pictures,” the president pointed out dourly. “And if the Russians wanted to, they could have blasted the damn thing with their laser, couldn’t they?”
Admiral Hillman nodded in reply.
“Okay,” the president said. He looked around his office. The usual people in addition to Admiral Hillman were in attendance: Gilbert Van Dyne, Louis Downley, Jonathan Boswell, and Lazarus Keesley.
“Any ideas?” he inquired. “How about you, Louis?”
“None, Mr. President,” Secretary of State Downley replied.
“And you, Jonathan?”
“We have to do something unexpected if we’re going to get those pictures, Mr. President,” Director Boswell offered. “So far, they have been able to outguess us and stay one step ahead of us.” Boswell turned to Secretary of Defense Van Dyne. “Can you send the SR-96 over?”
“It’s still in testing,” the secretary of defense protested. “It’s only flown two practice missions and.…”
“Can it do the job?” the president interrupted. “We’re facing a possible nuclear war, you know.”
Gilbert Van Dyne appeared distraught. “I don’t know,” he replied, “but maybe Admiral Hillman can answer that question.”
“Give me two weeks, and you’ve got it!” Admiral Hillman responded enthusiastically.
“Two weeks?” The president frowned.
“The first one is down for maintenance, and the others are still being assembled at Groom. We’ll have to wait until the first one is ready.”
“Do it,” the president ordered.
Chapter Twenty-one
“Jerry?” Madeline murmured in a near whisper.
“Yes,” Jerry replied absently while he buttered his toast.
“I think—no, I want you to move in with me—today.”
“W-what!” he sputtered, dropping his toast.
“I said that I want you to move in,” she repeated matter-of-factly.
“I can’t,” he declared. He looked across the table at Madeline. She gave him an innocent smile.
“Why?” she asked, sipping her orange juice.
“Because it’s against regulations, for one thing,” he answered.
“I thought you were a free spirit,” she countered.
“I also agreed to follow the Air Force’s regulations when I joined. I’m duty-bound.”
“Well, I’m not,” she protested. “Besides, I don’t think anybody will care, if we’re discreet.”
Jerry studied her, still amazed at the transformation. Madeline was stunning. She had spent at least a half-hour putting on her mak
e-up and doing her hair. And instead of the baggy fatigues, she wore a clingy blue knit dress that prominently displayed her nearly perfect figure. He grinned, remembering their night of passion.
“Don’t you think we’re rushing things a little?” he said cautiously. “After all, we barely know each other.”
“WHAT!” she exclaimed. “After all that sweet talk last night about getting married, and now, the morning after, you have second thoughts! You bloody bastard!”
“Wait a minute!” he objected, “I meant that—I guess. Well—er, that’s not what I meant,” he looked pleadingly at her. Madeline frowned.
“Yes, Maddy,” he admitted finally, “I want you, but shouldn’t we get to know each other a little more before we risk our relationship with an impetuous move. Besides.…”
“Can’t a lady scientist be an impetuous woman?” she challenged. “I’ve lived alone for too many years, and, like it or not, I need a man in my life. Now that I’ve found you, I want you.”
Jerry glanced sheepishly down at the table. “But I’m still married.”
“In name only.”
He nodded. “Yes, that true, but if I move in with you, it will cause talk.”
“They’ll never notice.”
“I can’t see how,” he shook his head. “Judging by the way you’re dressed today, I bet the guards at Hangar 18 are going to check your fingerprints before they’ll believe that you’re really Madeline MacCauley.”
She pouted. “Jerry, last night you made me promise to marry you, and I agreed because you said you wanted to be with me. We might as well start now.”
Madeline glanced at her wristwatch and winced. “Oh, it’s almost eight!” she exclaimed. “I’ve got to hurry,” she gulped her coffee and got up. She looked around to make certain that she didn’t forget anything.
“Jerry, please,” she implored. “It’s important to me, and I really don’t think anyone will notice.”
“Okay, Maddy,” Jerry agreed resignedly, “I’ll move my things over this morning.”
“Thank you!” she squealed in delight and leaned over to give him a warm kiss. A moment later, she disappeared through the front door, leaving Jerry with the dishes.
Jerry shook his head in disbelief. He got up and started to clear the table. “And to think that just twenty-four hours ago I would have punched out anybody who had the audacity to tell me that I would ever even get to like Madeline MacCauley.”
General Winslow wondered what Major Schuman was taking. Whatever it was, it worked, for the change in the man was gratifying: The major was almost human. Instead of marching into Winslow’s office like a Prussian soldier, Major Schuman walked in, executed a nonchalant salute and didn’t even wait for Winslow to return it.
He must have been practicing in front of a mirror,Winslow decided.
“Take a chair, Major. I’ll be with you in a minute.” He reached for a pen to sign the orders he had just proofread.
“Now, Major, what hot leads have you found?” He looked up and saw Major Schuman seated nonchalantly. Winslow couldn’t help but smirk.
“Well, General Winslow, nothing yet,” Schuman responded. “However, I think you should know that Lieutenant Colonel Rodell spent the night with Dr. Madeline MacCauley.”
“WHAT?” Winslow exclaimed. “Are you insane? Those two are my biggest problem. As I understand it, they had a fistfight yesterday. They’ve fought like cats and dogs from the instant they first saw each other.”
“Well, General,” Major Schuman grinned, “I think they kissed and made up. They spent the night together.”
“Why are you telling me all this, Major?” Winslow questioned. “It sounds like two lonely people falling in love.”
“Colonel Rodell broke several regulations, sir.” The major began counting on his fingers. “First, he spent a night with a woman who is not his wife.…”
“Ah, Major,” Winslow responded hesitantly, “have you ever been to Thule, Greenland?”
“No, sir, I have not.”
“Well, I have it on good authority than anyone caught gossiping about our lovebirds can expect an immediate transfer there. That includes you and any of the people you brought with you. As for them kissing and making up, it’s the best damn news I’ve heard all week. Those two are absolutely vital to the success of this project and their fighting was a serious disruption. If I have to look the other way to keep them happy, I will. Have I made my position clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you disagree in any way with my position, Major?”
“No, sir, I do not. As you said, it solves a serious problem.”
“Then make certain everybody understands, and go find that goddamn leak.”
Jerry Rodell spent the morning and most of the afternoon reading the pilot’s manual for the ATASF. Once he’d moved his few belongings into Madeline’s mobile home, he settled into the leather easy chair in the living room and began to read the four-inch-thick loose-leaf binder. He turned a page and started thinking about lunch when the phone rang. Puzzled, he gazed it, wondering if he should answer. Thinking it could be Madeline, he picked it up on the sixth ring.
“Yes,” he said cautiously.
“Lieutenant Colonel Jerold Rodell?” a male voice inquired.
“Yes,” Jerry replied automatically, immediately flushing in embarrassment when he realized what he had done.
“This is Major Heath, sir,” the voice introduced itself. “The housing officer. We met a couple of days ago when you were having that trouble with your heater—remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” Jerry responded frostily. He couldn’t help but remember the plump, officious little bastard he had wanted to strangle when the major gave him an electric blanket instead of getting the heater repaired.
“I’m so glad I caught you in, Colonel,” Heath beamed happily. “I understand you found, er, alternate housing, and I wonder if I can reassign your old trailer to another officer? We have a backlog of officers waiting for proper housing, and, if your unit is available, we can certainly use it.”
So much for being discreet and nobody noticing, Jerry thought darkly.
Heath waited Jerry to reply. Then he added as impassively as he could, “I’ve already checked with General Winslow, and he said it was all right by him.”
So we get the official blind eye!Jerry rejoiced.
“Yes, Major, I was planning to give you a call later,” he lied. “I’ll stop by and give you the key later this afternoon.”
“Thank you very much, Colonel,” Major Heath replied. “I’m certain you’ll make somebody very happy tonight.”
“Think nothing of it, Major. Good-bye,” Jerry said, stifling a laugh.
“I’m certain Maddy will agree with you about that—about making somebody happy tonight, that is,” he laughed to himself while he hung up the phone. After thinking for a minute, he hurried to the bedroom to change. He could still catch the 1530 shuttle flight to Nellis. He suddenly decided that he had some shopping to do in Las Vegas.
“Hello, Dad. I’m glad you could make it.”
Janis Keesley Barlow, Lazarus Keesley’s daughter, opened the door to her suburban home and hugged her father in the open doorway.
“Come on in.” She took his arm. “Jack won’t be home for a half- hour yet, but dinner is almost ready.”
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” He handed her a small jewelry box wrapped in gift paper. Lazarus gave Janis a gentle hug. Just before releasing her, he kissed her on the cheek.
“Thank you, Dad,” she said while she examined the little box. There was a tear in her eye.
“I also brought the wine,” he announced, handing over the brown paper bag containing the bottle. “It’s French.”
Janis, still svelte like her mother, reminded Lazarus of Bea. She had the same fine, brunette hair, dark eyes and gentle look.
“What’s that caterwauling?” Lazarus demanded as he stepped through the front door and unbuttoned his overcoat. �
�It sounds like young Billy is torturing the cat.”
“It’s some new heavy metal rock group, I think,” Janis replied with a forced smile. “Billy has discovered girls and music.”
“Mind if I go request some Beethoven?” he grumbled. He hung his overcoat on the hallway coat rack and stalked down the hall to his fifteen-year-old grandson’s room.
The door to Billy’s room was ajar, and although Lazarus tried knocking, the painful decibels of screeching electronic guitar cacophony easily drowned out his efforts at civility. In desperation, he pushed the door open and saw the youngster sitting with his back to him, busily working at his personal computer.
Unable to attract his grandson’s attention, Lazarus entered the room and turned the stereo off. It took Billy a second to react to the sudden silence. He wheeled around in his chair, and the shocked look of an apprehended criminal covered his face when he discovered his grandfather standing directly behind him.
“Grandad!” he exclaimed as he hurriedly swung back toward his computer. Lazarus’ hand flashed out and caught his grandson’s wrist in an iron grip.
“What the hell are you doing?” Lazarus asked quietly while he studied the display on the screen.
“Just fooling around,” Billy protested. He briefly fought to free himself. Lazarus jerked the child’s arm the way one would yank the leash of an unruly pet dog to control it. Realizing that he had no way to erase the incriminating evidence, the teenager finally ceased struggling.
“That could land you in jail for ten years, Billy,” Lazarus noted while he stood staring at the screen. Somehow his grandson had gotten into Lazarus’ personal account on the CIA’s main computer.
“But I’m just fooling around! I’m not hurting anything! Really, I’m not.”
“Just the simple fact that you are logged on to that computer is illegal.” Lazarus relaxed his grip on his grandson. “How did you get the phone number and password?”
The Espionage Game Page 20