by R G Ainslee
"He was a pilot?"
"Affirmative," replied Santini. "He was at the airfield when the new advisors arrived. He doesn't have detailed information about their mission or even understand its significance. We forwarded his story through channels and someone at Langley detected a pattern corresponding with intelligence gathered from other sources. They are confident this represents an advanced system. For security reasons, we are treating him as a normal Cuban defector. They don't want him to appreciate the significance of his information. He is being debriefed in Nairobi and will be brought to the states in a few days."
It was easy to tell where Wilson was going. "Sounds like you plan to do an over flight and try to provoke them into using this new system."
The colonel gave a slight affirmative nod. "An over flight would be the obvious course of action." He was a cool customer and hard to read. Wilson sat back and continued, "We don’t know if this system is airborne or ground based. We plan to fly a mission soon as we determine they are active. They will not be expecting us to respond so soon and we might be able to catch them off balance. If they react, it will give us a chance to find out what they have."
Why I was involved? Perhaps they needed my analyst skills. "What do you have planned?" A flight down the Red Sea in a long-nosed RC-135 from the 55th Strategic Reconnaissance Wing was the most likely scenario. "Why me? You have qualified Air Force operators."
"The SR-71 is the best platform to accomplish the mission."
In a flash, I recognized the pilot sitting beside Wilson, Major Sam Collier, SR-71 pilot and member of an elite group. My sixth sense exploded.
"Six years ago, you began a special program at Beale with the Ninth Wing."
My gut clinched.
"We need to put your training to work."
Resentment boiled up inside. During my last enlistment in the Army, NSA selected me to train to fly in the SR-71 Blackbird program as an ELINT intercept operator. I spent a month in the California desert at Beale Air Force Base with the Ninth Wing. However, the Air Force didn't see eye-to-eye with my superiors at NSA. They wouldn't put up with a lowly Army enlisted man and did everything possible to wash me out, which they did on the day before my first training flight. Following my last assignment to Turkey — I'd had enough and didn't re-enlist.
Barely able to contain my emotions, I stared the colonel straight in the eyes. "The Air Force washed me out for some BS reason. It was just a bunch of BS then, and still is." I wanted to tell him to take it and stuff it where the sun don’t shine, but answered more diplomatically, "No … The answer is no … and its spelled h–e–l–l dash n–o."
Hansen jumped up from his chair, "Listen here, you’re talking to an officer."
The bastard looked like he was about to have a stroke. He had shafted me several times in the past and failed to intervene when they released me from the Blackbird program. It took all my willpower to resist the burning desire to leap over the table and punch him out. In other words, I hated his guts and he knew it.
Wilson raised a hand. "Colonel Hansen, I think I understand where he’s coming from." The expression on Wilson's face didn't change. He took a deep breath and sighed. "Can you tell me why?"
"I've dealt with it and it's all behind me. Besides, I have plans."
"Plans?" An incredulous Wilson shot a look towards Mack.
"I'm going bike riding with friends this weekend." Hansen snorted. "And in a couple weeks, I'm on vacation … going sailing down Baja way … just don't have the time." I shot a glance. Sam Collier tried to squelch a grin. He's actually enjoying this.
"Is that your final answer?" Wilson's glare gained intensity. My defiance was starting to get on his nerves.
Deep down, I really wanted to fly the Blackbird, but not on his terms. They had led me down the primrose path before and I wasn't going back. Two can play the game. They had screwed me over when it suited their purposes, now it’s my chance to draw a line in the sand.
"It's final — finito." Saying it gave me a warm feeling inside. I shifted in the chair, sat straight, and looked around with a satisfied grin. "Sorry you guys made a long trip for nothing. Absolutely nothing you can say or do will convince me. Find somebody else."
A red-faced Wilson glanced at Mack and was about to say something when Mack spoke, "Colonel, can I please have a few moments alone with Ross. I'll fill him in on the other aspect."
Wilson pursed his lips, stood, and turned to Major Santini and the Air Force officers. "Gentlemen, please step out of the room for a moment. The matter Colonel Gibson must discuss with Mr. Brannan contains compartmentalized code word material."
My thoughts raced through a torrent of possibilities as the group filed out. Compartmentalized code word material meant something special was involved, top secret with limited distribution.
What's Mack up to? He was not only my boss, he was close as I had to a best friend and had saved me countless times from Hansen. I trusted him.
Soon as the door closed, Mack dropped a bombshell. "They need someone familiar with the Cochise Project that can recognize the encoded sub-carriers associated with the system."
Mack's statement hit like an electric shock. After recovering my composure, I said, "Are you saying the Russians are trying to do the same thing?"
"Seems they were working on the concept and probably acquired some of our research. I suppose you can guess how they managed to—"
A firestorm ripped through my brain, my mouth exploded, "J. Andrew Rat-Bastard SOB Marsden."
For a split second, the world stopped. Word, via the grapevine, Marsden had ended up in Cuba. I drew a nervous halting breath through clenched teeth. I had put it all behind me, but now the proof of his treachery released a tsunami of suppressed rage.
I spat out, "He's in Russia?" My hands shook with tension. I still wanted to get my hands on the bastard. I'd even volunteer to go to Russia and kill the SOB.
"Yes, reports have him working at NIIP at Zhukovskiy in the Soviet Union." The Nauchnoissledovatelskiy Instiyut Priborostroeniya was a major radar development center. "Wilson has information indicating they pursued the same concept for several years before we started and, like us, made no real progress. It now appears Marsden may have supplied them with the last piece of the puzzle. Word from a clandestine source reveals they built a prototype system ready for field-testing."
A new reality slapped me upside the head. Marsden was in fact a traitor — a dangerous one. "Good grief, they'll possess a system for which we have no effective countermeasures."
Mack remained calm and continued, "Correct. It will offer a significant advantage affording them temporary tactical air defense superiority until we discover a solution. We could have a serious problem on our hands."
The revelation rekindled recollections of the past. In the mid-sixties, Marsden developed a radical new concept for encoding missile guidance instructions when he worked for the Newton Corporation, a major Pentagon contractor. Unfortunately, for him, it didn't fit in with the company's goals and held the potential to render obsolete several of their more profitable systems.
Marsden left in a huff and formed his own research lab with backing from Simion Georgescu, a shadowy industrialist with long standing ties to the Soviets as a trade facilitator. Notwithstanding his reputation, Georgescu was influential in certain Washington circles.
In 1970, Marsden submitted a proposal to the Pentagon for an expanded research project. The Newton Corporation tried to block funding. Senator Palmer Bradbury, a congressional stooge for Georgescu, managed to gain approval through a convoluted process of political skullduggery.
The senator then manipulated the process to award the contract to the Relint Corporation, a mid-sized contractor based in his state. The venture, now dubbed the Cochise Project, was shunted off to the Army, which assigned it to Fort Huachuca for initial development and testing.
The Cochise Project's aim had been to develop a missile guidance system using the main signal’s third harmonic as a
host for encoding guidance instructions. It would appear the signal was tracking the target in the passive acquisition phase, when in fact it was attacking the target by sending a guidance signal to a missile in flight.
A harmonic is a signal whose frequency is a multiple of the fundamental signal’s frequency. Nearly all signals produce energy at harmonic frequencies unless the signal is a perfect sine wave. Square waves, saw tooth waves, and triangular waves contain large amounts of energy at harmonic frequencies.
The Cochise Project signal produced an almost perfect sine wave with minimal harmonic strength. Marsden developed a method to produce harmonics with enough power to carry encoded sub-carriers by changing the waveform to a saw tooth pattern at short random intervals. The genius of the system was the method of embedding guidance instructions within the saw tooth pattern, an illogical, nevertheless brilliant concept. Unfortunately, we were unable to maintain sufficient signal stability within the third harmonic to produce a reliable and workable system.
Competing interests were eager to terminate our efforts, especially the Newton Corp and its congressional allies. Unfortunately, they had influence where it counts, on the golf courses of Washington, D.C. We didn't break par. The project never made it out of the sand trap on the thirteenth hole. The project, deemed unworkable by the Pentagon, was cancelled.
Senator Bradbury objected bitterly but went silent at the last moment and allowed it to go under. A muckraking tabloid reporter later dug up a large campaign contribution from the Newton Corporation. Of course, none of this made the network news or even the back pages of the establishment press. The right wing closed ranks to protect the Pentagon brass and the left sure wasn't going to blow the whistle on their golden-boy, Senator Palmer Bradbury. Nothing unusual, just the way they do business in that town.
The Relint Corporation was awarded a contract to operate the Electronic Warfare Special Projects Office at Huachuca. We all believed it was a done deal, a political trade-off, to compensate for loss of the Cochise project. Couldn't complain too much, at least I still had a job.
Now the duplicitous episode had come full circle. Some things you just can't seem to shake-off, no matter how hard you try.
I asked, "What's Wilson's involvement?"
"Colonel Wilson has just been assigned responsibility for setting up a new program at Bolling Air Force Base in D.C. It's an NSA–CIA joint venture called the Special Signals Research Project. The unit's mission will be to deal with situations where conventional ELINT collection methods are neither effective nor practical. He plans to focus on clandestine collection involving Soviet radar and telemetry signals.
"SSRP will attempt to bridge the gaps between COMINT, HUMINT, and ELINT." COMINT is intelligence derived from the collection of spoken or written communications. HUMINT is intelligence collected from agents in the field. "You realize from past experience, we have to prove our efforts because agency decision makers will not always rely on raw ELINT data not confirmed by COMINT or HUMINT. Now, SSRP will combine NSA analytical capabilities with CIA and military assets in a single operation."
He was right. ELINT has always been a stepchild in the intelligence world. The CIA believed only agents in the field could be relied on for worthwhile intelligence. In the past, NSA relied primarily on military resources for ELINT collection. The record has to be built-up over time, with little opportunity for a spectacular result. The results must be analyzed and interpreted in context. Like the offensive linesmen in a football game, essential but unlikely to score a touchdown. Most people with high ambitious don't go into ELINT.
"This will be his first operation. They need to find out if the Russians have in fact succeeded with the Cochise Project concept. If so, the Pentagon will need to initiate a crash program to develop countermeasures."
"Guess that's where we come in." I still wondered how Hansen was involved.
Mack nodded in the affirmative. "If we can figure out the test system’s parameters before it is deployed operationally, we can use knowledge learned from the Cochise Project to devise an effective countermeasures regime. The drawback is, the signals are difficult to detect, and can only be countered if we identify the true parameters and how they are deploying the encoded sub-carriers."
Experience told me, the chance of intercepting the signal by satellite was slim. "And you believe the only way to collect the entire set is during the combat acquisition and tracking phase."
"Right. They need someone knowledgeable in the potential inner workings of the system. An automated collection module can't collect all the data. The problem needs someone who can recognize what they are dealing with and decide on the spot which options are required. Now do you understand?"
"I still don't—"
"Ross, they need you. I know how much you wanted to fly in the Blackbird."
It ate at me for years but was all behind me — until now. I had settled into a dull but satisfying routine with no major responsibilities, just interesting technical work.
"Why now? Why me? They had their chance once and blew it."
Mack shifted in his chair and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "They miscalculated. The consensus was the Cochise Project would not work. Now it seems they’ve been proven wrong. And you know what that means?"
"Yeah, somebody's gotta cover their butt."
"Correct. Wilson has been assigned the task. His operation is covert and won't draw unwarranted attention from Congress or the press. He's operating outside the agencies’ and Pentagon’s normal channels. Truth is, the Air Force brass are in a tight spot. They want real data before they ask for more funds. In light of the Cochise Project’s demise, they can't take any chances."
"I know how it works, just more bureaucratic BS."
"Look at it this way. Lighting does strike twice. You have a second chance to fly in the Blackbird."
"Yeah … but I know now, I wasn't really qualified before. Once I got to Beale and realized what was in front of me, I knew and so did the Air Force people. All the guys in the program are the best, and there I was some army spec seven temporarily promoted to warrant officer, trying to pretend he belonged."
"Then why were you so bitter?"
"Despite all the obstacles, I could have made it through the training. I was sure. The odds were against me, but I still believe I could have done it. They didn't give me a fair chance."
"They don't have a choice now. They have a unique problem on their hands and you’re their best chance to deal with it in a timely manner."
"How sure are they … about Marsden I mean? What kind of sources does Wilson have?"
"Sure enough to risk this operation. Wilson is playing it pretty close to the chest on disclosing his sources, but they must be solid. He told me he had White House approval for the mission. — What do you say? Go or no go?"
Decision time, I glanced at Mack. Really would like to fly in the Blackbird. I stared at the map. It looked like a long way off. "No, I still don't—"
"It may be your only chance to hit back at Marsden. You can..."
Mack’s pleading faded as thoughts of a fateful day on the road south of Naco returned. I hated Marsden even more than I despised Hansen. My sixth sense failed. In a lapse of good judgment, my fate was sealed.
"Okay, I'll do it."
Mack stepped to the door and called Wilson in. The colonel nodded to Mack, sat down, and opened his folder.
I suspected a set-up and began to have doubts. Still can back out … but really would like to fly in the Blackbird.
"You understand I'm not qualified to ride in the back seat?"
The colonel glanced up, pokerfaced, revealing no emotion. "Yes, but Major Collier can get you to the target and return to base with no problem. All you need to do is go along for the ride, operate the equipment, and report your observations. They will send you back to Beale for outfitting and re-familiarization with the SR-71. We anticipate it will take two weeks. They need to be able to fly the mission within a few weeks —
do you want the job?"
My answer hung in the silence for a long few moments. Wilson’s gaze started to break and just when he was about to speak, I said, "Okay."
The corner of Wilson’s mouth rose in a faint smile and he called for the others to return. Major Collier strolled in and took a seat. A relieved Colonel Wilson told him, "Looks like you have a full crew Major."
I remembered the old axiom: bad decisions make good stories. I sensed I was about to find out.
Chapter 4 ~ The Blackbird
Thursday, 2 February: RAF Mildenhall, United Kingdom
Final preparations for the mission took place in a nondescript building assigned to Detachment 4, 9th Strategic Reconnaissance Wing, at Royal Air Force Mildenhall. Colonel Wilson, already on site having arrived two days earlier, called a staff meeting the first afternoon.
Wilson inquired, "Brannan. How was the flight?"
The trip from California had been my first long flight in a Blackbird. The flight across the Atlantic from our last refueling over Goose Bay, Labrador took less than two hours.
"An exhilarating experience, a bit cramped but okay."
"Did you have a chance to test your equipment?"
"Yes sir. Over the Atlantic, I scanned the spectrum for signals from Soviet long-range patrol planes or submarines. The only activity emanated from civilian air traffic and the occasional Navy ship. Overall, it provided me a chance to familiarize myself with the equipment."
Wilson gave a non-committal nod and continued, "Gentlemen, we are proud to announce this sortie has been designated as Raven-One, the Special Signals Research Project's first operational endeavor." He puffed up like a pigeon and regarded us with a confident smile. "I have no doubt it will not be our last. My intention is for SSRP to be a successful model of interagency cooperation."
The colonel continued, "Normal PARPRO rules have been waved due to the critical strategic nature of the mission." PARPRO (peacetime application of reconnaissance program) mission tasking normally required National Command Authority approval. "The Raven One mission, initiated by the Secretary of Defense, bypassed the lower levels of authority, and was approved in a matter of days by the president's national security advisor."