And it wasn’t the first time the Russians had tried to hit one of them.
But this was the first time he had ever seen eight bombers and he had to admit he had some butterflies. He had heard about the assassination earlier in the day in Vietnam and their briefing had told them to expect trouble over the coming days and possibly weeks until things simmered down, but as soon as the reports broke that an American was suspected of committing the murder, NORAD had reported the launch of bombers from across Russia. Challenges were already happening in Europe and Guam and several carrier groups had been buzzed.
If everyone isn’t careful, this could turn into a shooting war very quickly.
He buzzed the lead bomber with full afterburners, giving their fuselage a shake as he banked around to take up position on their wing, showing the proverbial flag. He and Hagman were on the starboard side of the bombers, two others from his command on the port. As he examined the nearest Bear, his cameras taking plenty of photos, he couldn’t help but wonder if their payload truly was nuclear, or if they were carrying dummies just for training.
Knowing these assholes, it’s probably the real thing.
The squadron leader made no attempt to make radio contact with the Russians as was protocol. International airspace was quickly running out and the bombers would soon be turning back at the last second.
Assuming they stayed true to form.
Sandman kept a cautious eye on the nearest bomber, his shoulder and instrument checks brief glances, not willing to risk a near-miss like last time.
He looked at his coordinates and his HUD display showing the rapidly approaching border.
They’re not turning!
The lumbering beasts the Russians were flying couldn’t turn on a dime. They weren’t meant to. They needed a lot of distance to do a 180, and if they didn’t turn now, they’d actually stray into American airspace.
His HUD indicated four more aircraft arriving, friendlies from Canadian airspace. Now they were about to be eight, a show of force that hadn’t been needed in a long time, but with tensions so high, the message being sent by NORAD was any incursion wouldn’t be tolerated, no matter how justified Russia might feel with their moment of sympathy on the international stage.
He listened as the squadron leader broke radio silence, another new experience for him.
Today’s just full of firsts.
“—turn now or you will be violating United States airspace, acknowledge, over!”
The Russians ignored the hails and continued forward, the border now only seconds away at these speeds.
Shit! What the hell are we going to do?
They trained for this, but never expected it to actually happen, the Russians always turning back just short of violating the sovereignty of whoever they were challenging. He had to assume they were merely “pushing the boundaries”, hoping to provoke some reaction that they could then play to the folks back home, claiming they had been in international airspace.
“Antler, this is Sable Leader. Russian bombers have violated the twelve-mile limit and show no sign of turning back. Request permission for weapons lock, over?”
“Sable Leader, this is Antler. Permission granted, over.”
“Acknowledged, Antler. Maple Leader, Sable Leader. Proceed with weapons lock, over.”
The Canadian squadron leader acknowledged the order, both squadrons coordinated through NORAD and listening in on the same frequency, their tactical computers able to recognize each other. Sandman watched on his display as the Canadians repositioned slightly then his HUD indicated that weapons locks had been attained. He watched the Russian cockpit of the nearest bomber and saw some excited pointing, but they continued forward, now well into US territory, the first time he could recall this ever actually happening.
His adrenaline was flowing freely and he steadied his breathing, remembering his training. What happened in the next few minutes could be the end of a long, hard, cold peace.
“Antler, Sable Leader, weapons locks attained, no effect. Request permission to fire warning shots, over.”
“Sable Leader, Antler. Permission granted, over.”
Shit! This is really happening!
Sandman leaned forward and watched as his squadron leader broke off and out of sight. His instruments showed the experienced pilot put some distance between himself and the bombers then suddenly bank back toward the large group of planes. Tracer fire was clearly visible as the M61A2 Vulcan 20 mm cannon opened up, the bullets whipping harmlessly past the lead aircraft with plenty of room to spare, the intention not to scare the Russians but to show the determination of their escorts to turn them back.
Again nothing.
Sable Squadron Leader opened up with another volley, this one closer, and again nothing.
These guys are determined to get shot down.
As the harsh Alaskan terrain rushed past almost forty thousand feet below them, he felt sweat trickle down his spine as another volley, not thirty yards ahead of the lead Russian bomber flashed past.
And still nothing.
His squadron leader reported back to NORAD, requesting permission to engage.
And permission was granted.
Jesus Christ!
He looked over at the cockpit of the plane he was shadowing and the Russians still seemed oblivious to the fate about to befall them. Orders had been granted to splash the lead bomber. As he began to pull up to reposition himself to open fire from the rear his threat alarm suddenly sounded as chaff erupted from all eight bombers, flooding his display and canopy. Momentarily blinded, he held up his hand to block the intense light when he saw a massive shadow coming toward him.
Collision alarms sounded and he pushed hard left and down as the bomber banked into him. He felt his plane jerk as if a mighty force had grabbed his portside wing and yanked it up like he was the log in a caber toss. He struggled to regain control as his entire cockpit began to protest, alarms and lights demanding attention.
Suddenly a sound he had only heard described before and never dreamed he’d hear himself filled the cockpit, the entire aircraft shaking and groaning. He looked over his shoulder and felt his heart drop into his stomach as his wing separated from the fuselage. His ejection alarm sounded and he heard shouting in his comm to bail. He reached for the ejection control between his legs and gripped the handle as his aircraft began to spin out of control. He could feel himself about to blackout, and in a final moment of lucidity yanked on the handle. His canopy tore away, the whipping of the ice cold wind bringing him back to reality just as the seat was catapulted out of the plane.
The spinning stopped almost immediately and he felt the rockets fire to push him away to avoid any potential shrapnel from his plane in case it exploded. When the rockets finished he felt his freefall begin, his altitude too high for the chute to open yet. He found himself falling backward with a perfect view of the chaos overhead. His own plane was long gone, the bomber that had hit him had smoke trailing from its wing as it rapidly lost altitude. The other bombers were all banking in unison now, still spitting chaff, his squadron and the Canadians now simply shadowing as there was no need to engage, his own wingman, Hagman, breaking off to keep an eye on his descent.
And as he continued his fall, waiting for his chute to open, he wondered just what the hell the Russians had hoped to accomplish.
And prayed he hadn’t just started a war.
Daewoo Hanoi Hotel, Hanoi, Vietnam
“You’ve gotta see this!”
All heads turned as Secretary Atwater’s right-hand man Ronald Greer burst into the room, making for the televisions they had set up with satellite feeds to all the major networks. Half a dozen displays in one corner were all on but muted, Atwater speaking to the President only moments before.
To say he was concerned would be an understatement. Apparently an F-22 Raptor had bumped a Russian Tu-95 Bear less than half an hour ago. The Raptor was lost but the Bear was able to make an emergency landing at Joint Base Elmen
dorf–Richardson, it unable to make it home. The Russians were screaming bloody murder, as was the White House, blaming the Russians for violating the twelve-mile limit to the tune of over one hundred miles. It was the greatest incursion in history and according to the Pentagon they were seconds away from splashing one of the bombers.
It was an incident designed to provoke.
Again demonstrating the different mindset of the Russian.
Americans wouldn’t sacrifice an aircrew to gain points in the foreign press, but the Russians wouldn’t hesitate to do it. They’d sacrifice their men for the greater good of the country. Dawson would die for his country in a heartbeat, but he also knew his country wouldn’t tell him to go provoke a war with the biggest bully on the block by getting himself killed. He had met quite a few Russians over the years, some he even liked. But he had to admit the supreme arrogance was overwhelming at times. He was confident. His men were confident. But arrogance could get you killed, arrogance could start wars.
Which seemed to be just what the Russians were trying to provoke.
He knew it wasn’t actually the case. Russia wouldn’t go to war even if they had lost all eight bombers. But they would take advantage of the situation. A lightning strike into the Ukraine was something Dawson was fully expecting to hear of within the next few hours if things didn’t simmer down. Latest intel had Russia activating armored divisions already deployed to the borders of Ukraine, Belarus, Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia. And with NATO’s policy of not stationing troops in former Warsaw Pact countries, the Baltic States were vulnerable, and Poland, just west of Belarus, was as well.
And would NATO actually stick to its mandate of going to war should a member state be attacked?
He had his doubts.
The only solution to this entire situation was to prove that Niner wasn’t involved. He hadn’t heard from the professors since they had left, and he couldn’t risk calling their phones, just in case it was traced back to Atwater’s security detail. The last thing they needed was the Russians or Vietnamese thinking they were interfering with the investigation.
But it had him worried.
And he became even more so when the audio was cranked on CNN International, split screen file photos of James Acton and Laura Palmer displayed with a talking head in the corner. He stepped closer, as did everyone.
“—now wanted in connection to today’s assassination of the Russian Prime Minister. Vietnamese authorities are saying the two professors, husband and wife, are co-conspirators, along with a Vietnamese national named Mai Lien Trinh. They are accused of assisting the assassin, whom Vietnamese and Russian authorities have identified as a member of Secretary of State Atwater’s security detail, a member of the Bureau of Diplomatic Security named Jeffrey Green. A photocopy of his ID card, taken just before the shooting when he entered the National Museum of History, has been released by Vietnamese authorities. Authorities are also claiming that Professor James Acton and Professor Laura Palmer, along with an American camera crew from ABC assisted in the assault on a police car transporting the Vietnamese suspect Mai Lien Trinh. Several police officers were injured in the incident and the suspects escaped.
“The White House denies any involvement in the assassination, instead insisting their Agent’s ID card was stolen from his locked hotel room safe and he was at Secretary Atwater’s hotel when the incident occurred.
“In further developments, a joint American and Canadian operation sent to intercept eight Russian bombers that eventually violated United States airspace resulted in an F-22 Raptor being lost today in a mid-air collision with one of the bombers. The Kremlin is claiming it occurred outside the twelve mile limit and are demanding the United States immediately provide access to their bomber that was forced to make an emergency landing in Alaska. The American pilot was recovered with only minor injuries. This was only one of over a dozen incidents today with Russian bombers around the world violating American, British and European airspace, an unprecedented move that resulted in several shooting incidents before the bombers turned back.
“At the UN—”
“I’ve heard enough,” said Atwater as she dropped back into her chair. “The Vietnamese and Russians are certainly working overtime to get their version of the story out to the press.”
“And the press are eating it up,” observed Greer. “This situation is rapidly getting out of control.”
“Agreed,” said Dawson. “They now have named a second American as involved, along with his wife who now lives in the United States.”
“I’ve heard that name before. Acton was it? Where do I know it from?”
“They’ve been involved in a few incidents over the years, Madam Secretary.” Dawson hesitated. Should he reveal his relationship with them? Could it send Atwater back into her initial conspiratorial bend when she thought Niner might actually be involved? He decided he better tread lightly. “The two professors made the papers a few years back when President Jackson targeted them for some reason. They testified before congress.”
“Oh yeah, the London incident, I remember now. Didn’t they also show up at the Vatican, involved somehow with the death of the Pope?”
Dawson nodded. “Professor Palmer had been kidnapped.”
“Please tell me these two aren’t in any way connected with the United States government, military or intelligence community.”
Dawson shook his head. “Professor Acton was in the National Guard about twenty years ago but other than that, not that I’m aware of.”
“Not that you’re aware of.” Atwater sighed. “Where have I heard that before.” She paused and Dawson decided it was best to say nothing. Finally Atwater spoke. “I think it’s time we leave Vietnam.”
Finally!
“I’ll arrange it immediately.” He turned then paused, looking back at Atwater. “What about the two professors?”
“What about them?”
“We know they weren’t involved. Shouldn’t we try to help them somehow?”
“How do we know for sure?” She quickly held up her hand. “Just playing devil’s advocate.”
“They were in the room when the shooting happened, just like we were. They were standing in the corner between the two delegations.”
“They were there?” Atwater was clearly surprised.
Dawson nodded. “Yes. When the shooting began they hit the floor and we evacuated you.”
“But they were there.” It was a statement which made Dawson uneasy. The tapping of her finger on her chin made him even more so. “I can see now why the Vietnamese are so sure we’re involved.” She sighed. “They’re on their own. We need to get our personnel to safety. I’ll instruct the Embassy to provide whatever assistance they can, but we and your friend need to get out of the country.”
Dawson didn’t like the answer but she was right. His responsibility was her safety and that of the delegation, not to a private citizen and a foreign national who were here under their own accord. “I’ll begin the arrangements immediately. Fifteen minutes?”
Atwater nodded.
A flurry of activity instantly began as the staff executed their orders, each having a list of duties they were responsible for. As Dawson left the room equipment was already being broken down and packed. He walked down the hall to the room set up as their security center and entered. He pointed to Spock. “We’re evacuating in fifteen. Tell the jet to be ready and have the cars brought around to Echo Two.” He looked at Niner. “What the hell are we going to do with you?”
“Have me go in whiteface? All you honkey’s look alike to us Asians.”
“I always knew it,” grinned Dawson. “But perhaps a disguise isn’t actually that bad an idea.”
Niner dropped his chin and raised his eyebrows. “Huh?”
“Not whiteface, jackass. But you’re going to stick out like a sore thumb in our security detail because they’re going to be watching us. Wander out like a tourist or a local and you might just blend.”
Niner’s head bobbed as he contemplated the idea. “I did bring some casual clothes for when I was off-duty. But what if things go haywire?”
“Make for the Embassy.”
“Which is surrounded.”
“Hole up until it isn’t. As soon as we’re off the ground we’ll release that you are onboard with us and that will lighten up the security pretty quickly.”
“Unless it’s in place for the docs. Those two are still out there somewhere.”
“True.” Dawson squeezed his chin. “Atwater wants us to basically abandon the professors.”
“I don’t like that.”
“Neither do I. They’ve helped us too many times for us to turn their backs on us.”
“So, perhaps you’re suggesting I try to meet up with them?” asked Niner with a suggestive inflection.
“Me? I’d never violate orders like that.”
“Sure you wouldn’t. Neither would I. But if I were to, hypothetically of course, run into them, where exactly might I be running into them?”
Dawson dropped into one of the seats as a team entered, beginning the dismantling of the equipment. “I have no idea.” Dawson pulled out his secure phone and wrote down several phone numbers. “These are their cellphone numbers.”
“Which you just happen to have.”
“As soon as we got back from the museum I pulled together all their info just in case.”
“Good thinking,” said Spock as he stepped aside to let the crew finish their work. “But we’re only doing this if Niner can’t make it out with us.”
“Yes.” “No.”
Dawson looked at Niner. “No?”
“No. Like you said, these two don’t deserve this.”
“If you get caught you’ll be put on a show trial and it could lead to war.” Dawson shook his head. “You’ll be coming with us, understood?”
Niner peered at Dawson through narrowed eyes. “Understood? Or understood, wink-wink-nudge-nudge?”
Dawson stifled a chuckle. “The first one.” He pointed at him. “I mean it.” He rose as the last of the equipment was removed. He looked at Jimmy. “Make sure he gets his ass out of here.”
The Riddle (A James Acton Thriller, Book #11) Page 12