Suddenly the tanker stopped, its energy spent, coming to rest in a massive ball of fire. Endermann and his Mitsubishi landed on top of the flames, the two vehicles becoming one.
The sound of the aircraft engine roared across the old airstrip. In the moonlight Sam saw the single-engined airplane and glider moving down the runway. He felt for Abadi's handgun, but it must have fallen from his pocket in the cab of the tanker.
Chapter 68
SAM FELT helpless: no gun, no transport, and a crippling pain slamming through his body. He should have rammed the tanker into the plane before sending it over the edge, making sure the Eagle of Darkness stayed in its nest.
The single engined plane taxied towards him, needing to get to the end of the runway for take-off into the easterly wind. Of the three men originally on this old airstrip, only the pilot was left alive. The Gideon One glider followed the tug on its wheeled undercarriage, a trolley that would surely be jettisoned automatically on takeoff. Somehow he had to stop the launch. It would be risky trying to jump onto the tug to attack the pilot. The propeller would chop him into pieces if he misjudged the distance.
He waited for the plane to halt, so he could run forward in the darkness and unhitch the tow rope. But the pilot slewed his aircraft around to face the wind with the engine revs high, and in one continuous movement both plane and glider began to roll forward for take-off. There was no slack in the tow rope, and no time to find a way to unhitch it.
The glider still had an open cockpit. The pilot hadn't waited to fit the canopy in his rush to get away. It might be possible to jump on board. Perhaps the Gideon handled like the small airplanes he'd flown during training. Perhaps Panya would hear that someone had tried to fly a Gideon One away from Râs Banâs before crashing into the mountains. Would she wonder if he was the pilot who had been fried beyond identification in a radioactive blast?
The black machine was already accelerating past him on its wheeled trolley to be lost in the night. For a moment the pain in his body evaporated and he sprinted forward, grabbing hold of the edge of the open cockpit. The glider tipped alarmingly as he threw his body in.
He looked anxiously at the green glow of instrument lights, realizing that not only did this glider lack any sort of seat, there was no joystick or rudder bar. This airplane was adapted to fly solely by remote control, with no mechanical over-ride. Wherever the glider was going, he would be going there too.
As the speed increased, the jolting from the broken runway threw him backwards. Small stones and debris from the wash of the tug hurtled over the top of his head. He lay flat, below the level of the fuselage. They were already going too fast to abort take-off.
Then they were airborne, leaving the temporary undercarriage behind on the ground. One moment the shaking from the runway had been throwing him from side to side, and now the ride became strangely fluid, a sensation enhanced by the massive rush of wind. And the pain in his chest returned cruelly.
The glow in the sky to the west showed where the sun had recently set. To the south must lie Berenice and Râs Banâs, but the pilot was making for the north, the engine straining as it raised both tug and glider higher and higher towards the mountain peaks. Ahead lay the sheer face of a mountain, unseen in detail, but forming a black mass that completely obstructed their flight path.
The pilot was on a Kamikaze suicide mission, flying himself and the glider into the rock face.
Then the aircraft banked sharply to the left, the glider mimicking the angle of turn with absolute accuracy. The remote control system and the servos were perfect. Carefully he reached forward, hoping to find switches that might over-ride the radio receiver or on-board microprocessors. The control box felt smooth on the outside: no provision had been made for manual use. This was not some amateur set-up. The glider controls showed signs of sophisticated design, even managing to compensate for his unexpected weight.
He began to explore the small cockpit area that was set unnaturally far back, well behind the wings. There was only one explanation: the front section was designed to hold a large weight. Like a model glider, it needed a large weight in the nose in order to fly level. So the Eagle of Darkness must be fully laden, and going into action.
For a moment the pain in his ribs became too much and he thought he was going to pass out. He imagined he could hear Cardinal Fitz telling him again that Sally was alive, and the children would be returned. Well, he'd blown that one. Karen and Tom would soon be without a father.
He raised his head above the cockpit shield in order to get a blast of cold air in his face, to keep his reactions functioning through the pain. The towing plane continued to turn, with the disused mountain base now far below in the moonlight. Small spurts of flames came from the wrecked tanker in the valley floor.
The Institute and Panya seemed to belong to a different lifetime. Denby Rawlins was dead, but Dr. Wynne would be in England, still bleating about his Prophecy, and still being used by subversive forces to further their aims.
As the glider banked automatically for yet another turn, Sam imagined Panya at her service in the church of Saint Sergius, perhaps even at this time sitting in a front seat. She was safe, and he was about to die. It was a strange world.
One more circuit up and back down the long valley, and they would be almost level with the top of the mountain. The icy air numbed his face and streams of tears blurred his vision as he looked out. They had been flying for nearly an hour now amongst the mountain range, almost certainly hidden from the Râs Banâs radar. The plane must have climbed three thousand feet, the engine of the tug straining as the altitude increased. The tow rope gleamed white in the moonlight: not straight, but sagging gently in the middle.
And now an orange shadow began to move across the face of the moon. The eclipse had begun. One more turn and they were flying south. In the far distance he could clearly see the lights of a town. Berenice.
Sam tensed, thinking about the nuclear explosion that was imminent and unavoidable. A loud bang shook the glider as the tow rope separated. The end fell away from the hook on the nose of the glider, the white snake disappearing out of sight below the tug. The pilot went into a steep dive, to be lost in the blackness below.
The dark sides of the mountain range slipped away as the glider emerged into the open, the wind shrieking around the black wings. The runway lights of an airfield winked in a golden shimmer as the Gideon One went into a shallow dive. Râs Banâs.
From far below came a blinding flash as the tug exploded, the fiery outline tumbling through the air. That was no nuclear blast; it was caused by conventional explosives. He wiped his eyes for another look at the glowing instrument lights.
Suddenly he realized that a glider couldn't constantly change direction to compensate for wind direction on its own. There must be a gyro compass on board, and electronics to receive a signal from an onboard controller. To alter the glider's altitude and direction there would also be rods or wires running to the rudder and elevators. The black box merely took the part of the pilot, with its servos in charge of flying on a computer programmed course.
He clawed around the floor area, desperately hoping to find these control wires. Every move he made, momentarily upset the steady flight, but the automatic control system quickly rectified the changes. Behind, emerging from under the flat floor, he could feel a space running back towards the tail. And then he found some cables, four of them. He caught hold of one, pulling it firmly.
The glider started to dip, the sudden change in altitude being accompanied by increasing air speed. He tried to pull the adjacent wire but it needed more force than he could apply. Perhaps if he slid backwards in the fuselage his weight would help bring the nose up.
The dive seemed to be less steep but the air speed was now too high. Lying full length inside the enclosed rear of the glider it was possible to apply considerable force to the wire. With a frightening swoop the nose came up, the glider stalled, dived again, and then leveled itself as it regained suffi
cient airspeed. He waited for the adrenalin to die down before crawling back to the cockpit area as the auto control took over to maintain level flight.
The Râs Banâs base looked much closer now. A double row of lights straight ahead marked the outline of a massive runway. Even if he could rip the controls from the panel and cause the glider to crash early, the warhead would still decimate the region. His only chance of survival was a gentle touchdown, and hope that the warhead would not be triggered.
But his airspeed was clearly too high for a safe touchdown. The sky seemed to be growing darker. He glanced at the moon, which was now a dark orange in the starry sky. The eclipse was almost complete.
Then he saw what he had been dreading, the blue and white blast of flames as a missile wound its way up from the airfield.
"Panya, I need you! Lord God, I need you!"
Then the missile was gone, the roar from the exhaust deafening. The heat seeking sensors had found nothing to lock on to. Had he really prayed the first serious prayer of his life?
He pulled at the control wire that had initiated the first dive, and again the nose dipped, but too steeply. Quickly he released the wire to reduce the angle of descent. But the steep angle of dive was maintained, the wind howling through the slender airframe. He had less than two minutes before impact.
Chapter 69
Râs Banâs, Egypt
COLONEL Schenkmuller nodded in satisfaction as the men shouted in alarm from behind their green phosphor screens. The base was under attack from the air. The explosion of the tug had caused the required diversion, but now the controllers had detected the faint radar echoes from the Gideon One.
He knew that in the last five minutes they could have launched more firepower than had been used on a busy day in the Gulf War -- if he'd given the orders. The young officer who had fired the SAM would be reprimanded. Kramer's plan would never have succeeded if the glider had been hit. It was hard to maintain order amongst all the hysteria. Schenkmuller went to the control tower window. At the far end of the runway three F-117s were preparing for take-off. All for a lone glider.
And there it was, the black outline of the Gideon One glistening in the glow from the runway lights. The approach angle was steep and the speed high. It had been programmed to home-in on the landing beacon, going into a vertical dive from fifteen hundred feet. The electronic sensors were designed to crash the glider nose first, but at this crazy angle it might land intact. No matter, the Eagle of Darkness was on time and on target.
Schenkmuller looked around. No one was watching him. He pulled the silver hip flask from his pocket. Of course drinking on duty was strictly forbidden, and the slightest suggestion of alcohol on anyone's breath meant immediate suspension. But Endermann had given him the flask with the suggestion that it would be fitting to toast the Eagle of Darkness. "Have a drink on me to celebrate touchdown." It amused him to think that Endermann had thought it necessary to invite him to have a sip. Everyone knew he liked a drink. And now it was time to revel in success.
He unscrewed the cap. "To Operation Oracle"
Ten seconds later his body jerked violently as he fell to the control room floor.
Chapter 70
Râs Banâs, Egypt
WAS A BRUTAL death worse than a gentle one? At least it would be quick. Sam watched the airfield lights rushing towards him. If the glider pulled out of this dive too steeply it would stall again, but this time there would be no room for recovery. The nose would flip upwards, drop, then the glider would plummet vertically onto the runaway, killing him for sure. He found the elevator control wire and tugged at it until the nose at last came up.
It seemed that the glider was leveling out. Maybe it would make some sort of controlled landing. But the nuclear explosion would be violent, and probably painless.
He crouched in the open cockpit, ready to jump, or perhaps be thrown clear.
But he would die anyway.
The glider was going to land, but much too short of the runway. Already he could see emergency vehicles with blue flashing lights speeding his way. His left wing caught one of the pylons for the approach lights, the black glider cart-wheeling through the air, throwing him clear as it came to a halt.
He lay on his back in the dry grass, pain slicing through his body. Any second now he would be vaporized by the bomb. The emergency vehicles screeched to a halt, spotlights blazing, men shouting. He waited for the blast that would take him into eternity.
Chapter 71
Râs Banâs, Egypt
"YOU ARE an Israeli death pilot." The American base commander lit a cigarette and studied Sam as he lay on the makeshift bed, ignoring his cries for medical help.
Sam found any sort of reply added to his agony. "Just get me a doctor, you bastard!"
The American shook his head. "You're under my jurisdiction ... at the moment. The Egyptians want to tear you apart, but I prefer to do it to you myself. Colonel Abadi was a traitor, and he's dead, and so is his helicopter pilot. We found their bodies by the old airstrip where you launched your Gideon One."
"Just get me to hospital," moaned Sam.
"You can stay here in pain all night for all I care. Explain the Israeli markings on the nuclear warhead in the glider."
Sam shook his head. "I've told you all I know. I've already asked you to get in touch with Cardinal Fitz. He'll support my story."
"The Cardinal has offered to fly down here, but I think we're wasting our time with a member of the clergy."
"Then get Panya Pulaski."
"The woman is dead. Or nearly so. Look, we've taken the Gideon One apart, and we still can't figure out why it didn't explode. Did you want it found intact?"
"I'm innocent," Sam protested.
"The instruments and the nuclear warhead have Israeli markings," the American commander repeated as he leaned over the bed. "Hell, man, what's going on? I say you're an Israeli suicide pilot, and your country's plan is to start aggression with Egypt. I don't want to throw you to the wolves, but I can't keep the lid on this much longer. You'll not get this sort of care if I hand you over to the Egyptian military."
Sam looked at the ceiling, biting his lip to avoid crying out with pain. He needed urgent medical attention. This treatment amounted to torture. "You're lying about Panya Pulaski, you bastard."
"I can assure you I'm telling you the truth. I only wish you'd do the same to me."
Sam twisted onto his side, but the pain from his chest was too much and he rolled back. Several of his ribs must be broken, but his lower back had a pain that was even worse than the nightmare in his chest. "Get me to a hospital," he repeated hoarsely.
"When you've told me what's going on. Are there any more warheads?"
"Does the name Endermann mean anything to you?"
"It might. He's a Middle East security adviser. He's been working for us here at Râs Banâs. Do you know him?"
"I killed him. You'll find the remains of his body on the road below the old airstrip." Sam felt too angry to take any heed of caution. "You're all bastards, and you're all trying to start a Middle East war."
The commandant looked interested. "I'll admit to being a bastard, but I'm not involved in hostile action. Very well, I'll contact your Cardinal Fitz. In the meantime I'm transferring you to hospital, but don't think you're off the hook, fella. If you really have killed Endermann, the CIA is going to crucify you."
Chapter 72
Virginia, U.S.A.
SPAXLEY STARED at the crystal clear water rippling its way around the outside of the large boulders, leaving an area of still water in between. Fishing here now with Kramer he could relax. Every fly he tried was a winner. "Are you recruiting again?"
Kramer flicked his line, the green strand streaking over the water. "Sorry, Admiral, I still have two more warheads, but the heat is on the Middle East. Those warheads will have to stay where they are for a couple of years."
"I'm here if you need me."
"Maybe."
"Great cast, Kr
amer." Actually it was pathetic, but he needed to keep on the right side of the CIA man now. There could be further work in the offing. He cast his own line, the Parachute Adams fly landing almost perfectly. "At least we're both in the clear."
Kramer flicked his Royal Wulff, but it landed on the rocks, not between them in the calm water. "Is that what you think? I say it was bungled from the start. Your communications man in Cheltenham would have sung like a canary if I'd let him live."
"Withington was Endermann's man."
"Endermann's dead. I put you in there to take control. You blew it, Admiral."
Spaxley reeled in his line and felt unexpectedly anxious. "I lacked the full authority for success on a major mission. Why didn't you put me in there at the beginning?"
Kramer made a mess of his next cast. "That glider should have been scattered all over the runway. Unfortunately the English airline pilot was there to mess things up. If the Râs Banâs base had bought the Israeli markings and informed the Arabs, Israel would be destroyed by now. Because it landed like it did, they were able to see that we'd fixed the nuclear warhead not to detonate."
"I didn't know," said Spaxley.
"Did you really expect it to go up? Hell, we couldn't have another nuclear blast over there; not on top of our guys in Râs Banâs. Even now there's a lot of international heat. Several Muslim states believe Israel is ready to use the bomb."
"At least you've managed to hush up the clamor for a public inquiry."
"Keeping hot potatoes out of the public domain is my job, Admiral."
"Sure, Kramer. It was one hell of an undertaking. What about Sam Bolt? He's still alive, And his woman friend is hanging on, so I've heard."
"What they know doesn't add up to a can of beans. They don't know the name of anyone still alive who was in Endermann's team. But I guess I'll have to go to England to put the fear of God into them when they're out of hospital."
"They know my name," said Spaxley.
"Yes."
"You don't seem bothered."
"They made fools of themselves at the press conference. No one will want to listen to them now. The public doesn't know there was a nuclear warhead in the glider, and as far as the press is concerned the nuclear blast south of Cairo is still unexplained. The Institute of Egyptologists is closed. There's only one key member of the team who still needs attention."
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