Firefox Down

against one panelled wall. Then he resumed his stance behind Gant.

Gant swallowed, cleared his throat, and said, 'The airplane was breaking up and on fire…' Vietnam, he reminded himself. Remember the cockpit, filling with smoke. 'The cockpit was full of smoke — '

'What caused this damage?' Vladimirov suddenly snapped.

'Cannon fire — the second of the two MiG-25s was on my tail. I tried to shake him off, but my fuel was too low already… we flew into a closed valley, he came up first and I thought I'd gotten him… I had, then he got me… I hit the button and got out of there fast… I don't know if he did…?' He looked up then, at Andropov. Vladimirov was a tall threatening shadow at his side.

'You lost fuel — why?' Vladimirov asked.

'The second Firefox-must have ruptured my fuel-lines. I was trying to glide her all the way to Bardufoss when your MiG-25s sighted me visually. I was in a corner. I didn't have the fuel to outrun them.'

'I ordered them to shepherd you back.'

'They almost did — I was lucky, I guess.'

Vladimirov was silent for a moment, and then he burst out: 'Now I am certain you are lying, Gant!'

'What do you mean, General?' Andropov asked, turning his head to look at Vladimirov.

Vladimirov rounded the desk and moved towards Gant's chair. Gant could see the one clenched fist for a moment before the other hand closed over it, calming it. Then Vladimirov said, 'Not you. Never you, Gant. Your life is a mess, you live like a hermit, you couldn't keep a job if you were given one. But, you don't rid the world of yourself, you don't give in to the mounting evidence of failure. And why?' Vladimirov leaned forward, his face level with Gant's eyes. 'Why? You are a badly-wrapped parcel, Major, and you are held together by an unsurpassed egotism. You really do believe you are the finest pilot in the world, perhaps ever. You would never be lucky. Not you — you could never admit it!'

As Vladimirov turned triumphantly to Andropov, his face reddened with emotion and delight, Gant said, 'If I'm so fucking clever, General, then what the hell did I do to get rid of the airplane?' Vladimirov turned back to Gant. 'Your guy blew my ass out of the sky.'

'Liar!' Vladimirov shouted. The fist he had been cradling swung at Gant's head. One of the legs of the delicate French chair snapped like a twig as Gant tumbled onto the carpet. The bourbon spilled, seeping onto the polished floor. Gant's head turned. His dazed vision encountered Priabin's boots in fuzzy close-up. He waited to be kicked.

* * *

'Can we possibly do it in four days, Giles?' Aubrey asked. Curtin, whose timetable they were discussing, also looked at the tall soldier.

'With this shopping-list of Curtin's — it might be possible. If, and only if, everything works like clockwork. It won't, of course, but this is theoretically feasible.'

'Very well — What have we got so far?' Aubrey said, more in the nature of an announcement than an enquiry. He pushed away his plate — lunch had been served in the Ops. Room, a white cloth laid over two pushed- together foldaway tables. Buckholz had not joined them. Aubrey studied the last of the claret in his glass, then swallowed it. 'Giles?'

'Politically, we're OK, with the crucial exception of the Finns. Their Cabinet still has to decide.'

'Yes, yes-' Aubrey interrupted impatiently, waving his hand, then standing up, thrusting his hands deeply into his pockets as soon as he had done so. His professorial manner angered Pyott. Aubrey paced alongside the plot table while Pyott continued.

'Washington and London have agreed that the rescue is to be attempted, and that it continues as a covert operation — deniable and disownable if and when necessary. Therefore, we report only to the Cabinet Secretary here, who represents Number Ten and the JIC, while Charles will report via his director to the Chief of Staff at the White House so that the President may be kept in touch.'

'Good, good. That gives us a free hand. Now, what about the substance of the meal?'

'One Hercules has been requisitioned from RAF Lyneham. We think Kirkenes makes the better HQ. Despite the greater range of facilities at Bardufoss, it's too far away…' Aubrey was bending over the plot table. Pyott glanced at Curtin, nodded, and they joined him, Curtin having sipped at his glass of water before rising. Aubrey gazed at the map as if he coveted it; a stylised portrait of a conqueror. Pyott waved his hand over the plot table like a conjuror. 'Bardufoss — ' he said. 'Kirkenes — ' He cleared his throat. 'We have the transport, we have the troops to set up a defensive perimeter, SBS already in Kirkenes. We have a Royal Engineer detachment-winches, tripods, pulleys, cutting gear… RAF engineers, four of those and appropriate tools. Curtin has our giant Sikorsky Skyhook fuelling now for its first hop from — where is it, Gene?'

Curtin grinned at the use of his Christian name; his welcome to the comfortable circle of conspiracy. 'Germany, Giles.' His smile did not diminish. Eventually, Pyott nodded, accepting the familiarity. 'We have to finalise the refuelling points — this baby can't travel more than two hundred miles on a full tank of gas… that means two, maybe three refuellings before she gets her ass out of Germany, since she's coming up from Wiesbaden. Then there's Denmark, Sweden — we don't anticipate problems with their neutrality — and she's going to come awful slowly up Sweden and across Lapland to the lake. And the met reports are getting worse, Mr. Aubrey, they really are.' Curtin looked dubious, uncertain; as if he had blasphemed. Aubrdy glared at him.

'And there,' Giles Pyott said heavily, looking hard at Aubrey, 'is where the best laid plans, et cetera, will stumble and fall. You have no back-up; Kenneth. No fall-back. No second line.' He continued to stare at Aubrey.

Eventually, Aubrey shrugged. His face was chastened; and angry. Once more, the image of the frustrated, gifted child came to Pyott. Aubrey really was almost impossible -

'Giles, there can be no fall-back or back-up or whatever you wish to call it. The best we could hope for, if the Skyhook does not arrive, is to remove some of the more vital systems from the airframe, then destroy it. Which is why this plan must work!'

'Too much hinges on the weather and a single large helicopter, Kenneth. If the ice were thick enough to bear the weight of the Hercules…' He brushed at his moustache, a flicking motion. 'But, it won't. Waterford's people are certain of that. Even if it landed, and the ice held, it wouldn't bear the weight of the Hercules with the dismantled Firefox inside its cargo compartment.'

Aubrey glanced from Pyott to Curtin, then back to Pyott. 'Have you two been rehearsing this?' he asked with evident sarcasm. 'I, too, have digested Waterford's reports. I know there is no alternative to the Sikorsky. It must arrive. It is our job to prepare for its arrival!'

Pyott shrugged, then relented and said to Curtin, 'And how have you been getting on?'

'We've had experts study the pictures of the lake, we've spoken to one of your university professors — '

'Gilchrist at King's,' Pyott explained casually. 'Geologist — actually knows the area.'

'What does he say?'

'He pointed out, having seen the pictures, that we might have to do some tree-felling if we want to drag anything out of that lake. Brooke's detailed report on depth of water, slope of the shore, indicated the same thing:'

'So — tree-felling. Easy to pick up visually by an overflight.'

'I agree. It will have to be made to look — natural…'

'How many drops?' Aubrey asked.

'All our people — thirty to forty, including SBS — could go in the first drop, onto the lake. Any non- parachutists will have to be taken in by Lynx helicopter. Equipment can go in a second drop. A lot of what we need is at Bardufoss already… our good fortune.'

'When?' Aubrey burst out.

'If you get permission from the Finns — if all the pressure being exerted finally makes them bend — tonight.'

'Then I must talk to Hanni Vitsula-!' Aubrey exclaimed, hurrying from a lingering glance at the plot table towards the telephone. Immediately he moved, Pyott and Curtin began murmuring rapidly as they leaned over the table. Aubrey dialled the Queen Anne's Gate number, then requested Shelley's extension, having satisfactorily and impatiently identified himself.

'Peter-get me Helsinki at once… What? No, nothing. I see — yes, Peter, I realise the importance of the matter, and yes, it does worry me-however, will you please get Director Vitsula on the telephone!' Aubrey realised