“No.”
“Is it one of the radars normally associated with a mobile antiair platform?”
“I don’t know that that matters,” Greene said, his voice growing cold. “It may not be directly slave to one, but it could be used by any of them. Even a Stinger could get some initial indications off of one. And the Stinger has a two-mile range and we’re going to be well within that on our final approach.”
Tombstone felt his irritation growing, more at Greene than at the prospect of antiair defenses. The latter he’d expected — the former he didn’t. All aviators were capable of compartmentalizing their minds, putting aside any other concerns and focusing on the task at hand. There was no threat near — and Greene knew that Tombstone knew that. So, why all this flack in the cockpit?
“Jeremy — just shut the hell up,” Tombstone said with a cold note of authority in his voice. “We’ve got a mission to fly. Whatever other problems there are, we’ll settle them when we get back on the ground. Got it?”
“Got it. Sir.”
“Time on top?”
“Ten minutes. Sir. All the landmarks may look a little different.” Greene’s voice was coldly professional now.
“Roger,” Tombstone acknowledged. Turning to the east to slip out of the radar envelope would add a degree of difficulty to their run, but not an insurmountable one. By losing altitude now and using the hills to block the radar signals, Tombstone hoped to be able to approach undetected for a longer period of time.
Well, there was no help for it now. He wasn’t going to cancel the mission just because there was an air search radar they didn’t know about.
“You are relieved,” Korsov said coldly. Starskii peeked up over his consul, trying not to be caught snooping. Since they had moved away from his consul, their voices had been quieter for a time. From what he could gather, Korsov did not completely believe his supervisor’s explanation.
“I did nothing wrong, sir,” the superior said, an almost desperate note in his voice. They were committed now to the story that he told, and it was clear that he intended to justify himself when the wiser course might have been to simply roll on his back and whine.
A sudden sharp spike of noise echoed through the compartment. Starskii’s jaw dropped. Korsov had slapped the supervisor across the face, moving with such lightning speed as to be scarcely detectable.
“You are relieved,” Korsov said. Starskii saw Korsov examining the room, carefully evaluating each man there. Finally, Korsov pointed at Starskii. “You. Come here.”
Starskii moaned, his stomach whirling and churning. He walked on unsteady feet over to the two. His superior refused to look at him. “Yes, sir?”
“As of this moment, you are to assume his duties.” Korsov peered closely at him. “What is your name?”
“Joseph Starskii, General.” Cold swept over him, radiating up from his gut, and threatening to make him lose the heavy, indigestible rations he’d consumed just hours before. “Sir, I think there are others more qualified.”
Korsov stepped closer, and Starskii felt the heat radiating off him. It was as though Korsov were superhuman, possessing a metabolism different from that of a normal person.
“Yes,” he said, studying Starskii carefully. “But loyalties still means a great deal to me, do you understand? And if you are to be loyal, I would prefer it to be to me.”
“Come,” Korsov said, drawing him out of earshot of the others. Two military police hustled his former supervisor out of the room. “We must talk.”
Starskii could feel everyone else trying very carefully not to see him. Eyes were averted, heads turned away. Whatever mistake he had committed, they wished to be careful to avoid it.
“You understand my concern over the compromise of this mission, yes?” Korsov asked softly. His eyes bore into the uneasy air traffic controller.
“Yes, sir.”
“Regardless of who you have or have not told, the fact is that the knowledge should have never been in this room. And now, since the remote movements are compromised, there must be a change of plans. I will be departing immediately. As supervisor, you’ll tell no one of this. You will make sure that your actions are appropriate. When we appear on your radar scope, you’ll order our contact not reported. Is that clear?”
“Very, sir.”
“Ninety minutes later, you’ll evacuate the center personnel and proceed immediately to the airfield. There, you’ll board a transport and you will follow us to Bermuda. Is that clear?”
“Yes, commander.”
“You have no questions, do you?” Korsov’s voice made clear what the appropriate response was.
“No, comrade. In ninety minutes, then.”
Starskii’s answer appeared to satisfy Korsov. He rocked back slightly on his heels, his hands jammed deep in his pockets, and fixed the controller with a dark stare. “Succeed and you will be well rewarded. Disobey me and the consequences will be immediate and severe.” Without further word he turned and stalked out of the room.
Starskii let out a long, shaky breath. Behind him, the normal sounds and voices of the mid watch resumed.
“Three minutes,” Greene said. “Recommend you come left on course zero nine four for twenty seconds to retain original flight profile.”
“Acknowledged.” Yeah, that might be the better idea. Pop in between these hills, pick up his original route rather than deal with approaching from another angle. The more that was familiar, the better off they were.
Tombstone cut the nimble aircraft hard to the left, counted out loud, and turned just as Greene updated his advice. “Come right now to course zero one five, descend to two thousand feet.”
“Time on top?”
“Ninety-two seconds,” Greene answered. “Recommend descent to eight hundred feet in thirty seconds.”
“Roger.”
Tombstone rolled inverted to take a closer look at the terrain as he descended and located the landmarks they’d picked out from the satellite photos. They were flying a perfect approach, exactly on schedule. And, any second now, all hell was going to break loose.
Korsov climbed into the cockpit of his aircraft, feeling the cold seep through his flight suit and into his undergarments. Though winter was still a month off, already he could feel it coming on. All too soon, the wind would blow steadily, cold and harsh down from the north, and the snow would complicate even the simplest of maneuvers. The Russians had known for generations what the Germans learned the hard way — do not attack during the winter.
Ah, but winter in one place was not the same as winter every place, was it? He could almost feel the Bermuda sun on his hands, feel sunburned skin tight across his chest, marvel at sweat rolling down his back in the middle of November. Yes, Bermuda in winter was entirely different from Chechnya in winter.
His aircraft was already preflighted, and his assigned regular copilot waiting for him. Years ago, he been able to comfortably relinquish tasks such as preflight, checking fuel status, and such. Those who worked for him knew well the consequences of making a mistake.
He clambered up the boarding latter, feeling the cold reach deep into him through his fingertips. The plastic ejection seat was hard and unyielding. Before he even buckled his ejection harness, he reached down to flick the
