Shadow Flight

Kerchner glanced around the room, then spoke quietly. "They don't know what happened. The damned thing disappeared over Hudson Bay — joint exercise with the Canadians — and the speculation is that it crashed in the bay."

"Oh, God," Liddy said in a hushed voice. "How awful."

"Yes," Kerchner responded somberly, signaling for their regular waiter. "I'll call you later, as soon as I know anything."

Liddy watched, unsmiling, as her husband signed the open check, retrieved his topcoat, then walked out the door.

THE B-2

Matthews and Evans had remained quiet as the bomber struggled to 51,000 feet. Shadow 37 was now passing directly over Detroit, invisible to radar screens in the Cleveland air route traffic control center.

"Larry," Matthews said in a conversational tone. "I recommend we turn on the radios, so we can at least monitor traffic and get some weather information."

Simmons thought about the suggestion, suspicion written on his face. "Why?"

Matthews looked at Evans out of the corner of his eye in time to catch the copilot roll his eyes upward. "Because we are currently traveling through one of the highest density air traffic areas in the country. There's a lot of congestion up here, Larry, and no one knows we're overhead."

Simmons remained quiet, mulling over the reasonableness of the request.

Evans half-turned, facing Simmons. "Goddamnit, we aren't going to transmit anything."

Simmons still did not trust the pilots but reluctantly acquiesced. "Okay, but don't try anything, I warn you. One word and I'll pull the trigger."

Neither officer answered as they quickly activated the VHF and UHF radios and plugged in their radio cords. The B-2 normally used UHF, or the classified MILSTAR system, but the crew also needed the VHF frequencies used by civilians.

Matthews reached down behind the console separating the pilots, and retrieved the U. S. government IFR en route high-altitude charts. The charts would allow the pilots to orient themselves and, most importantly, identify the radio frequencies they needed to monitor each air traffic control center.

"Looks like one-thirty-two point forty-five," Matthews said, tuning the VHF channels.

The padded earphones in each crew member's helmet immediately crackled to life. "United Two Seven Four, cleared present position direct to Indianapolis."

"Direct Indianapolis, United Two Seven Four," the pleasant female voice replied.

Both pilots listened to the radio chatter, waiting for ten minutes after the top of the hour. That would be a good time to eavesdrop on the civilian flight service frequencies for a picture of the weather in the southeastern United States.

"Cleveland Center, Citation Five-Fifty-Five Tango Charlie with ya at five-one-oh."

Matthews and Evans, startled, looked at each other, then listened intently to the conversation. The business jet was cruising at their altitude.

"Five Five Tango Charlie," the center controller radioed, "we have a change in routing. Ready to copy?"

"Tango Charlie, go ahead."

"Five Five Tango Charlie is cleared via Jay sixty-four Bradford, direct Des Moines."

The Citation copilot read back the clearance. "Sixty-four Bradford, direct Des Moines, triple nickel Tango Charlie."

Matthews tapped the high-altitude chart. "Look! We're about to cross Jet sixty-four."

Evans turned down the cockpit lights to the lowest setting, then looked at the chart. "It runs east and west; he has to be closing from the left, westbound, if he hasn't already crossed in front of us."

"You're right. Let's step down," Matthews ordered.

Evans gently eased the autopilot into a descent, then turned toward Simmons. "We're going to cruise at fifty thousand — it isn't a cardinal altitude."

Simmons nodded his agreement, watching the altimeter readout.

Both pilots saw the business jet's flashing strobe lights at the same instant. "JESUS!" Matthews yelled as the B-2 was rocked violently by wing-tip turbulence from the Citation III.

Evans let out his breath slowly. "We didn't miss him twenty feet vertically."

"Yeah," Matthews replied grimly. "His wing went right over our cockpit."

Evans continued the descent as the pilots listened to the frightened Citation copilot.

"Cleveland, Five Five Tango Charlie!"

"Cleveland Center," the controller answered, alert to the change in the pilot's voice.

"Ah… Cleveland, we almost had a midair. You have any traffic in the vicinity at our altitude?"

"Negative, Five Five Tango Charlie," the surprised controller replied in a questioning voice. "Closest traffic is eastbound, eight miles at your eleven o'clock — a Gulfstream at four-one-zero."

"Okay, Cleveland, but we want to report a damned close call. Something, and it was definitely there, passed right under us — didn't miss us more than fifty to a hundred feet."

"I don't show anything on radar," the controller replied, disbelieving. "I'm not seeing any other returns in your area."

"Well, it wasn't our imagination," the excited copilot responded. "Something went under us."