Shadow Flight

"Shut up!" the Russian bellowed. "All ahead full, blow tanks, blow tanks!"

The crew, hysterical in the dark, sinking submarine, cried out in a high-pitched wailing. The hull creaked loudly, then ripped open in a terrifying screech, sending tons of seawater crashing into the control room.

SAN JULIAN

Gennadi Levchenko listened to the scrambler switch off, then placed the phone receiver down and pushed back his chair. His hands shook as he lighted a cigarette and stood.

"Idiots," he said absently, brushing an ash off his sleeve. "Stupid bumbling idiots."

Levchenko walked out of the communications center and headed for his office. He had ordered his deputy to return to the hangar immediately. Levchenko had major problems to solve and needed the assistance of Obukhov.

The KGB director walked into his office, ground out his cigarette, and sat down, seething. Levchenko continuously flexed his fingers and balled his fists. His world, the career he had developed so painstakingly, was rapidly coming unraveled.

Obukhov hurried down the hangar stairs, almost tripping on the bottom step, and rushed into Levchenko's office.

"Sit down," Levchenko ordered, placing his forearms on the desk. "We have big problems, Natanoly Vitelevich. This operation is disintegrating, and now Castro is interfering."

Obukhov leaned back slightly, started to speak, then decided to remain silent. He had known Levchenko long enough to become conditioned to the director's moods.

"Castro called me," Levchenko announced, anger written across his craggy face. His eyes were like cold blue marbles embedded in the puffy white face.

"Castro," Obukhov said wide-eyed, "called here?"

"He ordered me," Levchenko replied bitterly, "to have the Stealth ready to fly when his brother arrives."

Obukhov sat petrified, uncomprehending, trying to sort out what the foreboding call meant. "What is he doing?"

Levchenko ignored-the question and smashed out his cigarette. "Castro has declared war on the United States!"

"War?" Obukhov responded, tilting his head slightly. "Castro declared war? Why?. "

"He believes that the Americans are preparing to invade Cuba…," Levchenko answered, then leaned back, "to retrieve their bomber." The KGB director slammed his fist on the desk. "The sonuvabitch is like a polar bear. Castro has no fear of anything or anyone."

Obukhov was speechless.

"I have contacted Moscow," Levchenko said, "and our goddamned director — the hotheaded idiot who didn't want extra security here — who wanted the base to look like every other base so the satellite photos wouldn't show any change — ordered me to protect the bomber."

Levchenko rubbed his neck. "Golodnikov said that the B-2 must be secured at any cost. The bomber is scheduled to fly a top priority secret mission. Our orders are to keep Castro's people away from the B-2," Levchenko continued, pausing to control himself, "until Golodnikov decides what action to take."

Obukhov squeezed his knees. "You actually spoke with Golodnikov?"

"No, goddamnit. I talked with the operations director."

"What about the bomber?" Obukhov asked cautiously. "Are you going to prepare it for flight?"

"Da," Levchenko answered, taking off his wire-rimmed glasses to rub the bridge of his bulbous nose. "It may eliminate the military conflict with the United States."

Obukhov peered into the hangar. The dark charcoal-colored bomber, entrails exposed, looked forlorn. "When is Raul scheduled to arrive?"

"I don't know. Who knows what those lunatics will do next?" Levchenko replied harshly, then changed to his unctuous manner. "Natanoly Vitelevich, I am going to need your help, to salvage what we can of this goddamned mess."

Chapter Twenty-one

THE WHITE HOUSE

President Alton Jarrett, interrupted at the beginning of a meeting with the Advisory Committee for Trade Policy and Negotiations, rushed down the long corridor to the situation room.

He met his secretary of defense a few steps from the entrance. The Joint Chiefs, along with the other members of the security team, were discussing military options available for use against Cuba. Kerchner wanted to talk with the president alone before Jarrett entered the room.

"What happened, Bernie?" the president asked, stopping to quiz his friend.

"AG," Kerchner replied in a somber, strained voice, "the Wasp has been torpedoed, and we have sustained heavy casualties."

The president's face turned ashen as the magnitude of the tragedy registered in his mind. Jarrett, who normally analyzed information carefully before approaching a decision, went from shock to rage in five seconds. "Goddamn, Bernie," the president said with open emotion, "what the hell happened? Is it in danger of sinking?"

"The flash message said that the ship was struck," Kerchner answered with a tremor in his voice, "by a submarine-fired torpedo. It isn't in danger of sinking, but the report indicates that Wasp is listing to starboard. We'll have more information in a few minutes, after the crew completes the damage control assessment."