Shadow Flight (1990) (37 page)

Levchenko yanked out a cigarette, lighted it, and inhaled deeply. "We are out of the picture. The Stealth belongs to Castro, as of now."

Both men sat in dumbfounded silence. So many months of intense work, training, and planning had been erased in one split second.

Levchenko started to speak, then noticed a commotion in the hangar. He stood, then walked to the door and opened it. "He's here," Levchenko said in a resigned voice. "I will need your assistance, Natanoly Vitelevich."

"You have it, comrade director."

Levchenko and Obukhov silently observed Raul Castro and his small procession enter the hangar, stop for a moment to take in the secret bomber, then walk slowly toward the work spaces and office.

Levchenko, watching Raul Castro, wondered about Fidel Castro's motivation. The dictator had always harbored a grudge against the Soviet Union for excluding him during the 1961 missile crisis-the October crisis in Cuban history. Stifling his rage and looking pleasant, Levchenko walked toward the commander of the Cuban army and extended his hand.

Raul Castro gave Levchenko an obligatory handshake. He was imposing as he stared at Levchenko, eyes focused, riveting. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and sideburns. His olive green utility uniform was damp with perspiration. "You do not have the bomber ready to fly," Castro accused.

"Comrade general," Levchenko replied uncomfortably, "the bomber will be ready to fly in three hours. The men are working as fast as they can."

Raul Castro remained silent a moment before he leaned into Levchenko's face. "I will be back in three hours--have it ready!"

Levchenko flinched, feeling the warm spittle hit his cheek. "Yes, comrade general."

USS KITTY HAWK (CV-63)

Sparks flew from the tailhook of Diamond 107 as Comdr. Doug Karns screeched to a halt in the number three arresting cable. The CO let the Tomcat roll back a few feet, dropped the wire, raised the tailhook, and followed the lighted wands held aloft by the flight deck petty officer. The pitch-black deck was alive with ordnance handlers and fueling crews.

Kitty Hawk began slowing as the plane guard helicopter, a Kaman SH-2F Seasprite, entered a hover over the angle deck, then settled to a gentle landing. Two F-14Ds sat on the forward catapults, manned and ready to launch at a moment's notice.

Seventy-five miles ahead of Kitty Hawk, off the port quarter, two Diamondback Tomcats flew barrier air combat patrol. They would refuel one more time from two KA-6D Intruders before being relieved by two F-14Ds from the Black Aces of VF-41.

On board Kitty Hawk, in flag plot, the carrier air wing commander had received the tactical air operations order. The battle plans had been approved by the Joint Chiefs of Staff before being forwarded to the three carrier groups. The operations order tasked the three air wings with attack and combat air patrol missions, along with a war-at-sea contingency.

Gennadi Levchenko, unshaven and feeling the effects of fatigue
,
supervised the final assembly of the Stealth bomber. He had Simmons, who had become even more withdrawn, in the cockpit checking the avionics and weapons systems.

Levchenko had watched the time closely, expecting the Cuban general to return at the end of three hours. He observed the tired technicians reconnect the last avionics system and replace the last access panel, then went into the lavatory and washed his face with cold water. He was drying his neck vigorously when Natanoly Obukhov rushed in.

"Comrade director," Obukhov said breathlessly, "Raul Castro called. He wants an engine run-up on the Stealth, and then have it towed to the flight line."

Levchenko looked at his assistant through tired, bloodshot eyes. "What are you waiting for? It's his airplane now . . . we're out of the picture."

"Da, comrade director," Obukhov replied respectfully, turning to leave. "I will take care of everything."

Levchenko finished drying his face and flung the towel into a corner hamper. He was about to lie down when the sergeant from the communications center appeared at the door.

"Comrade director, you have an urgent call from Moscow!"

Steve Wickham, hearing the loud sound of jet engines being started, inched next to the opening in the foundation. The base was completely blacked out except for a group of men working with flashlights.

He studied the soldiers, unsure of what they were trying to accomplish. The men worked rapidly, moving rocks and fence posts. Wickham continued to observe the group until they had passed his position. Three minutes later the jet engines reached a howling crescendo, then throttled down and shut off. Wickham, having forgotten his hunger pangs, waited impatiently for an opportunity to escape from his hiding place.

Finally, after the soldiers had completed their task, Wickham grabbed the assault rifle and ventured out of the small hole. He remained on his stomach and looked cautiously around the immediate area. The bright, luminous moon would spotlight any dark object and make his escape more dangerous.

Wickham listened intently for any sign of soldiers, then crawled to the corner of the building. He edged around the side and froze when he saw the B-2. Realizing what the soldiers had been doing, he watched the bomber as it was towed down the cleared path. Then he crawled back to the opening in the foundation and returned to his place of concealment. If they were going to fly the B-2 out of Cuba, Wickham reasoned, the roar during takeoff would help cover his escape.

Gennadi Levchenko replaced the phone receiver and sat quietly at the communications console. He shook his head and turned to the watch officer. "Get Talavokine up," Levchenko ordered, "and have General Brotskharnov report to me immediately."

"Da, comrade director," the comm chief replied, motioning to the sergeant. "Wake Leytenant Talavokine." The stocky young man hurried out the door as the officer called base operations.

"Have them report to my office," Levchenko said, then stood and walked out the door. Feeling mixed emotions, he entered his office and called his deputy.

"Natanoly Vitelevich," Levchenko said in an even voice, "come to my office."

Starshiy Leytenant Talavokine, groggy and disheveled, walked into the office as Levchenko completed his call.

"Sit down, Talavokine."

"Da, comrade director," the security chief responded, then rubbed his swollen eyes and tucked his shirttail into his trousers.

Levchenko pulled out the bottom drawer of his desk and propped his feet on the compartment as he noticed Obukhov at the door. He motioned him in. "Headquarters," Levchenko said as Obukhov sat down, "has decreed a change in plans in regard to the bomber."

Talavokine and Obukhov glanced at each other with apprehension, but remained silent.

"General Brotskharnov is on his way over," Levchenko continued, "so I'll wait until he gets here to brief you." Levchenko stood
,
then walked into his cramped quarters and placed a fresh pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket.

General Petr V. Brotskharnov, irritation written on his face, walked through the door as Levchenko reentered his office.

"Have a seat, general," Levchenko said as he returned to his desk. He lighted a cigarette and propped his feet on the drawer again. "We have received new orders, general."

Brotskharnov looked puzzled. "And?. . ."

"We--more to the point--you, general, are going to be responsible for flying the bomber out of Cuba."

The three men looked at Levchenko with equal amazement. Brotskharnov leaned forward. "What am I--"

"We have much to accomplish," Levchenko interrupted, "in a short span of time. I'm going to explain the situation, then we'll discuss particulars.

"First," Levchenko continued, "this change of plans originated at the highest level of KGB and word is being sent to Fidel Castro as we speak. Castro is screaming about getting the bomber off his island immediately. He and Raul are convinced that the Americans are going to invade Cuba to get the Stealth bomber back, so Moscow has decided to fly it to the Soviet Union."

Levchenko looked directly at Talavokine. "Also, our director is outraged over the breach of security here--the pictures that were relayed to the Americans."

Talavokine nodded his head.

"You, Leytenant Talavokine," Levchenko said in his menacing voice, "are going to sequester every single person involved in this project until I give you further orders."

Talavokine swallowed, brushing back his hair. "Da, comrade director."

"You will gather everyone in the middle of the hangar--everyone--including my deputy, until I give you the word."

Obukhov turned pale.

"Now," Levchenko continued, "I will explain our orders. General Brotskharnov, along with the American pilot and the defectorSimmons--are going to fly the bomber to Russia."

Talavokine and Obukhov shot a glance at Brotskharnov. The self-styled commanding officer of what remained of Soviet air forces in Cuba appeared to be dazed.

"General," Levchenko said slowly and clearly, "your orders are to fly straight west over Mexico and the Pacific Ocean to a point twelve hundred miles east of Hawaii. From there," Levchenko said, exhaling, "you will turn northwest and land at Yelizovo on Kamchatka Peninsula."

Levchenko leaned back and looked at Talavokine. "Get Simmons in here, then take four guards and bring the pilot to my office."

"Da, comrade director."

As Talavokine hurried out the door, Levchenko turned to Brotskharnov. "You will take off as soon as the bomber is fueled."

The air force commander, trying to assimilate the drastic change in plans, appeared perplexed. "I do not have any idea how many miles it is to our destination. We will be running a very high risk that--"

"General," Levchenko interrupted tersely, "the logistics have been worked out in Moscow. These orders were communicated to me by the director of the KGB. You will have approximately one hour of fuel left when you reach the Yelizovo airfield."

Brotskharnov started to speak but fell silent when Talavokine and the Cuban guards rushed by the door.

"Moscow," Levchenko continued, "wants you airborne as quickly as possible to take advantage of the dark. You will not be exposed to daylight until you are northeast of the Hawaiian Islands. They are confident that you will not be detected."

Brotskharnov inhaled deeply, then let the air out. "What are they thinking about in Moscow? This is crazy--if we get caught, it will jeopardize all the gains we have made."

"Goddamnit!" Levchenko exploded. "I'm not going to argue with you. The orders originated from the director of the KGB. You either comply, or contact Golodnikov."

Brotskharnov sat mute.

The KGB officer turned to Larry Simmons when he appeared a
t t
he door. "Come in and have a seat, Comrade Simmons." Brotskharnov shook his head. "We're digging ourselves
a d
eeper hole, comrade director."

"We," Levchenko shot back, "do not question our orders."

Chapter
Twenty-four

Steve Wickham peeked out from the opening in the foundation of the administration building. The agent had been surprised by the escalating activity around the perimeter of the air base. The Cubans were amassing a tremendous amount of antiaircraft weapons.

Wickham leaned back and closed his eyes. The longer he had to wait, the more fatigued he would become. His best chance for escape was now. Besides, he reasoned, if an air strike was scheduled, San Julian would be pulverized.

The sound of approaching vehicles snapped Wickham back to the present. He watched a GAZ field car, followed by two motorized antiaircraft guns, approach the building from the path the B-2 had traveled. He suddenly realized that he would have to do something very unorthodox if he were to have any chance for survival. He would also have to hurry if he was going to make the rendezvous with the OV-10.

Wickham slid the assault rifle behind him and quietly eased out from under his hiding place. The agent stood, quickly brushed himself off, and walked boldly toward the GAZ.

Chuck Matthews, accompanied by Talavokine and the Cuban guards, walked unsteadily into Levchenko's office. He had been drifting in and out of sleep before Talavokine marched into the cell. The pilot's hands, bound securely behind him, had become painfully swollen.

"Sit down," the KGB director ordered brusquely. "You are going to fly your bomber again . . . to the Soviet Union."

Matthews, glancing at Simmons and the Soviet general, was stupefied. He noted the look of surprise on Simmons's face. Matthews was speechless, confronted by this unexpected turn of events.

"Take him to the van," Levchenko ordered as he turned his attention to Brotskharnov. "We'll be there in a minute."

Matthews had a premonition of impending disaster as he walked out of the office and started across the hangar. Talavokine walked next to him as they climbed the stairs and went out the entrance. Matthews stepped into the dark brown van, still absolutely silent. His mind searched for a clue to his fate. Listening to the guards converse in their native language, he contemplated his possible options.