Arctic Storm Rising by Dale Brown (readera ebook reader .TXT) 📗

A Short Time Later

Under the ECR’s bright overhead lighting, it was impossible to tell that it was still pitch-dark outside, with more than anhour remaining before the sun rose. But in a concession to the early morning hour, coffee carafes and china cups were setout along the large central conference table.

Jonas Murphy took a cautious sip from a steaming cup and then set it back down. Miranda Reynolds, seated next to him, raisedan eyebrow. “Any good?” she asked.

“It seems to contain caffeine,” the director of national intelligence said thoughtfully, after a moment’s consideration. “Apartfrom that, I refuse to testify on the grounds that it might insult our hosts.”

From his position at the head of the table, Bill Taylor chuckled. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Jonas.” Then the secretaryof defense nodded to Reynolds. “Glad you could join us this morning, Ms. Reynolds. I understand we have you to thank for theextraordinary video we’ve all seen?”

“Yes, Mr. Secretary,” the CIA’s chief of clandestine operations said. The short recording he referred to was from a Russian Air Force pilot, Colonel Alexei Petrov. In it, he claimed to have successfully stolen Moscow’s much-touted stealth bomber prototype. The video had been emailed to her through the same covert server used by the shadowy Russian contact she’d met in Prague. She’d immediately relayed it to Murphy, who, in turn, had passed it straight on to the defense secretary and the Joint Chiefs. Before she’d even had time to finish dressing, she’d received a secure call summoning her to this early morning conference.

“So what’s your assessment of this message?” Taylor asked, not beating around the bush. “Is it genuine?”

Reynolds pursed her lips. “The man speaking does appear to be the real Alexei Petrov,” she said. “His facial features area perfect match with other verified photos in our databases.” The CIA, like other intelligence agencies, amassed huge amountsof information on foreign government officials, military officers, business leaders, and the like—most of it from publiclyavailable sources, including newspaper and magazine articles, television news broadcasts, and even internet sites. “And wecan confirm that he’s regarded as one of Russia’s top test pilots, especially for multi-engine aircraft. Given that, it wouldbe logical to expect him to head up their stealth bomber flight test program.”

“But is there anything in the guy’s record to suggest that he’d pull a stunt like this?” General Frank Neary asked suspiciously.The Air Force chief looked plainly skeptical. “I mean, Jesus, actually flying away with the most expensive and advanced experimentalaircraft in the whole Russian inventory? That’s not exactly like walking into an embassy somewhere and asking for politicalasylum!”

“No, sir,” Reynolds admitted. “From what we know, Colonel Petrov was a highly decorated, highly regarded officer, one of apparentlyunquestioned loyalty.” She smiled slightly. “Then again, if there were any obvious reasons for Moscow to believe he mightdefect, Petrov would be in a Russian military prison or dead, and not sending us demand notes from a stolen high-tech aircraft.”

Murphy leaned forward. “Plus, he’s looking at a potential cut of several billion dollars,” he pointed out. “That’s a darnedstrong possible motivation, right there.”

The other men and women around the table nodded in agreement. In his recorded message, the Russian pilot had made it clearthat this was an auction, with the PAK-DA bomber going to the highest bidder.

“Then you think this is the real deal?” Taylor pressed. “That one of Russia’s top test pilots is actually trying to sell ushis country’s most valuable aircraft? A stealth bomber that he’s already got safely parked in some secret hiding place?”

Miranda Reynolds shot a quick sideways glance in Murphy’s direction. The DNI shrugged slightly, as if to say that it was hercall. Her mouth tightened. If she walked all the way out on a limb here, what were the odds that he wouldn’t just saw it offbehind her the moment anything went wrong? Along with selective leaking, blame shifting was almost a professional sport forsenior government officials and politicians alike . . . and Jonas Murphy, she reminded herself, was a man who wore both hats.It was effectively a coin toss, she decided. Then again, her fingerprints were already all over this bizarre situation. Shewasn’t going to be able to duck the responsibility, no matter how things went down. So she raised her chin and looked straightat the secretary of defense. “Yes, sir, I do. Crazy as they sound, Petrov’s claims fit the facts we see.”

Taylor’s eyes gleamed approvingly behind his thick, black-framed glasses. “Okay then. We’ll proceed, for now, on the assumptionthat this Russian colonel has possession of an experimental stealth bomber that we’d sure like to have . . . and that Moscowdesperately wants back.” He turned to Neary. “If we want to find Petrov first, General, where should we be looking?”

“I had the Air Staff work the problem, using our best guesses as to the PAK-DA bomber’s fuel load and flight characteristics,” Neary told him. “Their analysis strongly indicates Petrov must have landed somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere—anywhere from Russia itself to Alaska, northern Canada, or possibly Greenland. Maybe even somewhere out on the polar ice cap itself.”

“That’s a hell of a big patch to search,” Taylor commented wryly.

“Yes, sir,” the Air Force chief of staff agreed. “Several million square miles of ice, tundra, mountains, and forests fora start.”

Reynolds frowned. “Hold on, wouldn’t Petrov need a runway to land on—one long enough to handle a very large aircraft? Doesn’tthat significantly limit the places we need to look? Even if he picked an abandoned airstrip or some remote, out-of-the-wayairport—”

Neary shook his head. “It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. The Russians put a lot of emphasis on designing their combat aircraftto fly out of rough, improvised airfields. Given some luck and skill, all this guy would need to set down safely was a longenough stretch of compacted snow or ice.” He shrugged. “We fly C-130s onto a similar snowfield down at McMurdo Station inthe Antarctic. Now, I sure wouldn’t try that myself with a heavy bomber, but I’m not a test pilot . . . or