Arctic Storm Rising by Dale Brown (android based ebook reader .TXT) 📕

federal budget, we could forcethe Russians to pony up billions more for a whole new bomber design. It’s a win-win for us.”

Neary frowned deeply.

“You have a problem with the director’s analysis, General?” Taylor asked.

“Yes, sir, I do,” Neary said. “What if we’re wrong about this? What if Petrov didn’t steal the PAK-DA bomber prototype at all? What if this is just an elaborate ruse orchestrated by Russian intelligence . . . and the aircraft that we’re supposedly buying is still sitting safely inside a hangar on some Russian air base?”

“Jesus,” Taylor muttered. “That would be . . . bad. Very bad.”

Neary nodded. “We’d get caught paying billions of taxpayer dollars to Moscow for nothing. Not only would that inflict a lethalpolitical blow to the president and his administration, it would humiliate the entire U.S. national security establishmentas well. We’d be the laughingstock of the whole world.” He shrugged. “Sure, the video sent to Ms. Reynolds shows this guyPetrov in some kind of fancy cockpit. But none of us knows what the inside of the real PAK-DA bomber looks like. Nor are thereany shots of the outside. For all we really know, the whole thing could easily have been shot on a GRU- or SVR-built filmset.”

“There is another problem, even if Petrov’s offer is genuine,” Rear Admiral Chao commented. “It’s pretty clear that he’s gettinga lot of help from someone we don’t know anything about. If it turns out he’s in league with Russian organized crime, or druglords, or maybe even terrorists, the blowback from our funneling so much U.S. government money to them could be horrific.”

Taylor winced, obviously imagining how that would play out in Congress and the press. The defense secretary wasn’t a Washingtoninsider by experience or inclination, but even a few short months on the job had taught him the savagery with which politicalwar was waged in the nation’s capital. He sighed. “Okay, it looks like whether or not we meet Colonel Petrov’s demands isa decision that’s way above all our pay grades. I’ll brief the president as soon as I can, but my bet is that nobody in theWhite House is going to want to jump in with both feet on this. Not without a hell of a lot more information than we can givethem right now.”

“I do have one request, Mr. Secretary,” Miranda Reynolds said. “I’d like your permission to deploy the specialist go teamI’ve organized to Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson in Alaska.”

“The one with experts from the Air Force’s Foreign Material squadron?” Taylor asked.

She nodded. “Plus CIA and Air Force security personnel.” She looked down the table toward Chao. “If the rear admiral is correct,and Petrov has landed somewhere in northern Alaska or northern Canada, staging out of Elmendorf would put our team in positionto move fast if we spot the PAK-DA bomber on the ground. Or in case we do strike a deal.”

“Good thinking,” Taylor said simply. “You’ve got my blessing. Get your team on its way to Anchorage as soon as possible.”

Twenty-Two

Totem One, over Northern Alaska

The Next Day

Totem One, a four-engine HC-130J Super Hercules combat search-and-rescue aircraft assigned to the Alaska Air National Guard’s211th Rescue Squadron, rocked and jolted and bounced through the sky. It was flying through the upper fringes of a fiercewinter storm blanketing the whole state. Patches of night sky sprinkled with stars appeared and disappeared whenever the planecrossed into towering cloud banks that cut visibility to nil and then came back out into clear air.

“Cripes,” Major Jack “Ripper” Ingalls muttered, gripping the steering yoke tight. “I think General Arcaro hates me.”

His copilot, Captain Laura “Skater” Van Horn, shook her head. “No, he doesn’t hate you, Rip.”

“He doesn’t?”

She smiled. “Nope. His feelings toward you go way beyond simple hatred. In fact, I’d say he despises you with all the passionof a thousand hot, flaming suns.” She nodded out the cockpit windows at the boiling sea of clouds. “I mean, why else assignus a ‘routine’ night training flight—right in the middle of the first really big storm of this season?”

Ingalls laughed. “Well, the general said he thought it’d be a good way to keep our flying skills honed.”

Van Horn snorted. “Uh-huh. And King David told Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah the Hittite, he wanted him to lead in battle because it was an honor.”

“You know, your analysis of this situation isn’t exactly making me feel better about myself, Skater,” Ingalls said. He kepthis eyes moving over the cockpit’s multifunction displays and gauges. “Remind me to have you read that Air Force pamphleton the importance of maintaining high crew morale once we get back to base.”

She pretended to sigh loudly. “What, again?”

“Yes, again,” the HC-130 pilot said firmly, with a quick, sidelong smile.

“You know, touchy-feely stuff like that is probably why Arcaro hates you so much,” Van Horn said with a grin of her own.

Ingalls shrugged. “A man’s gotta do what a—” A sudden alarm and a red caution and warning light cut him off short.

“Number Two engine shutdown,” Van Horn said sharply. She toggled a switch. “Fire handle pulled.” And then another. “EngineStart switch to stop. Fuel pump secured.” Swiftly, she scanned their ACAWS—Advisory, Caution, and Warning System—message text.“Gearbox Two, no oil pressure.”

Ingalls ran his eyes over his own display. “I confirm Gearbox Two, no oil pressure.” He glanced out the cockpit window attheir left wing. The six-bladed propeller on the inmost engine was stationary. “Number Two is feathered. No signs of a fire.”

“For small favors, let us be very, very grateful,” Van Horn said devoutly. She glanced at the pilot. “Okay, Rip, what now?”

“Now you take the aircraft,” he said, sounding perfectly calm and in control. “Thus allowing me, as the august aircraft commander,to focus all my attention on managing this deplorable situation.”

She nodded, settling her hands firmly on the yoke in front of her and giving it a quick shake to verify that she did indeedhave her hands on the yoke. “Yes, sir. I have the aircraft.”

“You have the aircraft, Captain,” Ingalls confirmed formally, slightly relaxing his own grip.