Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 01 (7 page)

 
          
“Rough
week, eh, General?”

 
          
“I’ve
had worse . . . and better,” Curtis replied.

 
          
“Do
you really believe they have this . . . laser of yours?”

 
          
“I
may be an old stubborn pack-mule, Mr. Secretary,” Curtis said, unbuttoning his
jacket, “but I listen. Our intelligence sources have been saying for ten years
that the Soviets are on the verge of developing the capability to track and hit
satellites with lasers. That complex at Kavaz- nya could easily be the
culmination of all that research. I have a feeling in these old bones that some
young hotshot in the Pentagon is going to come running to me in the next few
days with something from that RC-135’s data transmission that says the Russians
have
something
big going on over
there.”

 
          
“I
find it hard to believe,” Brent said, “that the Russians would actually conduct
such an attack. The Russians may be a lot of things, but they are not
reckless.”

 
          
“Reckless
... no. But if they thought they could get away with it, they might just take
the chance,” Curtis said. “Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time they fired on
one of our recon planes.”

 
          
“You’re
saying they’ve fired on us before.”

 
          
“Hell,
yes,” Curtis said, laughing. “Those sons-of-bitches have brass balls sometimes.
They lock onto a RC-135 with fire-control radars, like they’re gonna launch a
missile at it. They shoot bullets across the aircraft’s nose, fly with
overlapping wingtips. They even alter their radio navigation beacons to
transmit false navigational information to aircraft near their shores, hoping
to get a reconnaissance plane to fly into a restricted area. That’s why our
boys aren’t allowed to use outside navigational aids. They transmit false
messages or orders on high-frequency radio all the time, or interfere with real
messages, or just plain jam the frequencies.”

 
          
“But
what do we do about it?”

 
          
“Ignore
them, mostly,” Curtis said. “As long as we follow the rules and no one gets
hurt, we just let them make asses outta themselves. We lodge formal complaints,
but they file counter-complaints just as fast and twice as wild as anything
they’ve ever done. After a while, it burns itself out.”

 
          
“But
that Korea Air Lines flight flies near . . .”

 
          
“See
that? You just can’t trust ’em.” Sometimes they get serious.” Curtis was silent
for a moment.

 
          
“But
that didn’t happen with our RC-135,” he continued. “No matter how bad the shit
hit the fan, the guys aboard her would’ve stayed cool. If they were under
direct attack, or even believed they might soon be under attack, they would
have flushed their data.”

 
          
“Flushed
it?”

 
          
“As
they collect data on Soviet radar and other electromagnetic signals, it’s coded
and stored in a buffer—a computer storage space. If there’s a hint of anything
going wrong—airplane problems, attack, equipment problems—the buffer can be
transmitted to a Defense Department satellite within seconds. They hit one
button and it’s gone, all of it. Most operators now have a hair trigger on that
button; one engine coughs a bit and the data’s gone. The buffer transmits
itself periodically after a complicated error-checking routine done between the
plane and the satellite.

 
          
“If
the RC-135 crew knew they were under attack, we would’ve gotten the rest of their
data and an attack or distress code. Even a momentary threat signal from
anywhere, especially with that plane so close to shore, would’ve caused them to
flush their data. But they didn’t. They never knew what hit them.”

 
          
“A
sneak attack?” Brent suggested. “A fighter could have shot at them without
their knowing it, couldn’t they?”

 
          
Curtis
nodded. “At night, a passive infrared missile attack—sure. But it’s unlikely.
Those RC-135s can monitor hundreds of communications frequencies, especially
Soviet Command frequencies. If the crew intercepted any air-to-ground or
ground-to-air radio transmissions ordering a fighter to attack, they would have
flushed their data, turned tail and run. No Soviet fighter makes a move like
that unless it receives an order from the Kremlin itself—unless, of course, the
intruder plane actually makes an attack. The Korean Air Lines attack was
preceded by two hours of communications, all of which were monitored as far
away as
Japan
. No. Our guys never knew what killed them.”

 
          
Both
men were silent for a long time—Brent searching for an explanation, Curtis
simply hopping mad.

 
          
“So
what can we do about it?” Brent asked.

 
          
“There
ain’t shit we can do about it,” Curtis said, sighing. “Unless the Russians try
to do something stupid, something really flagrant. If they have a new toy over
there, they’ve had their little fun with it. But if they play with it some
more, our young President may go over and kick their little butts for them.”

 
          
“Something
flagrant,” Brent said, thinking to himself.

 
          
“That’s
what I like about our boy President,” Curtis said, his voice growing suddenly
exuberant. “He’s a politician and a half, but you can rile him. Just like his
ol’ football quarterback days—he’s all finesse, pretty moves, bobbing and
weavin’, until he’s behind by a touchdown and a field goal. Then he starts thro
win’ the bomb, goin’ for the score.”

 
          
Brent
looked at Curtis and shook his head. “God help us,” he said, “if he goes all
the way.”

 
          
“
T
his emergency meeting of the United
Nations Security Council is hereby called to order,” Ian McCaan, the United
Nations Secretary General and ambassador from
Ireland
, announced. It was almost
eleven p.m.
in
New York
. Most of the fifteen delegates and their
aides and secretaries held steaming cups of coffee or tea. A few wore angry,
tired faces. A few looked anxiously at, it was certain, the two principals for
which this meeting was called—Gregory Adams, the ambassador from the
United States
, and Dmitri Karmarov, the Soviet
ambassador.

 
          
“Let
the record show,” McCaan continued, his Irish brogue thick despite two decades
spent in the
United States
, “that this meeting was urgently requested
by the government of the United States of American under Provision Nine,
unprovoked and excessive use of military force against an unarmed vessel or
aircraft near territorial boundaries. The charge of violation of Provision Nine
is hereby submitted. The
United States
delegation has asked that this meeting be
closed to all but Security council members, although confidential audio
transcripts of this emergency meeting will be made available to all member
nations. Ambassador Adams, please proceed with specifications of the charge.”

 
          
Gregory
Adams adjusted his microphone and looked around the table at the other fourteen
delegates. This was not a receptive, audience. The Russian ambassador looked
completely bored. The other delegates looked equally uninterested, and now
Adams
began to question the wisdom of calling an
emergency meeting under these circumstances. Adjusting the dark horn-rimmed
glasses that he wore to make himself look older, he cleared his throat and
began:

 
          
“Thank
you, Mr. Secretary-General. On the night of November thirteenth, two nights
ago, an unarmed American RC-135 reconnaissance aircraft was making a routine
patrol of the eastern shore of the
Kamchatka
peninsula of the
Soviet
Union
. The
aircraft had been on a peaceful training mission—”

 
          
“I’m
sorry, Mr. Adams,” Dmitri Karmarov interrupted, holding his translator earpiece
closer to his left hear. He smiled and said in English, “The interpreter has
told me that the RC-135 was on a training mission. I wish to be clear on this
point—is that the same as a
spy
mission, sir?” “American aircraft of all types fly near shores all over the
world for a variety of reasons, Ambassador,”
Adams
replied. “This particular RC- 135 was on a
training and routine survey mission, collecting signal coverage data for
satellite navigation units for civil and military use.”

           
“Navigation information!” Karmarov’s
sixty-one-year-old face fairly cracked with suppressed laughter. He made an
exaggerated point of hiding his face and choking down a chuckle. “Navigation
information . . . very well, Mr. Adams. I apologize for the interruption.”
Another stifled laugh. The rest of the delegates, although not suppressing any
laughter, clearly did not believe for one moment
Adams
’ excuse for the RC-135’s mission. Its
capabilities were well known.

 
          
“That
aircraft,”
Adams
said, much louder this time, “was
destroyed. Suddenly, without warning and without provocation.”
Adams
looked at the faces of the other delegates,
but found nothing in their blank expressions. “This poses a threat to air
traffic for all of us, gentlemen. It was not over Soviet airspace—”

 
          
“Incorrect,
Ambassador Adams,” Karmarov said. “I have a report from our air defense radar
tracking station at
Kommandorskiy
Island
and Ossora Airbase on Ust-Kamchatka. They
report the RC-135 aircraft came within thirty-three miles of our shore ...”

 
          
“Thirty-three
miles,”
Adams
retorted, “is hardly over Soviet airspace.”
“Not according to the International Civil Aeronautics Organization,” Karmarov
said. “Article Seventeen, Chapter one-thirty-one, establishes a
one-hundred-and-twenty-mile-wide Air Defense Identification Zone around
countries that have borders on open ocean. Flight is prohibited in the Zone
without permission from the country controlling that Zone. I believe I can
safely assume that your RC-135 did not have permission to enter that area ...”

 
          
“Flight
is
not
prohibited in an Air Defense
Zone,”
Adams
said. He referred to a folder his aide
passed to him. “According to paragraph one-thirty-seven of the ICAO
regulations, Ambassador, aircraft entering an ADIZ without permission or proper
identification risk engagement of a country’s sea or air defense forces for the
express purpose of positive aircraft identification and precise position,
altitude, airspeed, and heading verification only. They can proceed through the
area as long as they do not pose a threat to air traffic or national security.
They are certainly
not
to be fired
on.”

 
          
“An
American military jet the size of the one that intruded into our airspace is
most definitely a threat to our security, sir,” Karmarov said. “The Article
specifies that, if the intruding aircraft is military and has the capability of
carrying long-range air-to-air or air-to-ground weapons, it may be turned away
from land, challenged, forced to land, or fired on.” Karmarov pointed a finger
directly at
Adams
. “It was you who risked disaster, not us.”

 
          
“The
RC-135 has
no
capability of carrying
weapons.”

 
          
“Positive
identification of the aircraft was never made until your government contacted
us, sir,” Karmarov said. “It followed an unusual flight path for a spy
plane—not the usual course. Considering the sensitive nature of our activities
in that area, I believe the Soviet government acted with considerable
restraint.”

 
          
“Restraint!”
Adams
said. He contorted his face to display the
maximum in indignation. “You destroyed that aircraft. You fired on it without
warning, without any consideration of any of the lives on board. You murdered
twelve innocent men and women. An unarmed aircraft carrying out a peaceful
mission!”

 
          
“I
caution you to keep your wild accusations in check, Mr. Adams,” Karmarov said,
louder this time. “We deny any involvement with the missing aircraft except to
warn that aircraft out of Soviet airspace. We did not know the exact identity
of the aircraft until your Department of Defense notified us of the disaster. We
immediately initiated an air and sea search for the aircraft. We do not know
what happened to your spy plane. Do not put the blame for your unfortunate
disaster on the hands of the innocent Soviet people.”

 
          
“The
RC-135 aircraft reported unusual radar emissions tracking it, just before it
was attacked,”
Adams
said. “The crew believed it was
targettracking radar signals from a ground radar installation preparing to
attack.”

 
          
“Show
us the data, then,” Karmarov said. “You say it was a hostile radar. We say we
had nothing but surveillance radars on the aircraft. Show us the data that you
say exist, Ambassador Adams. Confront the accused with the evidence—if you
can.”

 
          
“Mr.
Adams?” McCaan said, peering over his podium to the American delegate’s seat.
“Can you at this time provide the Council with this information?”

 
          
“The
crucial information is being collected for presentation, Mr.
Secretary-General.”

 
          
“You
mean decoded, deciphered, edited, and altered,” Heinrich Braun- mueller, the
East German ambassador, said wryly. “Intelligence data takes time to be made
presentable.”

 
          
“We’ll
bring the data in, you can be sure of it,”
Adams
said. “It clearly shows a tracking radar,
one strong enough to steer dozens of nuclear- tipped surface-to-air missiles to
it.”

 
          
“That
is a wild, baseless accusation, sir,” Karmarov said once again, shaking his
head in exasperation. “You’ll not get the
Soviet Union
to admit any culpability in this
unfortunate accident.”

 
          
“Tell
the Council, Ambassador Karmarov,”
Adams
said,
folding his hands in front of him. “What sort of activities
do
you pursue at Kavaz- nya? Why is it
so important? Why is it so vital that you’d shoot down an unarmed survey
aircraft in international airspace?”

 
          
“You
are beginning to become tiresome, Ambassador Adams,” Karmarov said. “I will
repeat myself for the last time—we do not know what happened to your aircraft.
Kavaznya is the site of an important research facility that I am not permitted,
and this council is not entitled, to discuss. Further, your aircraft, by your
own admission, was not in international airspace. It was intruding into a
Soviet controlled defense zone. It, or, more precisely, the military leaders in
your Pentagon that ordered those men and women into violating the airspace of
another nation, were the guilty party, not the
Soviet Union
. The aircraft made no attempt to identify
itself, ask for help, state its intentions, or file a flight plan. It was an
unidentified aircraft—”

 
          
“That you shot down
/”
Adams
said, pointing his finger at Karmarov. He
was ready to play one last card. “We
know
you are conducting research into particle-beam weapons, lasers, and other such
devices, Ambassador. You may as well admit it. You decided to test your new toy
on an unarmed American aircraft.”

 
          
“And
you are on a fishing expedition,
Adams
,”
Karamov said. He turned to Ian McCaan. “Mr. Secretary-General, the
Soviet Union
pleads innocent to the trumped-up charges
levied against us by the
United States
. We demand that the
United States
shows its evidence against us immediately.
If there is no evidence, as I suspect will be the case, or if the evidence is
not found to be accurate, reliable, or in clear support of the charges against
us, I demand all charges be dropped and a formal apology be delivered by both
Ambassador Adams and the President of the
United States
.”

 
          
“Ambassador
Adams,” Ian McCaan said, “are you prepared to present your evidence supporting
your charge?”

 
          
Adams
glared at Karmarov, then studied the faces
of those around him. He saw only tiredness, confusion. “The
United States
will present its evidence to the Council by
the end of the week, in a regular session of—”

 
          
“Then
the delegation from the
United States
has wasted our time,” Karmarov declared.
“Ambassador Adams, I feel the need to remind you that an emergency meeting of
this Council is not the proper forum for a political diatribe against the
Soviet Union
. Further, be prepared to confront the
accused with evidence if you make such damaging charges. I will ask the
Steering Committee of the United Nations to investigate this rash and
irresponsible abuse of your privilege and see if charges of impropriety are not
warranted against
you.
Mr.
Secretary-General, I move for adjournment.”

 
          
“Seconded,”
Braunmueller said quickly.