Firefox Down (18 page)

Gant had almost ruined him, almost made him fail; almost outwitted him. He had destroyed the other prototype and lost the one he had stolen. He would be made to pay.

Eventually, Andropov cleared his throat with a small, polite sound, smoothed his silk tie, and said, 'Major Gant - Major Mitchell Gant…' He smiled thinly. 'We have - asked you to come here today to tell us what you have done with the prototype MiG-31 which you removed from the secret complex at Bilyarsk early yesterday morning - what have you to say?' The tone was an attempt at silkiness, at a kind of indirect, ironic humour. Priabin sensed that Andropov was unused to the tone, had had little use for it in the past.

'It blew up - I told him,' Gant replied sullenly, gesturing over his shoulder at Priabin. Andropov's gaze flickered to the young colonel's face, then back to Gant.

'I see. You, of course, ejected?' Gant nodded. 'Where, precisely? Would you describe the incident for us? General Vladimirov is most interested to know what became of the aircraft - aren't you, General?'

'Yes,' Vladimirov replied in a choked voice. The American's sullen, insulting voice, his pretence to stupidity, further angered him. Even now, he was preparing to play a game with them.

Gant sniffed. 'Could I have another drink?' he asked, holding out his glass.

'Of course. Colonel - ?'

Priabin brought the bottle, half-filled the crystal tumbler, returned the bottle to the dark, inlaid cabinet against one panelled wall. Then he resumed his stance behind Gant.

Gant swallowed, cleared his throat, and said, 'The airplane was breaking up and on fire…' Vietnam, he reminded himself. Remember the cockpit, filling with smoke. 'The cockpit was full of smoke - '

'What caused this damage?' Vladimirov suddenly snapped.

'Cannon fire - the second of the two MiG-25s was on my tail. I tried to shake him off, but my fuel was too low already… we flew into a closed valley, he came up first and I thought I'd gotten him… I had, then he got me… I hit the button and got out of there fast… I don't know if he did…?' He looked up then, at Andropov. Vladimirov was a tall threatening shadow at his side.

'You lost fuel - why?' Vladimirov asked.

'The second Firefox-must have ruptured my fuel-lines. I was trying to glide her all the way to Bardufoss when your MiG-25s sighted me visually. I was in a corner. I didn't have the fuel to outrun them.'

'I ordered them to shepherd you back.'

'They almost did - I was lucky, I guess.'

Vladimirov was silent for a moment, and then he burst out: 'Now I am certain you are lying, Gant!'

'What do you mean, General?' Andropov asked, turning his head to look at Vladimirov.

Vladimirov rounded the desk and moved towards Gant's chair. Gant could see the one clenched fist for a moment before the other hand closed over it, calming it. Then Vladimirov said, 'Not you. Never you, Gant. Your life is a mess, you live like a hermit, you couldn't keep a job if you were given one. But, you don't rid the world of yourself, you don't give in to the mounting evidence of failure. And why?' Vladimirov leaned forward, his face level with Gant's eyes. 'Why? You are a badly-wrapped parcel, Major, and you are held together by an unsurpassed egotism. You really do believe you are the finest pilot in the world, perhaps ever.
You
would never be
lucky
. Not you - you could never admit it!'

As Vladimirov turned triumphantly to Andropov, his face reddened with emotion and delight, Gant said, 'If I'm so fucking clever, General, then what the hell did I do to get rid of the airplane?' Vladimirov turned back to Gant. 'Your guy blew my ass out of the sky.'

'
Liar
!' Vladimirov shouted. The fist he had been cradling swung at Gant's head. One of the legs of the delicate French chair snapped like a twig as Gant tumbled onto the carpet. The bourbon spilled, seeping onto the polished floor. Gant's head turned. His dazed vision encountered Priabin's boots in fuzzy close-up. He waited to be kicked.

'Can we possibly do it in four days, Giles?' Aubrey asked. Curtin, whose timetable they were discussing, also looked at the tall soldier.

'With this shopping-list of Curtin's - it might be possible.
If
, and only if, everything works like clockwork. It won't, of course, but this is theoretically feasible.'

'Very well - What have we got so far?' Aubrey said, more in the nature of an announcement than an enquiry. He pushed away his plate - lunch had been served in the Ops. Room, a white cloth laid over two pushed-together foldaway tables. Buckholz had not joined them. Aubrey studied the last of the claret in his glass, then swallowed it. 'Giles?'

'Politically, we're OK, with the crucial exception of the Finns. Their Cabinet still has to decide.'

'Yes, yes-' Aubrey interrupted impatiently, waving his hand, then standing up, thrusting his hands deeply into his pockets as soon as he had done so. His professorial manner angered Pyott. Aubrey paced alongside the plot table while Pyott continued.

'Washington and London have agreed that the rescue is to be attempted, and that it continues as a covert operation - deniable and disownable if and when necessary. Therefore, we report only to the Cabinet Secretary here, who represents Number Ten and the JIC, while Charles will report via his director to the Chief of Staff at the White House so that the President may be kept in touch.'

'Good, good. That gives us a free hand. Now, what about the substance of the meal?'

'One Hercules has been requisitioned from RAF Lyneham. We think Kirkenes makes the better HQ. Despite the greater range of facilities at Bardufoss, it's too far away…' Aubrey was bending over the plot table. Pyott glanced at Curtin, nodded, and they joined him, Curtin having sipped at his glass of water before rising. Aubrey gazed at the map as if he coveted it; a stylised portrait of a conqueror. Pyott waved his hand over the plot table like a conjuror. 'Bardufoss - ' he said. 'Kirkenes - ' He cleared his throat. 'We have the transport, we have the troops to set up a defensive perimeter, SBS already in Kirkenes. We have a Royal Engineer detachment-winches, tripods, pulleys, cutting gear… RAF engineers, four of those and appropriate tools. Curtin has our giant Sikorsky Skyhook fuelling now for its first hop from - where is it, Gene?'

Curtin grinned at the use of his Christian name; his welcome to the comfortable circle of conspiracy. 'Germany, Giles.' His smile did not diminish. Eventually, Pyott nodded, accepting the familiarity. 'We have to finalise the refuelling points - this baby can't travel more than two hundred miles on a full tank of gas… that means two, maybe three refuellings before she gets her ass out of Germany, since she's coming up from Wiesbaden. Then there's Denmark, Sweden - we don't anticipate problems with their neutrality - and she's going to come awful slowly up Sweden and across Lapland to the lake. And the met reports are getting worse, Mr. Aubrey, they really are.' Curtin looked dubious, uncertain; as if he had blasphemed. Aubrdy glared at him.

'And there,' Giles Pyott said heavily, looking hard at Aubrey, 'is where the best laid plans, et cetera, will stumble and fall. You have no back-up; Kenneth. No fall-back. No second line.' He continued to stare at Aubrey.

Eventually, Aubrey shrugged. His face was chastened; and angry. Once more, the image of the frustrated, gifted child came to Pyott. Aubrey really was almost impossible -

'Giles, there can be no fall-back or back-up or whatever you wish to call it. The best we could hope for, if the Skyhook does not arrive, is to remove some of the more vital systems from the airframe, then destroy it. Which is why this plan
must
work!'

'Too much hinges on the weather and a single large helicopter, Kenneth. If the ice were thick enough to bear the weight of the Hercules…' He brushed at his moustache, a flicking motion. 'But, it won't. Waterford's people are certain of that. Even if it landed, and the ice held, it wouldn't bear the weight of the Hercules with the dismantled Firefox inside its cargo compartment.'

Aubrey glanced from Pyott to Curtin, then back to Pyott. 'Have you two been rehearsing this?' he asked with evident sarcasm. 'I, too, have digested Waterford's reports. I
know
there is no alternative to the Sikorsky. It must arrive. It is
our job
to prepare for its arrival!'

Pyott shrugged, then relented and said to Curtin, 'And how have you been getting on?'

'We've had experts study the pictures of the lake, we've spoken to one of your university professors - '

'Gilchrist at King's,' Pyott explained casually. 'Geologist - actually knows the area.'

'What does he say?'

'He pointed out, having seen the pictures, that we might have to do some tree-felling if we want to drag anything out of that lake. Brooke's detailed report on depth of water, slope of the shore, indicated the same thing:'

'So - tree-felling. Easy to pick up visually by an overflight.'

'I agree. It will have to be made to look - natural…"

'How many drops?' Aubrey asked.

'All our people - thirty to forty, including SBS - could go in the first drop, onto the lake. Any non-parachutists will have to be taken in by Lynx helicopter. Equipment can go in a second drop. A lot of what we need is at Bardufoss already… our good fortune.'

'When?' Aubrey burst out.

'If you get permission from the Finns - if all the pressure being exerted finally makes them bend - tonight.'

'Then I must talk to Hanni Vitsula- !' Aubrey exclaimed, hurrying from a lingering glance at the plot table towards the telephone. Immediately he moved, Pyott and Curtin began murmuring rapidly as they leaned over the table. Aubrey dialled the Queen Anne's Gate number, then requested Shelley's extension, having satisfactorily and impatiently identified himself.

'Peter-get me Helsinki at once… What? No, nothing. I see - yes, Peter, I realise the importance of the matter, and yes, it does worry me-however, will you please get Director Vitsula on the telephone!' Aubrey realised that Pyott and Curtin were watching him. He could see the model of the Firefox on the table between them, as if they had moved apart solely to reveal it. For a moment, his eyesight became unfocused, the model seemed almost to dissolve as he thought of Gant. The telephone connection clicked and stuttered.

'Kenneth?' he heard Vitsula say at a great distance.

'Yes, Hanni - can you hear me?' It was a ridiculous remark, clashing absurdly with the coloured tapes, with a loaded Hercules transport aircraft and a giant Sikorsky helicopter flying several hundreds of miles north.

'Perfectly, Kenneth - you caught me as I was about to call you.'

'You have news?' Pyott and Curtin had stopped murmuring. Both of them were staring in his direction. 'Good news, I hope.'

'All communications are to be between the two of us.'

'I understand - our people have the same idea.'

'Good. Then I can tell you that you have - you would call it, I think, a qualified yes.'

'Qualified? How?'

'There is a strict time-limit.'

'We feel we need a minimum of four days - '

'Then I am sorry, but you do not have it. Forty-eight hours is the offer I am authorised to make. No.negotiations.'

'Forty-eight hours? Impossible - !'

'Nevertheless, that is the offer. After that, Finnish units will move into the area, seal it off, and inform the Soviet Union of the precise location of their aircraft. I think my government sees some political advantages in this course of action.'

'It's still impossible, Hanni,' Audrey almost pleaded.

'It is a fact, however. Pernaps you will consider it more carefully…?'

'Forty-eight hours from when?'

'The clock is already running. Noon today - GMT, of course. It is already less than forty-eight, Kenneth.'

They had not hit him again. He had not been kicked. He had lain there for almost a minute, staring at the drying white rime of dampness around the toes of Priabin's boots until the young colonel had helped him to his feet. Vladimirov had stared through the net curtains, out of the tall windows down towards the square for a long time. Then Andropov had ordered a map to be brought in. A secretary spread it on the surface of the large, ornate desk, and then retired. Gant, reseated on a more substantial chair, waited. The broken, delicate French chair had been removed from the room.

Andropov rose and spoke briefly to Vladimirov at the window - the general sucked his bruised knuckles while the Chairman talked - and then sat down once more. Slowly, Vladimirov turned from the window. Light fell on his profile for an instant, and Gant recognised that the man was in no way calmed or mollified. He wondered whether he was the most dangerous, or merely the most obvious, enemy in the room.

'Major Gant,' Andropov began, crooking his finger at the American, 'there would appear to be some discrepancies in your account - would you show us, please, on this map?'

Gant got up slowly and moved to the desk. The map was a large-scale projection of northern Finland and Norway, and the Kola Peninsula area of the Soviet Union. It was weighted down where it had been unrolled by a gold inkstand and a large paperweight that might have been jade.

'General Vladimirov,' Andropov commanded quietly. 'You wish to ask the Major some questions?'

'Yes,' Vladimirov replied tensely. He remained on the opposite side of the desk from Gant. His long forefinger tapped over the map like a blind man's stick, probing and uncertain. Gant saw only the lake for a moment, then refocused. 'Where was the MiG-25 destroyed?'

Gant hesitated, counting the seconds as he had begun to do in the long silence after Priabin had helped him to his feet. Each second of silence was valuable; he had no idea why. It simply postponed…

'There, as far as I can remember,' he said at last.

Vladimirov's finger tapped the map. 'Quite so. Correct. This is the closed valley you described - there is wreckage at this point, here…' Gant nodded. Vladimirov did not continue. His finger merely continued to tap at the indicated point on the map. Gant looked up into his face. His eyes gleamed. The general was barely in control of his emotions, but Gant saw clearly the lucid, suspicious intelligence of the man. He might be the most obvious enemy in the room - perhaps he was also the most intelligent? Certainly, he was the most expert…