Flash Point (25 page)

“I don’t know. I think the schoolteacher bit was when she told him she was from Italy.”

Big squinted. “So what did she really do?”

Woods and Wink orbited twenty miles out from the
Washington
, waiting. Finally the Air Boss transmitted, “
Victory 200, you’re cleared in
.”

“You ready, Wink?”

“Hit it,” he said to Woods, then to the Air Boss: “
Roger
.”

Woods lowered the nose of the Tomcat and pushed the throttles to the stops.

“Passing through ten.”

“Roger.”

Woods checked his instruments and made sure the TACAN needle was on the nose pointing to the
Washington
straight ahead, sixteen miles away. He glanced over his shoulder and watched the wings begin sweeping back as the Tomcat passed through .7 Mach, seven-tenths the speed of sound.

“Passing five.”

“Roger,” Woods replied. Ten miles. He pulled the nose over farther toward the water, pushing the throttles into afterburner. He felt the burners kick in and shoved the throttle to the end.

“Passing two.” The needle on the airspeed indicator moved steadily through Mach 9. “
Home base, Victory 200, 6 miles out for supersonic pass
.”

“Roger, 200. Cleared in supersonic.”

“I can’t believe they pay us for this,” Woods said. “Passing one thousand feet, going hot mike.” Woods remained amazed that Bark had let him do the supersonic pass. They had done air shows for dignitaries often, and the supersonic pass was the most fun of the entire event, but it was always the Commanders or Lieutenant Commanders who got the job. This time for some reason, Bark had let him do it. The ship had offered to perform the show for Israeli dignitaries, and they had eagerly accepted. The COD had made two trips to Haifa, and the dignitaries from Israel now stood on the flight deck, watching the demonstration of the capabilities of an aircraft carrier. One weapon system they wished they had and knew they would never get.

“I’m hot,” Wink said, flicking the switch on his ICS.

The F-14 slipped through the sonic barrier imperceptibly, its wings swept full aft, like a horse with its ears pinned back.

“Radar altimeter set at fifty feet.”

“Cool,” Wink said, leaning forward to look for the carrier so plainly visible on the radar. He saw the big gray hulk on the beautiful blue sea. The sky was lighter blue and equally smooth. They continued to accelerate through Mach 1.1.

“
Home base, see you
,” Wink transmitted.

“
No tally on you, continue . . . tallyho. You’re awfully low
,” the Air Boss transmitted, corrective concern in voice.

“
Roger that
,” Wink said, smiling.

In an instant they were on the carrier. They flew down the port side of the
Washington
, like a blurred image in a photograph, with no sound.

Big McMack, standing on the flight deck, was always amazed at the sight of a supersonic airplane. He had done it countless times, but seeing it from the flight deck was another experience entirely. He scanned the faces of the Israeli dignitaries as they watched the passing Tomcat. He knew the look. He knew what they were saying: “It’s so quiet . . .” Just wait he said to himself, putting his fingers in his ears.

Woods and Wink looked up at the figures standing on the flight deck as the Tomcat flew like an arrow at fifty feet over the water, twenty feet below the flight deck. They passed the entire length of the flight deck in less than a second.

“You ready?” Woods asked Wink.

“Pull it,” he replied, leaning back in his seat.

Woods pulled on the stick as they passed the ramp of the flight deck and pegged the accelerometer on 6.5 Gs. The silent Tomcat pulled up from the horizon and pointed straight up from the earth with no apparent effort.

Big, gritting his teeth, kept his eyes on the watching dignitaries. They were smiling. Then, just when they had forgotten it might ever be coming, BOOM! Their knees buckled and their hands went to their ears. “Too late,” Big said to himself as he removed his hands from his ears and chuckled.

The Jolly Roger F-14 left thick white vapors behind it from the G forces acting on the wings. It screamed away from earth, still supersonic, climbing like a bandit. In five seconds it was passing through ten thousand feet and growing smaller.

Woods held the stick against his left thigh as he took the Tomcat spun through one aileron roll after another. The nose was exactly straight up, ninety degrees away from the horizon, the earth spinning around and around beneath them, as if suspended on a string. “Passing fifteen,” Wink reported.

“Roger,” Woods replied. “Who was on the flight deck anyway?”

“Passing twenty. I’m not sure. I think the Israeli Secretary of Defense and a couple of other politicians.”

“Prime Minister?”

“Passing twenty-five. Yeah, he was supposed to come. Don’t think he did though.”

“We’ll level off at thirty.”

“Okay.”

As they passed through thirty thousand feet, no longer supersonic but still rocketing away from earth, Woods steadied the Tomcat in level flight, upside down, then rolled upright, his throttle reduced to four hundred knots.

“Victory 200, RTB.”

“Roger, 200. Air show complete, green deck. Cleared into the break.”

“
Roger that
,” Wink said. “Let’s do it.”

Woods rolled upside down and pulled the nose down toward the horizon. The plane quickly descended through twenty thousand feet and headed back toward the ship. Woods glanced to his right as they straightened from their left turn. “Check it out,” he said, looking over at Israel. “Sure is pretty.”

“I’ll say.”

“You ever been there?”

“No. Passing through five thousand feet. You?”

“Once. Wings coming back. Last cruise I was on.”

“What did you think?
Victory 200, five miles for the break, see you
.”

“Roger, 200, cleared for the break. Say speed.”

Wink glanced at his airspeed indicator. “
Five hundred
.”

“Roger.”

The carrier was passing underneath them and to their left. Woods banked the plane slightly to see the deck clearly. “Check that out,” he said. “They’ve got the dignitaries standing on the flight deck just forward of the island.”

“We ought to bolter just to give them something to see.”

“Not today. I’m too hungry.”

They waited until they had passed in front of the carrier. Wink braced and Woods snapped the Tomcat into a left bank, pulling back hard on the stick. At eight hundred feet they headed downwind, the opposite direction of the ship. Leveling out, they went through the landing checklist quickly and started their approach turn toward the carrier, the only airplane in the air.

Big watched his roommate bank toward the flight deck onto final approach. The LSOs were in place, ready to receive the big fighter. Woods rolled into the groove and steadied on his heading and rate of descent. He was on rails. The Tomcat descended steadily and quickly toward the landing area as the dignitaries stared, openmouthed.

Wink transmitted, “
Victory 200, Tomcat, ball, 7.0
.”

The LSO replied, “
Roger, ball
.”

Woods watched the ball, the landing reference lens on the port side of the ship. It was perfectly centered. He glanced again at his rate of descent, his lineup, and his angle of attack. The deck rushed up and stopped the Tomcat’s descent and the wire grabbed the tailhook. Woods put the throttles full forward and tried to pull away from the wire. The Tomcat rolled to a short stop on the deck. A perfect landing.

The Israeli dignitaries were stunned. They had been around the military all their lives, but had never seen anything remotely like this. They looked at the Tomcat and the carrier with envy.

Eight F-16 Israeli fighters appeared out of nowhere and flew over the
Washington
as it steamed majestically into Haifa Bay. They banked east and flew inland, still in formation. Woods smiled at the sight. There was nothing quite like seeing fighters fly in formation. Woods aligned his belt buckle to keep his whites pristine and perfect. He was one of the few squadron officers willing to put on his dress uniform for the privilege of standing on deck while approaching Haifa. Sailors lined the perimeter of the flight deck and every deck above it, to the O12 level above the signal bridge, their whites snapping like flags in the stiff breeze.

Small patrol gunboats of the Israeli Navy — officially not a Navy, just part of the Israeli Defense Force — cruised alongside like puppies, dwarfed even by the
Ticonderoga
, the Aegis cruiser accompanying the
Washington
.

Excitement had been building for days since the port visit to Haifa had been confirmed. The sailors had assumed it would never happen. Too much volatility. Port calls in Israel were always subject to the political winds and changed with little notice. Many of the sailors had been on cruises in the Mediterranean before and had been scheduled to go to Haifa only to have the plans change for reasons they couldn’t now remember. But someone had decided that allowing events like the bus attack to vary the schedule was giving in to terrorism. And now they were in Israel.

They were excited; more than the usual excitement of a port call. Perhaps it was the recommendation to wear their uniforms ashore that so astounded them. The usual instructions were to wear civilian clothes and try not to look too American; otherwise, it was thought, people might spit on you or try to shoot you. But here, there were stories of people being asked over to dinner by Israelis
because
they were Americans. And women who
wanted
to spend time with you because you were in the Navy. That rumor alone was enough to make the sailors lose sleep.

As always in the Mediterranean, the
Washington
anchored offshore, her draft too deep to pull into port.

As soon as the anchors were lowered the boats were prepared to carry the men to liberty. Woods was in line to be on the first officer boat. Big was his reluctant companion.

Woods bounced impatiently. He had been to Israel before, but had never taken advantage of his time to see the country. This would be different. He had traded with other officers so the duty watches he was scheduled to stand weren’t during the time in port in Israel. He could spend every minute of the next four days seeing the country. And finding out what had happened to Vialli.

“How are we going to get to Tel Aviv?” asked Big unenthusiastically.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Do you even know where we’re going?”

“Vaguely. It’s north of Tel Aviv on the coastal highway.”

Big looked down at Woods. “Why are you doing this?”

“Have to.”

“Won’t change anything.”

Woods nodded slowly. “I know.”

“Then why do it? You’ve gotta get on with your life. Vialli’s death—”

“Murder.”

“Okay, murder. You can’t spend the rest of your life obsessing about it.”

“I’m not obsessing.”

“Right,” Big replied as the line started to move.

“I just want justice . . .”

Big scoffed. “You need to read more Shakespeare. Then you’d know justice doesn’t exist.”

“I’m not talking about global justice, Big. I’m talking about making the people who did this pay. That’s all.”

“Good luck,” Big replied, stepping into the open enlisted boat being used as an officer boat. Automatically, he walked toward the bow. Woods followed. “They never find those guys, and if they do, they can’t ever do anything about it.”

“That’s what I’m trying to change. That’s why I wrote to my congressman . . .”

“Looks to me like you’ve hit a wall. You didn’t accomplish
anything
except to get frustrated and obsess on Vialli for a month.”

The boat pulled away from the
Washington
, headed for Haifa. The white buildings of the city stood out sharply from the hills, reminding Woods of the Azores. He sat back against the seat and looked aft toward the diminishing carrier.

When the boat touched the quay the sailors jumped off to moor it firmly. The officers waited for the Air Boss, the senior officer aboard — always last on and first off — to go ashore first, then filed off after him, looking forward to what they thought awaited them.

Woods and Big stood on the shore, shielding their eyes from the sun, not sure which way to turn. Officers and sailors, conspicuous in their brilliant white uniforms and covers, congregated in small groups. Israelis in passing cars and buses stared at them, then at the enormous ship sitting in the middle of the bay.

A short man with curly black hair approached Woods and Big who were still unsure about which way to go. “Taxi?”

“You speak English?” Big asked.

“Sure. I grew up in New York. Where you want to go?” the driver asked, grinning.

Woods chuckled. “To the train station. We want to go to Tel Aviv.”

“No problem. Let’s go.”

Having been ashore in foreign ports before, Big asked, “How much?”

“You got money?”

“What?”

“Money. You got Israeli money?”

“No. Just dollars.”

“That’s fine. Five dollars.”

“Okay. Let’s go,” said Woods, surprised by the reasonable fare.

The ride to the train station took only five minutes. Woods and Big looked out the windows of the cab like the tourists they were. Haifa was a bustling vibrant city.

The people who noticed the cab also saw the white uniforms and tended to stare, more curious than hostile. Woods paid the driver and walked into the train station carrying his gym bag. Big followed. The train station reminded Woods of those he had seen in Southern California, a small station house with a lot of open space. They looked around and walked to the ticketing office.

“Hello,” Woods said. “Do you speak English?”

“Little,” the man said kindly, leaning his head to one side to allow him to hear better.

“We would like to go to Tel Aviv. When is the next train?”