The aircraft had been scanned by the Bennett’s supersensitive detection systems from the moment it left the ground. Once it was perceived as heading over the sea to the east, it was tracked by a tactical electronic warfare and surveillance receiver system. Within minutes of being alerted, Commander Harper was pacing the deck in the situation room. He stopped every few seconds and peered over the shoulders of the console operators who stared into the radar screens and the computer monitor that analyzed and measured the signals and enhanced the approaching target into a recognizable classification.
“Can you distinguish—?”
“Either a tilt-rotor or a new tilt-turbine,” the operator anticipated Harper. “It lifted like a helicopter, but it’s coming on too fast for rotor blades.”
“Heading?”
“One-two-zero. Looks to be on a course toward the position where we launched the two Ibises.”
Harper swung to a phone and picked it up. “Communications.”
“Communications, sir,” a voice answered instantly.
“Any radio signals?”
“None, sir. The airwaves are quiet.
“Call me the second you receive anything.” Harper slammed down the phone. “Any course change?”
“Target still flying on a one-two-zero heading slightly south of east, Captain.”
It had to be, but it couldn’t be Pitt, Harper thought. But who else would fly toward that particular position? A coincidence? he wondered. Not one to run on idle, he barked an order to his executive officer, who was standing at his side.
“Turn on a course toward the position where we launched the Ibises. Full speed until I tell you different.”
The officer knew Harper preferred efficiency to traditional protocol, so he turned without acknowledging and speedily relayed the orders to the bridge.
“Communications for you, Captain,” announced a seaman.
Harper snatched the phone. “This is the captain.”
“I have a signal from a woman claiming to be Congresswoman Loren Smith. She also claims Mr. Pitt is at the controls of an aircraft hijacked from Soseki Island, carrying eight passengers including Senator Michael Diaz and Mr. Hideki Suma.”
Too far down the chain of command to be informed of the abductions of Loren and Diaz, Harper could not be blamed for a lack of credence. “They hijacked an airplane and snatched Suma? And where in hell did Pitt dig up a pair of politicians on Soseki Island?” He paused to shake his head in wonderment, then gave an order over the phone. “Tell whoever you’re in contact with that I require more concrete identification.”
The communication specialist came back within half a minute. “The woman swears she’s Congresswoman Loren Smith of Colorado, and if we don’t guide them in and provide protection in the event they’re pursued, she’s going to lunch with Roy Monroe and demand you’re put in command of a tugboat in the Arctic. I’m not one to offer advice to the captain, sir, but if she’s friendly with the Secretary of the Navy, she must be who she says she is.”
“All right, I’ll buy her story for now.” Harper reluctantly caved in. “Give instructions to turn twenty degrees south and continue on a westerly heading until we meet up—”
“I have two aircraft rising from Senzu Air Base,” the console operator monitoring the tactical receiver system broke in. “Configuration and speed indicate Mitsubishi Raven interceptors of the Japanese Air Self-Defense Force. They’ve turned onto the same heading as the tilt-turbine and are probing with radar.”
“Damn it!” Harper burst. “Now we’ve got the Jap military to deal with.” He turned to his exec again. “Apprise Pacific Command of our situation. Inform them I am going on combat mode. I intend to fire on the pursuers if they show any indication of a hostile act. I’m taking on the responsibility of protecting those people in the tilt-turbine aircraft in the belief they’re American nationals.”
His executive officer hesitated. “Aren’t you going out on a limb, sir?”
“Not too far out.” Harper smiled shrewdly. “Do you seriously think I’ll be court-martialed for shooting down hostile aircraft to save the lives of two members of Congress?”
Harper’s logic was unarguable. The executive officer smiled back. “No, sir, I don’t guess you would.”
Pitt took the aircraft up to four thousand meters and held it there. The time for hugging the surface of the sea was past. He was out of range of the island’s missile systems and now had a straight shot at the Ralph R. Bennett. He relaxed and donned the radio headset and microphone that was hanging on the arm of his seat.
“Eighty kilometers to go,” he said quietly. “She should be coming into sight dead ahead.”
Giordino had relieved Loren in the co-pilot’s seat and was studying the fuel gauges with a bemused eye. “Suma’s ground crew was pretty stingy with the gas. We’ll be on fumes in another ten minutes.”
“They only needed to partially fill the tanks for the short hop from Soseki and back from Edo City,” said Pitt. “I’ve pushed her hard and used up fuel at an extravagant rate.”
“You better take it easy and conserve.”
There was a click in their earphones and a deep voice came through. “This is Commander Harper.”
“Nice to hear from you, Commander. This is Dirk Pitt. Go ahead.”
“I hate to be the bearer of grim tidings, but you’ve got a pair of Japanese mosquitoes chasing your tail.”
“What next?” muttered Pitt in exasperation. “How soon before they intercept?”
“Our computers say they’ll be sitting in your lap twelve to fifteen kilometers before we rendezvous.”
“We’re dead meat if they attack,” Giordino said, tapping the fuel gauges.
“You’re not as bad off as you think,” Harper said slowly. “Our electronic countermeasures are already jamming their radar missile guidance systems. They’ll have to be almost on top of you to go on visual.”
“Got anything you can throw at them to spoil their aim?”
“Our only weapon is a thirty-millimeter Sea Vulcan.”
“Not much better than a peashooter,” Giordino complained.
“I’ll have you know that peashooter, as you call it, can spit forty-two hundred rounds a minute as far as eight kilometers,” Harper shot back.
“A good five kilometers too short, too late,” said Pitt. “Got any other ideas?”
“Hang on.” Two full minutes passed before Harper spoke. “You might make it under our fire cover if you put your craft into a dive and pull out on the deck. The increased speed during your descent will give you an extra four minutes of lead time.”
“No advantage I can see,” said Giordino. “Our pursuers will dive too.”
“Negative,” Pitt replied to Harper. “We’ll be like a helpless duck gliding over the waves. Better to remain at an altitude where I still have air space to maneuver.”
“They’re pretty smart fellas,” retorted Harper. “They’ve planned ahead. We track them closing at an altitude of twelve hundred meters, twenty-eight hundred meters below you. Looks to me like they figure to cut you off at the pass.”
“Keep talking.”
“If you use the tactics created by our computers, you increase your odds of making it under our umbrella of fire. Also, and this is a vital issue, once they come within range of our Vulcan we’ll have an open field of fire above you.”
“I’m persuaded,” said Pitt. “Will begin descent in forty seconds.” He turned to Loren, who was sitting in the seat directly behind the cockpit door. “See that everyone straps in good and tight. We’re going to rock and roll for a little while.”
Loren quickly made the rounds of the cabin, checking on Suma and Toshie, alerting the others. Any joy shared among the survivors of the MAIT team quickly faded as a dark mood settled over the cabin. Only the Japanese industrialist looked suddenly happy. Suma smiled the smile of a carved Buddha.