"I think there is no question of their seriousness, Captain," Savin

  replied.

  Lestov smiled sadly. "We have no business being here." "No, sir. But we have our orders."

  "Indeed." Lestov looked at his crew. Good men and true. "Mr. Savin, crash

  dive the boat. Make your depth three hundred meters. Sound battle stations

  missile."

  HIGH FLIGHT 769

  "The target is diving," the ELINT officer reported. The P-3C 4417 was on her outbound pass, the Russian submarine behind them.

  Muto hauled the big four-engined airplane in a tight turn to the left.

  "Do we have a weapons release authorization?" "Stand by," his comms officer said. "Weapons,. do you have a positive lock?" "Hai, Kan-cho. "

  "Launch on my mark," Muto said, fighting the lowaltitude turbulence. "We have weapons release authorization alpha."

  "Stand by," Muto said. The nose of the Orion came around to

  one-hundred-eight degrees. "Weapons lock?" "Hai!" "Fire one and two!"

  The moment the two torpedoes-each weighing in excess of three thousand

  pounds-were released, the P3C's nose came up sharply. Muto compensated. "One and two away." "Time to impact?"

  "Estimate nine-five seconds," the weapons officer reported.

  "Prep torpedoes three and four. Launch sonobuoys on my mark," Muto said.

  They crossed over the submarine's submerged position, and he banked the

  P-3C hard to the right to bring them around for a second pass.

  "I have sounds of bubble making," the ELINT officer reported excitedly.

  "Many decoy buoys in the water." "Time to impact?" "Four-zero seconds."

  Out of the corner of his eye Muto could see fires burning at Wakkanai ten

  miles to the south. It made his blood boil. Almost certainly there were

  dead comrades down there. The shame of it was almost impossible to bear.

  "Stand by," the weapons officer said. "Time to impact, now." What the P-3C made up for in endurance and stabili- 770 DAVID HAGBERG

  ty, it lost in speed. The nose seemed to take forever to come around. "Negative ten seconds from impact." Muto looked at his co-pilot.

  I 'Kan-cho, I show a miss with both torpedoes," the weapons officer

  reported.

  " Launch the sonobuoys now," Muto ordered, his stomach sour. "What does

  the MAD show?" :'We've lost him, Kan-cho, - the ELINT officer saJd. 'Not for long," Muto replied. "We've just started."

  Mueller stood at the head of the stairs listening to Reid and the young woman argue. She had come to kill him, but first she wanted answers. Hundreds of people dead, and she wanted to know why. What did he hope to gain? How could he live with his conscience? She wanted to batter him with her anger and her guilt. She was to blame, as they all were, for not listening to McGarvey. He was the only one who knew what really happened, but they wanted to arrest him.

  There it was again: McGarvey. He could hear what in the woman's voice

  when she spoke the name? Love?

  Mueller had two considerations if he was going to remain at large for any

  length of time, hunted by every legitimate law enforcement agency in the

  world. He would need Reid's money and he would have to kill McGarvey.

  Reid could transfer funds electronically once they got clear of this

  place, but McGarvey was a different story. Sooner or later the FBI and

  Interpol would give up. New issues would arise, and this case would drop

  off the most active file. But McGarvey would never give up. He'd read

  McGarvey's Stasi and KGB files, and he had a great deal of respect for

  the man. If he was going to meet McGarvey head to head, he would need an

  advantage.

  He eased the Beretta's safety off and walked down the hall to the open

  sitting-room door.

  The young woman, her back to the door, stood facing Reid. She held an

  automatic pistol at arm's length. If it went off she'd break her wrist.

  She was an amateur. HIGH FLIGHT 771

  Reid stood next to a wingback chair near the window. His face lit up.

  Dominique started to turn. Mueller stepped into the room, and reaching over

  her shoulder snatched the gun from her grasp.

  "No," she cried. But any thought she had about trying to fight ended when

  she looked into his eyes. She lowered her arms. "Who are you?" Mueller asked.

  "Her name is Dominique Kilbourne," Reid said. "She's a lobbyist for the

  airlines."

  "Let her answer," Mueller said mildly, pocketing her gun. "Are you a friend

  of McGarvey?"

  "You're Colonel Mueller," she replied in wonderment. But her eyes betrayed

  her. She was more than just a friend to McGarvey. "Yes.,' She shuddered. "You're an assassin."

  "The same as McGarvey." Mueller turned to Reid. "Are you capable of

  driving?" "Yes.,'

  Mueller tossed Reid the car keys. "Pack a bag and leave it in the

  downstairs hall. Then get my car. It's a green Ford Probe on the upper side

  of R Street two blocks from here. Across from a woman's boutique." "I can't leave."

  "Two FBI agents were out front watching your house. I killed them." Reid stepped back as if he'd been slapped.

  "They were gathering evidence against you, I suspect. They'll send others,

  so hurry." "But . . ."

  "It very nearly worked as you planned, Herr Reid, but not quite. Stay here

  and you will be imprisoned. Come with me and you will have a chance of

  continued freedom." "Where are we going?" "The Canadian border at Buffalo." "And then?" Reid asked.

  772 DAVID HAGISERG

  Mueller watched Dominique. "We'll see. Mr. McGarvey will come for her,

  as he has all of his women." "He'll kill you," Dominique said softly.

  "That is a possibility." Mueller smiled pleasantly. "It will be most

  interesting to see how it turns out." "I'll get the car," Reid said.

  "In the meantime, I'll get acquainted with Ms. Kilboume."

  The chopper that had tried to land on the roof of Seventh headquarters burned furiously where it crashed in the parking lot. Platoon Sergeant Ingrid Wentz figured they had five minutes before the mob reached the upper floors where she and Jones, who were the only survivors from Baker Platoon, had retreated. They'd rounded up seventeen other HQ personnel who'd gotten left behind in the bugout and herded them upstairs. They were admin types and wouldn't be able to offer much help in a knockdown dragout. But they were military personnel, and most of them carried sidearms. She raced down to the fifth-floor corridor from the roof where the others were covering the elevator and two stairwells.

  "Lima and Kilo companies are pinned down across base at 26th," Jones

  reported. "And I can't raise security ops."

  "An air evac is out unless they can control the small arms fire," Wentz

  said. She was so frightened that her voice wanted to catch in her throat.

  But she wouldn't let it happen. She was a Marine. "Search-and-rescue is standing by three minutes out."

  "Didn't you hear me, goddammit? The fucking chopper is down."

  Jones just looked at her. He knew the helicopter had crashed. "Okay, let me talk to them."

  The power suddenly went out, and the emergency lights at each end of the

  corridor automatically switched on.

  HIGH FLIGHT 773

  "Fuck!" someone shouted.

  "Belay that!" Wentz ordered. "It means they can't use the elevator. Kill

  those lights, and double up on the stairwells." "SAR One," Jones said.

  "Anything comes through those doors, kill it." Wentz took the handset as

  the emergency lights went off, plunging the corridor into darkness. "SAR

  One, Baker Platoon Sergeant Wentz." "What's your situation, Sarge?"

  "I'm set up on the fifth floor with fifty well-armed personnel. But I

  don't want to hurt any civilians unless I'm forced into it." "What about Charlie-Seventeen?"

  "No survivors, SAR One. We need some help right now!" "Roger that. The Japanese authorities are en route."

  "We need an air evac. Can you lay down enough tear gas to come in? I

  really don't want to use my grenade launchers or LAWS. A lot of people

  will get hurt." She hoped to Christ they knew that communications weren't

  secure, and that she was bluffing. The platoon hadn't been equipped with

  anything heavier than M16s.

  Something crashed on the floor below them, and there were many sounds of

  breaking glass, twisting metal, and splintering wood. The mob was

  destroying the building. "Ten minutes."

  "We don't have ten minutes, SAR One. Suggest you get serious or we're

  dead meat."

  "There weren't fifty people left in the building," Don Moody said. "Admiral, if we don't do something there's going to be a lot more casualties on both sides."

  "Don't I know it," Admiral Ryland said. "Nothing from the Japanese

  authorities?" "Not a thing," Captain Byrne said.

  The morning outside the windows of the Boeing Sea Knight helicopter was

  still pitch black. To the east it was impossible to pick out where the

  sky met the sea. Only

  774 DAVID HAGBERG

  behind them could they see the loom of Tokyo on the horizon. "Do we have any tear gas aboard those choppers?"

  "No, sir. They're search-and-rescue, not crowd control."

  "I've got an idea," Moody said. "It's a long shot, but I don't see any

  other options." "Go ahead."

  "Assuming the Japanese are going to send someone down there to clear out

  the base, we have to buy some time. But no matter what happens there'll

  be casualties. We need to minimize them by keeping the crowd away from

  our people." "I'm listening," the Admiral said.

  "The mob has reached the fourth floor. If we move our people up to the

  roof, the fifth floor will be empty long enough to bring in some

  choppers."

  "What the hell are you talking about, Don?" Byrne asked.

  "Covering fire. We shoot through the windows on all four sides of the

  building. Make the fifth floor a noman's land."

  "You're talking about the Iroquois and Super Cobra assault helicopters,"

  Byrne pointed out. "The nearest birds are at least an hour away." "Christ," Moody said.

  "Get'ern started, Tom," Admiral Ryland ordered. "In the meantime we'll

  put more pressure on the Japanese, and I'll call Washington. 11 "What about Sergeant Wentz?" "She'll just have to hold on."

  The television monitors in the White House situation room were tuned to the three commercial networks and CNN, covering the carnage at and around the eight airports. They were all reporting death tolls in the plus- two-thousand range. Every major highway into those airports was jammed with traffic, and the nation's longdistance telephone system was so overloaded that it had finally broken down. Almost no calls were getting

  HIGH FLIGHT 775

  through anywhere. It was as if the entire country had gone into gridlock.

  An aide came in with the AP bulletin from Tokyo. Secretary of Defense

  Landry took it. "What is it now?" Lindsay asked.

  "The Associated Press is quoting an unnamed Japanese government source

  about a battle between three of our warships and the MSDF submarine north

  of Okinawa." Landry passed the wire copy down the table.

  "Has Seventh said anything about this?" the President asked.

  "There's something going on down there all right, but no one knows for sure

  exactly what. The curious thing is that someone in the government is

  willing to talk about it."

  Lindsay read the brief report. "Have shots been exchanged?" "I don't know." "Find out, Paul." "Yes, sir." Landry picked up one of the phones. "If it's true, it changes everything," Secor said.

  "Depends who in Tokyo told the AP," Lindsay said. "Call Westin and find out

  who the hell his people talked to." Bert Westin was the general manager of

  the AP.

  "Mr. President, we have reached Prime Minister Enchi," a technician said.

  "The question is whether or not Enchi is in control over there," Secor

  said. "I'm about to find that out."

  "There are at least four Russian nuclear submarines in the vicinity of Soya Strait," Director General of Defense Hironaka said.

  A light flashed on Enchi's console. He stared at it hypnotically. The

  Japanese had had no war crisismanagement practice in more than fifty years.

  He was a politician, a friend of big business, not of the military. "Is

  that confirmed?"

  "One of our ASW aircraft spotted the first submarine near where the Russian

  destroyer went down. It dropped

  776 DAVID HAGBERG

  a pair of torpedoes, but then lost the sub when it went deep." "You said there were four of them."

  "That one is confirmed, Mr. Prime Minister. The others are probables.

  Based on best estimates from available data." "Then we don't know this for sure?" "Where there is smoke there is fire."

  Enchi slapped his open palm on the table. "I deal with facts, not

  speculation, Hironaka-san, "

  "The Russians have attacked Wakkanai, Enchi-san. That is a fact. As is

  the presence of a Russian nuclear submarine ten miles off our coast. If

  you wait until you have all the facts the entire north island may be

  nothing but smoking cinders!"

  Enchi composed himself for a moment, then viciously jabbed the button on

  his console. "Mr. President, I have learned the unfortunate news about

  Vice President Cross."

  "He was just one of more than two thousand," President Lindsay cut in.

  The anger in his voice was unmistakable. "I have heard about a battle

  between several of our navy vessels and one of your submarines in the

  East China Sea north of Okinawa. What is going on?"

  "We are trying to recall'that submarine. But I assure you that we are

  engaged in no incident with your navy."

  "Someone in your government thinks so. They leaked the information to the

  Associated Press there in Tokyo. It has hit all of our media."

  Enchi looked down the table at his advisers, but they were just as

  nonplussed as he was.

  "My country is under attack," President Lindsay said abruptly.

  "So is mine," Enchi replied in English before the translator could catch

  up.

  "I have evidence that our air traffic control system was sabotaged. We've

  traced the triggering signal that brought down those airplanes to a

  source in Tokyo." Enchi was suddenly cold. "Impossible," he replied. It

  HIGH FLIGHT 777

  was Morning Star. He'd been warned, but he'd not believed it was possible.

  "Nevertheless it is so," President Lindsay said. "If you are not in control

  of the situation, I will offer my assistance."

  Enchi could scarcely believe his ears. Hironaka jumped to his feet.

  "It is my understanding that all of your naval and air forces are on the

  move. Recall them to their bases and home ports immediately. I have

  instructed the Seventh Fleet to help you with this." "What are you saying?"

  "I am telling you to order your forces to stand down before it is too

  late."

  "But we are uAder attack, Mr. President. We must defend ourselves." "We are not attacking Japan!"

  "Not you," Enchi replied sharply. "It is the Russians. They are threatening

  Hokkaido with a force of nuclear submarines. We are facing another

  Hiroshima and Nagasaki!" The translators were silent.

  "Mr. President, I am formally asking the United States for help thwarting

  an almost certain nuclear attack on us by the government of Russia."

  President Lindsay punched the mute button on his console. "Can we confirm this?" He was stunned.

  "We're working on it," Landry said. "But so far we can't even get a clear

  update on the Okinawa situation. One of our ships, the Thorn, has been

  damaged, but it may have been because of a collision. No one is willing to

  say yet whether or not shots are being exchanged."

  "Could be a rogue submarine skipper after all," Secor cautioned.

  "This is too much," Lindsay said. "Get me the CIA again, and then Yeltsin

  on the Moscow hotline." The President released the mute. "Prime Minister,

  you will have to give us a few minutes to confirm what is

  778 DAVID HAGBERG

  happening. In the meantime I suggest that you make absolutely certain that your military forces are clear on who the enemy is."

  "Yes, Mr. President, they are crystal clear who our enemies are. But do

  not take too much time. The situation is becoming critical."

  Lindsay cut the connection. "What the hell did he mean, 'our enemies'?

  Plural." His call to Langley came in. "Did you get that, Roland?" The CIA

  was monitoring hotline calls and messages in and out of the White House

  situation room.

  "National Reconnaissance is on it, Mr. President. There's definitely a

  military buildup in the region, both Japanese and Russian. But we're

  waiting for word about submarine assets up there." "What's the current situation in Moscow?"

  "The attack on the Japanese radar installation didn't come as a surprise.

  But there's been no word that the Russians are willing to escalate the

  situation." "How reliable is that information?"

  "We don't have a direct source, if that's what you mean, Mr. President.

  What I'm giving you is a best estimate based on available data."

  "Thanks, General," the President said. "Stay on the line." "Yes, sir."

  The hotline phone to Moscow blinked. Lindsay picked it up. "President

  Yeltsin, forgive me for calling you so late in the evening." It was after

 

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