Dragon - Cussler Clive (книги хорошем качестве бесплатно без регистрации .TXT) 📗

“Now.”

Giordino shoved the levers that tilted the engines from horizontal to full vertical.

The aircraft seemed to shoot from level flight into a near ninety-degree angle upward. The tilt-turbine shuddered as everyone was thrown forward under the sudden change in momentum and the skyward pull of the engines still turning on full power.

The missile streaked beneath, missing the aircraft’s belly by less than two meters. And then it was gone, flashing away and eventually falling into the sea.

“Nice work,” complimented Simpson. “You’re coming within range of our Vulcan. Try to stay low so we have an open field of fire above you.”

“It’ll take time to swing this bus back to level flight on the deck,” Pitt told Simpson, frustration displayed on the furrowed lines of his face. “I’ve lost my airspeed.”

Giordino returned the jet turbines to horizontal as Pitt nosed the aircraft over. It leveled and screamed a scant twenty meters over the water toward the looming outline of the ship. From Pitt’s view, hurtling across the wave tops, it looked like a stationary paper ship on a plastic sea.

“Aircraft closing but no indication of a missile launch,” came Simpson’s anxious voice. “They’re delaying until the last second to compensate for your next maneuver. You’d better hit the deck and damned fast.”

“I’m surfing the waves now,” Pitt snapped back.

“So are they. One above the other so you can’t pull your flying saucer stunt again.”

“They must be reading our minds,” said Giordino calmly.

“Since you don’t have a scrambler to encrypt voice transmissions, they listen to your every move,” Simpson warned them.

“Now he tells us.”

Pitt stared through the windshield at the Ralph R. Bennett. He felt as if he could reach out and touch its giant radar array. “The next play action is yours, Bennett. We’ve run out of surprises.”

“The gate to the fort is open,” came the voice of Harper suddenly. “Swing five degrees to port and don’t forget to duck when the mail goes out.”

“Missile away,” Simpson called.

“I read,” said Pitt, “but have nowhere to go.”

Pitt and Giordino instinctively crouched in anticipation of the impact and explosion. They poised as helpless as homing pigeons under attack by a falcon. Suddenly their salvation erupted in a maelstrom of fire that flashed in front of the tilt-turbine’s bow and roared overhead and to the rear.

The Bennett’s thirty-millimeter Sea Vulcan had cut loose. The modern Gatling gun’s seven barrels rotated and spat 4,200 rounds a minute in a swath of fire so thick the shells could be followed by the naked eye. The stream cut across the sky until it met the incoming missile, blasting it into a mushroom of flame less than two hundred meters behind the fleeing tilt-turbine aircraft.

Then it walked toward the lead aircraft, caught up with it, and chewed away one wing like teeth through a potato chip. The Mitsubishi Raven jet fighter flipped into a series of contorted rollovers and smacked the water with a great splash. The second jet went into a steep bank, barely staying ahead of the river of shells that raced relentlessly toward its exhaust, and whirled around on a course back to Japan. Only then did the Sea Vulcan fall silent as the last of its rounds swept the blue and fell, spraying the crests of the swells into white foam.

“Bring her on in, Mr. Pitt.” Harper’s vast relief could be clearly distinguished in his voice. “Wind is off the starboard beam at eight knots.”

“Thank you, Commander.” said Pitt. “And thank your crew. That was nice shooting.”

“It’s all in knowing how to make love to your electronics.”

“Beginning final approach.”

“Sorry we don’t have a brass band and a proper reception committee.”

“The Stars and Stripes flapping in the breeze will do nicely.”

Four minutes later, Pitt set the tilt-turbine on the Bennett’s helicopter pad. Only then did he take a deep breath, sag in his seat, and relax as Giordino shut down the engines.

For the first time in weeks he felt safe and secure. There was no more risk or danger in his immediate future. His part of the MAIT team operation was finished. He thought only of returning home, and then perhaps going on a dive trip to the warm waters and tropical sunshine of Puerto Rico or Haiti, hopefully with Loren at his side.

Pitt would have laughed in absolute disbelief if anyone had walked into the cockpit and predicted that within a few short weeks Admiral Sandecker would be delivering a eulogy at his memorial service.

Part 4 

Mother’s Breath

59

 October 20, 1993 

Washington, D.C.

“THEY’RE OUT!” JORDAN announced exuberantly as he slammed down a telephone in the National Security Council’s Situation Room deep under the White House. “We’ve just received a signal that our MAIT team has escaped Soseki Island.”

Dale Nichols stared at Jordan suspiciously. “Is that confirmed?”

Jordan nodded in tight confidence. “Solid information. They were attacked by Japanese Self-Defense fighters, but evaded and broke clear.”

The President came forward in his chair. “Where are they now?”

“Safely landed on board the Ralph R. Bennett, a naval surveillance ship stationed a hundred kilometers off the island.”

“Any casualties?”

“None.”

“Thank God for that.”

“There’s more, much more,” Jordan said, wound like a clock spring. “They brought Congresswoman Smith, Senator Diaz, and Hideki Suma out with them.”

The President and the rest stared at him in wordless astonishment. Finally Nichols murmured, “How was it possible?”

“The details are still sketchy, but Commander Harper, skipper of the Bennett, said Dirk Pitt and Al Giordino hijacked the aircraft that was to carry Smith and Diaz to Edo City. Somehow they also managed to snatch Suma and his secretary and take off during the confusion.”

“Suma,” muttered CIA Director Martin Brogan in awe. “Now there’s a gift out of the blue.”

The surprise and delight in the President’s eyes turned to thoughtfulness. “This puts a whole new face on the situation.”

“Under the circumstances, Mr. President,” said Defense Secretary Jesse Simmons, “I advise we cancel the nuclear strike against the Dragon Center.”

The President glanced at the big countdown clock on one wall of the situation room. It read nine minutes to launch. “Good lord yes, call it off.”

Simmons simply nodded at General Clayton Metcalf, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, who immediately picked up a phone and began issuing orders. After a brief half minute, Metcalf nodded.

“They’re standing down at the launch site.”

Secretary of State Douglas Oates wore an expression of triumph. “A near thing, Mr. President. I was against a nuclear strike from the beginning.”

“The Dragon Center and the Kaiten Project haven’t gone away,” the President reminded Oates. “They still pose a dangerous threat. The crisis has merely moved from critical to temporary hold.”

“True,” Oates argued, “but with Suma in our hands, we’re holding the snake by the head, so to speak.”

“I can’t wait to hear what an expert interrogation team digs out of him,” muttered Brogan blissfully.

Oates shook his head in strong disagreement. “Suma is not some small fish in the pond. He’s one of the richest and most powerful men in the world. You can’t expect to use strong-arm tactics on him without grave consequences.”

“Fair is fair.” Jordan’s voice was filled with satisfaction. “I see no reason to show mercy with a man who kidnapped two members of Congress and was planning to detonate nuclear bombs on American soil.”