Dancing with the Dragon

Chapter 5

Returning from the Persian Gulf and war-at-sea exercises in the South China Sea, the USS Kitty Hawk and her battle group were transiting the Taiwan Strait en route to their homeport at Yokosuka, Japan. The night was coal black with calm seas and a humongous line of thunderstorms between the carrier and Taipei, Taiwan.

Ninety-five nautical miles northeast of the carrier, Lt. Comdr. Wade "Tex" Denton and his wingman, Lt. Todd Justice, were returning from a simulated long-range air strike in the Ryukyu Islands.

Caught off guard by the size and intensity of the storms, they didn't have enough fuel to go over or around them. Their tanker, an S-3B Viking, was waiting on the other side. Rather than diverting to Taipei, Denton was determined to reduce speed and punch through the teeth of the raging thunderstorm.

With Justice welded to Denton's right wing, the single-seat F/A18Cs penetrated the line and immediately flew into heavy rain and severe turbulence. Todd tried to hang on to his flight leader as they lost and then gained hundreds of feet of altitude, bouncing and bucking wildly.

Tossed from side to side and up and down, the pilots fought to control their planes while hail pounded the fighters and lightning flashed around them. Moments later, St. Elmo's fire caused a blue web of sparks to form on their canopies. The sensation was like going over Niagara Falls in a kettledrum while strobe lights flashed in your face.

As hard as he struggled, Justice lost sight of Denton's recognition lights in the dark haze and blinding rain. Fearing a midair collision, Todd banked his F/A-18 away from Denton's fighter and flew an offset heading nearly parallel to his section leader. With his heart stuck in his throat, he eased his throttles back and began nursing his plane lower. Seconds later, after being struck by lightning, the two fighters blasted through the line of storms and found themselves in clear skies and calm air.

Denton keyed his radio. "Todd, I have you at three o'clock low. Close it up and we'll hit the tanker."

"Roger that." Justice forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. Well, that was an experience I don't care to repeat.

As they began their rendezvous with the Viking, Denton and Justice noticed a large, round, bluish-white object streak out of the western sky, flash by their fighters, and climb almost vertically directly over them.

"Tex, what the hell was that thing?" Todd asked.

"I don't know, but it scared the bejesus out of me."

"Oh, shit, here it comes again." He drifted away from his flight leader as he craned his neck to follow the course of the strange object.

While Denton attempted to call Kitty Hawk's carrier air traffic control center, the bluish-white object slashed downward and stabilized about a hundred yards off the port side of the formation.

"It's huge," Todd said. It looks like a big Frisbee flying at a thirty-degree angle to the horizon.

Denton was talking to a CATCC controller when the object accelerated, climbed skyward, paused a few seconds, then came hurtling straight at them. Todd saw a bright flash at the same instant Denton's plane exploded like an aerial fireworks display. The bright, bluish-white object slashed by Todd's Hornet, made a tight 180-degree turn, and accelerated out of sight in a matter of seconds.

Todd instinctively turned on his master armament switch. He frantically radioed the carrier. In shock and suffering from visceral fear, he reported what had happened. Todd began searching for unidentified targets using his air-to-air radar and the heat-seeking head of an AIM-9 Sidewinder air-to-air missile. Nothing registered on the scope, and the missile remained inert.

Trying to calm himself, Justice gave the CATCC controllers the coordinates of the downed Hornet and then managed a shaky rendezvous with the tanker. Because of the overwhelming adrenaline rush he had experienced, it took five attempts to ease the fighter's refueling probe into the Viking's basket.

After he finished taking on fuel, Todd turned toward the carrier and replayed over and over what had happened only minutes before. Nothing made sense. He was certain that whatever it was that had destroyed Denton's plane was under the control of some form of intelligence, artificial or human. He quietly talked to himself until he began his approach to the carrier and then relied on the LSO to coach him in the groove.

Following normal procedures, Todd went to full power when his plane slammed into the flight deck. Thrown forward against his straps when the Hornet snared the fourth wire, he was still pushing on the throttles seconds after the plane had come to a violent halt. Finally, when his situational awareness caught up with the jet, Todd yanked the throttles back, raised his tailhook, and extinguished his exterior lights.

His landing, although it made everyone on Vulture's Row cringe, was reasonable considering the emotional state he was in.

After he taxied clear of the landing area, Justice realized his legs were shaking uncontrollably. He shut down the engines and leaned his helmet back against the ejection-seat headrest. His heart was pounding and his breathing was ragged. Expecting his teenaged plane captain to greet him, Justice was surprised to see his squadron commanding officer appear next to the cockpit.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you see a chute?"

"No, sir. He didn't get out."

"What happened?"

"Skipper, something, I don't know what it was, jumped us and blew Wade's plane out of the air. The whole thing happened in a matter of seconds, literally. Whatever it was disappeared at a speed that had to have been at least eight maybe Mach ten or more."

"It?"

"Yes, sir."

"Could you see what kind of shape it was, you know, what kind of wings it had?"

"Sir, this thing, whatever it was, it wasn't an airplane." A long silence ensued.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying…" Justice trailed off. "Sir, it, whatever it was, made turns at warp speed. It looked like a gigantic Frisbee, and it could accelerate faster than anything I've ever seen."

The CO stared at Justice for a long moment and then patted him on the shoulder. "Let's go see the fighter doc, then we'll have a chat while everything is fresh in your mind."

"Sir, I'm not crazy."

"Todd, no one is accusing you of anything."

There was a sudden tension between them.

"I just want the doc to see you before we talk to anyone."

"Skipper, I'm telling you the truth. Something shot him down, something unlike I've ever seen before."

Another awkward silence followed until a synapse finally took place in the recesses of Todd's brain. "Skipper, as God is my witness, I didn't accidentally shoot him down. You can check it out, sir. I still have all my ordnance — nothing's missing."

Flounders Chowder House on Pensacola Beach was crowded with tourists when Jackie and Scott were seated at an outdoor table. The bright, warm sun was high in the clear blue sky and tiny waves gently lapped the shoreline of Santa Rosa Sound. Scott unfolded his Pensacola News Journal, glanced at the headlines, then turned the page and froze.

Absorbed in the article, Scott was startled when his satellite phone rang. He shoved the paper toward Jackie. While he took the call, she ordered lunch for them. Jackie carefully studied the people in their immediate vicinity and around the perimeter of Flounders's outdoor seating area. Satisfied that no threat existed, she divided her attention between the employees, the other patrons, and the article about the F/A-18 crash.

"That was Hartwell." Scott placed the phone on the table. "We're officially on the case."

"Interesting. What's the latest news?"

"He wants us to meet him in D. C. — actually at his home."

"When?"

"As soon as we can get reservations."

"I'll take care of the tickets."

"Hartwell will give us a complete brief tomorrow afternoon."

"Has he met with Secretary Adair?"

"He just left a meeting with the president and SecDef. They're giving this Hartwell's euphemism was `mystery'— the highest of priorities."

"It must be getting warm in the White House and at the Pentagon."

"According to Hartwell, the president considers these unexplained crashes a definite threat to national security."

"Did Hartwell say anything about the crashes?"

"Yes. He said they're trying to keep a lid on the 'events' until they have some firm answers. They don't want to create mass panic." He leaned closer. "Besides the two Hornets that have gone down, the air force lost a Cobra Ball over the Bay of Bengal."

"How?"

"Apparently to the same thing, or kind of thing, that brought down Sammy — it's really eerie."

"You're kidding."

"That's what he said. The Cobra Ball's mission commander was in direct communication with the White House and the State Department when they lost all communications and data links from the airplane."

Scott glanced around the immediate area. "But not before the mission commander described the same kind of object that Merrick Hamilton talked about, right down to the bluish-white color and the same kind of high-speed, abrupt maneuvers."

"That's really hard to comprehend. It doesn't make sense. This whole thing — from southern California, to the Taiwan Strait, to the Bay of Bengal — is beginning to sound like something from the science fiction channel."

"I think you're right," Scott said. "When the Cobra Ball crashed, the mission commander was describing the object and the crew was taking photos. Then, all communication with the Ball ceased."

Jackie waited until the waitress had served their lunch. "Did you discuss the details of our conversation with Merrick Hamilton?"

"No, I didn't. I'm going to stick by my word. Her backseaterwhat's his name, at the Pentagon?"

"Lou Emerson."

He's shuffling papers in the Puzzle Palace, and I'm sure they have the whole story straight from him."

"Ah, yes. The female pilot obviously would've been too hysterical to remember all the details accurately."

"Easy," he said, allowing the word to roll off his tongue. "I'm just reporting what I think the facts are, ma'am — nothing more."

"Sorry. It's another one of those gender spikes I warned you about."

"No problem. Just put the bayonet away."

Jackie tapped her finger on the F-18 article in the newspaper. "Coincidence? I don't think so."

"Yeah, sounds suspicious to me."

After lunch they went to their room at the Hampton Inn to pack and book a flight to Washington, D. C. With their bags ready to go, they started for the door and both stopped at the same time. They were looking down at a note card that had been slipped under the door. To preserve any fingerprints, Scott picked it up by the edges, read it, then silently handed it to Jackie.

You were lucky yesterday. Very lucky. Perhaps not so lucky next time. P. S. The lady is a good driver.

"Well, we're dealing with someone who likes the challenge of playing cat-and-mouse," Scott suggested.

She studied the card. "Someone with very precise, neat penmanship. I don't know about you, but I think it looks feminine."

"I'd say that's a fifty-fifty shot."

"Then again, it could be a red herring." Jackie handed him the card. "'Perhaps not so lucky next time.-

"We may be reaching, but it does have an Oriental ring to it."

"I think so."

Scott studied the card. "Z Y?"

"Who knows?"

Dalton placed the note card in his shirt pocket. "We'll get this to the FBI — see if they can trace our joker."

"Somehow, I don't believe they'll find any prints."

"I doubt it," he said.

"He, if it is a he, likes to taunt his victims, make them jumpy and nervous so they'll make mistakes."

Scott looked around the room. "Well, he or she made a gross miscalculation this time."

"Yeah, but they don't know it yet."

"Let's not underestimate them."

Holding an index finger to his lips, Scott motioned for Jackie to remain quiet. He walked to the phone, picked up the receiver, and unscrewed the mouthpiece. They saw the bug and Scott reacted immediately.

"Well, let's go to the airport." He checked his Sig Sauer. "We don't want to miss our flight and get stuck here."

"I'm right behind you."

After checking out of the Hampton Inn, they left the rental car in the hotel parking lot and walked toward Flounders Chowder House.

Scott talked in a hushed voice. "These people are real pros."

"Yeah, but they're reckless."

"First thing we do is contact the police and get a bomb squad out here to isolate the area and check our car."

"Good idea."

With a heightened sense of awareness they continued toward the restaurant, while Scott kept his eyes moving. "As usual, Hartwell made it clear that we have carte blanche for whatever we need."

"Well, we better send a distress signal."

Scott reached for Flounder's front door and opened it. "Think I'll have Hartwell arrange for us to be flown to D. C."

"From the regional airport?"

"I don't think that would be in our best interest. We've already been ambushed. We'll take a cab to the air station and the navy can fly us to Washington."

"You're right. They have several Sabreliners and Beechjets here that they use for training."

"Bingo."

Jackie suddenly stopped, causing Scott to inadvertently bump into her. "It just came to me — we weren't paying attention."

"What are you talking about?"

"The other night at the Grant Grill — in San Diego — the dapper Oriental man who was sitting across from our table?"

Dalton paused, searching his mind. `You're right." He recalled the small, well-dressed man who had examined his menu for an extended period of time. "He was Chinese, if my memory serves me correctly."

"That's right, and he must have been reading our lips."

"I'll be damned."

"Remember, he was in the lounge too. He probably read Early-wine's lips and knows the whole story."

"We should've noticed." Scott's satellite phone rang. He answered it as they sat down at an empty table.

Jackie cautiously looked around the crowded patio. She listened to Scott, noticing his face take on a troubled expression. Seconds later, he absently placed the phone on the table.

"Hartwell."

"'What is it?"

"Lou Emerson supposedly committed suicide in his apartment."

"No."

"There's only one problem. Actually, there are two problems. No suicide note has been found."

"And?"

"He was found in his bedroom, weapon in hand, but there were small drops of his blood in the hallway and in the kitchen — which happens to be thirty-seven feet away."

Scott rested his chin in the crook of his thumb and forefinger. "That's a helluva long way to walk with part of your head missing."

"Why would someone move him to the bedroom?"

"I have no idea."

"Was there any tissue, any evidence, in the kitchen?"

"Nothing but a few minuscule blood drops leading to the hallway. The entire kitchen had been sanitized. JAG is investigating, but I don't think they'll find any evidence leading to the murderer."

"We don't know how to contact Merrick," Jackie said. "Let's find out if she's gone on leave yet."

"Do you think Emerson's death is related to the first crash?"

"Absolutely. According to Hartwell, Emerson was considered to be a stable guy who didn't have an enemy in the world."

"Well, he had at least one."