Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

21

Washington, D.C.

Hiram Yaeger had been part of many daring operations during his time with NUMA. But when the data from the black box was finally decoded, he could not help but tip an imaginary cap to the Russians for the sheer audacity of what they’d attempted.

With the full details revealed, he waited in the video conference room at NUMA headquarters while the satellite connection to the consulate building in Guayaquil was secured.

The room was a mix of the old world and the new. Paintings of tall ships lined the walls while a mahogany table from a nineteenth-century yacht dominated the center of the room. It was surrounded on three sides by comfortable chairs, though one had been removed for Priya, who came into the room in her wheelchair. On the remaining side lay a wall of flat-panel screens on which the team in Ecuador soon appeared.

“Good to see you all,” Hiram said.

“Looking forward to being enlightened,” Rudi replied.

Hiram nodded. “I have a feeling you won’t be disappointed.”

He pressed a button on the remote and another flat-screen display lit up. It was divided into three sections. The main part displayed a video image, taken from the Russian bomber’s camera system; the second part of the screen displayed an overhead map view; and the third section displayed the bomber’s cockpit and instrument panel as seen from a high-mounted camera over the pilot’s shoulders. Their helmets and shoulders were partially in view.

“Are you seeing this on your screen?” Hiram asked.

“Yes,” Rudi said.

“Fantastic,” Hiram said. “The Russians use one recorder to collect all vital information instead of two separate recorders for voice and data like the FAA requires. Their system worked well, but we only have the last twenty minutes of the flight. I think it’ll be enough. For your convenience, Max has translated all the voices into English.”

The lights dimmed and the presentation began. The initial image was a gray-scale infrared video. On the right side were various numbers, indicating speed, course and altitude. In the distance, a tiny white dot flared and dimmed while tracking lines indicated it was above the bomber and thirty miles distant.

“Target acquired,” the translated voice said.

“Vehicle speed four thousand one hundred. Engaging scramjets.”

“Did he say scramjets?” Emma asked.

“He did,” Hiram replied. “We double-checked the translation. They’re using a different acronym, but the operation is the same. The bomber was powered by supersonic ramjets capable of taking them up to Mach 6.”

As the scramjets came to life, the video image began to shake and buzz. The Mach number climbed and the voices of the pilot, copilot and engineer were almost overridden by the ever-increasing roar of the engines.

The pilot called out the milestones. “Passing Mach 3 . . . 3.5 . . . Mach 4 . . .”

The acceleration continued for another minute and then slowed.

“Speed locked in at Mach 5.1.”

The copilot spoke next. “Surface temperature within tolerance.”

“He’s referring to the outer skin of the aircraft,” Hiram said.

Emma nodded. She was the aviation expert. She understood instinctively. “At Mach 5, the leading edges of the nose, wings and tail would be suffering tremendous heating. Regular steel would melt. The aircraft skin would have to be made of a special alloy, probably using extensive amounts of titanium.”

“Which explains why the alloy detector and the magnetometers locked onto the wheels and internal parts first,” Joe replied. “More iron, easier to find.”

“Exactly.”

The video continued to play. “Course matched,” the pilot’s voice said. “Releasing controls to the computer.”

The small dot they were tracking on the cameras grew larger as it moved closer until it became obvious they were looking at the Nighthawk. But they weren’t catching up to it; they were allowing it to catch up to them.

“At this point, the bomber is in front of and below the Nighthawk,” Hiram said. “Max, display the course lines.”

On a second part of the screen, the satellite view of the South Pacific and the South American coast sharpened. Two icons appeared, one red, one green. Thin lines stretched out behind them.