Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

“I say we move with all possible speed,” Emma added. “We’re not the only ones with access to Peruvian TV.”

22

Chinese spy trawler

Off the coast of Ecuador

Daiyu stood in the control room of the Chinese trawler. The swells had vanished and the sea was as dark as pitch. Everything quiet and still. Too quiet for her. Unnerving.

For three days, they’d kept the American vessel Catalina under surveillance. Over the last twenty-four hours, it appeared as if the crew of that ship had begun search-and-recovery operations. Daiyu had been planning an underwater reconnaissance mission to see what they’d found when the Ministry called it off.

General Zhang appeared on a video screen. “The recovery effort of NUMA vessel Catalina has been determined to be a diversion.”

“So we’ve been wasting our time,” Daiyu said. There was an edge to her voice; it was always there, even speaking to a superior like Zhang. It was half the reason she’d been posted to such a backwater place.

“So it would appear,” Zhang replied. “But that’s not the only news. We have new information that suggests the Nighthawk escaped capture by the Russian bomber and did not come down at sea. A possible sighting has been reported over the mountains of Peru.”

“So our Russian friends failed to do their part,” she replied. “I’m not surprised. You cannot trust a bear to dance with a sparrow.”

“Nor can you trust it to share its meal with you,” Zhang added. “This is a blessing in disguise. Had the Russians succeeded, they would have taken the American aircraft home with them and given us as little as possible. Now we have a chance to take it all.”

Daiyu nodded. “As it should have been from the start.”

She well knew that General Zhang felt the same way, though he would never say it. A slight curl of his lip was all she received. “A helicopter is being sent,” he said. “It’ll be on deck within an hour. Be ready.”

“We shall,” she replied.

“Do not fail your country,” Zhang said and signed off.

Jian stood at her side. Where Daiyu was excited, he appeared solemn, apprehensive. “Is something wrong?”

“The Americans will not be easy to eliminate,” he said. “Our men had the advantage of surprise in Guayaquil, but they still failed. By the time we make contact, the Americans will be on guard.”

“There are methods beyond brute force,” she said. “If we can’t take them by direct action, we’ll set a trap. All targets are susceptible to one form or another. If they’re ready to run at the slightest sign of us, then we’ll let them run headlong into disaster.”

23

Guided missile cruiser Varyag

The storm had passed. Or, rather, the Russian Cruiser Varyag and salvage vessels accompanying it had passed through the worst of the weather. No one was happier about the sea change than Constantin Davidov. For the first time in days, he was sitting to a full breakfast without worrying that it would come back up.

Rear Admiral Borozdin sat across from him, his eggs smothered in hollandaise sauce. It kept the powdered taste down and passed for a delicacy in the Soviet Navy.

“You look different today,” Borozdin said between forkfuls of egg. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“Yes you can,” Davidov said. “I’m not three shades of green.”

Borozdin laughed. “Yes, of course, that’s it.”

A knock at the Admiral’s door brought a courier. “Captain Tovarich reporting on the satellite link,” the courier said.

“Have it patched through to us in here,” Davidov suggested.

Borozdin nodded to the courier and moments later they were listening to Tovarich.

Though his voice sounded tinny and distant, the signal was clear enough to reveal disappointment. “Recovery operations are complete,” Tovarich explained. “We’ve pumped out the cargo bay and combed through the wreckage. Unfortunately, there’s no sign of the American craft.”

“How can that be?” Davidov asked. “Blackjack 1 reported the Nighthawk as captured and locked in long before the emergency.”