Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

“My new friends do,” the Falconer said.

He nodded toward the lake, invisible beyond the mouth of the cave. “What you can’t see—one of the many things you can’t see—are American agents submerged in the water and securing the Nighthawk as we speak. They’re preparing to remove it from the depths. Once they do, I shall take it from them and you will deliver it to the runway where Blackjack 2 now waits. You will finish your mission, refuel over Venezuela as planned and cross the Atlantic, returning to Russia as great heroes.”

Timonovski was stunned. “I don’t understand. Now you want us to take it back to Moscow? But we already had it. You’re the one who set it free. If you hadn’t woken it up after Blackjack 1 captured it—”

“Had I let you proceed, I wouldn’t have been able to extract the full payment I desire. But now the price to be paid will be equal to the pain. Indeed, it’s much higher than you can possibly imagine.”

“Blood money,” the Major said.

“All wealth is blood money,” the Falconer said. “In one form or another.”

Major Timonovski just stared.

“If you prefer, I can leave it to the Americans and leave you both here to rot away while going mad from the noise.”

“If this is a trick—”

“Then you will endure it because you have no choice in the matter.”

Timonovski fumed. The Birdcaller was in complete control. But even that had its limits. Even this master manipulator had to deal with gravity. “We’ll never get off the ground,” he said. “The runway is too short, the Nighthawk too heavy. We’ll never clear the trees with that thing on our backs.”

The bearded man cocked his head. “Leave that to me.”

He turned, walked back to the rope and wrapped his hands around it and began to pull himself up. The rope vanished moments later and the column of light was cut off.

Gray darkness and white noise engulfed them once again.

“You should eat,” the flight engineer said. “Whatever happens, we will need our strength.”

Timonovski ignored him for a moment, pondering the situation, before giving in to the lure of the food. He didn’t believe a word of what the Birdcaller promised; somehow, it would be another lie, he was certain of it. But it seemed far better to die on a full stomach than to starve.

38

Off the coast of Ecuador

The Russian salvage fleet was now within a hundred miles of the Ecuadorian coast, though they had yet to discover any sign of either Blackjack 2 or the American space plane.

It seemed to Constantin Davidov that the race had been lost. The sudden drawdown in American naval activity suggested they’d found it.

Alone in his cabin, Davidov considered returning to Russia and facing the consequences of failure. A knock at the door startled him.

“Come in.”

It was one of the Admiral’s staff. “A message has come in,” he said. “The Admiral wishes you to meet him in the communications room.”

Davidov hurried to the communications center.

“It’s from the Falconer,” Borozdin said.

“He’s alive?”

“It would appear,” Borozdin said. “And since we’ve found no sign of Blackjack 2’s wreckage, we must assume the crew and the aircraft are fine as well.”

“Then where have they been?” Davidov snapped.

“Maybe this will tell you.”

Borozdin handed him a note. It was all code. The Falconer’s code. Davidov translated from memory and stared at the curious message. It was cryptic even after it had been deciphered. “Is this it? Is this the entire communiqué?”