Targets of Opportunity (1993) Read online

"Still low," Brad informed the group on the ground. "I'm going to try something else."

  On the third strafing run, he raised the pipper slightly above the target and squeezed the trigger. A stream of fire shot straight at the sleeve, ripping it to shreds as the MiG blasted overhead.

  "I think the problem is solved," Brad reported with satisfaction. He disarmed his cannons and made a mental note of where the pipper was when he fired the burst. If he had to, Brad would draw a cross hair with a grease pencil to mark the aiming point.

  "That's good to hear," Spencer answered with an audible sigh. "Make a level pass over the firing range, and punch off your drop tanks."

  Brad clicked his mike twice and slowed the MiG to 240 knots. He leveled at 1,200 feet above the ground and lined up with the firing range.

  "Nick," Brad transmitted, "are you clear?"

  "We're at your four o'clock--clear."

  Austin craned his neck and looked back over his right shoulder. "Roger that."

  Brad glanced at the small group of bystanders on the hangar ramp. "Here they go," he calmly announced as he approached midfield.

  A second later, Brad flicked the drop-tank switch. All at once, his worst nightmare flashed through his mind as the control stick violently jerked to the left.

  "Son of a bitch," Brad swore as he yanked the stick to the right and snapped the throttle to idle. The left wing continued to drop.

  "Your left tank didn't jettison!" Palmer radioed.

  Brad fought the controls as the heavy left wing rotated the MiG around its longitudinal axis. The nose fell through the horizon, filling the windshield with a view of the rapidly approaching ground.

  Terrified, Brad started to eject, hesitated a split second, then again flipped the drop-tank switch.

  The fuel tank popped loose and tumbled away as Brad desperately wrestled the MiG's controls.

  "Pull up!" Spencer shouted. "Get the nose up!"

  Brad rolled wings level and snatched the stick back. "Oh, God . . . ," he muttered through clenched teeth as the MiG bottomed out at less than a hundred feet.

  "Close," Palmer radioed in a hollow voice.

  Brad climbed steeply and fumbled through the process of lowering the landing gear. He could feel the adrenaline shock to his heart.

  "I think," Blackwell dryly suggested, "we better just weld the sonuvabitches onto the wing."

  Brad concentrated on airspeed and lineup as he approached the runway. Against his training as a carrier pilot, Austin flared the MiG prior to touching down. He rolled to the end of the strip and stopped in the turnaround area.

  "Do you need any assistance?" Spencer asked, relieved that he did not have to witness another crash.

  "Negative," Brad declared, trying to slow his breathing rate. "I'm waiting for Nick to land."

  "Roger that."

  After the Phantom landed and rolled to the end of the pavement, Brad taxied back up the runway and turned toward the hangar ramp.

  A crowd gathered around the MiG immediately after Austin parked. He raised the canopy and shut down the engine.

  Brad exchanged a brief glance with Allison as Spencer and Murray climbed the makeshift ladder. Her tanned face was a shade lighter than normal.

  "I'm sorry," Hank Murray said glumly. "The tanks worked perfectly during the static tests, but they haven't actually been used before."

  Brad tried his voice. "The air resistance," he said as evenly as possible, "probably places too much strain on the attachments."

  Darting a look at the taxiing Phantom, Brad turned to Spencer. "Lex is right. The tanks need to be permanently mounted under the wings. "

  "I concur," Spencer advised Murray. "Hank, we don't have time to screw with the jettison system, so let's bolt the tanks onto the hard points."

  Brad's eyes met Allison's. She gazed at him with a smile of relief, aware of her growing attraction to him.

  Chapter NINETEEN

  The party was in full swing when Brad caught a glimpse of Allison's car as she parked in front of the apartment. "She's here, guys."

  "Well," Lex responded with an exaggerated sigh, "I guess we'll have to save the story of how Nicholas lettered in croquet at Princeton."

  Brad, Nick, and Lex were putting on a great show of cheerfulness, but a strong thread of uneasiness ran under it all. The unknown future was soon to be the present.

  Palmer walked to the door and stepped out to greet Allison. "I'm glad you could make it," he laughed aloud, "but I have to warn you that we've been getting," Nick glanced at Lex, "how would you say it, Hopalong?"

  "Rowdy," Blackwell replied loudly, and guzzled his beer.

  "Don't worry about me," Allison declared with a smile. "I can rowdy with the best of them."

  No doubt, Austin thought as a smile creased the corner of his mouth. "Would you care for some wine?" Brad asked Allison after a pregnant pause, "or something a little stronger?"

  "Darlin', " Lex exclaimed, "you oughta try a vodka and vinegar, with a ring of Vidalia onion." A grin spread across his face. "It's a south Texas martini."

  Allison stared at Blackwell for a long moment. "I believe wine will be fine."

  "Pardon me," Brad said to Allison as he motioned Blackwell out the balcony door. "Lex and I are going to have a brief chat."

  Nick wiped the smile off his face. "Allison, I'm afraid Chablis is. the only white wine we have."

  "Anything will be fine." She laughed graciously and shook her head with amusement. "How did Lex get in the navy?"

  Nick could not quite hear the conversation between Austin and Blackwell. "We don't know, but I think his father must have paid off some congressman."

  Palmer poured a glass of wine and handed it to Allison. "Seriously," Nick said with a tone of respect, "Lex is a damn good pilot . . . but his social skills are abominable."

  "He's okay." Allison smiled warmly. "Lex is still irritated at me, and I don't blame him for being upset."

  The phone rang, and Nick promptly snatched the receiver off the wall. After a short conversation, he cupped the receiver and called to Brad. "Your 'lady friend,' " he announced, using the term that he and Blackwell had adopted.

  "I'll take it in the other room," Austin declared as he walked into the living room. "I've got it."

  He paused while Palmer replaced the other receiver on its hook. Brad's eye caught Allison's smile as he turned his head.

  "Hi, Leigh Ann."

  "Brad, I did a little investigating before I left San Diego," she gushed excitedly, "and discovered something very interesting."

  "What are you talking about?" he replied, then glanced toward the kitchen.

  "The yacht that your friend--Allison--says is her father's yacht is actually leased to the government."

  "Leigh Ann," Brad said hastily, "I've got to explain something to you."

  She suddenly became quiet. "What?"

  "Allison," he carefully selected his words, "is a government security specialist."

  "How did you find out?" Leigh Ann asked with a brittleness in her voice. "Did you know that when I was there?"

  "No, I wasn't aware of who Allison worked for when you were here," Brad said rather stiffly. "We found out about her job this past Monday." Leigh Ann didn't respond.

  "Allison works for the man I report to," he explained clearly. "She is his assistant, and part of her job is screening people for security violations."

  "You're telling me," Leigh Ann replied curtly, "that she works for the CIA?"

  "Leigh Ann, I can't discuss this over an open phone line. You'll have to trust me."

  "How much longer," she asked in a controlled voice, "are you going to be involved with the project?"

  "I honestly don't know," Brad replied, hearing Blackwell and Palmer laugh in the kitchen. He decided to batten the hatches and stand by for action. Brad knew his next statement was not going to be well received, and might even be a breach of security, but he had to risk it. "We'll be going back to Southeast Asia in a couple of days."

&nbs
p; "With Allison?" Leigh Ann asked, already knowing the answer.

  "Yes," he said evenly, watching Allison out of the corner of his eye. "She is a key member of the team."

  The awkwardness between them grew as they remained silent. "Leigh Ann," Brad broke the long silence, "if you love me, have faith and trust me."

  "I do, Brad," she responded with a hollow voice. "But can I trust Allison?"

  "Leigh Ann, I can't discuss this right now."

  "She's there, isn't she?"

  Brad hesitated. "Yes."

  "Why don't you call me," Leigh Ann said irritably, "when you can discuss it."

  The phone connection went dead, and Brad gently placed the receiver down. He hid his concern about the conversation and joined the lively group in the kitchen.

  Nick caught his eye. "Things okay on the home front?"

  Brad noticed Allison glance at him. "Well, there's always room for improvement."

  The evening had been pleasant enough, but Brad remained ill at ease. He wished that he had handled Leigh Ann's phone call better. The situation was rapidly spinning out of control. Leigh Ann already knew more than she should. Brad realized that no matter what he said, she would not be satisfied as long as Allison remained in the picture.

  Brad sat across from Allison, exchanging glances with her while Blackwell strummed his guitar and belted out "Your Cheating Heart."

  Aside from the affected nasal twang, he sounded better than most lounge singers.

  "Lex, you're pretty good," Austin admitted when the, song ended. "You obviously have missed your calling."

  "Don't flatter him," Palmer protested with a grimace, "or we'll have to listen to this hillwilliam crap all night."

  Blackwell slid his bottle onto the table, then addressed Nick. "Here's a little ballad you probably haven't heard at the country club." "I have no doubt," Palmer countered with a groan.

  "It's called 'Whorehouse Boogie,' " Lex proudly announced, prompting a response from Allison.

  "Well, things are obviously going downhill from here," she joked good-naturedly, "so I'm going to call it an evening."

  Allison rose before Palmer could respond. "Thanks for inviting me, Nick."

  "Hey," Palmer protested hastily, "you don't need to go. We'll clean up the songs."

  "Lex," Allison said with a smile, "I do like your music, but I have to get some rest." She gave Nick a quick look. "We'll be seeing each other shortly."

  She turned to Austin. "Brad, would you be kind enough to walk me to my car? I have a couple of business questions, if you don't mind." "Ah, sure." His surprised look was evident to the group.

  A full, luminous moon cast a bright glow as Brad walked Allison to her Mercedes convertible. He opened the driver's door and waited for her to slip behind the wheel.

  "Still driving in style," Brad commented as he closed the door and walked around the sporty roadster.

  Allison laughed softly while he got in. "Unfortunately, it goes back to the dealer tomorrow."

  Brad twisted in his seat to face Allison. "What did you want to talk about?"

  Allison smiled demurely. "Brad, Cap Spencer called me this afternoon. In fact, the phone was ringing when I walked through the door."

  Brad gazed thoughtfully into Allison's dark eyes before he spoke. "Is there a problem?"

  "That depends," she leaned closer, "on exactly what your friend, Leigh Ann, knows about the operation."

  Brad glanced through the windshield, concealing his irritation. He was growing weary of the invasion into his private life.

  "Cap is sitting on this," she continued tactfully, "but it's bothering him. He wanted me to ask you in person."

  "Why didn't he ask me in person?" Austin snapped, then added, "If it's such a big deal."

  "Brad," Allison countered with her usual poise, "he is trying to cover for you. Cap likes you, and you're a fellow naval aviator, but you did something that he explicitly told you not to do."

  "You people," Brad said firmly, "are too wrapped up in chasing shadows. "

  Allison found herself wanting to say something sarcastic, but her better judgment prevailed.

  "Brad, Cap has a mission to accomplish, and superiors to answer to." She forced her tone to remain steady. "The reason Cap hasn't talked to you is simple. After we left the hangar this afternoon, he received a call from Langley."

  "And?" Brad queried impatiently.

  "The director for operations, Dennis Tipton," Allison explained, pausing for the information to register, "wanted to know if the operation had been compromised by Grady's crash, or by any breaches of security." She lowered her voice. "Cap told him no, not at this time."

  What a bunch of nervous Nellies, Brad thought; so afraid someone will blow their cover.

  "Allison, Leigh Ann doesn't know anything about the operation. She only knows that I'm in the military and involved in a special assignment."

  "The problem," Allison paused, "is that if anything happens to you, Cap is concerned that your fiancee would start digging for answers .. . that could embarrass the Agency."

  "For Christ's sake, Allison, I'm a fighter pilot." He didn't want to reveal that Leigh Ann had made her own deductions and knew that he was involved with a CIA operation. This much Leigh Ann had told him in their last brief telephone conversation. "Leigh Ann, like everyone else, would assume that I had been shot down."

  "You're sure of that?"

  "Absolutely," Brad countered firmly.

  A long pause followed.

  "I believe you," Allison finally whispered. Their eyes locked in an unblinking stare. There didn't seem to be anything more to say.

  He inhaled deeply and stepped out of the car as Allison shifted her gaze straight ahead and started the engine.

  "Drive safely." Brad leaned over and closed the door.

  "I always do." She winked, and shifted into gear.

  Chapter TWENTY

  HONG KONG

  Nick Palmer, dressed in expensive white loafers, white slacks, polo shirt, and sea-green sports coat, entered the hotel bar and spied Brad. Austin had called his room to wake him.

  Brad motioned to the bartender while Palmer slid onto the bar stool next to Austin.

  "I gather from the look of your eyes," Brad said lightly, "that you had quite a night?"

  Nick slowly moved his head back and forth. "The part I can remember was a helluva time."

  Palmer waited until the barkeeper placed the tall Bloody Mary in front of him. "How's Leigh Ann?"

  Brad hesitated, trying to squelch the concerns that were bothering him. "I don't have the slimmest clue. I still haven't been able to get in touch with her."

  From the look on Austin's face, Palmer decided not to pursue the subject of Leigh Ann. "We had a message from our CIA friends when I checked in."

  "What now?"

  Palmer stretched his arms to relieve the stiffness in his shoulders. "I'm supposed to catch an Air America flight early this evening."

  Expecting a further explanation, Brad sipped his beer and turned to Nick. "What about me?"

  "You and Allison are due to leave here tomorrow afternoon." Palmer produced a slip of paper from his jacket pocket. "At twelve-thirty, to be exact."

  Brad gave him a puzzled look. "When is Allison's flight due to arrive?"

  "Tomorrow morning. Her flight number is the same as yours, so whatever time you arrived."

  Palmer finished his drink and signed their bill. "Come on, Brad. We'll have a leisurely lunch, and then tour Hong Kong by rickshaw until I have to catch my flight."

  Shortly before noon, Brad stepped out of the small wooden line shack at Kai Tak airport. Carrying his rumpled overnight bag, he proceeded to the C-47 parked at the edge of the ramp. The battered workhorse showed the scars of thousands of landings on rough, short airstrips.

  Clad in civilian attire, Brad approached the aging aircraft and was met by a brash young man with a clipboard.

  "Name?" the man said curtly.

  "Austin," Brad replie
d firmly, wondering if Allison was already on board. "Are we going to leave on time?"

  "Who knows?" came the abrupt reply. "We're waiting for some broad to show up."

  Brad flared at the derogatory remark, but let it pass. He walked under the left wing, studying the oil drippings from the big radial engine. He was about to cross to the right wing when he got a glimpse of Allison stepping out of the line shack.

  Brad walked briskly toward her, wondering if she would be her usual self or coldly aloof. "Hi, Allison."

  "Hello," she responded with a pleasant smile while he grabbed her two bags.

  "Are you all set?" she asked the copilot when they reached the airplane.

  Brad looked at the copilot, noting the cocky smile on the man's pockmarked face.

  "I believe we are, ma'am," he said with obvious effort to be polite. "The captain is ready to crank the engines."

  After boarding the aircraft, Allison and Brad selected seats behind the other passengers. The three disheveled men who reeked of alcohol were pilots for Air America. Two had already gone to sleep, while the third man stared vacantly out the window.

  After takeoff, the pilot executed a steep turn and began a shallow climb toward the South China Sea. When they had reached the desired cruising altitude, the crew reduced power and trimmed the aircraft for level flight.

  Allison leaned close to Brad. "We have another MiG-17, and a twenty-one is on the way," she confided with a gleam in her eye. "That's why I was late."

  "Interesting," Brad replied, inclining his head toward her. "Why did you arrange to have me wait for you?"

  "You get right to the point." Allison smiled ingenuously. "So I'll do the same."

  Brad stared into her deep brown eyes. It was impossible to resist her charm and beauty.

  Allison met his stare. "I wanted to talk to you."

  Unable to conceal a small chuckle, Brad looked at his watch for a few seconds. "Well, I'm certainly a captive audience for the next few hours."

  "I've been thinking about us," she said simply. "I know you were upset with me the night before we left . . . all the questions about your personal life."

  He started to protest, but decided to listen to her obviously well-thought-out feelings.

  "I just wanted to tell you that I understand how you feel, but I have my responsibilities." She paused and smiled suggestively. "I hope we can still be friends."