over, struggling to breathe.
“What do you know of the radar
absorbent material used in the construction of the F117?”
He shook his head slowly. “Nothing.
I’m a pilot, not a scientist.”
“You will answer my questions!” The
interrogator yelled again. “Or you will be shot!”
Suck it , Jack thought.
“If you are a pilot,” the interrogator
continued, “Explain the flight characteristics of the F117.”
Jack scowled “She’s a pig. Roughest
damn plane I ever flew.”
“Why is that?”
“Radar can’t detect flying pigs,”
he said, allowing himself a crooked smile.
The interrogator nodded and a
soldier punched him in the face.
Not the
nose again!
Out of the corner of his eye, he
glimpsed movement from the far side of the room as two officers emerged from
the shadows. Jack tried to identify the uniforms, certain they weren’t Serb or
NATO. He peered at them a moment longer, before the shock of recognition hit him.
What are
they doing here? he wondered.
The more senior of the two, a
stocky, broad shouldered major of the GRU, the Main Intelligence Directorate of
the Russian Federation, waved the Serb soldiers back. “Enough!” he snapped. “We’ll
take him!”
* * * *
Present Day
“The American intelligence agencies
have always known about it,” Valentina said. “Before the collapse, the Soviet
Union kidnapped dozens of senior Allied pilots – mostly American – shot down
in every war since Korea, to learn about allied air power. Your father was the
only pilot post-Soviet Russia kidnapped, because he was unique. He was a
stealth pilot, the most valuable pilot ever captured.”
“How could they do it, without us
hearing about it?” Craig said, scarcely able to believe her farfetched story.
“No government would risk nuclear
war for a handful of pilots.” She shrugged. “They were expendable.”
“How do you know this?”
“We were investigating your
employer, Goldstein, McCormack and Powell. We did extensive background checks
on everyone who worked for them, looking for a way to recruit someone on the
inside . . . it was an accident we found your name in an Interior Ministry database.”
“My name?” Craig said surprised.
“You were listed as the son of an
occupant of an Interior Ministry facility. Upon admission, bureaucrats
routinely recorded the names of the occupants’ wives and their children, their
dates and places of birth. They’d been doing it for decades for Russian
detainees. They simply followed the same procedure for your father. Yegor Demidoff
was our lead investigator. He found your father’s case had been closed for
years. The dossier was stored in an old archive, inactive and forgotten. He bribed
a certain individual to see the file one night. No written notes, no copies
were allowed, however, Yegor was able to steal just one photo of your father.
It’s the only proof we have.”
“I want to see that dossier.”
She smiled incredulously. “That’s
impossible!”
“Make it possible. You have enough
money now to bribe a thousand informants. Get me a copy.”
“Some things are better left in
the shadows,” Valentina said. “It would not be in the interests of either of
our countries for that dossier ever to be released. Besides, I don’t know who
the informant is.”
“Someone must know.”
“Only Yegor knew who the
informant was, to protect him.” She hesitated, then added. “There have been
leaks. Either my organization is being watched, or there is a spy among us.”
“A double agent?”
She shrugged fatalistically. “It
is Russia. It is our way. It is why I cannot help you.”
Craig fell silent for a moment,
then asked, “Is my father still alive?”
“All I know is, he was taken to
Russia for interrogation because of his knowledge of American stealth
technology. If Yegor were still alive, he could tell you more.” Valentina
reached out and touched Craig’s hand sympathetically. “After all this time,
“What do you know of the radar
absorbent material used in the construction of the F117?”
He shook his head slowly. “Nothing.
I’m a pilot, not a scientist.”
“You will answer my questions!” The
interrogator yelled again. “Or you will be shot!”
Suck it , Jack thought.
“If you are a pilot,” the interrogator
continued, “Explain the flight characteristics of the F117.”
Jack scowled “She’s a pig. Roughest
damn plane I ever flew.”
“Why is that?”
“Radar can’t detect flying pigs,”
he said, allowing himself a crooked smile.
The interrogator nodded and a
soldier punched him in the face.
Not the
nose again!
Out of the corner of his eye, he
glimpsed movement from the far side of the room as two officers emerged from
the shadows. Jack tried to identify the uniforms, certain they weren’t Serb or
NATO. He peered at them a moment longer, before the shock of recognition hit him.
What are
they doing here? he wondered.
The more senior of the two, a
stocky, broad shouldered major of the GRU, the Main Intelligence Directorate of
the Russian Federation, waved the Serb soldiers back. “Enough!” he snapped. “We’ll
take him!”
* * * *
Present Day
“The American intelligence agencies
have always known about it,” Valentina said. “Before the collapse, the Soviet
Union kidnapped dozens of senior Allied pilots – mostly American – shot down
in every war since Korea, to learn about allied air power. Your father was the
only pilot post-Soviet Russia kidnapped, because he was unique. He was a
stealth pilot, the most valuable pilot ever captured.”
“How could they do it, without us
hearing about it?” Craig said, scarcely able to believe her farfetched story.
“No government would risk nuclear
war for a handful of pilots.” She shrugged. “They were expendable.”
“How do you know this?”
“We were investigating your
employer, Goldstein, McCormack and Powell. We did extensive background checks
on everyone who worked for them, looking for a way to recruit someone on the
inside . . . it was an accident we found your name in an Interior Ministry database.”
“My name?” Craig said surprised.
“You were listed as the son of an
occupant of an Interior Ministry facility. Upon admission, bureaucrats
routinely recorded the names of the occupants’ wives and their children, their
dates and places of birth. They’d been doing it for decades for Russian
detainees. They simply followed the same procedure for your father. Yegor Demidoff
was our lead investigator. He found your father’s case had been closed for
years. The dossier was stored in an old archive, inactive and forgotten. He bribed
a certain individual to see the file one night. No written notes, no copies
were allowed, however, Yegor was able to steal just one photo of your father.
It’s the only proof we have.”
“I want to see that dossier.”
She smiled incredulously. “That’s
impossible!”
“Make it possible. You have enough
money now to bribe a thousand informants. Get me a copy.”
“Some things are better left in
the shadows,” Valentina said. “It would not be in the interests of either of
our countries for that dossier ever to be released. Besides, I don’t know who
the informant is.”
“Someone must know.”
“Only Yegor knew who the
informant was, to protect him.” She hesitated, then added. “There have been
leaks. Either my organization is being watched, or there is a spy among us.”
“A double agent?”
She shrugged fatalistically. “It
is Russia. It is our way. It is why I cannot help you.”
Craig fell silent for a moment,
then asked, “Is my father still alive?”
“All I know is, he was taken to
Russia for interrogation because of his knowledge of American stealth
technology. If Yegor were still alive, he could tell you more.” Valentina
reached out and touched Craig’s hand sympathetically. “After all this time,
Similar Books
