Ben Bova - Able One

Harry puffed out a weary sigh. “Then it had to be Monk, or Taki.”

Rosenberg’s crafty half-grin returned. “What’s Tiki-Taki’s religion, Harry? She wouldn’t be a Muslim, would she?”

In the cockpit, Colonel Christopher said into her lip microphone, “Brick, where’s that message from Washington? Haven’t you got it decoded yet?”

“One more minute, Colonel,” the communications officer replied. “This one’s in a red priority code.”

“Jon, how far from the coast are we?”

Sharmon’s deeper voice immediately answered, “One hundred and fifty miles, ma’am.”

Christopher nodded. Off on the horizon she could see a smear of clouds that must have marked the coastline. Her flight helmet felt as if it weighed a ton. But we’re too close now to take a break, she told herself. Got to sit here until we’re finished.

She glanced across the console of throttles at Major Kaufman. Obie looks calm enough. He had the sweats when we were waiting for the tanker, but he looks okay now.

“You need a kidney break, Obie?”

He shook his head hard enough to make his helmet wobble.

“Won’t have time for it once the shooting starts,” she prompted.

Kaufman frowned, then grumbled, “I was okay until you mentioned it.” He unstrapped and hauled himself out of the copilot’s seat.

Christopher chuckled to herself.

“Got the scoop from Washington, Colonel,” O’Banion called.

“Hand it to me.”

The redheaded comm officer ducked through the hatch and gave Christopher a flimsy sheet of paper. She read its two lines quickly. “North Korean missile launch imminent. No fighter cover for your mission.”

Fighter cover? Christopher was surprised at the idea. She hadn’t even thought about having fighter planes escorting her. But it made sense. We’d be a sitting duck if the gooks sent fighters up to intercept us.

“Incoming message,” O’Banion said, his voice sounding tense, urgent.

“Pipe it to me.”

A calm, reedy voice said in British-inflected English, “Unidentified aircraft, this is Air Defense Command of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. You have entered DPRK airspace. You will identify yourself and depart DPRK airspace at once. Respond immediately, please.”

Taki Nakamura looked up from her main console as Harry stepped through the hatch. “I’ve done the dry run sixteen times, Harry,” she said before he could get a word out of his mouth. “I’m pretty sure that the two of us can handle the mission.”

He sat at the console next to hers, noting that all its screens were alight, displaying data.

“I mean, it’s only two missiles, right?” Taki chattered on. “If it was more I’d say we needed a full crew, but for only two of ‘em we can handle it. Really, I’m sure we can.”

Placing a hand on her arm, Harry felt her trembling slightly. “I know you can, Taki. I don’t have any doubt of it. And I’ll be right here with you.”

Silently, he added, If there’s going to be any problems, they’ll be here, at battle management. Monk can’t do any damage to us unless he hauls out the COIL’s entire optics bench or smashes it to pieces, and he’s not going to reveal himself by doing that. If he’s the one. Wally and Angel know they’d blow up the plane if they mess with the fuel system feed. So Taki’s the one who could mess us up, and I’m going to stick right here beside her.

She was saying, “I’ll get it done, Harry, I really will. Don’t worry about this end of it.”

Harry smiled wanly. “Taki, I’m worried about everything. All of it.”

She seemed to focus on him for the first time. More softly, she said, “Yeah, I guess you are. Can’t say I blame you.”

Taking a deep breath, Harry asked, “Um, has Monk come through here in the past hour or so?”

Taki seemed surprised at the change of subject. Her brows nettling, she replied, “I think so. Can’t say the time, exactly, but he did come through. Said he had to use the toilet.”

Harry nodded. He had checked the lavatory again before entering Taki’s station. The lens assembly was still in the closet where he’d found it, apparently undisturbed since the last time he’d looked.

“You still looking for the lens assembly?” Taki asked.

“I’m looking for whoever took it.”

“Oh. Sure.”

Before he could think about it, Harry blurted, “Taki, was it you?”

Her eyes went so wide he could see white all around the deep brown irises. “Me?” Her screech was an octave and a half higher than before.

Feeling miserable, Harry said, “I had to ask, Taki. I asked the others first. It won’t go any further than the five of us. But I’ve got to know. I don’t care why, I just have to know that we’ll get through this mission okay.”

Clearly seething, Taki hissed, “You think because my great-grandfather fought for the Emperor that I’m a fuckin’ kamikaze?”

“No! I...” Harry could see the fury in her face. “I don’t know what to think. One of us tried to screw up the mission and I’ve got to find out who.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

“So why’d you ask?”

Shaking his head, Harry answered, “I don’t know what else I can do! Christ, Taki, this is awful.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but she said, “Don’t tell me you’re just doing your job, Harry.”

“Believe me, Taki, being a detective isn’t a job I want.”

She almost smiled. “For what it’s worth, you’re not very good at it.”

He almost smiled back. “I know. I know.”

Colonel Christopher unconsciously pressed one hand against her helmet earphone as the smooth male voice repeated, “Unidentified aircraft, this is Air Defense Command of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. You have entered DPRK airspace. You will identify yourself and depart DPRK airspace at once. Respond immediately, please.”

Kaufman, standing at the cockpit hatch, was staring at her. “Well?” he asked. He had heard the message from the speaker on O’Banion’s console.

Christopher’s mind was racing. Clipped to the control panel in front of her was the message from Washington. Missile launch imminent. No fighter cover.

“Well?” Kaufman said again, more demanding. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Stay on course. Make no reply to them. Radio silence from here on in.”

“They’ll shoot us down! The goddamn gooks shot down a civilian airliner a few years ago, didn’t they? They’ll send out fighters and blast us out of the sky!”

“Go to the toilet, Obie, and get back here as fast as you can. I’m going to need you here.”

“You’re gonna get us all killed,” Kaufman muttered.

Trying to ignore her copilot, Christopher called to O’Banion, “Brick, radio silence. Nothing goes out unless I say so.”

The communications officer’s voice came through her headphone, “Not even a Mayday when they shoot us down?”

The Secretary of Defense smiled and rose to his feet as she came in, but stayed behind his broad, gleaming desk.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Madam Secretary,” he said, his deep voice grating like a rusty hinge.

“Cut the bullcrap, Lonnie,” said the Secretary of State. “We don’t have time for it.”

She walked across the spacious room and dropped with a sigh into one of the massive leather-upholstered armchairs in front of the desk. With a practiced eye she swept the office, taking in the heavy, dark furniture, the bookcases lined with leather-bound volumes that looked as if they’d never been opened, the wall of photographs of the man with his fellow great and powerful ones, the view from the top-floor windows of the city across the Potomac and the spire of the Washington Monument. It was still raining, but there was a hint of late afternoon sunshine breaking through the gray clouds.