CHAPTER 57
Cotton settled in behind the controls, Ivan in the copilot’s seat. He gave the instrument panels a quick once-over. Not all that dissimilar to other aircraft he’d flown while in the navy.
Occasionally back in Copenhagen he would charter a plane and fly out over the Baltic just to feel the air beneath him and practice his skills.
He’d even considered buying a small single-engine aircraft but had just never gotten around to taking the time to shop for the right one.
He could certainly afford one. The jobs he’d taken on over the past few years had paid solid.
Not that he’d billed anyone. But Stephanie had always insisted that he be compensated.
He lived a basic, no-frills life, so all that money had been banked and invested. Probably time to spend some of it.
Maybe. One day.
He donned the radio headset, pressed the brake pedal, flicked the right switches, and fired up the two turboprops.
The blades began to spin, faster and faster, coming up to speed.
He eased off the brakes and taxied out to the runway.
The airport was tiny with only a single landing strip.
No other planes or aircraft were in sight.
Sandra had told him there was no need to check in with any air traffic controllers.
Just squawk. The Swedish military had already cleared him for both takeoff and the trip south out of their airspace.
Once out over the Baltic, Germany would assume control.
He came to the end of the runway and stopped the plane. A quick check of the gauges showed nothing of concern. Ivan was watching him with an intense gaze that seemed to question his ability to handle the controls.
Oh ye of little faith.
He released the brake and pushed the throttle forward.
The engines revved to full speed, and they started to roll out.
It took about five thousand feet to reach airspeed.
He pulled back on the yoke and rotated. The wings caught air and the plane lifted, slow and steady, into the late-morning sky.
The controls responded to his commands, soaring them upward.
High, hot, and heavy.
He banked left and adjusted course toward the south, which would take them past Stockholm, then down toward the Baltic.
The controls were tight and responsive and felt good in his hands.
The landscape miniaturized with altitude.
He focused on the instruments but said to Ivan, “Take a look at that chart.”
Stephanie had followed his instructions and provided a map of northern Europe.
“We’re going to ground-track our way there,” he said.
“Assuming chart is correct.”
He smiled. “It is.”
He kept climbing, wanting to reach around forty-five hundred feet for a cruising altitude.
Below stretched Lake M?laren, a panorama of islands and inlets that fanned out from Stockholm.
On one of those Princess Lysa had died. Murdered?
More than likely. Ahead the terrain was mostly flat.
Lots of potato fields and apple orchards.
Mountains rose far off to the west. His plan was to parallel Sweden’s rocky east coast, then cross the Baltic into Danish, then German, airspace, all NATO-controlled.
They should be fine there. The trick was getting there without anyone noticing.
Thankfully the skies north of Copenhagen, out over the water, were familiar.
“I can’t ask you to do this,” Stephanie said. “It’s far too dangerous.”
She’d just explained what she and Koger wanted done.
Originally, they were going to switch out the codex and fly it quickly to Germany.
The new plan called for adding a passenger to that flight.
Ivan. The problem? Koger had a security leak that he wanted to plug, and the current situation offered the perfect opportunity to accomplish that.
“It makes sense,” Cotton told her. “To catch big prey, you have to use big bait. If Koger’s hunch is right, the source will report the flight, and the Russians will act.”
“And fighters will be heading your way to shoot you down,” she said.
“Let’s deal with that when we get there. It may not happen.”
“The Russians will throw caution to the wind. Franko’s people will not care about protocol.”
“Hopefully, Koger is wrong about the leak.”
“Unfortunately, he has great instincts.”
He knew that about 250 miles lay between here and the city of Malmo at the southernmost Swedish coast. From there it was a quick hop over the busy ?resund Strait to Denmark.
Except for some wind, the day seemed perfect for flying.
He liked what one of his instructors once said.
Everyone could take a lesson from the weather.
It pays no attention to criticism. He scanned the instruments one more time.
Everything normal. The timbre of the turbos sounded strong and uniform.
The skies, as far as he could see, were devoid of other planes.
“I certainly hope you’re worth all this,” he said to Ivan.
“Being a traitor not something I thought I would ever be. But my country is lost. Franko will rule until he dies, which will be long time. Sadly, he is quite healthy.”
“Unless someone puts a bullet in him.”
“It has been discussed. But would be hard to do. Better to just get away from Russia.”
He kept a light grip on the yoke as the plane slid through the midday air. “Is it that bad?”
“My country is lost. The place I knew is gone. We are doomed. Better to bring it all down.”
“I admire your courage.”
“But am I being foolish?”
“No more than the two of us, up here, in this plane.”
“Are we a target?”
He hadn’t explained any of what Stephanie had told him about them being bait to reveal a spy. No need for Ivan to be aware of that.
“Let’s just hope no one knows we’re here.”