CHAPTER 60
Stephanie stepped into the communications center located on the ground floor of the palace’s north wing.
She and Cassiopeia had left the king and come straight here.
Wilhelm had wanted an explanation but she’d politely declined.
There’d been enough security breaches for one day.
Prime Minister de Ciutiis was already there, standing before a desktop monitor.
The canary trap had sprung.
No doubt now.
Koger had a serious security leak.
“Where are they?” Stephanie asked.
“Just north of Malmo, still in our airspace.”
“And the Russians fired on them?”
De Ciutiis nodded. “I know. Bold. NATO is responding. Two F-16s are being sent out of Holland. They will be there in ten minutes.”
Which was an eternity. That EMB turboprop was no match for an advanced military fighter jet.
True, the Russians were using interceptors that dated to the 1990s.
But they came with cannons and missiles, and it would be an easy matter to shoot the EMB from the sky.
A radar image filled the desktop monitor showing the EMB’s flight path south along with two other blips moving west, then turning back to the east.
“They made one pass and are coming back for more,” de Ciutiis said.
The room was empty except for the three of them. Stephanie had requested the communication link be established so she could monitor Cotton’s progress south, hoping no one would intercede.
“Any idea how they knew to be there?” Cassiopeia asked.
Cotton had requested that Cassiopeia not be told about what Koger had proposed in using him as bait. She would have insisted on going along, and he was not going to hear of that.
“That’s a question for later,” Stephanie said. “Right now, we have to help them survive the next ten minutes.”
Cotton had been around enough fighter pilots to know how they think, no matter the nationality.
This was a hawk challenging a pigeon—easy prey.
The pilot would be focused on his firing radar, trying to get a lock on the EMB, deciding when to pull the trigger.
Best guess? The Russian would wait until he was close before firing. Why not? No danger of any resistance.
Just another grape.
He’d caught enough of a glimpse to know that his enemy was a Sukhoi 30. Twin-engine two-seater, fast and super maneuverable. Developed in the old Soviet Union. A multi-role fighter for all weather. An oldie but goodie, still in operation. And loaded with a 30mm autocannon and air-to-air missiles.
“Cotton, can you hear me?” Stephanie’s voice said in his ears through the headphones. “You have two visitors.”
Both capable of about 1,100 knots at low altitude, while he chugged along at less than 350.
“One has already let us know he’s here.”
“You have help coming. Less than ten minutes out.”
Which could not have been dispatched sooner so as not to alert the Russians.
“Okay. I know what I have to do.”
He spied ahead out the forward windshield and saw rivers, lakes, some brooding forest, and a stunning archipelago.
Beyond was the blue water of the Baltic.
Denmark was in sight on the other side of the narrow strait.
So was the ?resund Bridge that ran for five miles from the city of Malmo on the Swedish coast to an artificial island, Peberholm, where it ducked under the water into a two-and-a-half-mile-long tunnel to the Danish coast.
An engineering marvel.
But maybe their salvation too.
Cassiopeia was scared.
Cotton was in trouble. And there was nothing she could do to help. She also saw the concern on Stephanie’s face. De Ciutiis stood silent but clearly troubled too.
Stephanie’s phone buzzed.
She answered, then switched to speaker mode. “Colonel, repeat what you just told me. The Swedish prime minister is here.”
“NATO planes are in the air and should be there in about seven minutes. Let’s hope the Russians don’t want to engage any further. I have no authority to return fire.”
“Can you get it?” Stephanie asked.
“That would involve revealing what’s happening here. Since I don’t know what that is, it will be hard to explain to my superiors.”
“It’s a CIA and Justice Department joint operation.”
“That’s not going to be enough to justify starting World War III.”
She was well acquainted with Russia’s central command units.
They were ultra rigid, and the people closest to the action were not the ones making the decisions.
That came from farther away and higher up the food chain.
The U.S. was different. The guys on the ground had a much bigger say.
But there were limits. Rules of engagement.
That had to be obeyed. This colonel was only the operations officer of the day for the Baltic air region, stationed in Holland.
And one other thing.
The CIA was surely listening to all of the radio chatter in the Baltic. That was standard operating procedure. The presence of the two Russian fighters had surely garnered their attention. So none of this was staying secret.
“Let’s hope our fighters’ presence is enough,” Stephanie said.
“I’ll keep this line open and will be here,” the colonel said.
“Have you made inquiries with the Russians as to why they are in our airspace?” de Ciutiis asked.
“We have. They have not responded. Any idea, Madam Prime Minister, why that is the case?”
De Ciutiis gave them both a look that said, We cannot go there. Stephanie shook her head in agreement, then said, “We’ll be right here, Colonel. Where are the fighters?”
“Five minutes out.”