Arctic Storm Rising
- Автор: Браун Дейл
- Серия: Nick Flynn #1
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: William Morrow
- ISBN: 9780063015050
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «Arctic Storm Rising». Краткое содержание книги:
Rogozin stared back at him. “I’m not sure we can hope to do that,” he said carefully. “Colonel Petrov had enough fuel on board to reach any possible landing site in several million square kilometers of North American wilderness. We simply don’t have any evidence yet that would help us narrow that down significantly.”
“That may not be quite true,” another voice interrupted.
Startled, both Zhdanov and Rogozin swung around toward another of the several men seated around the table. On the principle that the less said the better when their leader was getting bad news, Kokorin, Yumashev, and the rest of the Russian president’s senior military and civilian advisers had kept their mouths shut over the past several minutes. But now, Aleksandr Ivashin, the head of the GRU, had evidently decided it was worth the risk to join the discussion.
Zhdanov’s eyes narrowed. That meant Ivashin had something up his sleeve, something he was confident would make him look good. Cautious by nature and training, the spymaster was not a fool. “You’ve picked up Petrov’s trail?” he guessed.
“Part of it, perhaps,” Ivashin said calmly. “Maybe enough to help General Rogozin’s pilots refine their search parameters.”
“Go on.”
Ivashin indicated the computer console at his place. Through it he had secure communications links to the GRU’s Moscow headquarters. “One of our deep-cover illegals in northern Alaska has reported in,” he said. “According to this agent, one of the American air surveillance radars briefly picked up a faint, unidentified contact very close to the Alaska coast on the night Petrov disappeared. It was still flying south when it disappeared a short time later.”
“Where would that take him?” Zhdanov demanded.
Responding to Ivashin’s commands, the map display zoomed in to show the area between Prudhoe Bay and the western edge of Canada’s Yukon Territory in the north and a little American town called Beaver and Ni’iinlii Njik, a Canadian national park, in the south. The enclosed region was still enormous, encompassing more than two hundred thousand square kilometers — mostly comprised of rugged mountains and uninhabited wilderness, including the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. The head of the GRU pointed at the map. “Somewhere in there, possibly. Obviously, we can’t be sure of that, but, assuming what the Americans picked up on their radar was, in fact, our stolen stealth bomber, this area seems the logical place to start looking.”
Zhdanov sucked in his cheeks. “Is your agent reliable?”
“Completely reliable,” Ivashin assured him. “We successfully infiltrated this particular illegal into Alaska years ago. And over that time, our agent has built up a very substantial network of useful information sources, including some inside the American military, local civilian government, and important regional private industries. The intelligence we’ve obtained has always proved to be accurate and extremely valuable.”
Zhdanov nodded. He turned back to Rogozin. “Your opinion, Yvgeny?”
The Air Force commander studied the display very closely for a few moments more. He looked at Ivashin. “What is the Americans’ own evaluation of this short radar trace? Do you know?”
“At the time, they seem to have assessed it as more likely to be a minor equipment malfunction or a natural phenomenon than a genuine air contact,” Ivashin told him. “But my agent believes their views may have changed recently.”
“Why?”
“Because the Americans have just flown a special team into their joint Army and Air Force base near Anchorage — a team that apparently includes intelligence specialists… and scientists and engineers trained in exploiting and analyzing foreign aircraft and aviation technology.”
Rogozin took a short, sharp breath. “Well, that tears it,” he said quietly. He turned to Zhdanov with a worried look. “I’ll organize an armed reconnaissance mission over that area as rapidly as possible, Mr. President. We could be in a race now, a race where we’re already starting out behind.”
Twenty-Four
The cavernous Emergency Conference Room seemed oddly vacant now to Jonas Murphy. Only the most senior members of the U.S. national security establishment — basically just the defense secretary, the members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the director of national intelligence — had been allowed inside for this secure videoconference with NORAD’s top commanders. The rows of chairs ordinarily set aside for aides and other officials sat empty. Instead, relayed by satellite from their command post inside Cheyenne Mountain, the televised images of General Keith Makowski and his Canadian deputy, Lieutenant General Peter Gowan, looked out from the ECR’s large central screen.
“Your most recent reports don’t exactly make reassuring reading, gentlemen,” Defense Secretary Bill Taylor observed, holding up a sheaf of documents marked top secret.
On-screen, Makowski nodded. “That’s true, Mr. Secretary.” He looked dead serious. “Then again, Pete and I didn’t write them to be reassuring. Just accurate.”
Beside him, Gowan leaned forward, bringing his lean features a little closer to the camera. “Unfortunately, happy talk from us won’t change the situation we face,” he said. “The harsh reality is that these repeated Russian probes of our airspace are imposing very serious strains on NORAD’s forces and readiness levels. Remember, intercepting incoming Russian reconnaissance aircraft, especially those trying to penetrate the Arctic coastlines of our two countries, requires very long flights and multiple air refueling operations — all in potentially hazardous weather conditions. Put in the simplest terms, the current need to fly these missions virtually around the clock is rapidly exhausting the endurance of both our pilots and our ground crews.”
“They’re also wearing the shit out of our aircraft,” Makowski added. “Look, it’s hard enough to keep the Alaska-based F-22 Raptors flight-ready during normal winter conditions. They’re beautiful machines, but they’re doggone temperamental — especially with their stealth features, like those special radar-absorbent skin coatings.”
Murphy knew that was true. As DNI, he had access to every piece of classified information produced by the U.S. military. Even at the best of times, some F-22 squadrons had only around half of their fighters ready to fly, with the rest down for needed maintenance.
“As of right now, this increased ops tempo is sidelining more and more of our Raptors, both with regular mechanical issues and weather-related skin damage,” Makowski continued. “If Moscow keeps pushing this hard, in a week, or maybe less, I’ll be damned lucky to be able to put a third of my aircraft out on the flight line.”
“The same goes double for the RCAF,” Gowan agreed. “Our CF-18 Hornets are more than forty years old now. Just to keep enough aircraft flight-ready at our four remote operating locations, we’re constantly having to rotate fighters and pilots forward from our main bases at Cold Lake in Alberta and Bagotville in Quebec.” His eyes darkened. “The situation simply isn’t sustainable, at least not if the Russians continue probing our perimeter this way for much longer.”
Taylor nodded somberly. “I get that, General Gowan.” He looked up at the two faces on-screen. “What I need now from both of you is an assessment of Moscow’s possible reasons for this sudden surge of air reconnaissance activity along our borders.”