Project Cyclops Part 4

"Hawk One, our Traffic guys at Gournes just reported they can't get a positive verify on you."

'Tell them to check again," Peretz suggested matter-of-factly. "Maybe they screwed up in--"

"We'll have them run it through one more time. Routine security. But you've got to keep a three-thousand-meter perimeter till--"

"Dammit, sailor, oil pressure's in the red. We're taking her by your starboard bow. Ready your crews."

Suddenly another voice came on the radio. It was older.

"Israeli Hawk One, this is Tactical Action Officer Vince Bradley. Who the h.e.l.l are you? We VID you as a Mi-24 gunship."

Peretz had switched off his mike and was loosening his helmet strap.

"You got it right, a.s.shole."

7:44 P.M.

_

_Vance watched as the Hind approached on the starboard side of the destroyer, heading straight for it and dropping alt.i.tude. What in h.e.l.l was going on?

He lunged for the radio, and switched it to the military emergency frequency, hoping to pick up some clue that would explain it all.

Probably not much of a chance. If this was a Sixth Fleet operation, they would be scrambling everything.

Nothing. So he flipped over and started scanning the U.S. Navy tracking frequencies--216.8 through 217.1 megahertz--in the meantime trying to keep the tiller in hand.

The radio was alive, agitated voices yelling back and forth. It was an argument, the helo claiming it was making a flyby for an emergency ditch, the frigate not exactly buying the story.

No kidding. He'd checked out the chopper in close-up as she came over, and he'd seen nothing wrong. Everything looked to be in perfect working order. The only obvious thing out of the ordinary was that she was fully armed. Whoever was flying her was using some kind of bogus Mayday to get in close. But by now it was too late to try and give the frigate a warning.

7:45 P.M.

"Perfect timing," Ramirez said, moving down to the weapons station and taking Peretz' place. "We're inside forty-five seconds. Now just keep her on the deck. First we neutralize the forward gun turret."

"Taking airspeed to fifty knots." Salim was praying now. "_Allau Akbar_!"

"USS Glover." Ramirez had switched on the helmet mike again. "We have a confirmed ditch. Oil pressure just went entirely. We'll be taking her by the bow."

"I repeat, who the h.e.l.l are you?" the TAO's voice came back on the radio. "We still have no confirm on your IFF. If you make a pa.s.s, I'll a.s.sume hostile intent."

"Sorry. No time to play this by the book," he replied. "We're ditching."

He immediately clicked on the radar. In less than ten seconds he'd be in position to lay a Swatter directly into the forward gun turret.

Command on the _Glover _knew it, and at that moment the gun was swiveling, coming around.

Suddenly a blaze streaked past them in the sky as the forward gun fired and a telltale tracer ripped by. It was intended as a warning.

But now the gun glowed on the IR interrogation screen.

Thank you very much, Ramirez thought, and flipped a switch, activating the starboard Swatter's heat-seeking guidance system.

7:46 P.M.

"Right." Alfred Konwitz snapped to attention. "Yes, sir."

He slammed down the phone and whirled around to Jack Mulhoney. "Full denial, sir. Israeli Control says they have no military aircraft operating anywhere in that sector of the Aegean. They double-confirm.

That's Cla.s.s A. Hard."

"We're in the s.h.i.t. Some son of a b.i.t.c.h is closing on one of ours, and we don't even know who he is." He picked up the headphones, then switched on the scrambler. "_Glover_, do you read me? I think it's a bogey. I can't tell you that officially, but you'd better alert your TAO in the next five seconds or it'll be your a.s.s, sailor."

"This is Bradley," came back a new voice. "We just-- Jesus!"

"_Glover_, what--?"

"Hostile action . . . do you copy? We've got a hostile."

"How many--?"

"It's visual ID'd as a Russian Mi 24-D. With Israeli markings. We're taking fire forward--"

"What are--?"

Sounds behind the radio voice had erupted in turmoil. Something catastrophic was going on.

"Al," he turned quickly, "get Command. I think we've got an Israeli- ID'd Hind taking hostile action on the _Glover_."

He didn't realize it, but with those words he had played directly into Sabri Ramirez's hands. The scenario was now a lock.

When Jack Mulhoney turned back to his radio, he only heard static.

7:47 P.M.