the United States.
The KGB had been very pleased with Gennadi Levchenko's academic achievements while attending the American university.
They were particularly proud of his unwavering dedication to the Motherland.
Barely three months into his advanced studies, Levchenko had been approached by two persuasive recruiters from the KGB. The pair had been very friendly and had outlined an agency career with unlimited potential for an individual with his credentials. Levchenko had been euphoric but managed to quell his excitement so as not to appear too eager. He had wanted to be an officer in the KGB from the age of eleven and accepted the offer gladly.
Levchenko had distinguished himself at the KGB training academy, demonstrating many of the traits that would later propel him to the top of his profession. As a new KGB officer, he quickly developed a reputation for being ruthless in his quest for perfection and recognition.
His first assignment had been a plum. Levchenko had returned to the United States, where he had masqueraded as an assistant to the Soviet ambassador. He nurtured many friendships from his university days and courted influential politicos around the Washington beltway. Charming the power brokers in the nation's capital, he gathered every piece of classified intelligence he could grasp or buy. His career flourished for years, culminating in his present assignment.
Levchenko could barely make out the MiG-23s and -25s lined up on the tarmac directly below the San Julian tower. He silently cursed the driving rain and hurricane-force winds, then walked over to the tower chief. "How far out are they?" Levchenko asked the senior warrant officer.
Yevgeny I. Pogostyan looked at the radarscope. It was almost impossible to see the two MiG-25s in the pounding rain. The B-2, squawking the preplanned transponder code-4276--registered clearly on the brightly lighted radar screen.
"Ninety kilometers, comrade director," Pogostyan replied respectfully. "We have the runway lights at the highest intensity."
"Balshoye spasibo," Levchenko said, thanking the tower controller.
"Do not worry, comrade director," assured Maj. Gen. Petr V.
Brotskharnov, commanding officer of the Voenno Vozdushniye Sily (VVS, the Soviet Air Force) detachment. Assured, the general stared at the radar screen, then looked into Levchenko's cold eyes. "Lieutenant Colonel Zanyathov and Major Sokolviy are the two best pilots in the VVS. They will guide the Americans down safely."
"I hope you are right, general," Levchenko replied out of the corner of his mouth, "for the sake of all of us."
Both men watched the radarscope, listening to Pogostyan converse with the lead MiG pilot.
Lieutenant Colonel Zanyathov had not disclosed that he had fired his cannon in front of the bomber. His concern was landing in the hurricane conditions. The Russian fighter pilot knew his career would be over if he failed to successfully complete the secret operation.
Chapter Four
THE B-2
Matthews, staring through the rain at the MiG-25, wrestled the controls of the bucking Stealth bomber. He constantly jockeyed the number two and three throttles to maintain formation with the agile Soviet fighter.
The MiG on the right had disappeared, but Matthews knew that it was close by, probably on the B-2's tail. "We're committed to this guy," Matthews remarked to his copilot. "I hope he knows where the runway is."
"I'm sure these two are the cream," Evans replied as he watched the fuel totalizer steadily count toward zero. "Less than twelve hundred pounds, Chuck."
"Okay," Matthews replied, showing no emotion. "Switch to Land."
Evans placed the master mode switch to the land position. The flight controls transitioned to the landing mode and the checklist appeared on the multipurpose display units.
The copilot studied the screen before speaking. "We're down to flaps and gear."
"Okay," Matthews responded, concentrating on the MiG. "Too bad we can't talk to our escorts."
"Sure is,"
The KGB had been very pleased with Gennadi Levchenko's academic achievements while attending the American university.
They were particularly proud of his unwavering dedication to the Motherland.
Barely three months into his advanced studies, Levchenko had been approached by two persuasive recruiters from the KGB. The pair had been very friendly and had outlined an agency career with unlimited potential for an individual with his credentials. Levchenko had been euphoric but managed to quell his excitement so as not to appear too eager. He had wanted to be an officer in the KGB from the age of eleven and accepted the offer gladly.
Levchenko had distinguished himself at the KGB training academy, demonstrating many of the traits that would later propel him to the top of his profession. As a new KGB officer, he quickly developed a reputation for being ruthless in his quest for perfection and recognition.
His first assignment had been a plum. Levchenko had returned to the United States, where he had masqueraded as an assistant to the Soviet ambassador. He nurtured many friendships from his university days and courted influential politicos around the Washington beltway. Charming the power brokers in the nation's capital, he gathered every piece of classified intelligence he could grasp or buy. His career flourished for years, culminating in his present assignment.
Levchenko could barely make out the MiG-23s and -25s lined up on the tarmac directly below the San Julian tower. He silently cursed the driving rain and hurricane-force winds, then walked over to the tower chief. "How far out are they?" Levchenko asked the senior warrant officer.
Yevgeny I. Pogostyan looked at the radarscope. It was almost impossible to see the two MiG-25s in the pounding rain. The B-2, squawking the preplanned transponder code-4276--registered clearly on the brightly lighted radar screen.
"Ninety kilometers, comrade director," Pogostyan replied respectfully. "We have the runway lights at the highest intensity."
"Balshoye spasibo," Levchenko said, thanking the tower controller.
"Do not worry, comrade director," assured Maj. Gen. Petr V.
Brotskharnov, commanding officer of the Voenno Vozdushniye Sily (VVS, the Soviet Air Force) detachment. Assured, the general stared at the radar screen, then looked into Levchenko's cold eyes. "Lieutenant Colonel Zanyathov and Major Sokolviy are the two best pilots in the VVS. They will guide the Americans down safely."
"I hope you are right, general," Levchenko replied out of the corner of his mouth, "for the sake of all of us."
Both men watched the radarscope, listening to Pogostyan converse with the lead MiG pilot.
Lieutenant Colonel Zanyathov had not disclosed that he had fired his cannon in front of the bomber. His concern was landing in the hurricane conditions. The Russian fighter pilot knew his career would be over if he failed to successfully complete the secret operation.
Chapter Four
THE B-2
Matthews, staring through the rain at the MiG-25, wrestled the controls of the bucking Stealth bomber. He constantly jockeyed the number two and three throttles to maintain formation with the agile Soviet fighter.
The MiG on the right had disappeared, but Matthews knew that it was close by, probably on the B-2's tail. "We're committed to this guy," Matthews remarked to his copilot. "I hope he knows where the runway is."
"I'm sure these two are the cream," Evans replied as he watched the fuel totalizer steadily count toward zero. "Less than twelve hundred pounds, Chuck."
"Okay," Matthews replied, showing no emotion. "Switch to Land."
Evans placed the master mode switch to the land position. The flight controls transitioned to the landing mode and the checklist appeared on the multipurpose display units.
The copilot studied the screen before speaking. "We're down to flaps and gear."
"Okay," Matthews responded, concentrating on the MiG. "Too bad we can't talk to our escorts."
"Sure is,"
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