The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,127
out at ten thousand feet, on course for St Lawrence Island. Kyle hoped for a sight of American soil in the distance, but clouds obstructed his view. ‘God damn, that was close,’ he said, leaning back in his seat. ‘I’d better get danger pay for this.’
Holly Jo glowered at him. ‘Jesus Christ, Kyle!’
He looked affronted. ‘What?’
‘Is that all you can think about, yourself? Some of our people just died! We lost at least three members of the tac team – and we don’t know what happened to everyone else after you blew up the UAV.’
‘Hey, I was trying to save them by doing that.’
‘That’s not the point! You’re sitting there whining about how dangerous things were for you, when—’
The entire plane lurched violently, loose items flying across the cabin. Only Kyle and Holly Jo’s seat belts kept them from following suit. A thunderous roar shook the aircraft, followed a moment later by another vicious jolt and a second rumbling scream that rapidly dopplered away into the distance.
Holly Jo grabbed her armrests in panic. ‘What the hell was that?’
Kyle looked back through the window. ‘Holy shit!’
Two sleek jet fighters powered away from the American plane, having just crossed its path at near-supersonic speeds so that it would slam into their turbulent wakes – the aerial equivalent of throwing a stinger strip in front of a speeding car. They circled behind the business jet, giving Kyle a better view as they passed. He identified them instantly: Sukhoi Su-35E ‘Super Flankers’, painted in angular grey dazzle camouflage. The pride of the Russian Air Force, and among the most deadly aircraft on the planet. Each Flanker had four missiles mounted beneath its wings.
He doubted that the weapons were harmless training dummies.
Holly Jo used her headset to talk to the cockpit. ‘What’s happening?’
Tension was clear in the pilot’s voice. ‘They’re ordering us to turn about and head back to Provideniya.’
‘They can’t do that!’ Kyle protested. ‘We’re in international airspace.’
‘We just violated Russian airspace with an unauthorised takeoff. They’re kinda pissed about it!’
‘But what about our F-22s?’
‘Gee, I don’t see them,’ the pilot replied scathingly. ‘Do you?’
Holly Jo listened in on another transmission, from one of the Sukhois. ‘Oh my God,’ she said, going pale. ‘They just said that if we don’t turn round, they’ll open fire.’
‘We don’t have a choice,’ said the pilot. ‘I’m taking us back.’
Kyle pressed his face against the porthole. One of the pursuing Flankers swung into sight as the Global 6000 banked, the military aircraft effortlessly matching the Bombardier’s movements. ‘Crap. Crap, oh crap!’ he cried, close to panic. ‘What happens if they arrest us? I mean, we’re technically spies.’
‘There’s no “technically” about it,’ said Holly Jo. ‘We are spies! We’ve got to destroy the hard drives, wipe anything containing classified data—’
She was interrupted by an astonished shout from Kyle. ‘Holy shit! Look at this, look!’
She rushed to the other side of the cabin to see what was happening – and reacted with the same amazement.
Another plane had joined the chase.
The pilot of the leading Sukhoi adjusted his course to follow the larger jet as it turned. Even though it had followed his instructions and was heading back to land, he still kept the gunsight on his head-up display locked on to it. Where east met west over the Bering Strait, the Americans were always up to something sneaky. This time, they had been caught red-handed—
He flinched at a shocked yelp in his helmet’s earphones – his wingman. ‘Drop, drop!’ the other pilot cried. ‘Break off!’
Nothing on the radar or threat warning indicator. He looked back . . . as a shadow fell over his cockpit.
The second Flanker had made a hurried rolling descent – away from the looming underbelly of the large transport aircraft now plunging down at him like a giant’s fist.
‘He’s diving, he’s gone!’ said Tony, leaning over the pilot’s body to see what was happening outside. He had pressed a gloved hand against the bullet hole in the windshield to block the shrieking wind. The two Sukhois disappeared into the clouds below. ‘You did it! You scared them off.’
‘Not for long,’ Adam said grimly as he levelled out. He selected a new radio frequency. ‘Two-zero-one, do you read me? This is Adam, on an open channel. Do you read?’
‘We read you,’ came the reply – the pilot of the Global 6000, its tail number ending in 201. ‘What’s your situation?’
‘The situation,’ said Kyle, cutting in with enormous relief, ‘is that he’s just saved our asses!’