Threat Level Black by Jim DeFelice Read Free Book Online Page A

as the pilot himself. Today a dogfight would typically end without the planes even seeing each other; an American fighter pilot was equipped and trained to down his opponent before the enemy’s radar even picked him up.
    Forget the romance. There was no arguing against the idea of beyond-visual-range combat. The goal was to shoot down the enemy and live to tell about it, and a great deal of work had gone into making that happen.
    Reality and fantasy veered in different directions. Reality: The NADT job would be a pain in the ass. He’d be a paper pusher. And maybe worse: They’d expect something for their half-million big ones.
    “All right, Hawk Two, let’s head back,” said Howe.
    “Roger that. I’ll tell the folks back home to warm up the car.”
    As Storey clicked off, Howe caught part of a transmission from a ground controller querying a light aircraft back near the coast. It was flying toward a restricted area north of Washington, D.C. Something in the controller’s tone caught Howe’s attention; he glanced at the radar screen and located the plane about twenty-five miles to the southeast.
    The plane failed to respond to the queries. About sixty seconds later a ground controller vectored an Air National Guard flight toward the aircraft to check it out. Howe called in to ask what was going on.
    “NADT Test Flight One, we have an aircraft refusing to answer hails or directions at this time,” snapped the controller.
    “We’ll check it out for you. We’re closer than Guard Sixteen,” he said, referring to the F-16 that had been vectored to check out the plane.
    The controller hesitated but then acknowledged. Howe and Storey selected max thrust—the Hawks had no after-burners—and changed course for the intercept.
    The small low-winged monoplane was flying a straight-on path toward the Capitol building. A bomb-laden plane on a suicide flight? Or a lost civilian with his radio out?
    Howe’s augmented radar system painted the light plane to his right as he approached. A new controller added data about the plane. The pilot was off his filed flight plan by several miles.
    Howe and Storey tried hailing the pilot on the civilian frequencies and an emergency channel but got no response. In the meantime the Air National Guard F-16 was galloping toward them with orders authorizing the pilot to shoot down the plane.
    As he cut the distance between them to under five miles, Howe flipped through the radar modes into Close Surveillance to scan the interior of the aircraft.
    “NADT Hawk Flight One, advise your situation,” said the Air National Guard pilot.
    Howe told him he thought he could get a look at the cockpit.
    “You’re not going to make it in time,” said the other pilot, who naturally assumed that Howe would have to fly alongside the other plane at very close range, matching his speed and altitude, to see what was going on.
    A blue bar at the top of Howe’s radar image screen alerted him that he was now close enough to get a good view of the plane. “Interior image,” he told the computer. The two planes were still about two and a half miles apart.
    The pilot was slumped over the control yoke. But there was another person in the plane.
    An injured pilot and a hijacker? Or an injured pilot and a scared, nonpilot passenger.
    The person in the first officer’s seat was much smaller and moved around.
    The rest of the plane appeared empty.
    No bomb that the gear could see.
    “Guard Sixteen, pilot of target plane appears unconscious. There’s a passenger. Looks like a kid,” added Howe. “He’s light on fuel as well.”
    “How the hell do you know all that?” demanded the Guard pilot.
    “NADT Flight to Guard Sixteen,” said Howe, hoping his call sign would provide a clue, “I’m afraid I can’t go into details. But I do know it.”
    There was a spar and a compartment behind the cockpit area painted solid by the AMV: The gear couldn’t see inside. It was possible that it was a bomb.
    “NADT