"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 Class A. Hard."
"We're in the shit. Some son of a bitch 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 ass, 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.