"I copy. What's the story?"
"Insert is a definite abort. Repeat, abort insert. We're expecting some
company. Red, white, and blue."
"That's going to blow everything."
"You've got a roger, Ulysses."
"How far are you from Andikythera?"
"Looks like about twenty klicks," Armont answered.
"You were timed for 0200. Can vou still make it tonight at all?"
"Doubtful. Even with the two Zodiacs and outboards, by the time we
reached there it'd be almost daylight. We may have to revise the
insert, plus twenty-four."
"How about your gear?" Vance's voice betrayed his concern. "We'll need
hardware. The hostiles are loaded for bear. You--"
"We'll do what we can. We don't like it either. . . . Uh- oh." He had
just glanced at the radar. "Company's here, Ulysses. Stay up on this
frequency."
"Copy."
Armont turned to Voorst. "Okay, we've got to ditch now. That's probably
an F-14"--he pointed to the radar screen-- "and he's going to be on us in
less than two minutes. We have to give him something to talk about back
in the briefing room."
Willem Voorst was staring through the cockpit windscreen at the dark,
choppy sea skimming by just below the fuselage. "Hang on."
The ARM gear was packed in waterproof containers, and the Zodiac rafts
were by the doors, ready to eject.
Willem loosened his flight helmet and dropped the flaps. "I hope this
baby is insured by somebody."
"It's insured," Armont said, grimacing to think of the paperwork that
lay ahead. "We just had a malfunction. That's my professional opinion."