Red Tide, стр. 34

Greer made eye contact with Mary. She was seated across from him with her back to the driver. “So, what’s it going to be? Yes? Or no?”

Dalisay had no idea what Greer was talking about, but Mary knew. She sat as he’d seen her before, with hands clasped, her eyes locked with his. “The answer is yes.”

Greer smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Then, in an aside to Dalisay, Greer said, “Mary’s coming with us.”

If Dalisay had any doubts about the arrangement he left them unspoken.

The car jerked to a stop. Dalisay thanked the driver and got out. The others did likewise. The Mercedes pulled away. “That’s the one,” Dalisay said, as he pointed to a plane. “I hope you know how to fly it.”

The plane was half lit by the spill from a pole-mounted light. Greer recognized it right away. The Cessna 172 Skyhawk was very similar to the one he’d flown as a kid. Tens of thousands of the single-engine, fixed-wing aircraft had been manufactured since the first one had taken flight in 1955. In fact, based on the plane’s longevity, it was easily the most successful aircraft in history.

But was the 172 in good shape? Were the tanks full? Did it have a functioning radio? Those questions and more crowded into Greer’s mind.

“The plane is, or was, the property of a local drug dealer called Johnny Wong,” Dalisay said. “His nickname was Kilo Wong. So, if you use the radio, be sure to use that name.”

“‘Was the property?’” Greer inquired.

“Mr. Wong had an unfortunate accident earlier today,” Dalisay replied. “But the authorities don’t know that yet.”

“So, they’ll think Wong is fleeing the country,” Greer concluded.

“Exactly,” Dalisay agreed. “Thereby protecting your fake identity.”

“Alright,” Greer said. “Wong it is. Let’s see what we have.”

Greer circled the 172 looking for problems, didn’t spot any, and entered the cockpit. The key, thank God, was in the ignition.

Greer checked to make sure that the Avionics Master switches were off. And that was important because, when the engine began to crank, the system’s voltage would be low. But when the engine started, and the alternator kicked in, there would be a momentary power surge. A surge that could fry the 172’s electronics.

The next item on his mental check list was the fuel selector valve located at the center of the cockpit on the floor. It was set to “both,” which was ideal, since Greer had no need to monitor the wing tanks separately.

Then it was time to pull the throttle out a quarter of an inch, set the mixture to “Idle Cutoff,” and turn the Master Switch on.

Greer checked to ensure that all the avionics were off and pushed the mixture to “Full Rich.” At that point he opened the door long enough to instruct his passengers to enter.

Finally, it was a simple matter to set the carb to “cold,” pump the primer a few times, and toe the brakes. The ignition key turned easily, and the engine started with a satisfying roar.

That was when Greer eyeballed the fuel gauge and saw that the plane had about 90 percent of its forty-gallon total capacity onboard. That equated to something like 550 miles worth of range. Not nearly enough to get the job done. Greer had done his homework on the fishing boat. And, according to the captain’s charts, the closest airport in Indonesia was Miangas on the island of Karakelong. That was 900 plus miles away.

It couldn’t be helped however. All Greer could do was try. “I hope both of you know how to swim,” Greer said, as he released the brakes. “Here goes nothing.”

Greer hadn’t flown a prop plane in years. But the old habits were waiting. It’s like riding a bike, Greer thought. You never forget.

Once he had sufficient ground speed Greer pulled the yoke back and felt the 172 lift off. It wasn’t like being shot off a carrier … But it felt good nevertheless.

Greer’s plan was to fly south over Marinduque island in the Sibuyan Sea. From there they would overfly the islands of Mindoro, Panay, Negros and Mindanao, before arriving over the Celebes Sea, where they would have to ditch.

First however Greer had to stay low, well under Philippine radars, to avoid detection. Meanwhile, by using a lean fuel mixture, and 75 percent power, Greer hoped to maximize the distance he could cover with the existing fuel supply. At 125 knots, or 143 mph, it would be three plus hours before the fuel gave out.

Ideally Greer would maintain radio silence until the last minute. But, if he did that, Allied forces wouldn’t be able to respond quickly enough to help. So, what to do?

It was dark by then, and lights glittered like gemstones strewn on black velvet, as the Cessna droned its way south.

The decision, Greer decided, was no decision at all. He had to contact Allied forces while there was time for them to react. And time for him to consider a forced landing on Mindanao Island if he didn’t get a response.

The first step was to put out calls on three frequencies typically used for search and rescue operations. Those included the Aeronautical Auxiliary Frequency at 123.1 MHz, the U.S. military voice SAR frequency at 138.78 MHz, and the Joint/combat on-the-scene voice and DF frequency used throughout NATO at 282.8 MHz.

Greer turned the radio on, put the pilot’s headset on, and selected the first frequency. “My name is Johnny Wong. Some people call me Kilo Wong. I am enroute to Karakelong Island. But I don’t have enough fuel to make it, so I’ll be forced to ditch north of there.

“I want to apply for asylum in Indonesia. And, as a gesture of goodwill, I will provide the Indonesian government with a list of Chinese sleeper agents in the Philippines. So please send someone to pick me up. Oh, and your SARs boat will need air cover. Over.”

Greer heard a response thirty seconds later. But it was in broken English, and staticky to