Brown, Dale - Independent 02 Read Online Free

thousand feet above ground and who start a five hundred
foot-per-minute descent instead of climbing. Watch your altitude.” Rawlins
pulled back on the control wheel and retrimmed properly for a two hundred knot
climb.
                 Five
minutes later the Falcon was clear through Miami International’s terminal
control area. “ Miami Center, Omaha One-One changing to tactical frequency. Good evening.”
                 The
Omaha call sign was a common one for any drug interdiction air unit on an
active intercept, and air-traffic-control agencies knew to clear as much
airspace as possible and stay on their toes when they heard that sign. “Omaha
One-One, change to company frequency, contact me on this frequency when
returning,” the air traffic controller replied. Sandino switched the radio to
SLINGSHOT’s scrambled frequency, and both she and Rawlins slid one headphone
pad off their ears as a raucous squealing and chirping obliterated all radio
sound. Now the chirping sounds subsided until only a faint crackle could be
heard as the anti-eavesdropping encryption-synchronization routine matched the
built-in codes on the Falcon’s radio receiver—only a radio with the built-in
codes could lock out the interference.
                 Rawlins
knew the smugglers would soon break the codes on this system, just as they
found all the federal frequencies and started intercepting or eavesdropping on
them. Incredibly, many of the law-enforcement radio frequencies had been published, and it was a relatively
simple process to build or steal a descrambler. They had all the advantages—especially the money—to fight the drug
wars.
                 Soon
the slightly squeaky, distorted voice of Wexfall in the basement of Miami Air
Traffic Control came back: “Omaha One-One, how copy?”
                 Sandino
keyed her mike button. “Four by.”
                 “Roger.
Stand by for your final controller.” There was a slight pause as Wexfall handed
over control to the more experienced Gusman, who had the initial flight vectors
set up well before he nodded to Wexfall to accept controller’s responsibility.
“One-One, fly heading one-zero-zero and maintain two thousand feet, your bogey
is at sixty miles and low.”
                 Rawlins
made a slight right turn and engaged the autopilot. “Okay, Conk, he’s at sixty
miles low. Go get ’em.”
                 “Roger.
Stand by,” Joe Conklin replied on interphone. Now Rawlins’ digital-display
monitor mounted between the pilot and copilot positions in the top center of
the instrument panel activated and began pulsing as the radar began its
pre-programmed search pattern, sweeping sixty degrees on either side of
centerline and twenty degrees up and down. But because the target was only two
thousand feet below the Falcon, Conklin narrowed the pre-programmed radar sweep
to five degrees vertical and twenty degrees horizontal, putting maximum energy
along the range and bearing called out by SLINGSHOT and allowing him to lock
onto the target at the greatest distance.
                 A
few moments later the moving radar pips on the screen froze, then began tight
oscillations around a square radar-target symbol. A white diamond superimposed
itself on the target symbol and RADAR LOCK appeared at the top of the screen.
“Radar lock on a fast-moving aircraft, low, fifty miles at ten-thirty
position,” Conklin reported. A few seconds later the radar computed the
target’s airspeed and altitude and began feeding range-and-bearing data to the
crew on the Falcon. “Left ten degrees, closure rate two hundred thirty knots.”
                 “Forty-five
miles,” Rawlins confirmed as he completed a left turn to move behind the
target. “Ten minutes to intercept.”
                 “How
about giving me the intercept this time, Kevin?” Sandino said over interphone.