But now the gun glowed on the IR interrogation screen.
Thank you very much, Ramirez thought, and flipped a switch, activating the starboard Swatter's heat-seeking guidance system.
7:46 p.m.
"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."