Androv was still busy talking to Petra, issuing commands. Vance realized they were assuming a vector north by northeast, out over the ocean. They also were probably going to stay on the deck to avoid radar tracking, with only passive systems so that no EM emissions would betray their heading.
He glanced up at the screens and realized he was half right. They were over the ocean now, at a breathtaking altitude of only five hundred meters, but Androv had just switched the phased-array radar altimeter over to start hopping frequencies, using "squirt" emissions. Pure Stealth technology. No conventional radar lock could track it.
"Dr. Vance, I am giving you one more opportunity to reconsider." Tanzan Mino's voice sounded through the headphones. He was still standing at the main Flight Control console, though his image was finally starting to roll and break up. "You must return to base. The consequences of this folly could well be incalculable."
"Why don't you take that up with the pilot?" Vance answered into his helmet mike.
"His receiver has been turned off. It's impossible to communicate with him. He's clearly gone mad. I will give you another sixty seconds before I order the on-board guidance computer switched over to the AI mode. Flight Control here will override the on-board systems and just bring the vehicle back and land it."
Again Vance wondered if he really could.
Then a screen flashed, an emergency strobe, and Petra was speaking. The Russian was simple enough he could decipher it.
Systems advisory. You are too low. Pull up. Acknowledge. Pull up.
Androv tapped the sidestick lightly and boosted their altitude a hundred meters.
"Michael," the voice was Eva's coming through his headphones. "She—it—whoever, said—"