To The Death Part 3

"This is Herndon-this is Herndon. All tracking techs on full alert-we got Flight 62 on scope-no course change on primary target-but he's descending rapidly-right now 21,000 feet still descending. Not responding."

"Langley Birds closing. Andrews fighters in the air headed directly for the city."

"This is Herndon-emergency, emergency-Flight 62 is descending rapidly below 15,000 feet-no clearance-repeat no clearance-descending all on its own."

"Langley-Langley to Northeast Command: leading F-16 pilots have Flight 62 on visual now heading north across Charles County, Maryland."

"Herndon to Northeast Command: we just got another report from that Naval aircraft-picking up sounds of screams and panic on board Flight 62-someone shouted something about the will of Allah." we just got another report from that Naval aircraft-picking up sounds of screams and panic on board Flight 62-someone shouted something about the will of Allah."

"Copy that, Herndon. Ordering F-16s to close one mile astern Flight 62-port and starboard wing. F-16s reporting 11,000 feet-confirm, please."

1250 Same Day The White House.

The president replaced the receiver. "Arnie," he said, "we got a couple of F-16s right on 'em heading north up Charles County. . . ."

"Both armed?"

"Yup. Air-to-air missiles. That was Langley, I guess checking once and for all that I wanted the aircraft obliterated. . . ."

"Before it obliterates the government of the United States, right?"

"You really think it will?"

"Either that, or it'll take a swerve at the White House, and I gotta say that doesn't have much appeal. At least, not right now."

"Arnie, I followed your advice. Almost three thousand people died on 9/11 because of indecisiveness. That's not going to happen again. You heard me just say affirmative affirmative?"

"I did."

"That was in answer to the question, Do we have your absolute permission to shoot down Flight 62, if it refuses to obey commands from the tower?" Do we have your absolute permission to shoot down Flight 62, if it refuses to obey commands from the tower?"

"That's a good decision, Paul. You may get some flak about being a little hasty. But nothing like the flak you'll get if that sonofab.i.t.c.h drives straight through those ten-ton bronze doors to the Capitol and blows up the largest legislative chamber in the world."

President Bedford shook his head half in bewilderment, half in disbelief.

"C'mon, Paul," said Admiral Morgan. "Our first president, General Washington, laid the foundation stone for the Capitol over two hundred years ago. It's your privilege to be the president who saved it."

Northeast Air Defense Command Center.

"Northeast Air Defense Rome to Air Force North: Combat Command, Florida, we're tracking Flight 62 right now-two F-16s out of Langley, one mile astern and closing, positioned port and starboard. Permission requested for pilots to open fire at will?"

"Air Force North Combat Command, Florida, copy that, permission granted."

National Air Traffic Control Herndon, Virginia.

"Flight 62 reduces speed to 220 knots, alt.i.tude 8,000 feet, still descending, approaching Chicamuxen Creek, appears to be following Potomac River. She's not squawking, repeat not squawking, ignores all communications from U.S. Air Traffic Control."

"Northeast Air Defense to Herndon: did Flight 62 just make a slight course adjustment?"

"Affirmative, Northeast: Flight 62 came three degrees left toward Wood-bridge. Speed remains 220 knots, still descending rapidly, we're projecting 5,000 feet over city of Woodbridge-that's 38.38 North, 77.16 West."

"Herndon, is she still out over the river?"

"Yessir. Right over the widest part where the stream splits into the wide estuary heading northeast up Occoquan Bay. Right here we got width seven miles."

"Northeast Air Defense, we're gonna take her out right now. Over and out."

Same Day Over the Potomac River c.o.c.kpit, U.S. Navy F-16 Fighter-Bomber.

"Green Leader roger that, Langley. Weapons armed, firing both missiles starboard engine Boeing 737."

"OKAY, CHUCK-CLEARANCE RECEIVED-HIT THE PORTSIDE ENGINE RIGHT NOW!"

The four Sidewinder missiles dropped from the wings of the two pursuing U.S. Navy aircraft. All four ignited, accelerating forward. They flashed into their heat-seeking mode, leaving fiery trails as they cleaved through the clear skies, straight toward the ma.s.sive engines of the 737.

All four hit, blasting the engines to smithereens, blowing apart the wings of the big pa.s.senger jet, which lurched forward for perhaps four hundred yards and then turned turtle and plummeted out of the sky. Thunder Bay Airlines Flight 62 twisted and turned in a ball of fire until it plunged, with a thunderous crash, into the Potomac River less than a mile below.

"Target destroyed. Repeat, destroyed. Birds climbing to ten, course one-six-zero. Returning Langley, returning Langley."

National Air Traffic Control Herndon, Virginia.

"Herndon to Northeast Air Defense-1257-Flight 62 disappeared from all screens. Last known fifteen miles south of Washington, D.C., making course north 4,000 above the Potomac River."

"Roger that, Herndon. Over and out."

1305 The White House.

"Jesus Christ, Arnie, they splashed it!"

"Mr. President, like we say back home in Texas, sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

"Well, I agree that that's a phrase heard more often in the Wild West than in Virginia, but, h.e.l.l, this is going to raise all kinds of havoc in the media."

Admiral Morgan looked quizzical. Then he said, "You mean there's some kind of imperative, weighing down upon us, to make this all public? So far as I know, some charter flight company from north of the border misjudged his instructions from the tower to head inland, and crashed his ole Boeing 737 straight into the G.o.dd.a.m.ned ocean. Lightly loaded, thank G.o.d. None of 'em Americans."

"You mean we make some kind of a false announcement to the press?"

"Certainly not. We make a very sinister announcement about the Boston bomb. Then we allow the flight-control guys to issue a press release revealing that an overseas flight apparently ditched into the Atlantic several hours later. Bit of a coincidence really. Same day and everything. But the United States government will be making no statement until more facts are known.

"The air traffic department of Public Affairs should mention that there may have been a hydraulic problem in the 737, and the pilot was flying in a prohibited area off the coast of North Carolina, east of the Outer Banks, less than fifty miles from a U.S. Navy exercise.

"He ignored all our advice and then disappeared from all screens. No wreckage has yet been located. The military will of course say nothing, know nothing, and suggest nothing."

"How about people who may have seen the missiles. .h.i.t the aircraft over the Potomac?"

"Unlikely, Paul. The plane came down in one of the widest parts of the river, almost seven miles across. And it was certainly on fire on impact. There may be a very few claims to have seen something, but in the end it'll be like a sighting of a UFO: interesting, but unproven."

"Kinda like that TWA flight that went down off Long Island twenty years ago-there were a few reports that something hit it, but nothing ever was accepted as a fact."

"You got it, Paul. And before Henry comes back, we have to do a few things-first, get the military and flight control on the same page. Then someone's got to brief the CIA. We can leave that to the National Security Agency. Meanwhile, have Alan Brett call the Defense Department and get the Navy moving on lifting that wreck out of the river. Top secret, obviously. Last, make sure the d.a.m.ned towelhead has been moved out of Ma.s.s General and into Bethesda."

At which point, Henry the butler reappeared with two king-sized roast beef sandwiches, a few potato chips, and a large bottle of fizzy water. "Just the way you like 'em, Admiral," he said, addressing his remark firmly away from the president, as if conscious of the terrible sin he had most certainly committed in the eyes of the absent First Lady. At least he would have, had she been present.

The two men divided the spoils, the president pouring the springwater into two crystal gla.s.ses. They each took a luxurious bite from what Kathy Morgan described as the billion-calorie-an-inch sandwiches.

"Jesus, these are great," said the president. Arnold Morgan, chewing dreamily, had a look of such supreme happiness on his face that a reply was strictly redundant.

Henry brought them coffee ten minutes later and clicked the sweeteners into Arnold's cup from the little blue tube.

"Thanks, Henry," said the admiral as the butler made his exit. Then Arnold turned to the president and inquired, "What time do you plan to address the nation? In time for the evening news?"

"Me?" replied Paul Bedford. "You think I have to make a formal speech?"

"Absolutely," said Arnold. "Reveal that this nation has been attacked yet again by the rabid fundamentalists of Islam and that only the prompt and courageous action of the two Boston policemen prevented a ma.s.sive loss of life inside the terminal at Logan. Tell them we have the main perpetrator captive and that a huge inquiry is under way. There will in due course be substantial U.S. retaliation."

"And what do I say when some journalist wants to know if there is any connection between the airport bomb and the mysterious crash of the 737 into the ocean?"

"You say very simply, sir, the aircraft that went down was a lightly loaded, foreign, civilian Boeing 737 which had been overflying U.S. territory and U.S. waters. Neither the White House nor the Pentagon has been briefed about the precise circ.u.mstances of its disappearance. If and when the security agencies become involved, the media will be kept informed."

"You think they'll buy that?"

"Mr. President, Marlin Fitzwater, Reagan's man, used to describe the White House press corps as 'the lions.' He reckoned they needed feeding late every afternoon. That bomb story and the attendant terrorist implications will be like throwing those lions fifty of these roast beef sandwiches apiece. They won't be hungry. Just keep telling them we will seek revenge. They'll love that."

CHAPTER 2

1530 Same Day OPS-2B Building National Security Agency.

Even the phone had an irritated ring to it when the Big Man called. Lt. Commander Ramshawe picked it up, and the rasping tones of Admiral Morgan snapped down the line. "JIMMY! Just give me one straight, no-bulls.h.i.t a.s.sessment of our actions this morning."

"Sorry, sir. What's that you need?"

"I want to know your degree of certainty on the correctness of our actions."

"One hundred percent."

"REASON?"

"Sir, the CIA picked up a one-way transmission to Damascus that started off by correctly revealing the bomb at Logan International, time and place, plus operatives. Secondly, it confirmed that some kind of terror operation was happening with a Flight 62.

"Next thing we know, some f.u.c.king nutcase is driving a b.l.o.o.d.y great Boeing pa.s.senger jet straight at the city of Washington, D.C. Diving low, directly at the buildings, in defiance of our air traffic orders. What was its flight number? Sixty-two. As forecast. That's game, set, and match, old mate. Game, set, and match."

"Thank you, Jimmy," replied the admiral. "Just wanted to hear the reason again. I must be getting old."

"Not you, Arnie . . ." replied the lieutenant commander. But he was too late. The admiral had already rung off and was staring into the log fire in his study at the big house in Chevy Chase. He was staring at the flames, and thinking of the bomb, and the Boeing, and the endless evil these Middle Eastern fanatics were capable of visiting upon the United States of America.

"f.u.c.king towelheads," he grunted. "But today belonged to us. We blew out their kamikaze airliner, and we screwed up their airport plan, captured the lead man. And the quicker we get him into Guantanamo Bay, the better I'm going to like it."

1700 Same Day Ma.s.s General Hospital Boston.

The Sikorsky Sea King, a Navy search-and-rescue helicopter from New London, Connecticut, came clattering north up the Charles River. It came in a hundred feet above the Longfellow Bridge, banked right over the impressive edifice of Ma.s.s General, and landed with polished dexterity on the great hospital's sixteenth-floor rooftop helipad, atop the Ellison Building.

Commander John Fallon stared out at the a.s.sembled crowd that awaited him-six orderlies, six Boston cops, one white-coated doctor, two nurses, and three very obvious CIA men, big tough characters dressed in dark overcoats, narrow-brimmed hats, and thick scarves.

They all surrounded one medical gurney upon which was a tightly strapped hospital patient, lashed to the safety rails with the kind of wide security belts normally a.s.sociated with the criminally insane, psychopaths like Hannibal Lecter. King Kong would have been hard-pressed to break free.

"Who the h.e.l.l's that, the guy on the gurney?" Commander Fallon asked his loadmaster.

"Search me, just so long as he doesn't get loose with us."

"No chance of that," replied Fallon. "Those three CIA guys over there are coming with us."

The loadmaster opened the door and jumped down onto the roof. The gurney was wheeled over, and the stretcher that rested between the rails was lifted up by the orderlies and the patient carried into the helicopter.

The CIA agents climbed in, the doors were slammed tight, seatbelts buckled, and the Sea King lifted off from the roof. Not a word was spoken, especially by the patient, who had, incidentally, remained totally mute since five minutes past eight that morning, since Pete and Danny had hauled him out of the burning limo.

The helicopter immediately turned southwest, but within minutes came thirty-five degrees left, banking around onto a more southerly course, heading straight for the clear skies above the icy waters of Narragansett Bay and Rhode Island Sound.

The CIA guys sat stone-faced next to the patient as the Navy pilot and his navigator headed out to sea, clattering down the East Coast, exchanging friendly information with the control tower at Groton while they crossed the submarine roads off Block Island.

Commander Fallon again swung the Sea King south, heading out into the Atlantic, leaving Montauk Point on the eastern tip of Long Island to starboard, and staying out to sea all the way down the long New Jersey coastline.

The Sea King made its westerly turn as it reached the wide waters of Delaware Bay and flew swiftly over the eastern sh.o.r.e, making a beeline for Annapolis and then the northern suburbs of Washington, D.C. It flew low directly toward Bethesda, Maryland, and circled the extensive grounds of the National Naval Medical Center.

Commander Fallon could see that the wide concrete helipad below was surrounded by the type of guard strength you might expect for the arrival of a stricken U.S. president, for this place would be his first stop. Indeed, the body of the slain John F. Kennedy had been brought here immediately after Air Force One returned from Dallas.

The great tower of the hospital was Fallon's landmark, as it had been to generations of Navy pilots ever since its completion a little more than a year after President Roosevelt had laid its cornerstone on Armistice Day, November 11, 1941.

Commander Fallon made his approach into the midst of Navy staff vehicles and police cruisers. He had no idea of the ident.i.ty of his wounded pa.s.senger, but he understood one thing: someone believed this guy was of serious importance. If he'd recognized the big black Humvee parked in a strictly no-go area right at the hospital entrance, he'd have understood better just how important.