Edge of Honor (38 page)

Sanford drove slowly up the highway toward Ruidoso, bulldozing through the mud and debris that covered the highway. The drive had taken much longer than expected and the dark evening sky indicated a new storm was mov
ing in. He mentally cursed weathermen and tried to call his office at NMMI. The cell phone was out of contact with a relay tower. He keyed his radio with similar results. Finally, he checked the locator beacon the Secret Service had installed in the truck. It was on and transmitting. At least the Secret Service would know where he was. Out of long habit, he glanced in the rearview mirror. A dark gray sedan was following them. “I can’t believe someone else is out here,” he muttered to Matt.

“The turnoff is just ahead,” Matt said.

“Got it,” Sanford answered, turning onto the dirt road that led to the Trogger family ranch. The mud and snow tires of the four-wheel-drive sport utility truck kicked up a shower of mud and gravel. Ahead of them, the Rio Hondo had overflowed its banks and water was splashing through the deck planks of the low wooden bridge. Sanford got out and walked across, testing it. He came back. “It’ll be okay. You get out while I drive across. You can tell them where to look for the body if it gives way,” he said, half joking.

Matt got out and waited while Sanford eased the truck across the bridge. Then he ran to catch up. He jerked open the rear door to throw his poncho in. Brian was lying on the floor, grinning at him. Brian held a finger to his lips, cautioning Matt to be quiet.

New Mexico

It was dark when Sanford pulled up in front of the ranch house. A lantern flickered in one room, offering proof that Zeth was there. “Electricity must be out,” Sanford told Matt. He hit the horn and Zeth opened the front door. Matt was out of the car and up the steps. He skidded to a stop, suddenly embarrassed.

“I was worried,” he said.

“I didn’t realize you had grown,” she said, looking at him with fresh eyes.

Brian bounced out of the truck and ran up the steps.

“Oh, no,” Sanford groaned. “Where did you come from?”

“No way I was gonna miss out on everything,” Brian replied. It was a typical teenage answer: the need to be included and not left out.

Sanford grabbed his radio and cycled through the channels, trying to contact any station to establish a relay. Nothing. He tried his cell phone and again, came up dry. Finally, he gave up. “I need to tell the detachment where you are.”

“No problem,” Brian said. “I left a note on my desk and told them I was going with you.”

“They still need to know you’re okay. I got to tell you, good buddy, it would’ve been a hell of a lot better if you had stayed at NMMI.”

“I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” Brian said, now genuinely contrite.

“I know,” Sanford said, remembering when he was Brian’s age and how much he hated being odd man out. He turned to Zeth. “You heard a weather report lately?” She shook her head. He stared at the night sky. The rain was starting to fall again. “I need to find out what the weather’s doing. We gotta decide if we’re gonna stay or go.”

Moscow

Geraldine was ready to leave with Vashin. Her bags were already at Vnukovo, the airport used by the Kremlin’s leaders when traveling out of Moscow. She cleared her desk and, with a few minutes to spare, checked her e-mail. There was only one message from someone who claimed to be an astrologer. That puzzled her. Few people knew her mailing address and none of them were fortunetellers. She called up the message. Nothing in her expression betrayed the shock she felt. It was from her handler.

Your horoscope says don’t fly today
.

Warsaw

Pontowski and Waldo sat at the back of the small room and tried to act as though it were a routine briefing. Emil stood in front and kept looking their way for reassurance. But they were not flying the mission and there was little they could do. The Polish officer fingered his note cards as the seven other pilots took their seats. Then he cleared his throat one last time and started the detailed mission briefing. “Good morning,” he said. “Our mission is Target Yalta.” Waldo cycled the graphics for Emil and a small-scale chart of the route flashed on the screen.

Slowly, and with increasing confidence, Emil warmed to the briefing. The Poles had been planning and practicing for more than a week so nothing was new and the briefing was essentially a final wrap-up. When Emil got to the ingress phase and reviewed the sequence of the attack on
the compound where Vashin was staying, Pontowski was certain they could bring it off. Emil carefully went over target identification even though the pilots had spent hours in target study. “The attack is scheduled for first light tomorrow morning when we can be sure the objective will be sleeping.”

A grainy photo of Vashin flashed on the screen. He was getting out of his limousine at the funeral of Boris Bakatina.

“Look at their faces,” Waldo whispered, gesturing around the room. “They want his ass.”

“Indeed,” Pontowski murmured, his own face a perfect reflection of the other pilots.

The door banged open and the brigadier general commanding the 1st Air Regiment entered. He crisply called everyone to attention and the three-star general commanding the Polish Air Force stomped into the room and joined Emil. Jerzy Fedor was right behind him. “The mission is canceled,” the general barked.

“I’m sorry,” Fedor said. “But I have received information that the objective will be moving constantly while he is in Yalta and we don’t know where he will be at any given moment.” Fedor rushed out, not wanting to answer any of the astonished flyers’ questions.

“I cannot allow the mission to continue,” the general said to the hushed room. “I will not kill innocent people in a hurt for Vashin.”

Pontowski closed the door and faced the general. “I know where he’ll be,” he said quietly, just loud enough to be heard. He cycled the mission graphics on the screen to an area chart. He traced Vashin’s flight plan on the screen. “We know when his aircraft will be here, here, and here.” He pointed to the waypoints the aircraft would overfly and circled the town of Kremenchug in the Ukraine. “His airliner will be here at exactly 1012 hours our time today.”

“Holy shit,” Waldo said, “the Yamamoto option.”

“What my eloquent friend is referring to,” Pontowski said, “is the operation in World War II when we intercepted and shot down the aircraft carrying Fleet Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto. He was the genius who planned the
attack on Pearl Harbor and the Japanese never recovered from his loss.”

Emil studied the chart and measured the distances. He shook his head. “We would have to take off in forty-five minutes to make the interception. We can’t possibly plan a mission and brief in so short a time. Besides, we have practiced for a bombing mission, not an air-to-air mission. We don’t have the experience to do it.”

“Waldo and I can do it in our sleep,” Pontowski said.

Waldo groaned loudly. “My momma warned me about doing this.”

“Doing what?” the general asked.

“Volunteering to get my ass shot off.”

New Mexico

Sanford tuned Zeth’s radio, trying to work through the static. By changing channels, he was able to piece together a weather report. “It’s improving. But they’re calling for local flooding. Let’s head back and see if we can get across the bridge. Go get your things,” he told Zeth. She ran upstairs while he again tried to contact anyone to relay a message. He briefly considered pressing the emergency button on the truck’s locator beacon. But they weren’t in trouble and with all the real emergencies, he didn’t need to create a false alarm.

Zeth came back with her bag and a large flashlight. “Ready,” she said. Sanford slipped the truck in gear and headed back down the dirt road, slipping and sliding in the mud. Twice, they bogged down and the boys had to get out and push the truck free. The second time, Brian slipped and was covered with mud when he got back in the cab. “I always knew you were good for something,” Zeth told him. Brian grinned at her.

Warsaw

The brigadier general commanding the 1st Air Regiment left the briefing room and went to his office. He punched
a number into his new telephone and waited. A woman answered on the fourth ring. He hung up, waited exactly two minutes, and dialed another number. This time Evan Riley answered. “The general changed his mind. It’s a go. But there is a problem. Pontowski and Walderman are leading the mission. I can contact the minister of national defense and he will cancel it.”

A long pause. “When do they have to take off?”

The brigadier checked his watch. “In thirty-five minutes.”

Another long pause on Riley’s part. “Without Pontowski and Walderman, they can’t do it. Let it go.”

The brigadier broke the connection and thought for a moment. Then he called Jerzy Fedor.

The Western White House, California

She was in front of a mirror, her nightgown in disarray. A bare-chested Matt Pontowski was standing behind her, his arms around her, his lips gently nuzzling her hair.

“Madame President.” The woman’s voice was soft but demanding. Maddy’s dream shattered. “Madame President.” Maddy’s eyes came open. A low light illuminated the woman’s face and for a moment, she didn’t know where she was. Then it all snapped into sharp focus. “We have a situation that you should be aware of,” the woman said.

Maddy sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed as the woman handed her a robe. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight.”

Maddy stood and stepped into her slippers, still groggy from less than two hours sleep. She paused briefly at her dressing table and ran a brush through her hair before walking into the family room. “Patrick, I didn’t know you were here.”

Shaw stood. “Yes, ma’am. I flew in on the shuttle. The Secret Service is cycling agents back and forth so I bummed a ride with them.”

It was a flimsy excuse and she knew it. “We can talk
later.” The night duty officer waited for her to recognize him. “What do you have, Bill?”

“General McMasters at NMMI called. Brian has left the campus with Agent Sanford and they’re out of contact. There is some concern because of the flooding that has hit the area.”

Fear froze her and, for a moment, she was a mother, worried about her firstborn. “What happened?”

“We don’t have all the details, but Matthew Pontowski, who is his roommate…”

Maddy interrupted him. “I know who his roommate is.”

“Sorry, Madame President. Agent Sanford and Mr. Pontowski drove to a ranch to check on another cadet, Zeth Trogger, who had been expelled. Your son left a note saying he was going to sneak along with them.”

“Sneak along?” Maddy said.

“Yes, Ma’am. That’s what Brian’s note said. Consequently, General McMasters thinks Brian is with them. Because of the storm and flooding, they’re out of contact and isolated. However, Agent Sanford’s truck is equipped with an emergency locator beacon and since it hasn’t been activated, we think they’re okay.”

“I want to speak to McMasters,” Maddy ordered, her worry giving way to anger.

The duty officer handed her the phone. “He’s on hold, Madame President.”

She took the phone. “General, what the hell is going on out there?” She listened and her anger slowly eased. Then, “Isn’t that near the Escalante Ranch? Is it a safe area?” Her face paled when McMasters said the Hondo Valley was subject to flash flooding. “Please let me know as soon as you learn anything.” She broke the connection.

The head of the Secret Service detail entered the room and waited to be recognized. “We’ve established an open line to the detachment at NMMI. They’re trying to reestablish contact with Agent Sanford but can’t send a vehicle because of the flooding. As soon as the weather breaks, they’ll launch a search helicopter.”

The anger was back, driving her. “What do we pay
you people for?” she snapped, immediately regretting it. “Please forgive me. I’m upset, but that’s no excuse.”

“Nothing to forgive, Madame President,” the agent said. “If it was my son, I’d be breaking down doors.”

“Please keep me informed,” she said, dismissing him. Parrish was beside her, looking half asleep and disheveled. “Well, since we’re all awake,” she said with mock good humor, “let’s go to work.” A secretary went to the kitchen for coffee as more of her staff reported in. The Situation Room duty officer traveling with the mobile command post entered and spoke quietly to Parrish. He handed the chief of staff a folder and left. “The storm?” Maddy asked.

“No, Ma’am. We’ll have an update on that in a few minutes. This is a report from the CIA. The Poles are launching eight F-16s to shoot down an airliner carrying Mikhail Vashin.”

“That’s their decision,” she replied. “Contact Senator Leland and tell him.” She thought for a moment. “No. Do it in the morning when it’s too late to do anything about it. Our official position is that we learned about it after the fact, gave no orders, and had no hand in it.”

Parrish looked sick. “The CIA report says two American pilots are leading the mission. General Pontowski and a George Walderman. Technically, they’re civilians and they’re acting of their own accord. But that does involve us.”

The president steepled her hands and rested her chin on her thumbs, her eyes closed. “Whatever the legalities, whatever Leland does, and no matter how this turns out, I’m not going to apologize for our allies removing an extremely dangerous enemy.” Her eyes snapped open. “Vashin refuses to play by the rules and there is no doubt in my mind he’ll do everything in his power to destroy this country. Can you imagine what he’ll do if he controls a nuclear arsenal?” She challenged them to answer.

“Well, Mizz President,” Shaw drawled, “if you pull this one off, you’ll take first prize at the county fair. If it goes bust, they’ll feed us all to the pigs.”

“Thank you, Patrick. I needed to know that.”

Patrick Shaw looked at his president, fake resignation
on his face. “Talk to Maggie Thatcher. She can tell you how it works.” He laughed. “If you want, I can have Leland so busy jumpin’ through hoops he won’t give a damn what we do to the Russkies.”

“How are you going to make that happen?” Parrish asked.

“I can see the
Drudge Report
now. ‘Highly reliable sources confirm the revealing photo of the president’s mother was a fake and that Senator Leland ordered it passed to the British tabloids.’”

“The
Drudge Report
strikes again,” Parrish muttered.

“Do it,” Maddy said. “I need to get dressed. Please have an update on the storm ready when I return.” They stood until she left the room.

Her maid was waiting for her. “I laid out some clothes in case you’re going back to work.”

She dropped her robe. “Thank you, Laura.” She caught her image in the big mirror over the dresser and the dream was back, sharp and clear. An empty feeling swept over her. Then, for a brief moment, she was back in time, young again, her face fresh and unlined. She closed her eyes and savored the memory. When she looked again, a middle-aged woman stared back at her. Her eyes were heavy with worry, her face careworn. “Is that who I am now?” she asked. She closed her eyes and Matt Pontowski was back with her, his arms around her. “There will be a time for us,” she promised.

She opened her eyes and picked up the phone. “Please tell Mr. Parrish I want to return to Washington as soon as possible.”

Warsaw

Pontowski was moving fast when he reached his F-16 and clambered up the boarding ladder. The crew chief followed him and helped him strap in. Pontowski’s hands were a blur as he ran the before-engine-start checklist. Then he looked over at Waldo who was waiting patiently for him to finish. “I’m getting slow,” he mumbled to himself. His right forefinger hit the electrical switch and the VHF radio
came alive. “Radio check,” he transmitted. The flight checked in. He waved a forefinger in a tight circle at the crew chief for start engines and brought the big Pratt & Whitney F100 kicker to life. With the engine on line, he cycled his Have Quick radio, thankful they had the jamproof frequency-hopping radio that an enemy could not monitor. He was going to be doing a lot of talking.