Primary Target (1999) (35 page)

"We'll head back and check the island before we call in the troops."

Jackie rose from the table. "I'll take care of our bill--you grab a cab."

Chapter
33

The White House
.

With cheerful smiles on their faces, President and Mrs. Cord Macklin walked out of the mansion and waved t
o
a cluster of reporters near the South Portico. A few correspondents waved back, but most of the media ignored their friendly gestures.

The first lady nervously glanced at the snipers on the roof, then turned her attention to the plethora of Marines and Secret Service agents deployed around the grounds.

Under the chief executive's left arm, he carried a leather folder containing a copy of the Cornerstone Summit speech he planned to deliver in Atlanta. Unsatisfied with a couple of items in his speech, he intended to polish the rough edges during the short flight to Georgia. Political pundits had branded his last discourse on race relations as "a meandering journey in search of a destination." His address to the diverse audience in Atlanta had to come from the heart.

After crossing the freshly manicured south lawn, the president kissed his wife good-bye, then turned and walked up the steps to the gleaming Marine Corps VH-3D Sea King helicopter. Seconds later the main rotor blades began turning while the commander in chief settled into his seat. A few moments later, in the early cool of morning, Marine One smoothly lifted from its landing pad and turned toward Cam
p
Springs, Maryland, home to Andrews Air Force Base. The president vacantly stared out the window as he thought about the trip to the heart of the south. Citing security reasons, Hartwell Prost wanted to cancel the trip, but Macklin had persisted on showing up for the important summit. The money people were committed, operatives were committed, and national and local politicians were committed.

In addition, three former presidents would be there, along with scores of governors, mayors, business leaders, clergymen, and well-known celebrities. Regardless of Hartwell's concerns about safety, there wasn't any graceful way for Macklin to renege on his promise to lead the racial initiative in Atlanta. Besides, people expected presidents and fighter pilots to be the type of individuals who routinely fulfill their obligations.

As the Anacostia River passed beneath the helicopter, the chief executive's thoughts shifted to the responsibilities of his office and the fact that he couldn't escape them, regardless of where his travels took him. He also reflected on the threat of more terrorism engulfing the nation. Finally, he focused on the unanswered questions about Frailer Wyman. I'm going to have to be patient and let the FBI complete their investigation.

Aboard Air Force One, Colonel Bolton immediately received a message from the mansion. The commander in chief's helicopter had lifted off the White House lawn. The president was en route to Andrews and would be arriving at the shiny 747 in approximately eight minutes, depending on the route Marine One was using this particular morning.

Bolton strapped into the left seat and glanced out the window. Now that the president was airborne, the level of activity at the Air Force base was rapidly increasing. The gates to Andrews were closed and all vehicle traffic on the terminal ramp was stopped. In the tower, the ground controller had halted the various planes taxiing on the airfield. An Air Force vehicle traveled the length of the duty runway, looking for debris that might get sucked into the 747's behemoth engines.

During the ground search of the runway, security personnel with dogs patrolled the areas adjacent to the taxiways. At other locations, Air Police were on alert for anything that appeared suspicious. Rescue equipment and rescue personnel, fire trucks, ambulances, and medical specialists were in position to render help in the event of an emergency. In addition, a rescue helicopter was standing by to lend assistance if Air Force One crashed during takeoff.

Counting the minutes since the commander in chief departed from the White House lawn, Kirk Upshaw spotted Marine One as it approached from the northwest. He was surprised to see the helo flying lower than usual.

"I see them."

Bolton nodded. "Got 'em."

Everyone was in place when the presidential helicopter made its approach to the landing area. The aircraft commander eased the wheels on the ramp and stopped in the assigned parking spot close to the big Boeing.

As the main rotor blades began winding down, a handful of Air Force brass walked toward the entrance to the helo. Seconds later the door swung down to form a stairway to the ramp. A Marine sergeant hurried out and popped to attention, then rendered a snappy salute.

The president concluded a conversation with an aide before he walked down the stairs and greeted the welcoming committee. Two Secret Service agents followed the chief executive out of the helicopter and remained close to his side as they made their way to Air Force One.

Once the commander in chief and his aides started up the stairway, Curt Bolton gave the order to start engines. When the first two engines were idling, Chief Master Sergeant Brewer closed the cabin door as the mobile stairway was taken away. With the last two engines on-line, the ground crew chief smartly saluted the presidential pilot. Returning the gesture of respect, Bolton released the brakes and allowed the plane to begin rolling as Upshaw contacted ground control.

"Air Force One is taxiing."

"Ah roger, Air Force One."

As the 747 rumbled along the taxiway, the flight crew completed their checklists. The powerful General Electric turbofans--each rated at 56,750 pounds of thrust--wer
e
purring like kittens. Weighing well below the maximum takeoff weight of 836,000 pounds, the huge airplane would become airborne after a relatively short roll. Approaching the runway, Bolton noted the various security personnel and safety equipment standing by for their departure.

Upshaw called the tower.

"Air Force One, ready for takeoff."

The tower controller gave clearance for takeoff as Bolton simultaneously guided the Boeing onto the runway and smoothly advanced the four throttles. With the thundering engines spewing red-hot exhaust, Air Force One quickly gathered speed while the flight crew carefully monitored the engine instruments. Everything looked good.

When the big jet reached rotation speed, Bolton gently eased back on the yoke and raised the nose to the prescribed attitude. As if in slow motion, the giant airplane lifted off the runway and began its ascent to 35,000 feet.

Two minutes after the 747 was airborne, a flight of four Air Force F-15 Eagles rendezvoused high and behind Air Force One. Working with a Boeing E-3 AWACS, the air superiority fighters would provide protection for the presidential airplane until it was within eyesight of the Atlanta airport. At that time, if there was not an obvious threat to the president, the fighters and the AWACS would break away and land at Dobbins Air Reserve Base.

Winging southwestward toward Atlanta, the president chatted with the senator and the delegation of national black leaders for a few minutes, then excused himself and headed for his special place of refuge. Carrying a steaming cup of fresh coffee, the chief executive glanced at the gold-and-blue presidential seal as he entered his private office aboard Air Force One.

He sat down and began eating his breakfast while he studied the aeronautical chart on his desk. He followed the straight green line as it paralleled the Appalachian Mountains, passed over Lynchburg, Virginia, Hickory, North Carolina, the western tip of South Carolina, and into the Atlanta area, terminating at Hartsfield International.

Considering all the amenities Air Force One afforded him, the president paused to look around his office. The gleaming airplane was truly the ultimate symbol of the power and majesty of the presidency. The fabulously appointed Boeing was the envy of other chiefs of state and royalty, regardless of their fortunes and holdings.

Nothing on earth could eclipse the special magic and the raw power and authority that Air Force One represented. Providing escape and adventure for the president, this symbol of the United States of America easily surpassed all the other benefits of his office.

Near Maratho
n
"Damn, it's gone," Scott exclaimed as the island residence came into view. "They sure as hell got under way in a hurry," he said as he began a shallow descent toward the lushly tropical compound. "They can't be too far away, not even at top speed."

"True," Jackie admitted as she reached for the binoculars. "The question is, which way did they go?"

He raised the right wing and searched the horizon, then repeated the same maneuver with the left wing.

"Were they planning to leave anyway," Scott asked rhetorically, "or did we spook them?"

Jackie scanned the water in every direction. "I don't see anything except small boats. Nothing the size of the yacht." She turned her attention to the coral breakwater, then studied the home. "I don't see any signs of life."

Setting up a wide orbit, Scott continued descending while he observed the island estate. "Let's land and take a look around."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

Jackie carefully investigated the grounds of the estate. "If we run into any bad guys, they're probably going to have a lot more firepower than we do."

He began slowing the Maule and lowering the flaps. "I don't think we have much choice. We're looking for a nuclear bomb and we're running out of time." His claim was impossible to deny. "Our deadline is almost up."

"Like you said in Alaska, it's your show," Jackie conceded as she checked her nine-millimeter Glock. "Let's do it." Scott made a long final approach parallel to the dock. Th
e
Maule splashed down near the pier and Dalton came off the step thirty feet from the dock. Swinging the airplane around near a seventeen-foot Boston Whaler, he opened the door and leaped on the float, then shut down the engine just before he grabbed the pier.

"Nice job," Jackie said as she climbed out and cautiously surveyed the area. "The hair is standing up on the back of my neck."

"Same here," Scott said as he secured the airplane to the dock. "Keep your eyes open."

While Dalton climbed onto the pier, Jackie slid across the cockpit and crawled out the left door.

"Be careful," she said under her breath.

Without warning, a man of Middle Eastern descent appeared from behind a planting of thick tropical foliage. Although he felt a stab of adrenaline, Scott smiled in a relaxed manner. "Hey, man, wha's happenin', dude?"

"This is private property," the muscular man said as he walked onto the dock. "I must ask you to leave."

"Well," Scott began slowly, "you see, man, we'd like to accommodate you, but we've got a major-big-time problem with our flyin' machine."

"That is none of my concern," the unsmiling man said curtly. "You will leave at once, or I will be forced to call the authorities."

Scott looked at Jackie, then broke into a wide smile and turned back to the grim-faced man. "That's who we're trying to contact." He laughed overzealously. "We'd appreciate some help."

Out of the corner of her eye, Jackie saw a rugged-looking man with a weapon approaching from the side of one of the guest cottages.

"Ah ... Scott," she said in a quiet, clear voice. "We have an armed visitor at our eight o'clock."

"Take him!" Dalton exclaimed at the same instant he drew his Sig Sauer and pointed it at the first man. "Hit the ground! Now!"

Stunned, the well-built man hesitated until Scott fired a round that grazed his right sandal. He hit the pier like a bag of cement.

"Freeze," Jackie shouted at the other man. "FBI! Drop your weapon! Drop it now!"

The man raised his semiautomatic as Jackie fired three rounds, striking him in the leg and chest. He stumbled backward, then fell to the ground and groaned in agony.

"Who else is here?" Scott barked as he placed the barrel of the nine-millimeter to the first man's temple. "You have three seconds."

"There's only two of us," the frightened man uttered. "You're not FBI."

"That's right--they're a lot nicer."

"Take what you want and leave," the man pleaded.

Scott caught a glimpse of Jackie while she hurried to retrieve the Intratec semiautomatic from the wounded gunman. "What I want," Dalton said impatiently, "is some answers."

"About what?" the man said with a trace of sarcasm. `Tell you what," Scott said as he pressed the barrel to the bridge of the man's nose. "You better change your attitude, or you're going to be seeing your Maker a lot sooner than you thought."

"What can I tell you?" the man asked while perspiration rolled down his cheeks. "I am a simple caretaker."

"Right," Scott said contemptuously. "Where's Khaliq Farkas?"

Suddenly full of fear, the militant hesitated. "I don't--I have never heard of the man, honestly."

"Never heard of him, huh?"

"Never."

Scott glanced around the compound. "Well, ol' buddy, you must've been on the moon for the last twenty years."

"I don't know what you're talking about."