Under Siege (21 page)

“You are not a woman, you are a valuable commodity who I can bargain with your husband for a great price. If you are damaged then you are worthless. I’m a realist. I know that to get my money, I must be careful with you. Otherwise I would have shot you yesterday when I stopped the taxi.”

“Won’t the police be looking for the taxi by now?”

“Probably. One of my men drove it a mile away and set it on fire. It won’t be a problem.”

“Why didn’t you get your twenty-five million dollars? I never did figure that out.”

“I told you once. Your husband sent the money, but also asked the Swiss government to put a freeze on it, so I couldn’t withdraw any, not a dollar of it. Worthless to me. The Swiss will wait a proper amount of time, then wire the money back to the U.S. government.”

“You had figured on that.”

“No.”

“So, here we are over a hundred miles from Port Elizabeth. The chasers can’t have any idea where we are, right? So we sit here and wait for another time to make demands on my husband?”

“No, I want to get to Durban. There’s a good cell there, men I can trust. I used to know one of them in Iran. To do that we will fly.”

“Another small airport and a puddle jumper?”

“Right, the only way to fly.” He took out the telephone book and looked at the ads. There were three small airports listed. He picked the one with no ad, just a listing. He called them and asked where it was and how to find it. The man at the airport told him.

They took a taxi. The bill was a hundred and forty-eight rand. The rand was about eight to a dollar. Badri gave the driver two hundred rand and he left happy. The airport was small, with one blacktop runway, three small hangars, and two T-hangars. One building had an “office” sign. They went inside.

The room looked like a museum for the early days of flying. Two wooden propellers adorned the back wall. The counter was on top of an old wood-and-fabric aircraft body. All the walls were pinned with black-and-white and color pictures of planes, flyers, and some stunt flyers with smoke trailing out of their planes. The man behind the counter wore an English aviator’s jacket and cap with a white scarf around his neck like the pilots wore in the open cockpit days. He grinned as they looked around.

“So, what do you think of my own little aviation museum?” the man behind the counter asked.

“Interesting,” Badri said. “We need a plane, a four-placer to rent today. Bring it back tomorrow. How much?”

“Hey, sorry. Only have two planes I rent and both are out. Should have one back tomorrow.”

“Won’t do, I need one right now.”

“Sorry, only plane I have is my private sweetheart. She’s a Robin H4-100 made in France. She’s a bit old, but I never fly in anything else.”

“We’ll take her. How much for two days?”

“Not a chance, mister. I told you, I don’t rent her out. Robin is probably the last plane I’ll ever own. Love that little ship. She’s got a low wing, seats four and a range of over twelve hundred miles. Suits me fine.”

“I’ll give you five hundred U.S. dollars for two days
rent. That’s over four thousand rand for two days. How can you turn that down?” He watched the older man shake his head. Badri put out six one hundred dollar bills on the counter. The aviator started to reach for them, then took his hand back.

“No, sir. I just can’t do it. Don’t want anything bad happening to my Robin. You haven’t even shown me your pilot’s license.”

The First Lady tensed. She had to warn him. “Sir, you better do what Badri here asks. He’s not a man to push around or deny something that he wants.”

“Shut up, woman,” Badri said. “You didn’t ask me about a license. Those the keys?” Badri indicated a key ring on the counter top.

The aviator reached for them, but Badri got there first and swept them up with his left land. His right hand brought out his Spanish-made Star automatic and he shot the airport manager twice in the chest. He staggered backwards and fell on his face on the floor. One hand tried to push him up, but it collapsed, and a long gush of his last breath powered out of the man’s lungs.

“Let’s go,” Badri said. The two men hurried out of the office and Badri dragged the First Lady by one arm. They saw the plane in one of the T-hangars and walked over to it. Badri looked around but didn’t see anyone else at the small airfield. The Robin aircraft sat nose out in the hangar. The three men rolled it out to the taxi strip and they all got inside. Badri looked at the controls for a moment, then figured out which key on the ring would start the craft and cranked it over. It started on the second try and Badri grinned.

“They told us with our training we should be able to fly any plane made in the world today, except the huge ones.” He taxied to the end of the strip and turned.

“Mrs. Hardesty. No comment about the demise of the aviation museum owner?”

“No. I expected it. You’re a ruthless killer. What else would you do?”

“You’re becoming more logical about your position in this situation, Mrs. First Lady. Now buckle on your seat belts, we are going for a ride.”

Mrs. Hardesty hung on as the little plane gained speed and took off. She always felt a small thrill as the ground faded away. Here it was so much more evident and exciting than on a huge jet liner. She felt as if she were flying all by herself without the help of the airplane. The country was so green, trees everywhere, but fewer and fewer towns and villages as they flew north. The plane stayed near the coast line and worked toward Durban. She could see the white of the breakers far below and wondered just how long this kidnapping would last. She didn’t know of any contact that Badri had made with her husband in the last two days. Was he giving up, or just not sure how he could get a big amount of money for her exchange?

She wanted to rail at the man about a great many things, but she was more cautious now. She had just seen him kill a man with absolutely no regret or shame. And he had killed the taxi cab driver. He could kill her the same way, except that she was worth a lot to him. At least he still thought he could collect. As long as he thought that, he would keep her alive.

It took them three and a half hours to fly the three hundred miles to Durban. The town was larger than Badri expected, maybe fifty or sixty thousand. He found a small airport just north of town and landed. He had avoided using the radio and now taxied up near a hangar. The four got out of the plane. He signaled to a waiting cab at a stand. The driver wheeled up to them with a cheery smile.

“Right, governor. Where can I be taking you?”

“A mid-sized hotel with a restaurant and room service. Your choice.”

“Right, governor. I’ve got just the spot for you. About a twenty minute ride. You can sit in front with me.”

Later, Badri registered for two nights while the other three waited in the lobby. He got two rooms, one with a balcony, and they were shown up. He and the First Lady were in the room with the balcony. He locked the door and put a chair under the handle so no one could get in, and getting out would be slower. Then he took out his SATCOM, set up the antenna on the patio, and got it aligned correctly with the satellite.

“Let’s talk to your husband, Mrs. Hardesty. I want you to tell him how well I’m treating you. Any miscues or telling where we are will get you cut off quickly. Understand?”

She nodded furiously, trying to remember the code words the CIA had taught her once on a lark. Some didn’t matter. They knew she was captured and being held. Others: treatment? She couldn’t remember a one. Location? They would know nearly where she was. She gave up. Nothing came to mind. She watched him turn on the set and get a beep from the antenna, then he pushed the send button.

“Mr. President.”

The president came on the air, “Yes, I’m here. Go ahead.”

“We haven’t spoken since you double-crossed me and had that twenty-five million frozen in Switzerland. You owe me one for that. Now, to the future. This is what you will do. -First, you will call off your dogs. Some military group is tracking us. Make them stop or I’ll send the First Lady’s little finger neatly preserved to the closest police station. An expert there can send a copy of her fingerprint to you to confirm that it’s hers.

“Second, you will package five million dollars in two suitcases that I can X-ray and send them to me at a location I will tell you when the packages are ready. Five million in each suitcase. Ship them by UPS Air. Don’t try to follow
them since they will be forwarded to several different locations once they hit the first destination here in South Africa.

“Third, you will release all al Qaeda prisoners you have at Guantanamo Bay in Cuba and fly them at once to Pakistan.

“Now here is your lovely wife to say a few words.” He handed the mike to the First Lady.

“Yes, Milton, I’m fine. Mr. Badri is afraid to touch me. He’s a poor debater as well. He’s determined to get some money in return for me. Of course he said nothing about returning me, did he? Oh, well …”

Badri grabbed the mike and took it away from her. “So, President Hardesty, you see that your wife is alive and well and still has a sharp tongue. I’ll expect to hear from you on this channel within four hours that you have the cash package ready to ship. I don’t care what time it is in Washington. Get it done.”

Badri snapped off the set so he would not receive any transmissions.

“So, now, glib-talking woman. We will wait and see just how much this president values his First Lady. If he stalls or does not do as I say more than once, you could lose three or four fingers in the process.”

Port Elizabeth, South Africa

Tuesday morning the SEALs had chow with the soldiers at the South African army base and then went back to their barracks. They checked their equipment and waited.

Murdock, Ed Dewitt, and J.G. Gardner stared at each other over a small table. Another day on the chase and not a thing they could do.

Don Stroh set up the SATCOM and turned it on to
RECEIVE
. He’d had it on and receiving almost every hour since they hit South Africa. He had turned it off to put in a new battery to be sure it didn’t go out on him.

He sat at the table working on the report he sent to his boss in Washington every day, noting progress or failure, or no progress and stalemate. It was depressing. He worked on it all morning as the SEALs slept and played cards and chess. Murdock stewed and worried.

Just after noon a soldier came in with a portable phone for Don Stroh. He took it, listened, and gave the phone back to the soldier. Stroh motioned to Murdock.

“Local law people say a taxi cab here in town has a rig missing. One of their drivers said yesterday morning that he had a fare going up the coast a hundred miles or so. so he’d be off the air for three hours. He never reported back. and the cab is still unaccounted for.”

“Could be Badri grabbing some convenient transport,” Murdock said. “Since the cabby hasn’t reported back. the
odds on him being alive after meeting Badri aren’t good.”

“What town is up north?” Lam asked.

“That would be East London,” Jaybird said. “About a hundred and fifty miles or so north on the coast.”

“So maybe our bird flew that direction,” DeWitt said. “It’s the best clue we have so far.”

It was a half hour later when Stroh heard a faint click and looked at the SATCOM sitting next to the window.

“Mr. President,” the SATCOM’s speaker blared. Stroh and half the platoon ran to the window where the radio sat.

“Yes, this is President Hardesty.”

“We haven’t spoken since you double-crossed me and had that twenty-five million frozen in Switzerland… .”

When the transmission was over, the SEALs all began talking at once.

“How can the president call us off?” Jaybird asked. “No way he’ll do that. He can’t.”

“Agreed,” Stroh said. “I’ll give the brass a half-hour to decide what to do before I call them. I don’t think we’ve ever had a First Lady before this with one finger missing.”

“He’ll do it?” Luke Howard asked.

“I’d bet the farm on it,” Stroh said. “The question is, how do we follow that ransom money so we can nail this guy?”

A soldier came in asking for Don Stroh. He held out a portable phone and Stroh answered it.

“This is Don Stroh.”

He listened, nodded, and then gave the phone back to the South African soldier.

“That was the local police. They had a report an hour ago that a small-airport manager in East London was shot and killed and an airplane stolen from his airfield. One witness said it was three dark-complexioned men and a white woman. They took off this morning, but the man didn’t know about the killing until later. The East London police have no idea where the plane was flown to.”

“East London is about a hundred and fifty miles or so
north,” Jaybird said. “If that’s them, then they did drive up there yesterday.”

“From there they could fly on to Durban, or come back here or go on to Cape Town,” Murdock said.

Don Stroh went to the SATCOM and switched it to a different channel than the one that Badri had used to talk to Washington. He used the hand mike.

“Calling Director Covington.”

The answer came at once. “Stroh, make it fast.”

“We heard the demands. We will follow the package of money when it is delivered, wherever it is delivered. Hopefully we can grab whoever picks it up.”

“We’ll tell Badri that we’re taking you off the case, that the military unit is being withdrawn. A lie. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s been moving by car and plane, but we’re not sure. We’ll break into units to cover the places we think he might tell you to send the money.”

“Good. Be damn sure to keep him covered. That finger-cutting threat really made the president angry.”

“We’ll stay in touch.”

“So how do we split up?” DeWitt asked.

Senior Chief Neal pointed at the map Jaybird had spread out on the nearby table. “We can forget about small towns. He’ll want a town with a major airport for his UPS Air delivery. So we leave two men here in Port Elizabeth. Durban is a good bet, and so are Cape Town, Pretoria, and Bloemfontein.”