White Top: a political technothriller (Miranda Chase Book 8)

by M. L. Buchman

  She met Drake and his companions close by her house, which lay halfway in between. They’d used the simple expedient of walking.

  “Hello, Drake. I’m sorry that I didn’t think to suggest walking. I was worried about everyone not fitting comfortably in the golf cart. Perhaps it’s because there are so many modes of transportation available now: Mooney prop plane, my Sabrejet and Cessna M2, this golf cart, the yard tractor, my backhoe, and a boat. I think purchasing the helicopter may have been what overwhelmed me; I’m not yet adapted to thinking about it as an island asset, though it’s presently in Tacoma so perhaps it doesn’t count as an island asset at the moment.” She felt as if she was babbling, but she did like being accurate.

  “You bought a helicopter?” The others had come up behind Drake. She led them toward the kitchen entrance, unsure if she had enough iced tea to offer so many unexpected guests.

  “Yes. An MD 902 Explorer. It provides transportation options that were not previously available to our team. We often spend a number of hours waiting for others to transport us to and from remote sites. That didn’t seem efficient. And, as I seem to have more rotorcraft incidents of late, I thought it would be good to have better familiarity with the aircraft type.”

  Then she recognized one of the other people.

  “Hello, Roy.”

  “Hello, Miranda,” the President held the door for her and waved her inside.

  The others, except for Drake, were looking at her a little wildly. She led them into the big kitchen and made sure to indicate where the ground floor guest bathroom was—which she’d learned was the first task of a hostess—before checking the refrigerator. She had just enough iced tea left over from the team picnic for a tall glass each. That would have to suffice.

  She turned back to Roy, “Why are people always surprised when I call you by your first name?”

  “It’s…unusual.”

  “But you asked me to do that. I remember. I wrote it down.” She pulled out her personal notebook to show him.

  The woman at his side looked down at the entry she indicated and laughed.

  Roy merely smiled. “Yes, I did. Please continue to do so. This is Sarah Feldman, my National Security Advisor. Agent Rick Danziger is the head of my security team.”

  She looked at each person in turn as they were introduced, cataloging their names as well as she could. But as they were all dressed the same, except for Sarah Feldman, she was finding it difficult. Faces of so many strangers at once were simply too hard to look at.

  “Was I expecting you?” She turned back to Drake because he was the most familiar.

  “No. We—”

  “Oh,” Miranda glanced west toward Victoria, BC, across the Haro Strait—the departure direction of the de Havilland Otter. “You know something about Clark’s crash that has convinced you that Marine One and Air Force One are potentially unsafe modes of transport.”

  “How did you know that?” Danziger spun to face her, yanking his weapon out from under his jacket.

  That was a first. She’d never had a weapon pulled on her in her own home.

  “Stand down, Rick,” Roy snapped out.

  “I’m the head of your protection detail. I’m not standing down until I find out how she knows that and can prove it wasn’t her doing.”

  Drake’s laugh seemed to upset the agent as much as her own conclusion. “Go ahead, Miranda. Tell him how you know.”

  “But I don’t know; it is only a meta-sphere of likely conjecture. Though it fits.”

  “Tell us about your meta-whatever conjecture that fits then.”

  “Meta-sphere. It is a logical construct for anchoring assumptions to be compared against factual findings as part of a causal analysis during an air-crash investigation.”

  “Yes, explain that to him.” Roy’s smile was as big as Drake’s.

  Miranda looked for an out; Holly typically took care of situations like this. Agent Danziger still hadn’t holstered his sidearm, though it was now pointed at her right foot. She very carefully slid her foot aside and was relieved when he didn’t shift his aim to follow it.

  “Clark’s death was aboard Marine Two. HMX-1 has never had a service failure and it seems unlikely that it would occur in the VH-92’s first week of usage after four years of certification testing. Their pilots are among the best trained rotorcraft pilots in the world, though Andi has made a few comments about them only being second best.”

  “Andi?” Roy asked.

  “Captain Andrea Wu, formerly of the 160th SOAR, is now my rotorcraft specialist.”

  “Hard to argue with that kind of qualification for judging helicopter pilots,” Roy nodded for her to continue.

  “Precisely. But even estimating that the Marine Corps HMX-1 pilots are merely second best to a 160th SOAR Night Stalker, that argues strongly against pilot error.”

  “It does,” Drake was still smiling.

  “Roy,” Miranda continued, “has arrived from his G-7 meeting in a particularly non-presidential aircraft with an entourage of seven, rather than the more typical five hundred personnel and thirty vehicles he would have in attendance during international travel. Making his lack of trust in his normal aircraft a direct conclusion.”

  “Right on track so far, Miranda, keep going.”

  “The fact that he doesn’t trust any of his aircraft, and the fact that Marine Two crashed into a Walmart, which no pilot in any state of control would have allowed to happen simply because of civilian casualties, points to a shared hazard across two very distinct platforms, Marine One and Air Force One.”

  “Three actually,” Drake wanted to give her one more clue and see what she did with it. “Also—”

  “The limousine as well? Oh, I’m sorry, Drake, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “That’s okay. Keep going.”

  “There are numerous systems in common across the two aircraft, but very few with the limousine as well. Anti-attack flare system, communications, and air supply are the only ones that come readily to mind. The two aircraft share many more features, including anti-missile lasers, both fly with General Electric engines—though from quite different series—and—”

  “We have reason to suspect the air system, Miranda.”

  “Poison?”

  “Shit,” Danziger cursed, but still didn’t re-aim his sidearm at her.

  “I’m sorry. That’s the best I can do until I’ve had a chance to begin my investigation, so, as I said, this is all conjecture, which I shouldn’t have mentioned but you asked. Please excuse me.”

  Drake and Roy were smiling at her, but it was too much and she looked down at the still unholstered sidearm.

  Agent Rick Danziger stared at her so hard that she had to turn so that he was glaring at the side of her head rather than her face. That wasn’t enough, so she moved aside, only finding safety when she’d moved to stand directly between Drake and Roy. Though Danziger kept tracking her like she was a VOR beacon for navigation.

  The woman…Sarah, was shaking her head.

  “I’m sorry. What did I miss? I never should have spoken. It’s just supposition.”

  “No, Ms. Chase. You are completely correct every step of the way. How did you just do that?”

  “Do you actually want me to repeat it all?” She hated repeating herself.

  “No,” Sarah shook her head. “It’s just… Mr. President, you seem to collect some very interesting people. Maybe when your term is done, she should take your place.”

  One of the agents handed a glass of iced tea to him. Miranda knew she was failing in her duties as hostess, but at least there had been enough to go around. But instead of sleeping for an hour this morning, she should have made cookies.

  If only she’d known they were all coming.

  “No,” Roy continued, “I’d never wish the presidency on a nice savant like you.”

  “I’m not a savant!” Miranda slapped a hand over her mouth. Agent Danziger was again eying her suspiciously. “I shouldn’t
have yelled, sorry,” she mumbled through her fingers.

  “You are the world’s leading genius about aircraft crashes,” Drake spoke slowly.

  Miranda nodded without removing her hand. To the best of her knowledge, she was. Except perhaps for Terence Graham who had trained her, but he was retired from fieldwork, so perhaps he didn’t count any more. Even he had called her the best.

  “So what’s the problem, Miranda?”

  She wished there was anyone else here to explain for her. Andi with her patience, Taz with a side jab of sharp wit, or Mike who would also get a laugh as he made it okay. Holly might just toss the President out the door even when surrounded by his Secret Service agents. Maybe it was a good thing she, at least, wasn’t here.

  A deep breath didn’t help, but remembering to lower her hand before speaking did.

  “If I say savant, you probably think of Rain Man. Being called a savant implies that I don’t have any skill of my own, just some…weird ability. And while I’m autistic, I’m not challenged like those poor people.”

  “Point made, Miranda. I apologize,” Roy bowed to her. “I’d never wish the presidency on a nice lady like you. Maybe I’ll dump it on Sarah instead.”

  “Well, you do need a new Vice President, Roy.”

  Again, by everyone’s reaction, she’d said something wrong.

  Everyone except Roy. He shifted to that quietly thoughtful mode she’d seen him use several times in the Situation Room.

  28

  “First things first,” Roy announced. “Danziger has kept me in touch with the White House Military Office, but I need to address the nation. CNN has probably learned that Clark was in that crash for over thirty minutes, poor man.”

  “We could place a satellite phone call to CNN?” Danziger suggested. “I don’t want anything that can be traced to your present location.”

  “The island has a high-speed VPN capable of video over satellite from here that can offer end-to-end encryption. Would that do?” Miranda’s gaze was focused on Danziger’s left hand.

  Drake hadn’t noticed that he was keeping it near his weapon. Miranda had, of course. Even if she didn’t want to be called a savant, she was beyond genius in remarkably interesting ways—one of which was observing details.

  “Why would you have that?” Danziger snapped.

  Drake was getting tired of this. “Miranda, please show Agent Danziger your ID card.”

  Miranda looked confused, but pulled out a wallet. “Which one?” She spread out her driver’s license, FAA pilot’s license, NTSB ID, concealed carry permit…

  Drake plucked her NTSB card and handed it to Danziger.

  Danziger looked from the card to Miranda and back several times before speaking. “What the hell? Yankee White Category One?”

  “Her entire team is cleared Top Secret or better. Miranda is cleared to be armed in the presence of the President.”

  “Should I be armed right now?” Miranda asked. “All of my weapons are in my gun safe at the moment.”

  “Hell no!” Then Danziger turned to the President and held up the card. “Is this for real, Mr. President?”

  “I warned you that it was okay to stand down around her. You should have believed me.”

  Miranda spoke up. “Both of my parents were undercover CIA operatives, and it was easier if they were free to talk around me. I’ve only been Yankee White for a few years at President Cole’s request after a series of missions I’m not at liberty to discuss with you as they were code-word classified. Oh,” she covered her mouth again.

  “What?” Drake could see Miranda was terribly upset.

  “I’m not supposed to mention code-word classified missions to people who aren’t also cleared for them, am I?”

  “No, you aren’t. I’ll let you off the hook this time, but don’t let me catch you again.”

  “You won’t, Drake. I promise!” Then practically hit her own chin as she yanked out a notebook and started to make an entry.

  Drake rested a hand on her arm, firmly as Holly had once advised him. “Don’t worry about it, Miranda. I was teasing. That clearance says we trust you. Right, Agent Danziger?”

  “Shit, ma’am. Uh, sorry about the language. Please also excuse my previous actions.” He handed her ID back far more carefully than he’d taken it.

  Drake noticed that Miranda was still holding all of her cards after she tucked away the notebook.

  “It’s okay to put them away now. Thank you, Miranda.”

  She did.

  “Now, let’s go see your rig.”

  She pulled a tablet computer out of the flight bag over her shoulder and tapped a few keys.

  “Jeremy fixed it up for me to make it easy.”

  “Who’s— Never mind,” Danziger waved for her to proceed.

  She tapped a final button. “Okay, who would you like to connect to?”

  Danziger didn’t say a word as he held out his own phone and turned it for her to read a number.

  After this, she really had to call her team.

  29

  Andi hung up the phone and turned to the others waiting impatiently in the Tacoma Narrows Airport hangar office.

  The Cessna Citation M2 jet was fully fueled and already rolled out of the hangar, and still there’d been no Miranda.

  They’d all waited inside watching the news; not hard to guess where they were headed.

  There was nothing new on the Vice President’s crash. News helicopters were having to use long-range telephotos because of the no-fly security perimeter. Two camera drones had already been shot from the sky by the Secret Service using an electro-magnetic anti-drone gun—which was making its own news item.

  She’d just been starting to worry that something might have happened to Miranda when she called.

  Now Andi was trying to make sense of the stream of instructions. They sounded quite unlike Miranda, but she’d refused to explain.

  “Okay guys, Miranda won’t be traveling with you all.”

  That certainly got their attention.

  “Jeremy, you’re to take the lead on the Marine Two investigation as soon as you get there.”

  “I’m what?” His voice squeaked with a crack that sounded silly on a twenty-six-year-old man.

  “Miranda said to look for poisons in the air supply system. I have no idea where she—”

  “Poison?” Jeremy stared at the ceiling. “Air supply system?” He stared at the floor. “Marine Two? Oh, crashing in a Walmart. That would mean—”

  Andi tuned him out as he continued thinking out loud.

  “Mike, you’re to fly the team there in the M2 jet.”

  “I’m what?” His voice didn’t quite crack, instead it sounded as if it would hurt less if it had. “But— I’m—”

  “Miranda said that you’re a good enough pilot to no longer be depending on her. You are type certified in the M2 after all.”

  “Barely!” This time his voice did crack and Holly sniggered.

  “The weather is calm right across the northern part of the country. She said refueling in Minneapolis would keep you well north of tornado alley, which is apparently still hopping even though it’s past the normal season.”

  “Holly and Taz, Miranda said it was probably a terrorist attack, so your jobs are to keep the boys safe.”

  “Aw shit! Terrorists?” Holly looked disgusted. “What about you?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve got an errand.” She was supposed to fly the helo up to the island, but Miranda had said not tell anyone on the team and not to leave until they were gone.

  It would be just her and her unpredictable PTSD. At least if she went down, she wouldn’t kill anyone else. Then she glanced at the TV screen still showing the devastation of the Marine Two helicopter crash at the Walmart. Or not.

  Why did she have the nasty feeling that Miranda had forgotten she didn’t dare fly solo anymore?

  Except Miranda never forgot anything.

  That meant Miranda thought she could do t
his.

  Which seemed unlikely as hell.

  The others headed out the door.

  While she waited for them to take off, the Breaking News banner flashed again on the office’s big TV, then dissolved into the President’s face.

  “This is President Roy Cole. I’m calling from a secure location to assure our citizens and our nation’s friends that I am fit, healthy, and in full control of the government after the tragic event that has killed Vice President Clark Winston. I will say more to honor this fine public servant and my friend at another time. I have ordered the nation’s top accident investigation teams to the site and will be continuing to monitor the situation closely. Again, be assured, there is no cause for wider concern. I will report further as soon as I have verifiable information. In the meantime, please send your good wishes to the civilians injured by this tragic crash and struggling to survive. My thoughts and hopes are definitely with them and their loved ones. My condolences to the families who have already lost people in this disaster. This is President Roy Cole signing off.”

  Andi could only stare at the screen.

  It was all very reassuring, except for one small fact.

  In the background, over the President’s shoulder, had hung a glass-fronted display case filled with scores of tiny aircraft models.

  Andi had seen it many times before—hanging on the wall of Miranda’s living room.

  30

  “No, Miranda! I can’t!” Andi kept her whisper low but it felt like a shout. She’d dragged Miranda outside, then slammed the door on General Drake Nason when he tried to follow. She hung on to Miranda’s sleeve until they reached the wood pile.

  “No one else here can fly a helicopter, Andi.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I thought that you were the calm one.”

  “Me? Me?” Andi thumped a fist against her chest hard enough to hurt. “What in the world gave you that whacked idea?”