"Good," Cook said. "Let's get some pictures and we'll wrap this up.
This way, sir." Cook led the way through the door back out to the main hangar, allowing Clemenz to pass in front of him.
... and when the professor exited the office, he saw about three dozen men, the workers that had been working on Air Force One, standing a few paces outside the door, backdropped by Air Force One itself towering over them. They were looking at Clemenz with a collective expression mix of surprise and... What? Pity? until Captain (look emerged from the office. Then their expressions changed to one of downright, undisguised, genuine fear.
Clemenz somehow knew he was a dead man even before he felt the hand grasp his hair, yank his head up and forward, and felt the sharp prick against the back of his neck at the base of his skull as the knife was driven up along the top of his vertebrae and into the base of his brain. He gave a short cry, not necessarily from the pain as much as from the surprise and the resignation. He did not feel anything else after that.
Henri Cazaux let the corpse dangle at the end of his knife for several seconds, letting all the workers and security men get a good look. No one dared avert his eyes, although one man mercifully fainted when he saw the body quiver in its last throes of death.
"This man just walked in here!" Cazaux shouted.
"He just walked in!
No one bothered to stop him, challenge him, even look at him, although he is obviously not wearing an identification badge or the clothing code of the day.
He is going to hang here in front of the hangar as a reminder to every one of you to keep vigilant.
Now get back to work--the timetable is going to be moved up. Move!" Armed guards were taking three men away in handcuffs as Tomas Ysidro and Gregory Townsend came up to Cazaux. Cazaux tossed the dead professor off his knife against the wall--the man had died so quickly that almost no blood seeped from the knife wound.
"Sorry about that, Henri," Ysidro said casually, kicking the corpse so the small trickle of blood from the wound dripped on the man's clothes and not onto the hangar floor. "If I would've gotten here earlier I could have supervised these bozos better, but I can't be at two places at once." "Can you be in position by tomorrow night?" Cazaux asked.
Townsend thought for a moment; then: "I think so, Henri.
We'll need the Shorts to move the guys and their equipment, but I think we--" "Don't think, Townsend," Cazaux said menacingly. "Can you be in position by tomorrow night or not?" "I'd prefer two nights to get everyone into proper position, Henri," Townsend said, "but the answer is yes. I can be ready to go tomorrow night." "This man will be missed in two nights" time, perhaps sooner-we must go tomorrow night," Cazaux said, wiping his blade clean and putting it back into its hidden sheath. "You will leave as soon as you can get the Shorts loaded. I'll see to the loading and preflight here.
his "You'll take care of the flight plan, Henri?" Townsend asked.
"Remember the FAA order 7210.3--we need sixteen hours." "I remember, Townie, I remember," Cazaux said, his mind racing several hours ahead.
Since Air Force One was a SAM, or Special Air Mission, military aircraft, a flight plan for their flight to Washington could be filed only through a special teletype system.
Fortunately, they had access to such a terminal at Pease International Tradeport. The 157th Air Refueling Group, a small New Hampshire Air National Guard aerial refueling tanker unit, used the system for the Atlantic Tanker Task Force, which coordinated all aerial refuelings for flights from Europe to North America, including for Air Force One. Also, Pease Tradeport, when it used to be Pease Air Force Base, was a favorite vacation stop for President George Bush and his family, so a terminal was installed and kept at the airport. Cazaux's organization had bribed several of the Guardsmen at the airport to do a variety of things, such as alert them when any state or federal inspectors were inbound, monitor the status of the state police patrols, and procure fuel and other aircraft parts and supplies.
For the flight of their fake Air Force One, they would have one of the Air National Guard controllers input a military flight plan into the system, originating not from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, but from Manchester, New Hampshire, the site of an upcoming and widely publicized debate between the expected 1996 presidential candidates, organized by the League of Women Voters. The flight plan, using the call sign SAM-2800 (Sam stood for Special Air Mission, the standard call sign for military flights such as this; 2800 was the tail number of one of the two VC-25A Air Force Ones in the inventory), had to be filed not earlier than sixteen hours from the proposed takeoff time, although the exact takeoff time could not be recorded.
Immediately after the counterfeit Air Force One was airborne, the Air National Guard controller would issue an Also, NOT, or Alert Notification message, to a special office in the FAA Air Traffic Control Command Center known as ATM-200, requesting special priority handling and revising SAM'S call sign to Executive One Foxtrot, signifying that a member of the President's family or White House staff (but not the President himself--that would be too easy to verify) was on board the aircraft. The ALNOT would be retransmitted by ATM-200 to the various Air Route Traffic Control Centers along the route of flight as well as the Air Force Air Defense Sector Operations Command Centers, letting everyone know that a member of the President's entourage was airborne.
The plan after that was that the controller would be knocked unconscious so he could claim that he was overpowered and his equipment used without his knowledge--of course, Cazaux would see to it that he was executed to keep him quiet.
"I'll take care of all those details," Cazaux was saying. "Now get moving." Townsend and Ysidro turned to leave, but Cazaux stopped them by adding, "And I want no more slipups.
Security will be tight and everyone will follow the plan to the letter, or I will spend the rest of my days on earth hunting down and executing each and every one of you.
Now get going." rart 5 Andrews Air Force Base, Camp Springs, Maryland Early the Next Morning Tomas Ysidro had made his own green active-duty U.s. military ID card long ago--his was Army, showing his home base as the Defense Language School, the Presidio of Monterey, California; he carried a set of orders showing him as a visiting instructor in Farsi and Mandarin to the 89th Air wing to teach some of the aircrew members some basic foreign language skills for an upcoming presidential trip. But getting onto Andrews Air Force Base, the place where the President of the United States' planes were kept, was child's play, and he didn't need to show any of his carefully prepared credentials. The guards at the virginia Avenue gate were still doing hundred-percent ID checks, but there were no dogs, no searches, no questions asked. The smiling Air Force bitch in her toy-soldier blue fatigues, silly black beret, white dickey, and pretty spit-shined boots waved the car right on through after a quick flash of the card, and four international terrorists were on a major military air base with ease.
"No vehicle checks or searches," one of the terrorists remarked after they were well past the guard gate. "Not even a thorough check of your card." Ysidro had been careful to SCUFF up his ID card and not make it look too new or too perfect, but the apparent lack of' diligence did puz7.1e him. Weren't they concerned about Cazaux any longer? "W can still be monitored electronically," Ysidro warned, "so everyone stay sharp." That did not need repeating--driving right into the jaws of the enemy, the ones that were out looking for them --was not a comforting or casual activity at all.
But the apparent lax security made them breathe a bit easier and helped them concentrate on the tasks ahead.
They drove north on Virginia Avenue and followed the signs about a half mile to the base golf course--and found, to their amazement, that it was open. It had been closed for days because the Army had placed an entire Patriot missile battery there, assigned to protect the Capitol, Andrews, Washington National, Dulles, and other high value targets in the D.c. area from air attack. Ysidro turned right onto South Wheeling Road and there it was, right in front of them-an entire P
atriot missile battery, less than a thousand feet away on Wyoming Road. The Army Patriot missile encampment, within sight of the end of runway 36 Left, was well in the process of being dismantled--the back nine holes of the course were still not usable, but the front nine were open, and golfers were out there just a good five wood shot or two away from some of the Patriot launchers.
"Well, what the fuck..." Ysidro said, surprised and pleased by what he saw. "Maybe we should've hidden our gear in fuckin' golf bags." They could see all eight Patriot missile launchers lowered and configured for road march, and the large flat "drive-in-theater" antenna array still raised but with soldiers working on and in front of it--obviously it wasn't radiating, because that man in front of the array would be fried to a crisp by the amount of electromagnetic energy that thing put out when it was radiating. The electrical power plant vehicle was still running and the command vehicle was apparently still manned, but the Patriot site itself was apparently decommissioned.
Ysidro's assignment had been to destroy it.
"What do we do now?" one of the commandos asked.
"We do what we've been assigned to do--it'll just be a hell of a lot easier," Ysidro said.
"The electrical truck is still running, so this could just be a maintenance period--the Patriot site at Fort Belvoir or Dulles might be taking up the slack." Two other commando squads had been assigned to take out the Patriot sites at Davison Army Air Field at Fort Belvoir and at Washington-D-llles International Airport, but if those Patriot sites were closed down as well, they would have a much easier time of it. At last check, the l lawk missile sites at East Potomac Island Park Golf Course near George Washington University, Rock Creek Golf Course neal- Walter Reed Hospital, and the East Capitol (country Club golf course were still operational; other teams were assigned to take out those sites as well. But this Patriot site at Andrews was the Integrated Command Center, or I.c.c, which controlled all of the Hawk and Avenger air defense units in the region.
i, The terrorist group took a right turn on Wisconsin Road, a left onto South Perimeter Road, and headed for the housing area and east runway side. Andrews Air Force Base had two, two-mile-long parallel runways, with the main part of the base on the west and the enlisted and junior officer housing area to the east. The fighter alert area was on the south side of the east runway, with two fighters on alert with ladders attached, ready to go; two more fighters were parked nearby, but neither appeared to have weapons loaded. Surprisingly, the guards at the entrance to the housing area had been removed. They doubled back onto South Perimeter Road, heading for the main base side.
A small lake south of the west runway had numerous creeks and ditches flowing into it, all leading toward the airfield--that was the best way to approach the runways.
They drove north on Arnold Avenue along the rows of hangars on the main base side.
Every Air Force V.i.p plane in the inventory was visible--small jets to big helicopters to a huge white E-4 Airborne Command Post, a modified 747 resembling Air Force One but specially designed for the President and military leaders to run World War III from the air. They did not see an Air Force One itself. But then again, they didn't need to--they were bringing their own.
They turned right on C Street and tried to go north on Eagle Road, the street right in front of the newer hangars, but roadblocks ahead steered them back onto Arnold Avenue--that told them that the hangars behind that section of Eagle Road had the really valuable hardware.
Still, there were no patrols, only barricades.
The two hangars that were accessible from the one block of Eagle Road they were allowed to drive on had a clear view of the alert fighter area across the airfield, and by using binoculars they could even see the upraised Patriot antenna array to the southwest, pointing westward toward the capital.
"Let's remote-control everything from here--no use in risking exposure if it ain't necessary," Ysidro said. "We'll use the short be range radio detonators for maximum efficiency, and we'll station ourselves within missile range of the runways in case we're needed." "May not be able to remote the Patriot stuff," one of the other terrorists said. He pointed to a red-and-white block building at the end of the runway. "I.l.s transmitter. Could interfere with the radio signal, or it could activate the detonator as soon as the mine is armed." "Fine--we'll do it face-to-face. I like it that way," Ysidro said.
"Security is a joke anyway--this looks like a walk in the park.
If this isn't some kind of setup, this will be the easiest job we've ever had to do." Atlantic city International Airport Later That Evening At precisely sunset, the formation leader radioed, "Ready, ready.
now. Three, clear to depart." "Three," Lieutenant Colonel Also Vincenti acknowledged, gently pulled on the control stick and put in a notch of power. He was flying the third F-16 A.d.f Fighting Falcon in a V-formation of five, passing over the base headquarters building near the Air National Guard ramp at Atlantic City Airport.
From the ground, the V-formation stayed intact but with a large gap between the leader and the number-five aircraft to the right of the leaden-the "Missing Man" formation, signifying that one of their comrades had died in the line of duty. Vincenti, as the main fighter representative to the Executive Committee on Terrorism in charge of the Cazaux emergency, had requested and was given the honor of flying as the "missing man" in the 177th Fighter Group's memorial-service flyover for Tom Humphrey, who had died in the crash of his F-16.
Vincenti climbed to two thousand feet, turned on his transponder so air traffic control could pick him up on radar, then checked in with Atlantic City Approach Control: "Atlantic City Approach, Devil Zero-Three, overhead Atlantic City International, passing two for five thousand." "Devil-03, radar contact, climb and maintain five thousand, expect twenty minutes holding at NAADA intersection for arriving and departing traffic." The delay made sense--in fact, he was hoping for it. Air Traffic Control had shut down all traffic in and out of Atlantic City International for thirty minutes so the New Jersey Air National Guard could do this memorial, so it was only fair that all the civilian traffic be allowed to depart. "Roger, A-City," Vincenti radioed back.
"Devil-03 cancel I.f.r, requesting radar flight following, destination Atlantic City International via the Beltway tour, overfly if able." "Roger, com03, remain this squawk and frequency, maintain VFRIEND routes and altitudes on the Beltway tour, I've got your request for an overfly clearance." "com03, roger." It was far more restrictive now than when Vincenti flew F-4Es out of Atlantic City Airport a million years ago, but it's still a pretty good ride, even at dusk, he thought--that is, if the lights are on. He knew that exterior illumination of most of the historic buildings and monuments of Washington, D.c had been turned off during the Cazaux terrorist emergency; no announcement had been made, but rumor had it that the President was going to order the National Park Service to lift this restriction. It was pretty lucky for him to be flying at all, let alone as part of the Air National Guard unit's memorial flight.
Few guys want to fly Missing Man formations --they believe it tempts Fate to fly close formation in a high-performance bird in tribute to a fellow pilot that... well, erred. Crashing and burning in combat is one thing--getting excited and accidentally blowing away an identified civilian plane, and then committing suicide, was not cool.
Everyone was sorry for Humphrey and his family, but no one wanted to get too close to his bad jujus. That's the way fighter jocks are.
Of course, the Learjet shoot-down and Humphrey's subsequent crash was not being called a suicide or a screw-up, at least not by the Air Force or the White House. Along with the usual "the investigation is under way, I can't comment on that," Hardcastle and Vincenti had explained about how they broke the law, stopping short of saying they deserved to get shot. A few veiled hints about mechanical or electrical failure on the F-16 because of the constant flying during the emergency, some more hints about incorrect "switchology," mixed with more comments like "if it had been Cazaux, Atlantic City Internati
onal would have been a smoking hole otherwise." The press needed massaging.
More than most military men, Hardcastle--once the leader of one of the most controversial paramilitary organizations in American history, the Hammerheads--understood that it was important not to tell the press the facts, but to meter information bit by bit, letting them form their own conclusions that, not too coincidentally, were the ones you wanted them to have. It didn't always work, but it was an efficient way to go.
Humphrey was a victim of circumstance.
Yes, he screwed up.
Military jets did not have cockpit voice recorders or flight data recorders, so everything was speculative until the final accident board's report. Hardcastle often used familiar "goofs" to explain failures in multimillion-dollar military hardware: like causing an accident while using a cellular phone in busy rush-hour traffic.
Dale Brown - Storming Heaven Page 41
