Man of Honor

by Chris Malburg

  “Fuel starvation,” Helen confirmed. She wasn’t panicked. Just stating the fact. She transferred the sandwich to her left hand and flipped the two red switches on the center console Hoffman pointed to. “I just brought the reserve tanks online. Hear the steady thrum of the engines now?”

  “How much longer can we stay airborne?” Jack asked.

  “The good news is we seem to have a tailwind. I figure we can stay aloft another fifteen minutes.”

  “Is that enough time?”

  “Maybe,” Hoffman answered. “Just maybe. Look out the windscreen at ten o’clock. See those lights? That’s Seoul, South Korea. Helen, soon as we cross onto dry land make a turn to the north. From there, it’s a short flight to Osan Air Base.”

  “What’s the alternative if the fuel gauges overstate our flight time?” Jack asked.

  “Never had a Mallard fail me. If we can’t set down on a runway, Helen gets a chance at her second water landing. We should be able to make it into the harbor off Seoul. Not what I planned for this op, but survivable. It’ll set our schedule back a bit.”

  “By how much?” Crypto asked. The team was now up and standing around the cockpit door. “We don’t have all that much time to get Li Yong to New York.”

  “By my watch,” Helen said, “we have 60 hours before that Chairman of the Central Military Commission maniac can push the button that launches the main attacks—”

  “And kills thousands, not to mention starts World War III,” Jack interrupted.

  “Look,” Hoffman said and pointed out the windscreen. “We’re approaching the harbor next to Seoul. Decision time.”

  “Flight time to the Osan runway?” Helen asked.

  “Two minutes, thirty-five seconds according to my flight computer. But we have just under two minutes of fuel left.”

  “Go for it, hon” Jack ordered. “If we come up just short you can put down someplace near the Air Force Base and we can still get to the next phase of this trip without losing too much time.”

  “That’s the Retail we all know and love,” Hoffman said.

  “Anyone have a better idea?” Jack asked.

  No one said a word as the little seaplane left the harbor and now flew over dry land.

  “I’m with you, sweetie,” Helen said. “Focus on the mission. Get her done. Just let me fly this plane.”

  “Aren’t you glad you had that sandwich?” Jack asked. “You know how cranky you get when you’re hungry. Works against anyone’s concentration.”

  “We’re on our own,” Hoffman said. “The escort jets left us now that we’re within protective range of Osan’s THAAD missile batteries. There’s the runway.” Hoffman pointed straight out the windscreen at 12:00 o’clock.

  To Jack, it seemed just a faint splash of light in the distance. “Flight time?”

  Hoffman looked at the navigation display. “About thirty seconds.” He pulled the landing gear levers. The motors hummed as the three wheels pushed out of the plane’s hull and down.

  Cough, went the port engine. But it wound up again.

  “Come on baby,” Helen said calmly. “Give me just a little more.” She reached for the autopilot switch. The green light went out.

  Another cough and a sputter. Then the port engine quit for good. Outside, Jack could see the prop had already spun to a stop. The plane yawed off the runway’s center-line.

  “I got ‘cha, baby,” Helen said. “I got ‘cha. Still have one engine. That’s all I need. That and a shallow glide slope.” She pulled the plane back onto the runway’s center-line.

  This time, the starboard engine coughed. Then sputtered. “I hear you, little Mallard. Stay with me for another hundred yards or so. Get me over the runway. I’ll do the rest.”

  Jack watched the runway threshold pass under them. Then the starboard engine quit. He heard Helen’s calm voice talking to the Mallard. The wheels hit the concrete runway with a sudden thump. Helen stayed off the brakes and let the plane roll as far as it could. They were still a good distance from the ramp. Finally, the totally reliable Mallard coasted to a stop in the middle of the runway. A blue Air Force transport truck was right there waiting.

  “Everybody out,” Helen said. “We have a plane to catch.”

  * * *

  Chapter 36

  Jack looked around the private jet’s interior.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Hoffman said cradling his right arm despite the sling. “Not what you normally see in a G-650. We removed some of the seats and installed worktables and benches. We Special Activities groupies need to work on our gear in flight.”

  “No carpet either,” Jack noticed.

  “Unnecessary. Especially with our combat boots and the heavy equipment we haul through here. Diamond pattern rubber matting does the job.”

  “Makes it seem like a gym in here,” Jack said. He squinted under the harsh fluorescent lighting in the cabin.

  “A little like a gym.” Hoffman gestured to the galley in the back. “What gym has a kitchen able to turn out fresh omelets, healthy salads, pretty much whatever we want? The galley’s something we actually upgraded on this bird.”

  “How long will they be with us?” Jack asked Hoffman from the cockpit doorway. Hoffman sat in the right seat, Helen was the pilot. Except the 650 was all Helen’s. Her family had one of the first coming off Gulfstream’s production line. She was thoroughly checked out in it. Outside four gray F-22 Raptor fighter jets flew beside both wingtips; one over the G-650’s nose and one flew overwatch above its tail.

  “Just until we clear the range of China’s new Chengdu J-20 jet fighters. Then our escorts will refuel and head back to Osan.”

  “Should we expect trouble?” Helen asked.

  “Maybe,” Hoffman replied. “ If the Chinese attacked the little Mallard, they know the valuable cargo we’re carrying. And they sure know where we landed. Stands to reason they’re not letting us go without a fight.”

  Jack peered out the window into the early dawn sky. By the time we get to New York, we’ll have killed another half day. Just 40 hours until the automatic launch goes off. Then what? Li Yong and his parents were in the back three seats. He was hunched over his tray table, busily typing computer codes into his laptop computer.

  “Hey, where’d our escorts go?” Jack wanted to know.

  Helen glanced out the window. “No fighter escorts stay with their protectees. We’re too slow and not maneuverable enough. They’d be sitting ducks. Our escorts ascended and moved out beyond visual range. They have us on their radar, though. Count on that―”

  “Strap in everyone,” Hoffman interrupted. “Word from Osan is our escorts just engaged two J-20s crossing the mainland over the Yellow Sea.”

  “Is it still going on?” Helen asked.

  Hoffman shook his head. “These engagements last only a matter of seconds. Both combatants fly supersonic. Their closing speed is probably over Mach 3. Wait. Getting an update.” Hoffman listened to his radio headset.

  “The pilots report firing three air to air missiles—two AIM-9 Sidewinders with infrared homing and one AIM-120 AMRAAM with active radar homing. A Sidewinder splashed one J-20. But the pilot reports the other Chinese fighter just outran two of our guy’s missiles. He’s headed our way.”

  “How long?” Jack asked.

  “Seconds.” But before Hoffman got the words out an explosion rocked the business jet. Helen calmly held the control yoke in both hands and steadied the $60 million plane.

  Out the port window, Jack saw one small puff of smoke. “Must be the missile that J-20 fired at us.” Within a few seconds, another larger explosion shook the plane.

  “That’s what I wanted to hear,” Hoffman cradled his broken arm to keep it from bouncing around. “That second explosion was the J-20 going down. Our guys kept one of the Raptors back here with us as a backstop just in case an aggressor slipped through. Since the Chinese J-20 is so new, no one knows its capabilities. No substitute for tactics. He ran right into our ambu
sh.”

  Jack reached over the seat and squeezed Helen’s shoulder. “Nice airmanship, hon. Almost out of their fighter jet’s range.” Jack felt the tension release, now that they were out of imminent danger. It was as if the air pressure inside the jet just dropped a few thousand feet.

  “Actually, we just crossed that line,” Hoffman said. “Even with aerial refueling, the Chinese can’t touch us now. They’ve seen that our weapons are hot, and we’re not afraid to use them. They won’t risk any more of their shiny new toys.”

  “More likely, they’ll have a few surprises waiting for us in New York,” Helen said. “These are smart boys. Maybe they were hoping to get lucky with the fighter jets. Didn’t work out. Their plan to stop Li Yong from disarming the main attack package probably has two alternatives.”

  “Just two?” Jack asked. He watched Helen turn in her seat to face him now that she had re-engaged the autopilot.

  “Sure. The first would be to execute Li Yong before he gets to the NYPD Counter-Terrorism facility. If they can’t do that, it serves their purposes just as well to keep him away from the computer resources he needs to disarm the attack programs. Time is on their side. And the clock is ticking.”

  * * *

  Chapter 37

  Jack looked out the G-650’s window. Peaceful up here, he thought. Through the open cockpit door he could see the twin throttles pushed all the way forward. No matter how much Helen pushes, this plane isn’t going any faster. Guess we’re stuck for the next few hours. Then, above the pungent smell of Hoppe’s gun oil and cleaning solvent there floated a wonderful aroma. Jack got up out of his seat and followed the scent to the aft part of the main cabin.

  “Hey Jack,” Diego greeted him from the U-shaped galley. “What’ll you have, brohaim?”

  “You traded your MP-5 for a spatula?” Jack asked.

  “The guys are cleaning and reloading my gear. Hey, crew’s gotta eat, right? What can I get you?”

  “Whatever Li Yong and his folks are having is fine,” Jack answered. He poured coffee and talked with the General and Mother while Diego made another Greek omelet.

  “Mind if I join you?” Hoffman asked.

  Jack reached over and unlatched the tray table to accommodate Hoffman’s now professionally splinted arm courtesy of an Osan Airbase medical corpsman.

  “Thanks. Helen’s quite a pilot. Has a real feel for the aircraft. It’s either there or it isn’t. I have an idea.”

  “Me too,” Jack said. “You first.” Jack speared a forkful of omelet. Spectacular, he thought. Savory, salty, crunchy. Perfect. Helen’s not the only one with real talent as he savored Diego’s creation.

  Hoffman stared at Jack for a second. “I know it’s humbling, Retail, but why don’t you grease the skids? Call your godfather, the President, and ask him to call off the dogs.”

  Jack sipped his coffee. “Now why didn’t I think of that? Fact is, two hours ago I made that call. The President is pissed—”

  “You told him we have Li Yong, and we’re on our way home?”

  Jack shook his head. “My call was for intel gathering. The old man knew that. He thinks he’s using us.”

  By now, some of the team had gathered back in the galley. Diego was busy filling their orders and humming to himself as only a man who truly enjoys his work does.

  “First, he complained that the CIA’s SAD squad is missing since landing in China. He thinks we might be somehow involved with that.”

  Hoffman nodded. “And there’ll be hell to pay for not checking in at our designated times. Later on that. What else?”

  “He mentioned that Homeland has failed to locate Li Yong. Obviously.” Jack watched Li Yong finish his omelet and set down his fork. “The President is kicking himself for leaving Li Yong’s capture to Homeland rather than the CIA.”

  “Anything else?” asked Hoffman.

  “Yeah.” Jack looked at the group now gathered around him. “He told me that Li Yong is a terrorist and will answer for his crimes. He said no cyber aggressor will hold the United States hostage. He said he issued a capture if possible order on Li Yong’s head to all agencies in the hunt.”

  “Capture if possible; if not, shoot to kill,” Li Yong said. “It seems that the President is unaware of the next series of attacks. If he were, he would know of their seriousness and treat them—and me—with more respect.”

  “Are you sure the President doesn’t know we have Li Yong and are heading for the US coast?” Hoffman asked.

  “That’s the one thing I am sure of.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ve known the man my whole life. We communicate pretty well. Sometimes with nuances and unspoken meanings. It’s a plausible deniability thing. You bet he knows we have Li Yong and are bringing him back to the US. But he doesn’t yet know the real purpose. That’s why he’s letting us play this out and hasn’t notified the agencies in pursuit.”

  “If he had—family relations or not—this plane would be surrounded by fighter jets and forced to land,” Crypto said. “Then Li Yong would become a prisoner and it’s game over. But we’re still flying, so there’s a chance.”

  “The President’s a smart guy,” Jack said. “He knows that with us, he has yet another avenue in play. So he’s giving us enough rope to hang ourselves.”

  “Okay,” Hoffman said. “Good work, Retail. So what was your idea?”

  “We’re, an hour from New York?” Jack asked.

  “About that,” Hoffman said.

  Jack glanced out and down at the Atlantic Ocean beneath them. From this altitude, it showed a deep blue with the golden afternoon sun glistening on its surface. “There are a number of organizations that want a piece of Li Yong.”

  Hoffman’s laugh was mirthless. “Take your pick. FBI, CIA, Chinese kill squads, NYPD, Homeland Security. Ought to be quite a welcoming committee when we arrive at JFK right on time according to Helen’s flight plan.”

  “What I figured,” Jack said. “Why present the guest of honor on a silver platter? Especially when the clock is running down—”

  Hoffman glanced at his watch. “Just 30 hours left. We don’t have a whole lot of time to lead them on a chase.”

  “Not what I had in mind.”

  * * *

  Chapter 38

  “How’s our time, hon?” Jack asked.

  “Just radioed JFK air traffic control,” Helen said. “Concocted a story they just might believe. I also turned off the transponder. Told them we’re having trouble with it. They won’t see we just landed. It’ll miraculously fix itself once we’re airborne again.”

  “Not much activity here,” Jack observed, looking out of the G-650’s open hatch.

  “Republic is just a county airport,” Hoffman said. “Runway’s not really long enough for anything but single or twin prop private planes. Ours is probably the biggest bird they’ve had in here today. Just one fixed base operator capable of providing jet refueling service. Perfect for a clandestine landing and takeoff.”

  “Fuel truck is hooked up and pumping,” Jack said.

  “Let’s get everyone unloaded, complete refueling. Then I have the two replacement crew standing by in the lounge to take Li Yong’s parents to JFK.”

  “There’s Gallagher’s Bell chopper,” Jack said. “On the end of the runway, taxiing over here. Even has NTSB stenciled on the tail.”

  * * *

  Chapter 39

  “This is it?” the lead Chinese agent demanded as his team’s black SUV rolled up to the hangar.

  “Yes, Comrade, Panda Air Maintenance Systems. Seems the jet holding Li Yong against his will is thirty minutes behind schedule due to unexpected headwinds.”

  The lead agent nodded, looking around Panda’s hangar. “This is a good place to rescue our beloved Colonel Li Yong. Deploy into the hangar. We dress in the same coveralls as the Panda maintenance people. Keep your guns out of sight until the hangar doors close. When the jet opens its door, we take the kidnappers and rescue Li Yong. Onc
e we have him safely under our protection, we fly out of JFK with our valuable countryman. And become the People’s heroes.”

  “Well, what do we have here?” the FBI’s forward observer softly whispered into his com link. The agent wore a ghillie suit blending seamlessly into the tall grass next to the end of runway 24-Left, north of the Panda Fixed Base operation and just two hundred yards away. An out-of-the-way place. In a remote part of the airport. A hangar with doors that can close. Smart.

  The special agent was invisible to all, except maybe someone who stepped on him. He looked again through the eyepiece of the Hensoldt 16X56FF scope attached to the Winchester Magnum sniper rifle.

  “What’s up, Brad?” The question came from the FBI’s driver of the orange and white checked airport escort truck with its checkered flag flying from the back. It slowly led the G-650 that had “just” landed from Osan air base in South Korea.

  “Seems our boys here at Panda have some unexpected visitors.” The sniper slowly shifted his position and glassed the open hangar with his riflescope. “Looks like a Chinese fire drill in there. Four guys exited a black SUV that rolled into the hangar. They rounded up the mechanics and led them into the offices. A few minutes later, what looks to be the same four reentered the hangar, this time wearing Panda overalls.”

  “What do you make of it?” the escort driver asked. His truck continued leading the G-650 to this darkest part of the airport.

  “They are the package’s welcoming committee.”

  “Armed?”

  “Affirmative. Your ETA?” The sniper wasn’t about to break cover and turn around to look for the jet.

  “Two minutes. Have your position in sight.”

  “Instructions?” Brad asked.

  “Continue overwatch. Give fire support as needed.”

  Brad relaxed his finger against the Winchester’s trigger guard. He quietly watched inside the hangar while the men dressed as Panda mechanics stood near the walls waiting for the jet. For any other flight, this might look like business as usual. Not this time. Homeland and CIA confirmed this jet carries the terrorist responsible for all the havoc lately.