Jonathan leveled the plane at 12000 feet and then slowly descended to 1750 feet above ground level and set the flight director on a course of 095. He was familiar with this route and knew that once past the Ozarks there were no higher obstacles on this Southern path. They would rocket across Arkansas, and North Mississippi and Alabama before turning Northeast across the Northern portion of Atlanta and land at a small uncontrolled airport in Greeneville, Tennessee. He radioed the Fixed Base Operation (FBO) at Greeneville and reserved a Chevrolet Suburban under a fictitious aircraft identification number and a new alias. They would leave the Lear at the FBO, knowing that without a control tower it would take several days, even a week, before the CIA found it. From Greeneville they would drive an hour and a half to Elizabethton, TN, an obscure town with a nice but seldom used airport. At the Elizabethton Airport he knew there were 2 training schools where he could rent a Cessna 182 and fly it directly to Langley.
But for the moment all he had to worry about was making it to Greeneville undetected. He knew he would have to adjust his altitude once he turned North across the Smoky and Appalachian mountains. He also had to make sure that he didn’t cross any restricted airspace even though with his transponder switched off, no one would see him, which could be deadly with other traffic. He pushed the Honeywell engines to the red line, screaming over the ground at nearly the speed of sound. The earth flew past and the Ground Proximity Warning System yelled at him as he raced past cell towers and hills. He trusted the autopilot and let it fly the plane while he double checked on the sectional maps that there was nothing new constructed in their path that would bring them down.
Carly came up to the cockpit and tapped him on the shoulder. He motioned for her to climb into the co-pilot’s seat. She smiled as she pulled Bruiser into the seat, as if she was as excited for the fuzzy bear as she was for herself. Even though she was too small to see above the instrument panel, she was intrigued by all the dials that appeared through the flat glass displays in front of her. Jonathan put a set of the Bose headphones on her head and showed her how to talk into the voice activated microphone. At first it startled her, but then she relaxed.
“Daddy, where’s the President?” she asked.
“He stays at the White House in Washington, D.C.”
“Is that where we are going?”
“No, honey we’re going to Virginia.”
“That’s where it’s going to happen,” she said.
“Where what’s going to happen, sweetie?”
“The explosion.”
“What explosion?’
“The one that’s going to happen.”
“Here we go again,” thought Jonathan.
“Let her go, let her find her own balance,” he thought, remembering the advice of the therapist.
“Why do you think it’s going to happen again, sweetie?”
“Because of my dream, and that’s where it happened. Are there horses and elephants in the White House?”
“No, elephants are in Africa and India.”
“Well there were horses and elephants in my dream and they were in this great big building with the President.”
. Jonathan asked, “Did you see real live animals?”
“Yep.”
“What were they doing?”
“They were running and the elephants were on fire and were stomping everyone.”
Jonathan shuddered at the graphic, wondering if maybe he was letting her go too far.
“Uncle Bob and Mama were there.”
Jonathan was afraid to ask if they too were injured or dead.
After a moment of silence, Carly added, “They were laughing.”
Surprised, Jonathan asked, “Why would they be laughing?”
“Because they were happy.”
The EGPWS screamed and they narrowly missed a new tower that Jonathan wasn’t familiar with. “Sweetie you need to take Bruiser and go back with mommy, Daddy’s got to concentrate up here. We’re going to land in about 5 minutes.
Chapter 16
Harry Davidson’s cell phone rang. It was William Reed. Harry was with the forensic experts combing through every inch of the Worthington’s lobby and the area surrounding Burton’s murder. James Burton’s body had been taken to the Fort Worth medical examiner’s office where an autopsy was scheduled. The Director sounded like he was in a panic. “Davidson, Jesus Christ I’m glad to be talking to you. Holy Christ……. I thought that you might be dead.”
“No sir, I’m fine. What’s happened?”
“We just received a call from Flight Service that our Lear made a distress call at 21:40 hours and then disappeared from radar at 21:41 hours. The pilot reported that both engines had failed. What in the hell is going on?”
“Sir, I have no idea.”
“Who the hell was on that plane?”
“I don’t know sir.”
“You didn’t authorize a flight?”
“No, sir, we set up headquarters here in Fort Worth and have been working with forensics and the FBI and local authorities trying to locate the Andersons.”
The Director was breathing hard. “Flight Service informed me that the pilots filed a flight plan to Langley at 21:30 hours. Only you or Burton were authorized to initiate a flight plan.”
“Sir, I haven’t talked to the pilots and Burton….you know about Jim.”
The Director continued, “When we heard the plane might be down, we called Executive Air at Meacham and they said that the Lear left at 0933 hours. Jenkins and Horton were in command of the aircraft and a man and a pregnant woman boarded the plane at 21:31.”
“Sir, that doesn’t make any sense. Jenkins wouldn’t violate company procedure. He was waiting for us.”
The Director hesitated before saying the words. The words hurt his brain as they came out of his mouth. “Do you think the Andersons could have hijacked our plane?”
There was a long moment of silence as Davidson’s thoughts caught up with the Director’s.
“Was there any sign of struggle on the tarmac?” asked Davidson.
“No.”
“Any communication from Jenkins, a mayday, a broadcast from the emergency network?”
“We’re checking that now, but it doesn’t appear so.”
“How about the tape of the Mayday, have you had our profilers verify that it was Jenkins making the call?”
“That’s being done now,” answered the Director.
Davidson processed all the information. “I don’t know how they could have taken our aircraft, sir. There’s no way Jenkins would ever compromise his orders. What doesn’t make any sense is that the folks at Executive Service didn’t witness any kind of a struggle?”
“No, the plane was running and left as soon as the two boarded.”
Davidson asked, “Are we sure it was our plane and are we sure it’s down?”
“Flight service says yes, but we’re still investigating. I’ve called for satellite imagery over the site, we should pick up the infrared,” said the Director.
“Do you want me to dispatch helicopters to their last radar position? We can be there in 30 minutes.”
“Wait a minute Davidson, I have another call, hang-on, it could be the folks from imagery.”
There was a lengthy pause.
The Director returned, “That was the folks in audio forensics. We have the broadcast…..listen.” The Director played the Mayday call.
“That’s not Jenkins,” said Davidson.
“Forensics concurs. It’s Anderson…..he’s taken our plane!”
“Hang on again, I’m going to see if imagery has anything yet.”
There was another long moment of silence before the Director returned. “Davidson, get a helicopter and have the pilot fly you to N34-50.0/W092-15.2 there’s a forest fire at that location and it matches the coordinates that Flight Services specified as their last call. I want you at the scene of the wreckage to preserve the evidence and to see if there are any survivors. Harry, if th
e Andersons were on that plane, it may be a blessing in disguise. There may have been a struggle on board that caused it to go down. At least one set of our problems will be over. If the plane is linked back to us, let’s just let the media think it was a mechanical failure and not related to anything in Fort Worth, just a string of bad luck for the CIA. I’ll inform the President.”
“Yes sir.”
The Director hung up the phone and called PD. “PD…They both may be dead.”
There was a long silence. “What then?”
“We just clean everything up and move on.”
“We were so close.”
“We’ve been close before.”
“When will we know for sure?”
“A couple of days.”
Chapter 17
Jonathan walked into the Greenville FBO and filled out the paperwork for the rental car using the alias Brian Hoffman. It was a typical small airport FBO with a lobby, a couple of restrooms, a snack room with a coffee pot and vending machines and a weather station where pilots could access the latest weather reports (METARS) and check radar weather. In the lobby was a large “L” shaped counter that separated the customers’ section from the manager’s section. From behind the counter all accounts were tallied and in front of the counter, all accounts were paid. Behind the counter on the wall there was a weather station that displayed wind direction and speed and there were several speakers located throughout the facility to broad cast all inbound and outbound radio calls from pilots, so that the attendant could be prepared to give wind direction, runway in use or provide assistance with fuel. The FBO had a single hangar that was filled with small Cessnas and Pipers, some partially disassembled for annual inspections, others just waiting to be pulled out and flown.
Jonathan had parked the Lear at an angle so that the single attendant at the counter couldn’t read the registration numbers under the aircraft’s tail. But once inside, he realized that the attendant paid little attention to details such as aircraft registration numbers. The FBO was run by a young man in his mid-twenties who was a jack of many trades. He was the local aircraft mechanic, the hotel and car reservationist and fuel truck operator and dispenser. He hadn’t shaved in at least two days and wore a pair of faded baggy jeans with an oversize ACDC T-shirt that covered most of his beer belly.
“You gonna need fuel?” he asked.
“No, not just yet.”
“I’m John Kucel,” said the attendant reaching over the counter with a hand that contained the residue of aircraft grease and smelled of 100 octane AVGAS.
“Brian Hoffman,” returned Jonathan grabbing his hand. “Do you have my reservation for the SUV?”
“Yeah, it’s that Suburban out in the lot.”
“Thanks.”
“That’s a beautiful plane. We don’t see many of those around here.”
“Thanks,” Jonathan replied. “I need to leave it for a while, do you have any hangar space?”
The kid looked at him incredulously, nodded over at the small hangar that sat adjacent to the lobby and said, “For that?”
“Yeah, for that,” returned Jonathan.
“We don’t have anything that will fit something that big, but I can check with Mr. Green. He has that hangar across the way and he just sold his Challenger and his Gulfstream is late from the factory. How long do you need it for?”
“A couple of weeks.”
The attendant made the call and put Jonathan on the phone with Jim Green’s chief pilot and head of flight operations, Charlie Higgins. Jim Green was a local businessman who owned most of Greeneville, making his money in the distribution business. After about fifteen minutes Jonathan and Charlie had a deal.
“He said that I could pay you,” said Jonathan slapping an American Express card on the counter. “Five hundred dollars a week, and I’ve got it for a month. It looks like they’re going to have to repaint the Gulfstream……Mrs. Green says it’s the wrong color blue. “
John Kucel rolled his eyes and laughed. “Talk about a high maintenance broad.”
Jonathan smiled, “So, I’d like to pay in advance if that’s okay. Charlie said that you had a remote for the hangar doors and could let me in.” “No problem,” answered John. After completing the credit card transaction, John said, “I’ll meet you over there” and then John exited the FBO toward the runway, hopped into a green golf cart and scurried down the taxiway, stopped and then raced across the main runway. Jonathan climbed back into the Lear and when the attendant was out of sight, handed Mary the Suburban keys, pointed out the hangar and told her to take Carly and drive around the airport and meet him at the front of the hangar.
From about 50 yards away John hit the remote control and the monstrous hangar door began opening revealing a cavernous hangar that, except for a few pieces of ground support equipment, was completely empty. As Jonathan approached, John pulled a set of headphones from the back of the golf cart and put them on to save his ears from the whine of the big General Electric engines. He directed Jonathan into the hangar like a pro. Once inside, Jonathan shut down the Lear and climbed out of the cockpit.
“Anything else you need?” asked the attendant.
“No thank you. I’m just going to button things up and I’ll be on my way.”
“Do you need a ride back across?”
“No, my colleague drove the Suburban around.” “The front door locks itself, so I’ll close the main hangar doors. If you need to get it out, give me a call, otherwise it will just sit.”
“Thanks, and it was nice meeting you, oh I’m sorry,” Jonathan reached in his pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. “Here you go.”
John gave him a big smile that was missing a few teeth. “Much obliged, sir.”
“What are we going to do with those two?” asked Mary nervously looking at the two pilots that Jonathan was cutting free from the seats. The Suburban was running outside the front door with Carly sitting in the back seat playing some make believe game with her shadow on the back of the front seat.
“They’re going with us. Help me load them into the back of the Suburban.”
“They’ll talk,” answered Mary.
“We only have a couple of days before they realize there’s no plane at the crash site anyways, so we’ll keep them a couple of days and let them go.”
“What then?”
Jonathan began to lose it, “I don’t know Mary! Who the hell knows! Do you think I know everything! Whatever we do just keeps making the hole deeper. We just keep adding felonies to our resumes. Mary, do you realize we are the equivalent to a modern day Bonnie and Clyde, only times 100. And you remember how that ended.”
“What the hell difference does it make?” snapped Mary. “So, they kill us. I’ve been living a death sentence ever since July 15th when they took away Matthew.” She started to cry. Jonathan reached over and grabbed her and gave her a warm hug. “I’m sorry sweetie, sometimes the pressure’s more than I can take.”
“Maybe we need to find a safe place for Carly.”
“You’re probably right.
“Jonathan I’m afraid, really afraid.”
“Me too, but right now we’re all each other has and we’ve got to hold it together.”
Jonathan and Mary carried the pilots like sacks of potatoes and laid them in the cargo compartment of the vehicle. Both were conscious and stared at them with terrified eyes as if they were being taken to their graves. Jonathan increased their horror by taking duct tape and wrapping it around their heads so that it covered their eyes and ears. “This will keep them from eavesdropping.”
As they traveled north toward Elizabethton, Carly lay lengthwise on the back seat snuggling Bruiser and twitching restlessly.
Mary started pounding the door with her fist, first with mild taps and then with medium blows and then with all her might. The blood from her knuckles began to stain the gray interior trim on the door.
Jonathan looked over in horror, “Stop it, Mary stop! You’re hurtin
g yourself. What’s wrong with you?”
“They did it, they did it,” she cried. “The bastards contrived this whole thing; it’s the only thing that makes sense. They killed my baby. Jonathan, they killed my baby!”
“What are you talking about? Who did? Mary, you have to get it together.”
“He’s alive, they’re all in it together.”
“Slow down, honey. Breathe. Now take it slow, who’s alive, who killed Matthew?”
“Can’t you see it? Runyan’s alive, the agency’s a part of it. They’re all in it together.”
“Wow!” answered Jonathan. “What happened to the terrorists?”
“Jonathan, it’s crystal clear. There aren’t any terrorists; the only terror is what they’re creating.”
“Mary you’re losing it; you’re jumping to conclusions without any evidence. Why would Bob and the agency blow up a Federal building and kill over 2000 people. What would be their motive?”
“So they can implement a single solidified police state. Look at it, it’s all crystal clear: your termination, the emails, the notes from the President to the Director. It’s all right before our eyes. Those fuckers killed my baby! Ask Carly, she knows, she knows that Bob is alive!”
Jonathan was terrified by Mary’s words, mostly because he felt that she had gone over the edge and he was witnessing a full fledged nervous breakdown. He had seen this before in interrogations and once in a covert operation, when an agent went in too deep and his dual lives caused him to forget who he really was. After Afghanistan, he himself had had an emotional collapse and knew that when the human emotional balance shatters, the pieces explode in a million different directions and putting them back together again takes time, lots of time. The agency procedure was that during a meltdown, you should placate the person, and keep them calm until they received medical attention. “No Mary,” he answered softly. “It could never be. Please relax, we’ll talk about this later, okay?” He gave her a patronizing pat on the knee.
Perspectives, An Intriguing Tale of an American Born Terrorist Page 27
