The Beijing conspiracy

by Adrian D'hage

  CHAPTER 76

  CANBERRA

  T he President of the United States’ visit had received maximum coverage in the national media. Although the protests against Australia’s involvement in the disaster that had overtaken Iraq had been some of the biggest in the country’s history, the protesters had been kept away from a stubborn President Harrison and an equally immoveable Australian Prime Minister, both of whom were in final discussions as the visit drew to a close.

  Ahmad Rahman froze as he caught sight of the patrol entering the pine forest 500 metres below his hide above the vineyard. He watched the soldiers through his binoculars until they disappeared from view. Turning back towards the other two cell members, he gave the thumbs down – the signal for ‘enemy’. The commandos were heading up the hill towards the cell members’ location.

  The al-Qaeda cell had been in position for three days and as the first rays of the sun broke over the gum trees on the hills to the east, Ahmad Rahman had checked the camouflage around the hide and carefully replaced any of the eucalyptus that was wilted. The fissure in the rocks above the vineyard wasn’t deep but it was just big enough to hold the three of them, together with the stinger missiles they’d brought in before Ahmad judged the area would be swept to ensure the safety of President Harrison.

  In his earlier reconnaissance, Ahmad had realised that the problem facing any soldiers assigned to protect the President was one of geography. Apart from some new construction around the airport and a lengthening and strengthening of Runway 35, the area around the Canberra airfield hadn’t changed much since April 1940 when DC-3s had flown in and out of what had been a small military air station. Horses and cattle still grazed in the open fields, and the whole airport was surrounded by densely wooded hills and mountains. To search such a vast area properly would have taken many more soldiers than could be spared for a 24-hour visit, something Ahmad Rahman had taken into account. The day before, one patrol had passed within 100 metres of the hide, but that had been as close as they had come until a few minutes ago when he’d spotted the latest patrol.

  Rahman scanned the area beyond the airfield. A kilometre to the north, a police car had stopped the traffic from using Majura Lane, a major access road that ran along the side of the airfield connecting Canberra’s satellite city with the freeway to Sydney. To the south, another major highway had been sealed off and the traffic banked up for several kilometres. Further towards the city, dozens of police cars had been deployed along the route the President would use to get to the airport. The President must be on his way, Rahman thought, and he motioned to the two young men behind him to make a final check on the missiles.

  Ahmad Rahman trained his binoculars back on the pine forest below. Through the trees he could see the occasional movement of the forward scout. The patrol was closer and still heading up the side of the mountain towards his position. Rahman focused back on the airfield to the area just in front of the control tower at the RAAF base. The area on the opposite side of the runway to the commercial terminals was under heavy guard. In addition to the police presence, sniper teams had been positioned at key points around the airfield and special response force teams had been assembled in nearby hangers, while dogs and their handlers patrolled the special perimeter that had been established around the president’s distinctive aircraft and the refuelling trucks. Rahman could see the pilots going through their procedures in the cockpit and the warning beacon on the aircraft’s underside was rotating.

  Ahmad swung his binoculars past the commercial airport on the far side of the airfield towards the long drive that led to the Air Force Base. Police motorcycles, their blue lights flashing, were escorting a big white car with the Australian flag fluttering on the bonnet. The Prime Minister and his wife, Ahmad thought, as he focused his binoculars further south. A phalanx of police motorcycles headed the motorcade that had just reached the turnoff from the main highway; black Suburbans were followed by two armoured Cadillacs. Ahmad knew that these were part of the ‘secure package’ that was designed to break away from the ten vehicles following behind and the rest of the motorcade in case of attack. One was a decoy but both had run-flat tyre systems, an environmental sealing system for protection against chemical and biological attack, as well as more than 12 centimetres of ballistic armour to protect the President from anti-tank grenades. Ahmad again focused on the pine forest. The soldiers were getting closer.

  ‘We’ve had a departure,’ President Harrison’s Chief Steward announced. ‘The President and the First Lady will arrive in the next few minutes.’

  ‘Thank Christ for that,’ one of the journalists from the press corps muttered. The President’s discussions with the Australian Prime Minister on the devastation in Sydney and Australia’s support for America in Iraq had gone well over time. The journalists and other staff that had been assigned seats in the rear of Air Force One had been waiting for nearly an hour.

  ‘Canberra Ground, this is Air Force One, request start.’

  ‘Air Force One, you are cleared to start.’

  The President’s chief pilot, Air Force Colonel Mike Munro reached towards the bank of switches on the control panel above him.

  ‘Start number four.’

  ‘Valve open,’ the First Officer replied.

  ‘Pack valves closed, N2 rotation. Oil pressure.’ The engineer watched as the oil pressure light for the number four engine extinguished. It was a procedure the crew could carry out in their sleep.

  ‘Valve closed on four.’

  ‘Number four stabilised, start number one,’ Colonel Munro ordered, satisfied that the bank of gauges for the starboard outer engine indicated it was operating normally.

  ‘Guard! Present Arms!’ The 100-strong honour guard came to a crashing salute. On the hill above the Royal Military College the guns of the ceremonial artillery battery boomed out over the capital. The Governor-General, the Prime Minister and their wives stood on the tarmac as the President’s plane started to roll.

  ‘Canberra control, Air Force One, ready.’

  ‘Air Force One, you are cleared for an immediate departure on Runway 35, contact departures when airborne. We’ve enjoyed having you here. Have a safe and pleasant flight.’

  ‘Air Force One, thank you and good day.’

  Mike Munro lined up the President’s aircraft on the centre line, applied the brakes and advanced the throttles halfway, allowing the engines to spool up. Satisfied, he released the brakes and slowly pushed all four throttles forward.

  ‘EPR set, 80 knots,’ the First Officer called. ‘Vee-one.’ Air Force One, the ‘alpha’ of the world’s aircraft and the icon of the power and prestige of the United States of America had passed the point where the flight could be aborted.

  ‘Rotate. Vee-two… ’ The alpha had rotated for the first time.

  Ahmad Rahman glanced nervously to his right. The soldiers were now barely 100 metres from his position. One or two of them, in contravention of their orders, turned to watch the President’s aircraft take off.

  ‘Hold your fire until I tell you,’ Ahman said as loudly as he dared. They’d practised many times for this moment but Ahmad felt his heart pounding as he watched Air Force One approach. It was the most vulnerable time for any aircraft; it seemed that it was moving so slowly it would fall out of the sky. Ahmad had to resist the urge to fire immediately. He waited until the big aircraft lumbered past.

  ‘ Allahu Akbar! One, two, three fire!’ he counted.

  The three sophisticated heat-seeking missiles shot out of their launchers and a short distance later their rocket motors fired.

  The loud tone in the crew of Air Force One’s headphones sent a chill through the cockpit as the missile warning light flashed on the instrument panel. Unlike ordinary 747s, Air Force One was equipped with the most advanced missile defences of any aircraft and the crew had trained for just such an attack. Air Force Colonel Mike Munro reacted in an instant and he flicked the switch to activate a modulated beam of infra-red energy
designed to lock on to the incoming missile and defuse it.

  ‘Flares,’ he ordered calmly.

  ‘Flares gone.’

  ‘Chaff.’

  ‘Chaff gone.’

  The sophisticated defences of Air Force One might have been sufficient if the aircraft had not been so low and if there had only been one or perhaps even two missiles. One missile had been confused by the aircraft’s infra-red defences and a second one by the sudden explosion of flares. Both missiles missed the target, exploding a kilometre or so away on a military training ground just to the north of the airfield, but the first missile was already too close to the port inner engine and it exploded in a blinding flash.

  Mike Munro struggled at the controls of the stricken aircraft but, with half the port wing gone, the big 747 flipped on its back and went into a steep, spiralling dive.

  Air Force One, laden with fuel, hit the ground at an angle of nearly 45 degrees, exploding in a huge fireball.

  Back on the ground the faces of those in the official party who’d watched the take-off were ashen. A pillar of thick smoke rose from the hills just to the north of the airfield as fire engines roared towards the access gates. The fire-fighters were grim-faced in the knowledge of what they would find. More than a billion people around the world would watch the television footage of the black plume of smoke among the gum trees being broadcast over and over.

  CHAPTER 77

  THE OVAL OFFICE, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON DC

  T he day after the images that shocked America had been shown around the world, they were followed by another image of a different kind, one that sent a shiver through Arab and Muslim communities. As Vice President Lyndon Johnson had done when President Kennedy had been assassinated, Vice President Charles Bolton repeated the words of the Chief Justice of the United States as he was sworn in as President. ‘I, Charles William Bolton, do solemnly swear… that I will faithfully execute the office of the President of the United States… And will, to the best of my ability… preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States… So help me, God.’

  ‘Good luck,’ the Chief Justice concluded. Unlike a normal inauguration on the steps of the Capitol, there was no band music and the applause from the small group of solemn onlookers in the Oval Office was muted. As soon as the group had dispersed, President Bolton tested the chair behind the desk. ‘Now we’ll show the Muslims and the Chinese who’s boss,’ he muttered, gaining no satisfaction that it had taken the death of a President for him to gain office. It wasn’t that he mourned the passing of his former boss. He’d always thought President Harrison was weak and indecisive; it was more that he would have liked to win an election in his own right.

  ‘Let’s see these lily-livered bastards on the Hill criticise the war in Iraq now,’ he said to himself.

  ‘I want some advice on where we stand on appointing a Vice President,’ President Bolton said, after he’d summoned the White House Legal Counsel and Dan Esposito to the Oval Office. President Bolton’s first order of business was to get the right person into the Vice President’s position; someone who would not show him up in terms of style and charisma but someone who would support him in taking advantage of the renewed outrage in the American community at the downing of Air Force One. His second priority was to kick start a campaign to gain the Republican nomination for the Presidency; not necessarily in that order. Halliwell, he knew, was ambitious and would likely run and that challenge had to be negated, and quickly. Incumbency of office was an advantage he fully intended to capitalise on, although he knew only too well that it didn’t always mean election, as Ford had found out when Carter beat him in 1976.

  ‘The 25th Amendment allows you to appoint whoever you wish, Mr President.’

  Bolton nodded. He had already thought about appointing Halliwell, not because he wanted him in the job but because it would likely stymie any presidential ambitions. It would be near impossible for a Vice President to challenge a sitting President.

  ‘Of course whoever you nominate will have to be approved by both the House and the Senate,’ the legal counsel said. ‘If I may, Mr President, at this unsettling time in the country’s history, it might be wise to select someone who is not going to run into a lot of flack on the Hill,’ the legal counsel concluded, reading the new President’s thoughts.

  Bolton grunted. Halliwell might not be such a wise choice. The Democrats would have a field day over his own relationship with Halliwell and his share portfolio would re-surface. In any case, the Chinese weren’t going away any time soon and that was something that as President he had the power to do considerably more about than his predecessor. Halliwell was probably more useful where he was and, for the moment, he would leave the position vacant. After all, it had taken over five months before Rockefeller was confirmed after the downfall of Nixon. ‘That’ll be all,’ he said, dismissing his legal counsel.

  ‘I intend to run for the Republican nomination, Esposito,’ President Bolton stated flatly after the White House Counsel had left, ‘and I intend to win. If you value your job around here, you’ll see that it happens.’

  ‘I have a plan, Mr President, which I’ll be happy to brief you on once you’ve attended to the funeral of President Harrison and other more immediate issues.’

  Ever since President Harrison’s untimely death, Esposito had been in no doubt as to the precariousness of his position. On the surface he would appear to support the incumbent but very soon he would get Halliwell to declare his hand.

  CHAPTER 78

  THE SITUATION ROOM, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON DC

  T om McNamara, the CIA’s Director of Operations, and Curtis O’Connor looked thoughtful as they sat down to watch al-Jazeera’s video of Dr Khalid Kadeer’s third and final warning. They were not the only ones watching. Undetected by the system, al-Falid had flown back into the United States on his American passport.

  President Bolton had assembled his war cabinet, although this time the numbers in the Situation Room beneath the Oval Office were smaller. Bolton was not going to tolerate the sort of discussion that had taken place under President Harrison’s stewardship. For a start, the new President had declared that only one intelligence representative would be present – the newly appointed Director of National Intelligence. Bolton had a very clear idea of where he was going without the waters being muddied by analysis of intelligence by the CIA, especially officers like Curtis O’Connor. Dan Esposito was furious as he had also been excluded and told to concentrate on the President’s re-election.

  ‘The alpha has rotated for the first time and soon it will rotate again and the prime of 137 will unleash its fury,’ Kadeer began. As usual, his manner was calm and reasonable.

  ‘As the great Prophet, peace be upon him, will attest, the loss of any life is unfortunate but doubly unfortunate when the solution is in your hands. We do not wish to change your society yet you seem to think you have a right to change ours. Your leaders talk about imposing democracy on us. In your democracies you allow notorious prisons like Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay without any hope of a fair trial for those who are incarcerated. Some have been held there for over five years. For Muslims in China, the position is the same and torture is commonplace. We are beginning to wonder whether freedom and human rights are privileges that are available for all or only to those of you who agree with your governments and their imperialistic views of the world.’ Kadeer paused to allow his message to take effect.

  ‘Our demands are simple and fair. Firstly, we want to see an end to the suffering of the Palestinian people and the establishment of a viable and prosperous Palestinian State at peace with her neighbours.’

  ‘Secondly, we want you to withdraw your forces from our holy lands. You do not have a right to use military force to secure oil for your gas guzzling SUVs and four-wheel drives. Thirdly, we want you to withdraw your support for corrupt regimes like those in Saudi Arabia and Egypt where our people are persecuted. Fourthly, the West is to stop turning
a blind eye to the Beijing government’s relentless murder of innocent Muslims and other ordinary citizens. The Han Chinese see the Beijing Olympics as their entree card into global society. If you in the West continue to support this event without demanding the freedom of speech and religion you are so keen to impose on the Middle East, you will all pay a terrible price. Finally, just as we do not wish to interfere in the affairs of Christianity, we seek an agreement that you will cease interfering in the affairs of Islam. You have a choice. You can sit down and negotiate the peace we all desire, or you will meet us again when the alpha rotates for the second and final time. This is your last warning.’

  No one spoke. The cabinet members were keen to hear the new President’s views although few were prepared for the vehemence of what followed.

  ‘These little bastards are going to regret this,’ President Bolton began. He turned to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. ‘I want a report on how soon we can double the Armed Forces,’ he said.

  The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs struggled to hide his alarm. ‘That would involve the draft, Mr President.’

  ‘I know that General, goddamn it!’ President Bolton spat back, slamming his fist on to the table. ‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ the President demanded, his cold eyes staring down each member of his cabinet in turn. ‘This is war and this cabinet’s going to be very different from the last one. No more debates. No more roadblocks and speed humps, and no more negative analysis. This year’s only got a few more weeks to run but by the time I give my State of the Union address early next year, I want to map out a war footing for the whole nation,’ the President snarled, convinced that where the previous President had failed, he would succeed.