Headwind

by John J. Nance

  The fact that the aircraft couldn’t make it back to the United States without another refueling stop in Iceland or Greenland was still a significant problem. He wondered if they could charter another, longer-range aircraft, or even shift the President to a regular commercial flight at Heathrow.

  If not, perhaps they could make Canada in one hop, although the reaction of the Canadian Government couldn’t be taken for granted either. They, too, had ratified the treaty.

  Deputy Prime Minister Anthony Sheffield entered suddenly with two aides and shook Jay’s hand warmly before sitting in a chair across the table.

  “Let me get right to the point, Mr. Reinhart. Her Majesty’s government is aware of your mission to defend Mr. Harris from the international arrest warrant issued by Peru. We’re aware he’s at this moment in Sicily and the circumstances of that presence. We understand the Italian government’s stance, and we’re aware that you’ve been making inquiries about our official attitude toward the Peruvian warrant if Mr. Harris should arrive on these shores.”

  Jay nodded. “That’s all quite correct.”

  “Very well. While we will need several hours to give you a formal answer, as a lawyer I’m sure you understand fully that, whatever our point of view, it is in no way controlling. I know you’re aware that our courts are independent, as are yours in the States. This matter will be decided by judges.”

  “Well, sir, unless something has changed drastically in the last few weeks, the Secretary of State still has final authority.”

  “Yes, but only after the judiciary.”

  “Has the warrant already been presented to a magistrate court, Mr. Sheffield?”

  “I really don’t know,” Sheffield replied. “But I should think we would be wise to expect that step at any moment.”

  “I do believe that the government’s attitude, and your degree of interest, will very likely weigh in the thinking of any judges who get this case.”

  “Again, I firmly doubt that,” Sheffield replied. “Let me ask, is your plan to fly President Harris here this afternoon?”

  “Yes,” Jay said cautiously, “provided . . .”

  “Provided our position is not interpreted by you as a threat?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can guarantee nothing, you understand, and I cannot even give you an idea until the PM has had time to consider the situation. We have been in touch with the White House, of course.”

  “I thought you might.”

  “And we are, as you might guess, very distressed to hear a legal process under a treaty to which we are a party, and to which we have unavoidable obligations, has been initiated against an American ex-President.”

  Jay studied Sheffield’s eyes, looking for the deeper meaning behind his chillingly phrased words.

  “As you can imagine, President Harris was equally distressed,” Jay replied. “Mr. Sheffield, let me emphasize that this . . . this warrant is a ridiculous and fraudulent instrument in essence, and one that will ultimately be quashed for lack of credible charges. But . . . in the meantime, we need to ask that there be no government support for any short-circuiting or speedup of the extradition process. That is your governmental province, and the Secretary of State is certainly a member of your government.”

  “I understand.”

  “May I tell the President he can count on that?”

  “No, Mr. Reinhart, you may not. Only the PM can decide what, if anything, we can do from this level, and what, if anything, should be communicated to the Secretary, whose obligation is primarily legal, and not political. Now, how may I contact you later this afternoon?”

  Jay hesitated a few seconds, slowly accepting the reality that nothing more of substance was going to be said. He was already alarmed by the distance Sheffield had placed between John Harris and the British leadership.

  “I have a rented cell phone,” Jay said at last.

  “Splendid,” the Deputy PM said, motioning to one of his aides to write down the number Jay repeated.

  “Where are you staying, Mr. Reinhart?”

  “I . . . don’t have a hotel yet. I came straight from the airport.”

  “Well, I shall be happy to arrange one for you, and transportation to the hotel as well.” Sheffield got to his feet. “I’ll ring you in a few hours.” He began to turn.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Sheffield.”

  “Yes?” Sheffield turned back, balancing himself with one hand on the table as he waited for the verbal postscript.

  “You. . .indicated you would answer my question when I got here . . . how did the PM’s office know to expect my call?”

  Sheffield laughed. “Oh, that! Well, Mr. Reinhart, let’s just say that we had some advance information that President Harris had retained you, we knew you arrived this morning at Heathrow, and no lawyer in your position would fail to contact Her Majesty’s government. So . . .”

  Jay met the man’s gaze, feeling a small chill run up his back at the obvious sidestep.

  “Who told you, sir?”

  There was a telling hesitation and a frozen smile.

  “I’m not really at liberty to say, Mr. Reinhart. But it really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, now does it? Good day, Mr. Reinhart.”

  He turned and left before Jay could reply.

  Aboard EuroAir, Sigonella Naval Air Station, Sicily

  “Mr. President?”

  John Harris stirred in the first-class seat and opened his right eye, focusing instantly on Sherry Lincoln’s face hovering over him.

  “Yes, Sherry?”

  “I hate to wake you.”

  He sat up and stretched. “I’m not sure I was really asleep. What time is it?”

  She sat down next to him. “After three P.M. I just spoke with Jay Reinhart, and he’s waiting for the British Prime Minister’s office to ring him. In a nutshell, he says that based on what the Italian foreign minister told Captain Swanson, we’re safe here until tomorrow, and he’s worried about what the British may decide to do. So he wants us to wait until morning before flying to London.”

  “Oh wonderful! Another night at the Boeing Arms Hotel.”

  She laughed and rolled her eyes. “I know it! And I can’t find a working shower on the entire plane.”

  “Swanson is okay with this?”

  “That’s another reason to wake you, sir,” she replied. “Captain Swanson is coming across the ramp as we speak. He called ten minutes ago and told us to wake the pilots and stand by. He wouldn’t say why.”

  Craig Dayton met Captain Swanson at the top of the airstairs and escorted him to the President immediately.

  “We’ve got to get you out of here, sir,” Swanson announced. “Apparently, Mr. Campbell has convinced a judge to declare this ramp under exclusive Italian control. There’s nothing to stop them now.”

  “There wasn’t supposed to be a ruling until tomorrow! Why did the judge issue the order early?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. President, but I was told the judge has probably already signed the order, or whatever they do here in Italy. When my commander and the Pentagon get the word, I fully expect I’ll be ordered to stand aside and let them come aboard and arrest you.”

  “Captain,” the President said, “who relayed all this to you?”

  “An assistant to the Italian foreign minister. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten the name, but it’s back in my office.”

  “That’s okay,” Harris said, rubbing his chin in thought, then looking squarely at Glen Swanson. “You feel the call was authentic?”

  “Yes, sir. He seemed to know everything I would expect him to know in that position. He knew about my earlier call from Mr. Anselmo.”

  “All right.”

  “And I know he was calling from Rome because of the operator.”

  “How long do we have?” Harris asked.

  “I don’t know, but I would expect them to move rapidly. Having to leave empty-handed yesterday was an affront to the local Carabinieri commander.”


  Craig Dayton had been standing behind Swanson and taking in every word.

  “We can go, then?” Craig asked, turning and gesturing to the President. “If you’re ready, that is, sir.”

  “You can depart anytime,” Swanson said. “We did fuel the airplane, right?”

  Craig nodded. “Yes. Late last night. But, Captain, I need to know whether I’m going to have problems getting an air traffic control clearance to London. I mean, the clearance will come from Euro Control, which is in Brussels, but Rome Control could ask them to block us.”

  “I doubt that will happen,” Swanson said, “but I wouldn’t advise you to wait and test Rome’s resolve. And there’s another reason I think you need to go immediately. This is Sicily, and . . . quite frankly, Rome is only marginally in control here. When the Carabinieri are thwarted at something, the results can be unpredictable.”

  “I don’t understand,” the President said.

  “Remember, sir, that we’re still subject to their jurisdiction. I’d just rather get you out of here as soon as possible.”

  Craig looked at John Harris, Sherry Lincoln, and Matt Ward, then back at the President.

  “Mr. President?” he asked, waiting for the response.

  John Harris sat deeply in thought, his chin resting on his hands. After a few moments he took a deep breath and looked up at Craig. “Okay, I’m ready. Even if Jay’s concerns are right about London, I’d rather take a chance on them than stay in Italy. The one loose end is getting another plane chartered to take the veterans and their families back to Rome.”

  “I’ll handle that, sir,” Swanson said.

  The President turned to Swanson. “Captain, if you think it’s safe to do so, I want to walk into the terminal and talk to General Glueck and his group.”

  “I’ll make sure we seal the doors, sir. It will be safe.” He raised his handheld radio and gave the appropriate orders before escorting the President into the terminal and placing the PA microphone in his hand.

  Folks, may I have your attention?

  John Harris’s voice carried through the large passenger lounge as he stood by one of the doors to the ramp and held the microphone. Most of the forty-four members of the group had been picking through a buffet table set up at the far end of the terminal. They turned now and moved toward the President as he waited for them to gather.

  I wanted to come in personally and talk to you. I have decided to head for London and battle this fraudulent Peruvian legal action from there. I know you all volunteered to come with me, but that’s not necessary now, thanks to what you’ve already accomplished.

  We’re arranging another charter flight to get you to Rome this evening, but I want to tell you again how deeply I appreciate your loyalty to the office I once held, to your country, and by association, to me personally. Your decision to forgo that flight back to Rome and stand with me here has made a critical difference, and I’m more than humbled that you would massively impact this marvelous once-in-a-lifetime tour of yours to stand with me in an hour of need.

  There was an immediate murmur of approval followed by applause, which John Harris waved down gently.

  Please . . . let me finish. I know that . . . there was considerable concern that the White House was abandoning me, but that’s not so. President Cavanaugh had a difficult decision to make, and he made it for the good of our nation, and I applaud him for that. It would have been easier to fly off with that C-17, but he felt that both the United States, and this particular former President, would be viewed as cynically evading an international process we, ourselves, helped to create. He’s right.

  Harris spotted General Glueck and nodded to him.

  Before I leave here, I want to shake the hand of each and every one of you, and I especially want to thank General Glueck for leading this heartwarming show of support. I want you to know that this is not just me personally you’ve been defending, but the ability of every former president to travel the world without fear of arrest on trumped-up charges. And . . . being a veteran myself from a slightly younger generation, I want you to know how much I honor your service and sacrifices, and that goes equally for all you twenty-two men and our one female Marine veteran, Virginia MacCabe, over there, plus the spouses and lovers who’ve stood by you, and the three children and one grandchild who’ve come along on this trip.

  He replaced the microphone to applause as General Glueck approached. “You’re certain you don’t need us to come along, sir? I’ve polled everyone. We’re ready.”

  John Harris put a hand on the general’s shoulder. “No, I’ll be fine from here.”

  “Go home, Mr. President, as fast as possible. Please.”

  Harris nodded. “I want to, believe me.” He shook Glueck’s hand and turned to the others, greeting each in turn and hugging several of the older vets before turning to the Navy commander who escorted him through the door and onto the ramp.

  “Thank you so very much, Captain,” John Harris said, shaking his hand. “I’d better get moving.”

  “Yes, sir, but I think we’ve got things under control. It could be a premonition, but for some reason I predict we’re going to have a little maintenance problem with the outside phone lines into the base. Too bad, too, because we just won’t be able to receive any phone calls from Rome until it’s fixed.”

  “Why, that could take hours,” Harris said, smiling.

  “Yes, sir, it sure could,” Swanson replied.

  “Thank you, Captain,” John Harris said. The naval officer turned and started up the aisle before stopping and turning around.

  “Ah, Mr. President. A personal note?”

  “Yes?”

  “When you left office like you did . . . honoring your dedication to the idea of a six-year term . . . it made me feel ashamed, because . . .”

  “I’m truly sorry to have disappointed you, Captain,” Harris replied, interrupting him.

  Swanson’s eyebrows shot up in alarm as he raised his hand in a stop gesture. “No, no! Not ashamed of you, sir. I was ashamed of me . . . because I didn’t vote for you. Your refusal to run again was the most inspiring thing I ever saw a President do.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  London, England—Tuesday—2:45 P.M.

  In normal circumstances, the plush surroundings of the multi-room hotel suite provided by the Deputy Prime Minister’s office would have riveted Jay Reinhart’s attention for at least an hour. His love of antiques and fine furniture usually dictated a happy search for the pedigree of each piece in a well-furnished room. Instead, fatigue and the surreal nature of the mission had already numbed him to the luxurious surroundings.

  Jay dropped his roll-on bag in the entryway and went to the bedroom to plop down on the king-size bed in deep thought.

  So now what, Kemosabe?

  Sherry Lincoln had called him when he was in the car on the way to the hotel to report their imminent departure.

  “I’m nervous,” he’d told her, “about bringing the President to London until I’m sure what this government is thinking, but I agree you’d better get out of there.”

  “We’re starting engines now,” Sherry said, falling silent for a few seconds as the whine of jet engines rose in the background. “Can you tell me exactly what you’re afraid of, Jay?”

  “Well . . .” he began, gauging how much of the swirling doubt to share with her. “I’m not afraid that London would send him to Lima as fast as Italy might have done, but . . . there’s a lot of discretion in the British extradition process and it scares me. If this government for some reason decided they wanted or needed to extradite him, they might just succeed. I just don’t know their attitude, and I can’t risk guessing.”

  “You sound tired, Jay,” she said suddenly. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m . . . ah . . .” he started to reply.

  “I know it’s presumptuous of me to ask,” she continued, “since we’ve never met.” Her voice was exceptionally soothing, and he found himself almost forgetting that she’
d just asked a question.

  “What? Oh, no, Sherry. That’s not presumptuous at all. I mean, I appreciate your asking.”

  “So, what is the answer?” she prompted.

  “Ah, the answer is ‘no,’ I can’t be tired, because I’ve only been up about twenty-eight hours now. I’m just marginally incoherent,” he insisted.

  “Well, you can collapse in a minute,” she said, “but right now I need to give you the number for this plane’s satellite phone, since the GSM phones we’ve been using won’t work in the air. This is the one the cockpit crew will answer.”

  Jay grabbed a notepad from the bed behind him and took the number down. “I can reach you in flight on this?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Sherry replied. “By the way, our estimated arrival time at Heathrow is five-thirty P.M. your time. It’s an hour later here in Italy. Are you going to meet us there? Or what do you suggest we do on arrival?”

  “I’ll call you in flight with instructions.”

  “And what if we don’t hear from you?”

  “Then . . . tell the President it’s his choice, but if no one stops you, refuel immediately and go on to Iceland, refuel there, and head as fast as possible for Maine. But, Sherry, you can depend on my being there.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll be looking forward to meeting you in person.”

  “Me, too. You, I mean.” He replaced the receiver and sat quietly for a moment, balancing the need to hear from the Deputy Prime Minister’s office with the need to call the solicitor he’d hired, Geoffrey Wallace, to find out what he’d discovered. Wallace had yet to phone him back.

  Jay punched in the number to Wallace’s office.

  “He’s out at the moment,” Wallace’s secretary said. “But I’m sure he’ll be calling you, Mr. Reinhart.”

  He thanked her and disconnected just as the room phone rang.

  “Mr. Reinhart? Would you hold please for Ambassador Jamison?”