Brown, Dale - Independent 04

by Storming Heaven (v1. 1)

  “Then you will die, Harold,” Cazaux said, raising the big .45 again.

  “Wait!” Lake shouted. “I can get four... no, five million with just a phone call. I’ve dealt with the Win Millions Casino in Atlantic City for emergency cash deals in the past—they can divert five million to me in just a few hours, before the gaming commission inspectors count their receipts tomorrow morning. They’ll charge twenty percent—”

  “Which you will pay out of your own funds,” Cazaux said.

  “Of course, of course,” Lake agreed. Twenty-percent interest for a one-week loan worked out to an astronomical one million percent compounded annual interest rate, but it was his only hope right now. “But Henri, the other six million should stay in the various offshore accounts. We can’t write those option contracts with cash.” The gun was still trained on him, distrust showing in every man’s face around Lake. “Henri, you’ve got to trust me on this one. I’ve got a loan commitment for eighteen million dollars in my hands. I pay Fraga at the Win Millions Casino six million, I need four million for my other creditors, that leaves you with the rest of the—”

  “You will pay us fifteen million dollars,” Cazaux said. “Five million now, in cash, and ten million credited to our offshore numbered accounts. You will keep the rest.”

  “But... but I can’t do that,” Lake protested. “I’ve got to cover thirty different trust and escrow accounts. The four million is just enough to hold off any legal action for—” “You will agree to these terms or die,” Cazaux said. “That is your only concern right now.”

  “Henri, I can’t step on the floor of any exchange or even talk to a broker unless I—” Cazaux pulled the hammer back on the .45. The sound of the hammer locking into place was as loud as a church bell in Lake’s ears. “All right, all right!” Lake shouted. “Fifteen million for you. I agree. Five million now, ten in your accounts.” He paused, looking to Cazaux and Townsend, afraid to look at Ysidro, and added, “To be used for Operation Storming Heaven, yes?”

  “What the hell is Operation Storming Heaven?” Townsend asked.

  “It’s an appropriate name for this project,” Lake said. “Comes from a quote by the Roman tribune Quintus Hor- atius Flaccus: ‘Nothing is too high for the daring of mortals; they storm heaven in their folly.’ Quite good, don’t you think?”

  Ysidro looked disgusted and angry enough to chew nails, but Cazaux nodded his approval. It was one of those touches that Lake knew that Cazaux appreciated—having a title for any operation he was about to undertake was important to him. Cazaux decocked the pistol and stuck it back in his belt. Lake had to look behind him to see what would have gotten ruined had he pulled the trigger. A nineteenth-century oil painting of Abraham Lincoln, once appraised at over a hundred thousand dollars, would have needed extensive cleaning and repairs to remove Lake’s brains and bone fragments if his explanation of Operation Storming Heaven did not convince Henri Cazaux.

  Cazaux put the question to a vote of the members of his general staff—merely a formality, because almost no one ever voted against Henri Cazaux. Tomas Ysidro was the only one to vote against the plan, asking again that Lake be executed for what he’d done with the organization’s funds. “I’ll be on you like stink on shit, Drip,” Ysidro told Lake as the staff members were given their instructions to begin planning the three attacks. “You get out of line once, just once, and I’ll blow your fuckin’ ass off. Cazaux will bitch, and he might even throw me out on the street, but you’ll still be dead like you fuckin’ deserve.”

  Ysidro then pulled up a chair and sat right beside Lake, staring at him and taking in every last word as Lake pulled out his cellular telephone and Apple Newton PDA and made the first calls and satellite E-mail messages, first to his office to verify the receipt of the loan money, then to Leonardo Fraga, the vice president and general manager of the Win Millions Hotel and Casino in Atlantic City. Under Ysidro’s murderous stare, it was hard to keep his fingers from shaking as he began the first few steps of Operation Storming Heaven.

  Beale Air Force Base, Yuba City, California Two Days Later

  “The board has reached an initial evaluation,” Colonel Emerson Starr began. He was the operations group commander from McClellan Air Force Base appointed as the chief of the accident investigation board dealing with the crash of the F-16 at McClellan two days earlier. “The scope of the accident investigation has been greatly reduced because of the involvement of the FBI, Marshals Service, and the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms—in essence, this board can’t come up with a ruling on the cause of the crash because we haven’t been granted access to the data now in the hands of the FBI. We know there was an explosion, and we know the F-16 was in close proximity to the explosion, but we don’t know anything about the explosion itself. Therefore we can’t absolutely conclude that the explosion caused the damage on the F-16. However, based on radio transmissions, ground observers, and a cursory examination of the wreckage, the board determines that the probable cause of the accident was due to the F-16’s uncontrolled collision with the ground following sustaining engine and hydraulic damage due to proximity of a large ground explosion at Mather Jetport.”

  Starr shifted uncomfortably in his seat and continued. “The preliminary report of this accident board in the matter of the death of the pilot Major Linda McKenzie is incomplete; however, we are prepared to issue the following statement to Air Combat Command, the chief of staff of the Air Force, and the adjutant general of the state of California: the death of Major McKenzie was due to violation of Air Combat Command regulation 55-16, ‘F-16 Aircrew Procedures,’ paragraph 5-53, and Technical Order 1F-16A- 1, section three, paragraph—”

  “That’s bullshit!” Colonel Al Vincenti snapped, jumping to his feet. “Don’t pull this crap, Colonel. This was not a pilot error accident, damn you.”

  “Sit down, Colonel Vincenti,” Starr said firmly.

  “I want to address the board, sir.”

  “The board has already heard your testimony, Colonel,” Starr replied. “Sit down or I’ll have you removed.”

  “You can try, Starr.”

  Colonel Gaspar was now on his feet in front of Vincenti. “Better sit down, Rattler,” he said. “You’re skating on real thin ice.”

  “I assure you, Colonel, I have full authority to hold you in contempt if you don’t shut up,” Starr said. “Now, are you going to be quiet and let me finish, or will I have to ask you to leave?”

  Vincenti riveted Starr with his angry stare.

  “Colonel Gaspar, can you please escort Colonel Vincenti outside?”

  “He’ll be fine, Colonel,” Gaspar said, pulling Vincenti back into his seat.

  “Thank you, sir,” Starr said. “As I was saying, Major McKenzie violated several aircrew regulations that specifically directed her to eject if she was below two thousand feet above ground level in case of hydraulic failure, catastrophic engine failure, uncontrollability, low airspeed, inability to maintain altitude, unsafe gear indications, flight control transients or failure, inability to fly an approach pattern, electrical failure, center of gravity problems—the list goes on. By every account, and by the testimony of her fellow pilots and technical representatives of the aircraft manufacturer, Major McKenzie should have ejected much sooner and should not have attempted a landing.

  “However, the board doubts whether Major McKenzie had full knowledge of exactly what was wrong with her aircraft, since it was dark and she had minimal cockpit indications,” Starr continued. “Colonel Vincenti on her wing also could not know the exact condition of her aircraft. The board concludes that it was reasonable for Major McKenzie to attempt a flameout landing with the indications she had. Considering the densely populated areas where the unmanned F-16 would have landed had she ejected, the board also finds that Major McKenzie’s and Colonel Vincenti’s actions in bringing the damaged aircraft to McClellan Air Force Base saved dozens and perhaps hundreds of lives.

  “The board is therefore concluding that
the actions of Major McKenzie and Colonel Vincenti were in keeping with the directives and tenets of the United States Air Force regarding safe operation over populated areas, and we conclude that Major Linda McKenzie did indeed risk and eventually sacrifice her own life to save others; although she would have been following prescribed directives by ejecting, and she is indeed guilty of not following those regulations which would have saved her life, failing to do so saved many other lives and much property damage, and Major McKenzie should be commended for her actions.”

  Colonel Starr then looked over at Vincenti, affixing him with his own angry glare, and added, “The board further finds that damage sustained to Colonel Vincenti’s F-16 could have caused the malfunctions in the radios and videotape gun camera being questioned by the Air Combat Command flight evaluation board. Of course, these conclusions are preliminary, since we do not have access to information about the explosion, but it is reasonable for this board to conclude that Colonel Vincenti’s aircraft sustained much the same damage as Major McKenzie’s plane, and the malfunctions that Colonel Vincenti said were the cause of him disregarding instructions to land could have existed. Given that Colonel Vincenti’s last acknowledged instructions were to pursue the suspect aircraft, in our opinion his actions were consistent with his orders as he could have known them at the time. These preliminary findings will be passed along to the flight evaluation board convened to examine Colonel Vincenti’s actions subsequent to the crash at McClellan.

  “I remind everyone present that the findings of this board are classified confidential, and you are instructed not to reveal any of them or discuss this matter with the press, which I understand is waiting outside. If you are questioned by the press, refer them to Air Force Public Affairs. Until such time as this board is allowed access to data about the explosion at Mather, this board stands in recess.”

  Everyone in the room rose and departed—everyone except Vincenti and Gaspar, who returned to their seats after the board members had departed. Vincenti, weary and haggard, looked as if he had just been beat up. “Your mouth is going to get you in big trouble one of these days, my friend,” Gaspar said to his second-in-command. “You need to make friends with guys like Starr, not shout him down.” “I thought he was going to continue the press’s and the government’s feeding frenzy and trash Linda, like they’ve been trashing me and the unit,” Vincenti said. “I’m getting tired of this shit, Chuck. I feel so fucking isolated, like it’s our fault about San Francisco.”

  “Since when do you care what anyone else thinks, Rattler?”

  “Since I see and hear this stuff ten times a day in the papers, on the radio and TV,” Vincenti said. “Everywhere I go, I hear the same thing: I’m the guy that missed Cazaux, I’m the guy who let Cazaux go, I’m the one that screwed up. I’m starting to believe all this shit.”

  “It’s all going to continue, Colonel,” a voice behind them said. They turned and found Admiral Ian Hardcastle standing in the center aisle listening to them, with his aide guarding the door to the room to keep anyone else out. “The government needs a fall guy, and you’re it. McKenzie’s name will be cleared—yours won’t. In fact, with Major McKenzie’s name cleared, you’ll appear doubly at fault.” “You know what I think, Hardcastle? I think you’re whipping the press up with all this talk of beefing up air defense,” Vincenti said angrily, getting to his feet to confront the retired officer. “I’ve seen disasters like this die away after a day or two, but you’re not letting this one die away. Where the hell do you get off?”

  “Cazaux will strike again, Colonel,” Hardcastle said. “I’m convinced of it.”

  “So now you’re fuckin’ Kamac the Magnificent, huh?” Vincenti retorted. “What you’re doing here is screwing with people’s lives and careers just for your own political bullshit plans.”

  “That was true two days ago when we showed up here, Colonel,” Hardcastle said. “That’s why Vice President Martindale and the rest of them are here.”

  “But you’re not?” Gaspar asked.

  “Not since I talked to you the first time,” Hardcastle replied. “Not after getting the FBI briefing on Cazaux. He’s deadly and very dangerous. Yes, I believe he’ll strike again. But the government is trying to calm people down by telling them that Cazaux is too crazy to organize another attack, that it was a fluke, that the manhunt will track him down before he can strike again. The FBI’s own profile on him says otherwise. The government is also saying that Air National Guard units will be restrained in their overland operations and that no other military precautions are necessary—there’s even talk of doing away with all continental air defense units completely. We’re giving Cazaux the perfect opportunity to strike.”

  “With all due respect, Admiral, you don’t know shit,” Gaspar said. “You’re just guessing.”

  “And all your guesses just happen to follow the party line—your party’s line,” Vincenti added. “You’re just as bad as Wilkes and the rest of the Justice Department that are jumping in my shit.”

  “I’m trying to keep the government from completely dismantling the home-defense infrastructure of this country,” Hardcastle said. “That’s the truth, and that’s from the heart. You’re a career air defense pilot—you can tell if I’m bull-shitting you or not. Now, you can just sit back and let the Justice Department and the Air Force cut your nuts off and trash your career, or you can cooperate with me and my investigation. If my agenda helps Vice President Martindale and the Project 2000 Task Force, that’s fine, I believe in his candidacy and what the Task Force is trying to achieve. You don’t have to. But I’m running my show the way I want. I’m not a mouthpiece for anyone.”

  “No, but you want me to be your puppet, right?” Vincenti asked. “You want to use me as the poor downtrodden sob story while you lambaste the White House and anyone else who gets in your way.”

  “I want you to teach me what you know, Al,” Hardcastle said. “You know air defense—I’ve been out of it for too long. Yeah, I’ve got a political agenda, but I’ve also got specific ideas to help the system we have right now, no matter who is in the White House. I need your help to finalize my ideas. In return I can help put you back on flying status, keep your career intact, and help your unit recover from the whitewashing job you’re undergoing right now. I’m not saying you and your unit and maybe the entire air defense community will be toast if you don’t help me, but you can read the handwriting on the wall just as good as I can.”

  Vincenti and Gaspar remained silent, defiantly staring at Hardcastle as if trying to recognize any hint of his hidden agenda. Hardcastle let them stare for a moment, then he turned to his aide standing by the door and said, “Marc, show the Colonel here who’s waiting to speak to him.”

  Colonel Marc Sheehan, Hardcastle’s aide, unlocked and opened the door behind him, and immediately a throng of reporters tried to muscle their way inside, shouting questions. A few point-and-shoot cameras were poked through the door, rapid-firing at random for pictures.

  “I’m not talking to the press,” Vincenti said. “No comment.”

  Hardcastle motioned to Sheehan, who not-too-politely pushed back the reporters and closed and locked the door again. “Sure, you keep on with your no-comment routine, Colonel—without my help this time,” Hardcastle said. “You think you look bad on TV now—by tomorrow night’s evening news, you’ll be called either Cazaux’s accomplice or the biggest American military screwup since George Custer.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m not talking about you, Colonel—I’m talking about your career, your future, your retirement, the continued existence of your unit, and everything regarding air defense you’ve ever believed in. You can’t fight the Fourth Estate yourself.”

  “So now you’re blackmailing me, right?” Vincenti asked. “I either help you or swim with the sharks myself.” “I’ve got work to do, Colonel,” Hardcastle said simply. “You’re a big boy, an officer and a gentleman. You think you can fight y
our own battles, go ahead and fight. I’ll be fighting too—I just wanted to be fighting together with you, not separately. But I can do it separately. You think you can?”

  Vincenti and Gaspar were silent once again. Hardcastle had had enough. He turned and headed for the door. “Have a nice life, Colonel,” he said. “I’ll lead these bozos away from the front door—slip out in a minute or two. But one last word of advice—try not to make it look like you’re running from them. Believe me, you can’t.”

  Hardcastle had just reached the door and was about to open it when he heard, “All right, all right. I’ll help you.” The retired Coast Guard and Border Security Force officer turned and nodded at Vincenti and Gaspar. “Hangar Bravo, briefing room, six a.m. tomorrow,” Hardcastle said. “Bring the original gun camera tapes.”

  “There are no original tapes. I told you, I told the board—the recorder was damaged.”

  “Colonel, save that rap for the flight evaluation board,” Hardcastle said. “I need your honest inputs. Believe me, no FEB will see or hear those tapes—they belong to the U.S. Senate as of right now, and no one in the military below the Secretary of Defense has the authority to demand them.”

  “I’ve got to get permission to be excused from the FEB and released from quarters.”

  “It’s been done. You’re a special expert consultant and witness in a Senate investigation—your flight evaluation board and your court-martial have been suspended indefinitely.”

  “What court-martial? What in hell are you talking about?”

  “Oh, that’s right, you probably didn’t know,” Hardcastle said, a wickedly satisfied smile on his face. “Tell him, Marc.”

  “Air Combat Command was directed by the Secretary of Defense and the President to convene a court-martial,” Sheehan said. “Dereliction of duty, actions unbecoming an officer, disobeying a direct and lawful order. Regardless of the outcome of the flight evaluation board, you were going to be summarily court-martialed, sentenced to four years restricted duty—probably as a warehouse officer in Greenland—reduction in grade to captain, then given a less-than- honorable discharge, maybe even a dishonorable discharge. We’ve seen the paperwork—it’s been signed and approved.”