by Roland Smith
It’s Complicated
I didn’t know what to say. The coach rolled on for about an hour while I kind of stared blankly at the screen showing the red dot slowly moving south. Maybe Speed hadn’t been lying. Perhaps he was going to head to the Florida Keys for some R & R after all. I mean, I didn’t believe any of Speed’s bull about wanting to spend time with me, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about Boone just dumping him like that either. But I also wasn’t happy with Speed inserting himself into my life whenever he felt like it.
Croc stared at me from the shotgun seat. I always found his one blue and one brown eye a little unnerving. All of a sudden he jumped off his perch and picked up something from the floor with his mouth.
It was the plastic bag full of my cards, ropes, and magic stuff the terrorist had made me empty out of my pockets. Croc walked over and dropped it at my feet. The good news was I had my stuff back. The bad news was the bag was covered with icky dog drool. I gingerly opened it and dumped the contents on the table. Even before I reloaded my pockets, I took a deck of cards and shuffled it several times. It made me feel better.
Croc made another trip to the front of the coach, retrieved Angela’s battered backpack, and took it to her. She was also delighted to get her stuff back, but used a couple of paper towels from the galley to remove Croc’s slobber from the fabric.
“Listen, Q—” Boone said, but the chirp of my new phone interrupted him.
The caller ID showed Blaze Munoz. For a second, I froze. We’d been out of touch for a while and she was probably going to have a lot of questions. I was a horrible liar.
“It’s my mom,” I said with a gulp.
“Put it on speaker,” Boone said.
“Hi, Mom!” I said extra cheerfully. “You’re on speaker. I’m riding shotgun while Boone drives.” Which wasn’t true, but she didn’t need to know about Felix and his still-smelly self who was actually doing the driving.
“Hi, hon! It’s so good to hear your voice. Hi, Boone!” she said.
“Howdy, Blaze,” he said. “How y’all doin’?” The good-old-boy drawl was back.
“We’re good. Where are you?”
“We’re heading west on US 64, close to Raleigh. Gonna hook up with the interstate and head to San Antone.”
“That’s nice to hear, but you want to hear something really cool?” Mom asked.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“You’ll never guess where I’m calling from!”
“Okay, I’ll never guess,” I said. “Where are you calling from?”
“Air Force One!” Mom said. For a moment I thought she sounded a little bit like a squealing teenager.
“Really?” I was instantly curious. “Why are you taking Air Force One to San Antonio?” Right then Angela’s cell phone rang. I heard her say, “Hi, Dad.”
“The president asked us to make some appearances on our way to San Antonio,” Mom told me. “Apparently the benefit we did in D.C. raised a ton of money. He wants us to be honorary cochairs of the relief effort. And because he didn’t want to mess up our concert schedule, he’s flying us to San Antonio on Air Force One!” Mom sounded a little breathless. I heard Angela say “Amazing” in the background and assumed she was getting the same news.
“That’s cool!” I said. I’d watched a documentary about Air Force One on TV and it was a pretty remarkable plane.
“And the best part is you and Angela are coming with us! He said we could do the first appearance in Raleigh and pick you guys up. Won’t that be—wait, I wonder how he knew you were in Raleigh?” she asked.
“He’s the president,” I said. “I suppose he knows stuff. He probably just kept track of our progress because he asked you to stay behind and he didn’t want you to worry about us.” Boone gave me a thumbs-up. I almost convinced myself with that lie.
“I suppose,” Mom said. I knew that tone she was using. It was when she was firing up the Momdar—Mom radar—that I was convinced every mother possessed. Both of us being so close to Raleigh was a big coincidence, and after years of being married to Speed Paulsen she was naturally suspicious.
Angela was finishing her conversation with her dad.
“Anyway,” Mom went on, “we’re in the air. Marie and Art said you and Angela would meet us on the plane right after we finish the appearance at a Raleigh TV station. We have a few more stops on the way to San Antonio. We get to stay on board overnight and everything. On Air Force One! I have to tell you, Q, it’s awesome!”
“I’ll bet!” I said. In truth, it did sound pretty cool. But there was something fishy in all this. It smelled like a Boone-fish. For whatever reason, he wanted us out of his hair for a while. I was willing to bet my last magic coin he’d set the whole thing up.
“I can’t wait to see you, Mom,” I said.
“Me too you, honey,” she said. “And I’m sorry I have to go now. Roger and I are rehearsing a public service announcement that’s going to play on MTV and some other networks, requesting donations for the victims.”
“Okay, see you soon, Mom,” I said.
“I love you, Q.”
“I love you, Mom,” I answered and disconnected the call. Angela hung up a few seconds later.
We both looked at Boone.
“Busted,” he said. “Yes. I called J.R. and set it all up. The press conference with Bethany has taken place. The cell now knows they failed. But something has changed. Ordinarily they’d drop off the grid now and live to fight another day. But they’ve brought Malak into the inner circle. The last thing she was told before the raid was that she was going to Texas to meet the other leaders. We have to follow that trail wherever it leads. I need time and freedom to check a few things out. You two need to be safe. There is no safer way to get you to San Antonio than on Air Force One.”
“How do you know what she was told in the house?” Angela asked.
“I was in … let’s just say I could overhear them talking,” he said.
Angela sighed in frustration and still looked unhappy but I could see Boone’s point.
“What kinds of things are you going to be checking out?” she asked.
Boone shrugged. “Just things.”
“Boone, you promised in Philadelphia that you’d keep us in the loop.” I knew she wasn’t really mad at Boone and so did he. Angela was worried about her mother and right now she was just a little exasperated.
“I’m not keeping anything from you, Angela. I’m not sure exactly what I’m dealing with now. When I know something, I’ll tell you. But I am keeping you safe, like I promised your mother and Blaze and Roger. I don’t take that lightly. Plus, I’m saving you about twenty hours on the coach. I’ll find out what’s going on with your mother, Angela. Understand something. J.R. has given me a lot of latitude here. If I think she’s in a situation she can’t handle—which is unlikely because Malak Tucker is the best agent I’ve ever seen—I’ll pull her out. You have my word.”
It didn’t seem to make Angela completely happy, but I could tell it did make her feel a little better.
And if there was a silver lining in all of this, it was this: I was going to get to ride on Air Force One.
Number Three
There was no one else on the plane except the two pilots. One of them told her to make herself comfortable and enjoy the flight. This Gulfstream was equipped with a cabin door. The pilot and copilot shut themselves in and Malak relaxed a little when she heard the lock click into place.
She was exhausted, mentally and physically. The need for sleep would eventually cloud her judgment and dull her reflexes. The Leopard did not take risks, however. She wrapped one end of her belt around the cockpit door handle and affixed the other to a nearby hook in the galley. If the pilots meant her harm, they wouldn’t be able to get out without her hearing them.
This plane was smaller than some of the Gulfstream models she’d traveled on before. There were two leather chairs facing each other across a shiny wooden table and a long leather bench along t
he starboard side of the aircraft. Once she had secured the pilots in the cockpit, she quickly searched the cabin. It only took a few minutes and she found nothing suspicious, like audio- or video-recording devices. If someone eventually confronted her with video of her actions, she would shrug it off. As always, she would simply tell them the Leopard takes no chances.
Looking at the cockpit door she chuckled softly, wondering if the pilots would need to use the bathroom adjacent to the galley. Too bad. They were locked in. They would just have to hold it. She sat back in the seat and closed her eyes.
When the plane’s landing gear bumped her awake, she hurried forward, removed her belt from the door, and quickly put it back on. Taking her seat, she looked out the window as the jet taxied to a stop. She checked her watch. The flight had taken a little under three hours.
The landing strip was in the middle of a big ranch. She saw fences and cattle in the distance. Next to the runway was a small building. A four-wheel ATV with a canvas roof attached pulled up with a man at the wheel. Apparently her journey was not yet over. A few yards away, a black Lincoln Town Car sat parked next to the small building.
The pilot emerged from the cockpit, opened the door, and let the stairs unfold until they bumped gently on the concrete. He said nothing as Malak passed by him to the aircraft door. As with most of her encounters with cell members, the less said among them the better.
Once on the ground, Malak took several deep breaths and strode confidently to the ATV. Wearing the sunglasses she kept in her blazer pocket, it appeared that she was facing the driver but Malak’s eyes darted everywhere, gathering as much intelligence as she could. It was a technique every Secret Service agent learned early in training and the reason most of them wore dark glasses when they were on a protection detail. The darkened lenses hid the true target of an agent’s gaze.
She climbed into the ATV as the pilots descended the aircraft steps and entered the waiting car. The car followed an asphalt drive leading toward the mansion. Eventually Malak spied it pulling onto the road in front of the property and speeding away.
The mansion rose in the distance, at least a half-mile from the runway. It was a sprawling structure with flat, tiled roofs. Long wings spreading off in several directions gave it a slapdash appearance. Malak took mental note of everything she could see. This isolated location made an ideal hiding place for terrorists.
“We’ve been expecting you,” the driver said. He was big, wearing a black polo shirt stretched tight over a huge chest and bulging arm muscles. His pants were also black and he wore a straw cowboy hat. The heat was starting to rise and Malak felt perspiration forming on her forehead but he didn’t seem to be sweating at all.
The ATV turned around and sped down the same drive the Town Car had taken moments before. It took less than a minute to reach the back of the mansion. The driver got out of the ATV.
“This way,” he said.
Malak followed him across a stone patio and through french doors. The house was a maze of rooms and hallways, but eventually he led her into a large library. Each wall was essentially floor-to-ceiling bookcases.
At the far side of the room sat a good-sized executive desk, covered with file folders and papers. A finger of smoke curled up from an ashtray, the remnant of a hastily stubbed-out cigarette. Someone had just been in the room.
Pacing slowly back and forth, Malak kept her hands crossed behind her back, certain she was being observed. She studied the room, memorizing as much detail as she could but at the same time trying to appear relaxed. The Leopard did not like being caged.
The door opened and a tall woman with bleached blond hair piled high on her head entered the room. A pair of reading glasses hung on a lanyard around her neck. The woman was heavily made up, and as she walked toward Malak with her hand out, a watch peeked out from under the sleeve of her blouse. It was surrounded by some of the biggest rubies Malak had ever seen.
“Hello, sugar,” the woman said, pumping Malak’s hand. “My name is Ruby Spencer. Or Miss Ruby to almost everyone.
“But you can call me Number Three.”
Air Force One
When we arrived at the airport in Raleigh, we pulled up to a secure area away from the regular terminals. There were a half-dozen armed guards behind a high chain-link fence. Marie and Art were waiting outside it. They were posing as our parents’ PAs, or personal assistants. In reality they worked for Boone and were essentially serving as bodyguards. A few hundred yards beyond the fence sat the president’s plane.
It’s an impressive sight, even from a distance. It’s a big plane. The nose is solid blue and the words “United States of America” are painted on the sides. For some reason each letter looks about ten feet tall. The American flag is displayed on the tail and the presidential seal is on the fuselage near the wing.
Boone had said goodbye to us outside the coach. Felix was getting on a plane to San Antonio. He would have a couple of “guys he knew,” as he told us, drive the coach the rest of the way. Everything was moving quickly and Boone’s goal was to have as many assets on the ground in San Antonio as soon as he could.
“How are you getting there?” I asked Boone. There was no way to tell for certain because she was wearing sunglasses again, but I’m convinced Angela rolled her eyes. We knew how Boone was going to get there. An unusually fast way.
“I’ll see you in San Antonio,” was all Boone said. He climbed back into the coach and we watched as it pulled away.
“Great,” Angela said with a sigh. I tried to think of something I could say to cheer her up but nothing at all came to mind.
We entered the secure area and were greeted by Art and Marie. A Secret Service agent asked us to empty our pockets into big plastic tubs. Another agent went through Angela’s backpack. Two more Secret Service agents met us at the steps to the plane, patted us down, and waved a portable metal-detecting wand over both of us.
The next step was a Transportation Security Administration officer with a German shepherd on a leash. They climbed out of an SUV parked near the plane and the dog gave us … let’s just say, a thorough inspection. I was glad Felix hadn’t made me hold his clothes with blown-up Tahoe all over them back at the Big and Tall store. Something in the German shepherd’s eyes made me think he wouldn’t appreciate that very much.
“Nice doggie,” I said. Art and Marie and the TSA agent laughed.
After that, we were cleared and Marie and Art led us up the stairs.
The documentary I’d seen didn’t do the plane justice. For one, it was probably the cleanest airplane I’d ever been on. Usually when you get on a commercial airliner the entire interior just looks worn and faded. On the president’s plane everything gleamed. The carpet didn’t have a speck of dirt that I could see. The cabin walls and even the ceiling seemed to sparkle.
Marie and Art led us to the guest area in the middle of the plane just past the wings. There we were introduced to Chief Steward Rogers. He was in charge of the staff on board the plane. His uniform was black with a coat and pants that made it look a little like a tuxedo except for the gold stripes on the coat sleeves.
“It’s a pleasure to have you on board, Mr. Munoz and Ms. Tucker,” he said, shaking our hands.
“You can call me Q,” I said.
“And I’m just Angela,” she said.
“Well, I’ve had the great fortune to meet your parents already. Such nice people and so wonderful of them to be donating their time and talent to such a worthy and noble cause,” he said. Mentioning donations made me think of Buddy T., Mom and Roger’s pugnacious, irritating, and overbearing manager.
“Did Buddy T. come with Mom and Roger?” I asked Marie.
“Nope.” She smiled from ear to ear. “The president said it was a space issue and Buddy had to fly to San Antonio commercial. He refused, so Heather Hughes flew down with him on her corporate jet. They’ll both be there when we arrive.”
“Poor Heather,” I said absentmindedly, which made Marie laugh ou
t loud. I wish I’d been there to see it when Buddy T. got that news.
“Would you like a tour of the aircraft?” Chief Steward Rogers asked.
“Absolutely,” I said.
We took the tour. It’s an unbelievable airplane. Chief Steward Rogers explained that, technically, we weren’t aboard Air Force One, because the president wasn’t with us. The call sign “one” was assigned by air traffic controllers to any military aircraft the president flew on. So the U.S. Marine helicopter he usually took to the White House from Andrews Air Force Base or Camp David outside Washington was Marine One. If he were to fly on a navy aircraft, it instantly became Navy One, and so on. But so many people had come to refer to the actual plane we stood on as Air Force One that the name stuck.
The plane was a specially converted Boeing 747. It had four thousand square feet of space on three different levels. We weren’t allowed everywhere, but we learned a lot of cool stuff. The communication systems allow the president to speak with anyone anywhere in the world. The wires and components are specially shielded from the electromagnetic pulses caused by nuclear explosions, so they wouldn’t go offline in the event of an attack. Unlike a civilian airliner, Air Force One could also launch countermeasures, which were super-hot flares the plane ejected to draw away heat-seeking missiles. Like I said, pretty awesome.
When we returned to the guest area, Chief Steward Rogers asked me if we would like anything to eat. My stomach growled even though we had eaten just a couple of hours earlier.
I glanced at Marie and Art. “What time will Mom and Roger be back from their appearance?”
“Not for another hour or so,” Marie said. Apparently Art was not the talkative type. He was pleasant enough, though. Hearing about Felix being in Delta Force had made me question the background of all of the SOS groups. Art always seemed to be “on duty,” which was probably an ideal quality in a personal assistant/bodyguard/spy/likely ninja assassin.
“Could I get a cheeseburger, fries, and a vanilla milkshake?” I asked Chief Steward Rogers.
