Assurred Response

Chapter 18

Aboard the E-4B Night Watch, President Macklins primary physician had just completed a mini physical on the commander in chief. U. S. Navy Captain Royal Fortenberry was jotting a note in Macklins medical chart while the president dressed. Dr. Fortenberry, who had earned the reputation of being a worrier, placed his pen down and turned to Macklin.

"Mr. President, may I speak frankly?"

"Certainly, R. F. Find something wrong?"

Fortenberry closed the medical jacket. "No, you re in great shape, but Fm concerned about the effects of being encapsulated in a pressurized environment for an extended period of time." He explained the possible effects of deep vein leg thrombosis.

The president thought it over for a moment. "I dont see that I have much choice at present, all things considered."

"What about Cheyenne Mountain?"

"You re really concerned, arent you?"

"Yes." Fortenberry removed his glasses. "Lack of proper exercise, poor sleeping pattern, and being inside this pressurized environment are not good. The mountain would be better for your health, not to mention the well-being of your staff."

"Fll think about it." Macklin slipped into his lightweight jacket. "Thanks, Doc."

"You bet."

When Macklin entered the conference room he knew something was wrong when he saw the look on Pete Adair's face. Hartwell Prost and Les Chalmers's expressions mirrored the SecDef.

"What now?" the president asked, taking his chair.

Adair spoke first. "We just received the news a few minutes ago." He explained the disastrous circumstances surrounding the terrorist attack at the Bangor naval base.

Macklin was incredulous. "It doesn't make sense. How could this have happened at a Trident submarine base?"

Adair was on the defensive. "Sir, we dont know yet. The plane came in undetected until the last few seconds. It happened before anyone could react."

"Dammit!" Macklin exclaimed. "We have to get a handle on this. Its beyond ridiculous."

"Yes, sir," Adair said. He turned to General Chalmers.

While they were conferring, Prost gained the presidents attention. "Sir," he said in soft voice, "we have an update, good news, on the destruction of Shayhidi's assets."

Macklins features remained impassive. "Let's have it."

"Another two tankers have been disabled, including his new supertanker Cape Bender. They'll be out of commission for the better part of a year."

"Great news."

"There's more, much more. The cargo ships Emily Martelli and Isabella Estrada have gone to the bottom. The Martelli crew suffered three casualties and four seriously injured."

"We knew that could eventually happen." The president leaned back. "Sinking ships with innocent civilians on board is not something any of us are proud of."

"Least of all the sub crews," Prost said.

Macklin glanced at the detailed physical world chart on the wall. "What about the rest of Shayhidi's fleet?"

"Most of his remaining ships have docked at their nearest port. Some of the facilities, for security reasons, have refused entrance to any of Shayhidi's ships."

The president nodded. "We'll take all the help we can get."

"From what we understand, one freighter captain and his entire crew abandoned ship in the middle of the Arabian Sea. They were taken aboard another freighter."

The president's eyes reflected his pleasure. "Where's the ship now?"

"It's adrift approximately two hundred miles southwest of Bombay. We have a sub, Connecticut, closing in as we speak."

"Our new Seawolf-class boat?"

"Yes, sir. The skipper is an old friend, a good man."

"Well. it would seem to me the Shayhidi ship is a hazard to navigation; cant have that."

"Youre absolutely right," Prost said, a twinkle in his eye.

"Lets give your friend some work to do: Sink the ship."

"Yes, sir." Prost turned to Adair and Chalmers, quietly conveyed Macklins order, and again faced his boss. "The downside to our progress is that Shayhidi got away, vanished into thin air."

"The CIA had a positive ID on him, didnt they?"

"Yes, sir." It was evident that Prost was off stride. "They swear its true — had him tagged. Two agents identified him with night-vision binoculars, and no one left the premises before the special ops people stormed the place."

The president flexed his jaw muscles. Tm sorry, Hartwell, but that just doesn't make sense. It doesn't compute."

"I know, but the Agency swears he was in the chalet."

"What exactly did Delta Force find?"

"Two armed guards, who were quickly dispatched, and Shayhidi's domestic help. Nothing else."

"Did they check the attic and basement?"

"Yes, sir — thoroughly — in the short time they were there. Shayhidi's bed in the master bedroom had been slept in, but he'd simply disappeared into the night."

Macklin glanced away for a moment and then cast his eyes toward Prost. "Something's missing here. I want the CIA, whatever resources it takes, to inspect that house inch by inch."

"Yes, sir."

"Tell them to take it apart board by board to find the answer, if they have to."

"I'll take care of it."

The president reached for a cigar and offered Prost a smoke. "What about the other homes, his primary residence in Geneva?"

"The house in Geneva has been gutted, but we had two people wounded, one seriously." Hartwell paused when an aide stepped in to deliver a message to the secretary of defense. "It could have been much worse if the Army Pathfinders had not done such a superb job of scouting the Shayhidi compound."

"How so?"

"They worked a local stool pigeon for intelligence about the house, the grounds, and the security measures. The guy delivered groceries. The place was guarded like a fortress, including shoulder-fired SAMS and an unknown number of land mines."

"Land mines? You re kidding."

"No, sir," Prost answered, lighting his cigar. "The stoolie told them he thought there were probably ten to fifteen people guarding the place. Some were new hires from a local security firm. He possibly— probably — saved some lives on our side."

The president caught Adair's imploring look. "Hold on a second, Pete."

SecDef nodded.

"What about the other homes?" Macklin asked.

"The chateau in the south of France and the villa near Cartagena will undoubtedly be listed in the fixer-upper section of the real estate brochures."

"Excellent," Macklin said, and turned to Adair. "From the look on your face, I guess I'd better prepare myself for more bad news."

SecDef's voice betrayed his tension. "Two more passenger trains have been attacked — blown off their rails like Matchbox toys."

"Where?"

"The Amtrak Cascades near Portland and the Empire Builder near Libby, Montana. There are a number of casualties at both sites."

The president glanced at General Chalmers and then Prost. "Any suggestions?"

Hartwell swore to himself. "Attack helicopters, army and marine gunships, from the Rocky Mountains throughout the entire Northwest."

"I like it," the president said. "Let's have them on site ASAP."

Prost continued with a sense of urgency. "We could use Civil Air Patrol units to help watch the tracks."

"Good idea!" Chalmers exclaimed. "The more eyeballs we have in the air, the better our chances of catching them in the act. We can use our A-10 Warthogs and F-15 Strike Eagles to supplement the attack helicopters."

The president finally lit his cigar. "Let's get on it, coordinate this well so everyone knows where the other players are. We don't want any midair collisions while we're trying to save lives on the ground."

"Constant communications," Prost said firmly. "And mandatory radio calls at designated checkpoints to keep things orderly."

General Chalmers looked first at Prost and then at the president. "I'll have it operational by early morning. Well use night-vision equipment, keep the bad guys honest day and night."

"Go to it," Macklin said, and then paused. "By the way, how are our ordnance stockpiles coming along at our bases in the Middle East?"

Chalmers had the numbers memorized. "We have an almost continuous stream of aircraft arriving at al-Udeid and our bases adjacent to the Red Sea. In addition, we have eighteen cargo ships shuttling weapons. We have enough on hand now to sustain operations for twelve to fourteen months."

"Excellent." The president looked at Pete Adair. "With the air strikes were planning in Iran and Afghanistan, whats the status of our munitions production rate?"

"We have more than doubled the production rate of laser-guided bombs and boosted production at three ammunition factories to their highest levels in seventeen years. They've increased the output of precision-guided bombs from one thousand a month to over three thousand. These increases have tripled the lethality of our carrier battle groups."

"Well," Macklin conceded, with a trace of a smile, "at least something is going well. What about Tomahawks?"

"They've added a third shift and production has nearly doubled. We believe the Tomahawks, supplemented with the precision-guided bombs, can last for at least six to seven months."

A pleased look spread across the president's face. "On that note, I think I'll rest before dinner."

After a delay caused by inclement weather, Scott and Jackie checked out of the Airport Hilton and had breakfast at a local Denny's, having dispensed with their wings and epaulets in favor of denim shirts and fishing vests. They drove their rental car to the Million Air FBO, loaded their supplies and fishing gear into the Caravan, and departed for beautiful Lake Mead.

With CAVU weather — clear and visibility unlimited — Scott leveled off at 1,000 feet. "While we re going in the general direction of the lake, lets check all airports with runways longer than four thousand feet. See if we find anything interesting."

"Okay, 111 circle them."

Scott engaged the autopilot and poured each of them a cup of coffee. Following Interstate 15, they proceeded southwest over the Fishlake National Forest. Scott descended into valleys to check the airports and then climbed over the mountains to the next valley. They found nothing suspicious.

The low-flying Caravan was burning a lot of jet fuel, and by the time they reached the Dixie National Forest, Jackie was ready to land and stretch her legs. "Let's check the Bryce Canyon airport and then land at Cedar City for fuel."

"Sounds good."

Taking in the view of the scenic national park, they circled high above Bryce Canyon Airport. Jackie raised her binoculars and surveyed the airfield and the parked aircraft while they made two wide 360-degree turns. "I dont see anything interesting, except the canyons."

"Then we're off to Cedar City."

She placed the binoculars down and folded the chart. "Step on the accelerator every chance you get."

Standing in the shade of the camouflage nettings, Khaliq Farkas watched the big Cessna amphibian circle the airport and head west. His antennae were on full alert. It was unusual to see a plane loiter over an airport and then simply fly away.

Farkas could feel it in his gut: Someone was looking for the B-25. He couldn't wait much longer. The noose was tightening on the terrorist cells and he had to make his move soon — that or abandon the project and go back into sleep mode. The satellite phone rang, signaling another tirade from Saeed Shayhidi.

Leaving Cedar City, Jackie and Scott again followed Interstate 15 while they checked more airports. When they reached Mesquite, Nevada, they began banking to fly over the Lake Mead National Recreation Area, and Jackie took in the spectacular vista of the setting sun and cobalt-blue sky.

"Its going to be dark soon," she observed, stretching her legs. "Lets go to Boulder City and get a fresh start early in the morning."

"Yeah, were ready for a break."

Minutes later, they landed at Boulder City Municipal Airport. After topping the fuel tanks and securing the Caravan at the Air Excel facilities, they hailed a taxi and headed to the Railroad Pass Hotel Casino.

Orbiting in a racetrack pattern high above Mobile, Alabama, the E-4B Night Watch was flying under a bright, silvery moon. President Macklin and Hartwell Prost were visiting in the conference room when SecDef and General Chalmers entered with a CIA update on the hunt for Saeed Shayhidi.

Pete Adair was upbeat for the first time this evening. "Between the CIA and our special ops people, we re steadily gaining on Shayhidi."

"Dont keep us in suspense," Macklin prompted.

"The four penthouses he leases, one each in Hong Kong, London, Paris, and Sydney, are empty and under constant surveillance by the Agency."

"Where does that leave us?" Hartwell asked.

"Delta Force is preparing to visit Shayhidi's home in Aspen. We dont expect him to be there, but were ready."

"Unbelievable," Chalmers said, with undisguised irritation. "The guy buys a palatial multimillion-dollar home — six bedrooms, no less — in an artsy mountain town and then secretively backs a terrorist organization in a holy war against the United States."

"You know," Adair said, quickly formulating a plan, "like his bank accounts, we should seize Shayhidi's home in Aspen, sell it, and use the funds to help offset the cost of the war."

SecDef looked at the president. "What do you think, sir?"

"I think it's a great idea — the taxpayers will love it. Get in touch with Delta Force and tell them not to destroy the place."

"Well take care of it." Pete Adair nodded to Chalmers, who immediately went to the communications center.

Adair continued. "The CIA is getting ready to check a hotel in Beaulieu-sur-Mer, France. Shayhidi maintains a suite at the hotel and is known to spend a lot of time there."

"Where in France?" Macklin asked.

"Beaulieu-sur-Mer. It's on the Mediterranean coast fairly close to Nice. They're watching the airport too, the one Shayhidi uses when he stays at the hotel."

"Sounds good," Macklin said, his gaze narrowing. "Maybe we'll get lucky and snatch him at the airport."

"I certainly hope so," Adair replied. "The Agency is also checking a suite in the Hotel Seiyo Ginza in Tokyo, another city he is known to frequent. He has to turn up somewhere. He can't stay hidden forever."

Macklin nodded, disguising his frustration. "Stay on it until we find him. The longer he's out there, the higher the risk of more major tragedies."

"We'll find him," Adair said, in a convincing voice. "We've frozen a number of his assets, including charity funds in the Philippines, the Sudan, Egypt, India, Pakistan, and the States. Huge bank accounts have been frozen in Germany, France, and the Sudan. The same with his primary businesses in Germany, Uganda, Switzerland, Pakistan, and Sudan."

Adair couldn't resist a smile. "It has to really be hurting him financially, hemorrhaging money all over the planet."

"To say the least," Prost quietly chimed in. "Like others who have attacked the United States, Shayhidi grossly miscalculated the resolve of our country."

"And the reach of our influence," the president added.

General Chalmers walked back into the room. "A message just came in a few minutes ago. The Agency found out how Shayhidi slipped through our fingers in Saint Moritz."

"Let's have it," the president said, in a voice that was becoming raspy.

"He had a built-in escape route, a tunnel that surfaced in a storage shed in his backyard. Delta Force didn't consider the small storage shed when they planned the raid. He probably has something similar in his other homes."

"You can bet on it," Prost said. "Hes been working on this jihad for many years.

"Let s keep that in mind," Macklin said, absently rubbing his right shoulder. "No more egg on our face."

Silence prevailed.

"Well, gentlemen, I believe Fll turn in for the evening. See you bright and early in the morning."

"Yes, sir," the men said, rising with the president.

Macklin paused at the open door, "By the way, Doc Fortenberry thinks — healthwise — that it would be better for us to go to Cheyenne Mountain than stay airborne for extended periods in this pressurized cabin."

Eyebrows raised around the table.

"Just think about it. Well discuss it tomorrow."