Assurred Response

Chapter 8

Jackie flew the Gulfstream 100 from Baltimore to Dulles International, where they turned their new jet over to the linemen at Signature Flight Support.

After leaving the airport, they stopped by their office. Mary Beth Collins, their well-organized office manager, was so emotionally drained by the Queen Mary 2 disaster that Jackie and Scott insisted she take the rest of the day off.

With Mary Beth on her way home, Scott turned the sound up on the office television. He sorted through the snail mail while Jackie checked their e-mail. She paused and looked at Scott, her eyes reflecting her sadness. "The worlds lone superpower and New York City just got another bloody beating. The president better go after Shayhidi and destroy him at any cost."

"You have my vote."

A Fox News flash caught their attention.

This just in from Reuters. A London-based Arab satellite television station has reported that, although no group has claimed credit, they have information that the terrorist attack on the Queen Mary 2 is the beginning of another major assault on the United States.

"What else can they do?" Jackie wondered. "Security is tight everywhere; everything is covered."

Scott looked up. "That's when terrorism is most dangerous: when you think you have a handle on the problem and find out you don't."

The frowning TV anchor continued.

Corroborating evidence of the terrorist campaign came from a correspondent for Reuters. Moh'd Qudamah said he and his cameraman were taken by helicopter across the Iranian border into southwestern Afghanistan, near Pakistan. There they were thoroughly searched and then briefed about the QM2 by an unknown spokesman.

The anchor was momentarily distracted by more breaking news from Reuters.

After the shocking disclosure, Mr. Qudamah and his cameraman were detained in Afghanistan until after the attack on the Queen Mary 2 commenced.

The anchorwoman slid a small stack of new information across her desk, as file footage of military ships suddenly filled the screen.

This just in to Fox News. Senior White House officials have confirmed that American armed forces have been put on high alert. Warships in Bahrain, headquarters of the U. S. Fifth Fleet, were ordered to sea.

In addition, two American amphibious vessels have left the Red Sea port of Aqaba, cutting short a major military exercise. Our Pentagon correspondent will have an update at the top of the hour. Please stay tuned to Fox News for more breaking news on the tragedy at sea.

Scott checked the phone recorder, making sure it was turned on. "I think it's time to call it a day."

Her eyes brightened. "Let's go fly the Great Lakes, ring ourselves out doing aerobatics."

"Good idea."

"You can fly first," she said, disregarding the fact that the biplane used for aerobatics belonged to Scott.

A slow smile crossed his face. "You're spoiling me."

While his plane taxied to the runway at Madrid's Barajas International Airport, Saeed Shayhidi sat in his wide white leather chair at the head of the conference table. The meeting with the prime minister had gone well, and the new shipping contract was expected to be lucrative.

Shayhidi left money on the table, but the prime minister always treated him like royalty. This was important to Shayhidi; most of his close business contacts knew how to exploit that flaw in his negotiating skills.

It had sometimes taken Shayhidi months to negotiate a profitable deal, but recently things seemed to be happening on a daily basis. Business was booming for the shipping magnate. He attributed much of the success to his new business jet. It was a material statement that underscored Shayhidi's status in the world of global business interests.

Powerful people he had known for years seemed to be more respectful now that he owned a $57-million jet. No question about it, things were looking up for Shayhidi and his businesses. The money was flowing faster than he could spend it.

Shayhidi had a satisfying smile on his face, but his happiness was not related to business, the renewed contract, or his jetliner. The Queen Mary 2 mission had been an unqualified success even though the "death ship" had been prevented from steaming into New York City at full speed. The billionaire was anxiously looking forward to the next steps in his jihad on America.

When the BBJ lined up on the runway and began its takeoff roll, the CIA agent tracking the airplane contacted the Global Response Center, located on the sixth floor of CIA headquarters. A special team of analysts had been waiting for the priority event to begin. Working with the FBI, the information was sent to their Strategic Information and Operations Center.

The Madrid-based agent had confirmed the instrument flight plan earlier that morning. Now the time of takeoff had been verified.

Shayhidi was going to Tripoli for a meeting expected to last at least two hours. The information was immediately sent to the White House and given to President Macklin.

After the big jet lifted off the runway, a recently hired male flight attendant approached Shayhidi. "May I take your order, sir?"

"V-Eight juice, cashews, and warmed marshmallows," Shayhidi demanded in a condescending voice.

A pained look formed on the mans face. "I'm sorry, Mr. Shayhidi, but we dont have any marshmallows."

"What do you mean, you're sorry?" Shayhidi's eyes squinted. "You imbecile, make sure you have them in the future. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." The man's voice quivered. "What?"

"Yes, sir, you made yourself clear."

"I can't hear you"

"You made yourself clear, sir!"

"Then get on with it. Don't just stand there looking like an idiot." Shayhidi waved his hand lazily as if he were shooing a fly. The humiliated attendant turned and retreated to the galley He was back with the juice and cashews in less than a minute.

His aides at the conference table, and the stunning Brazilian model accompanying Shayhidi, would eat and drink exacdy what he ordered. That was standard operating procedure for everyone in Shayhidi's upper echelon. While the three senior managers worked on the presentation to be given to the Libyan oil officials, the tall woman with the pouting lips watched a movie about beauty queens. Rachel Portinari was blessed with an incredibly beautiful face and a perfect figure, but she would never be mistaken for a member of the intelligentsia.

Finishing the juice, Shayhidi walked to his executive desk in the office just forward of his stateroom. He signed the papers neatly stacked in the basket and then jotted down a few ideas he wanted to convey to Khaliq Farkas. Using his latest inspiration, Shayhidi sent Farkas a coded e-mail, the first since Farkas reentered the United States.

Echelon Two intercepted Shayhidi's message. The NSA analysts were disappointed to see the indecipherable gibberish. However, they were able to confirm that the destination server placed Farkas in the Idaho-Utah area. They would have to regroup and again work overtime to outmaneuver the wily Shayhidi.

When his plane began descending near Libya, Shayhidi sent an uncoded message to his home office in Geneva. He then took a hot shower and changed into a fresh suit for the important meeting in Tripoli. If things worked in his favor, he planned to celebrate wildly with his trophy girlfriend on the way back to Geneva.

Northrop Grummans high-altitude long-endurance unmanned aerial vehicle became the first such UAV to cross the Pacific Ocean successfully. The surveillance craft flew from Edwards Air Force Base in California to a military base outside Adelaide, Australia, a distance of 8,550 statute miles. Global Hawk traversed the Pacific in approximately twenty-two hours. Preprogrammed by ground-station personnel for the long flight across the ocean, the UAV was constantly monitored but not controlled, even when it encountered severe turbulence and unpredictable weather.

With a wingspan of 116 feet, the single-engine reconnaissance UAV has a range of over 16,500 statute miles at altitudes up to 65,000 feet. Dispatched with a maximum takeoff weight of 25,600 pounds, the autonomously controlled aerial platform can remain airborne for forty-two hours. Equipped with infrared capability and optical cameras, a synthetic aperture radar, and a four-foot satellite dish, Global Hawk can provide responsive data from anywhere in the world, day or night, regardless of the weather conditions.

When the UAV is employed as a surrogate surveillance satellite, a controller can redirect the vehicle anywhere in the world without having to wait for the next orbit to change course. Global Hawks can carry out their missions in more than one theater of operations while a single controller oversees the entire operation.

Because the UAV operates at a significantly lower altitude than a spy satellite, its sensors produce higher-resolution images with less distortion. The downside to using the UAV is the constant worry about colliding with commercial or military aircraft while ascending or descending. Upgraded models would address the problem of collision avoidance.

Based in the United Arab Emirates, one of the stealthy Global Hawks was loitering high over Tripoli, Libya. Situated along the southern coastline of the Mediterranean Sea, Tripoli is Libya's capital, largest city, chief seaport, and a haven for terrorists of all stripes.

Operating at 63,000 feet and flying much slower than its cruise speed of 454 miles per hour, the Global Hawk detected Shayhidi's BBJ. When the corporate jet entered Libyan airspace, the undetected UAV monitored radio calls between the pilots and the controllers. After the Boeing Business Jet landed in Tripoli and parked on the ramp, Global Hawk sent near-real-time intelligence imagery to President Macklin via worldwide satellite communications links. The integrated sensor suite in the UAV provided the commander in chief and his decision makers unparalleled reconnaissance data.

Normally, Saeed Shayhidi preferred holding meetings in the safety of his plane, but diplomatic precedence, formality, and etiquette had to be followed for each occasion. Over the years, Shayhidi had compiled a thick instruction manual that included rules and regulations, necessary customs, and dress codes for most of the countries in the world.

For each host, president, sovereign, monarch, emperor, chieftain, prime minister, or crowned head, certain strict guidelines had to be followed to the letter. Today, a pair of identical limousines would take Shayhidi and his managers to the meeting site, while a third limo would cater to the dark-haired beauty from Brasilia. Rachel Portinari would go sightseeing and shopping during the stopover. While the jet was being refueled for Shayhidis flight to Geneva, he approached the first limousine in line. His underlings walked to the second limo.

Exhausted from being on duty round the clock for three days, the Syrian pilots went over the flight plan for the last segment of the trip and then took a nap in the jet. The disconcerted flight attendant tidied the BBJ and went to see if he could find marshmallows in Tripoli.

President Cord Macklin projected the image of the consummate Washington politician, though he still thought of himself as an aging air force fighter jock. The former F-105 Thunderchief pilot — Thud driver, in fighter parlance — had survived many close calls, including being shot down, during his two tours in Vietnam.

Tall and trim, with silver-gray hair and deep blue eyes, Macklin was always impeccably attired, be it in a business suit, evening wear, or a pair of denim jeans and a cable-stitch sweater. An avid golfer and trapshooting enthusiast, he possessed a great sense of humor and a self-deprecating personality that made people feel at ease. Although Macklin was a thoughtful, considerate man, he didnt suffer fools well.

The Oval Office was quiet while the president reviewed the latest reconnaissance information from Global Hawk and various space-based assets. Knowing the window of opportunity was rapidly closing, Pete Adair, Hartwell Prost, and General Les Chalmers were impatiently waiting for their boss to make a decision.

Leaning back in his chair, Macklin removed his tortoiseshell spectacles and turned to Prost. "What do you recommend?"

"Not wasting another minute."

The president was pleasantly surprised by Prost s emphatic response. The QM2 tragedy had everyone on edge. "Pete?" Macklin asked.

"I agree, sir," he said urgently. "Its time to move out."

"Les, what say you?"

"I strongly recommend immediate action," Chalmers replied. Macklin clasped his fingers together and leaned his elbows on the desk. "Gentlemen, lets do it — no mistakes."

Scott and Jackie were packing for their trip to Spokane when the satellite phone rang. She answered it and then covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "It s Hartwell."

Scott nodded and continued packing.

Jackie mostly listened during the brief conversation, thanked Prost for the latest information, and put the phone down. "Some unexpected news, good and not so good."

"And?"

"The bad news first. Shayhidi is using a homemade code to send Khaliq Farkas e-mail, so we dont know what they're doing or are about to do. We'd know a lot more if Shayhidi was using encrypted messages."

"The good news?"

"Farkas is in the Idaho-Utah area. That's where the e-mail went, but they can't be more specific."

"Well, it's a start, and it tracks with the migration of terrorists coming into the area from Canada." Scott zipped his luggage closed. "Locating Farkas is the first step."

"Oh, one other thing," Jackie said. "Hartwell reminded us to keep an eye on the television."

Stretched out in the comfortable backseat of his limousine, Saeed Shayhidi adjusted the air-conditioning and paused to reflect on his good fortune. He was pleased with himself, pleased indeed. The expanded oil-shipping contract was more than he had counted on or bargained for. Now, after he assured the Libyans he had the capacity to deliver on the newly signed agreement, Shayhidi would have to locate two additional tanker ships or forfeit a $i4.3-million bonus.

The vessels would have to be supertankers, behemoths capable of carrying over seventy million gallons of crude oil. This was not going to be an easy task, given the time frame. Since there are not many idle supertankers floating around, it would cost a fortune up front, but the long-term payout looked good.

Shayhidi felt confident that he could again bribe the man who supplied his last two tankers. In the maritime shipping business, Alexi Ogarkov was known as a truly venal man who was both revered and feared by his associates. For a seabag full of unmarked cash, Ogarkov would produce the two tankers.

The pair of matched limousines were just entering the Tripoli airport ramp when Shayhidi gazed at his sleek, gleaming new plane. The third limo was parked parallel to the leading edge of the left wing of the Boeing Business Jet. The driver was carrying several large shopping bags aboard the airplane while the slender supermodel waited in the coolness of the shiny limousine.

The immaculate BBJ was shimmering in the heat rising from the blistering pavement. Through the tinted glass of his limousine, Shayhidi took a moment to gaze at his latest symbol of wealth and power. A smile of satisfaction was beginning to form on Shayhidi's face when a GPS-guided Tomahawk cruise missile slammed into his airplanes fuselage directly over the right wing root.

The horrific, blinding explosion blew the refueled airplane in half, slinging flaming debris and burning fuel in every direction. A secondary explosion caused a brilliant fireball to rise straight up, turning into black smoke as it gained altitude.

Frozen in fear, Saeed Shayhidi was thrown forward violently into the empty seats when his startled chauffeur jammed the brake pedal to the floor. The second limousine driver braked hard and swerved in an attempt to avoid Shayhidi's automobile. A second too late, he plowed into the rear of Shayhidi's limo, sending both cars sliding out of control.

Waiting inside the airplane for Shayhidi to arrive, the two pilots, the flight attendant, and the limo driver perished in the initial explosion. A third, thunderous explosion completely enveloped the burning jet in reddish-orange flames and billowing clouds of black, oily smoke. More flaming debris rained down, hitting other airplanes and bouncing off the tops of the limousines.

A smaller corporate jet, about to taxi for takeoff, caught fire when its fuel tanks were punctured by large pieces of flaming shrapnel. The panicked passengers and flight crew immediately evacuated the Sabreliner 65 and raced for cover. Innocent victims on the ramp were running for their lives, some stumbling over others in their desperate attempt to escape the burning jet fuel.

Waiting in the limousine, Rachel Portinari survived the first two earth-shattering explosions, but the vibrant young woman succumbed to the third powerful detonation.

Shayhidi was shocked speechless. His most cherished possession had been destroyed right in front of his eyes. They know. The Americans must know I was behind the QM2—but how?

Without a thought for the condition of the model, his longtime pilots, and his flight attendant, Shayhidi climbed out of the limousine and ran toward the terminal building. His trio of senior managers and the astonished limo drivers fell in step behind him while pandemonium reigned at the airport.

When the men were safely inside the structure, Shayhidi could no longer contain his rage. He began ranting and raving at the top of his voice, cursing President Macklin and the U. S. military forces for destroying his new jet. After the better part of a minute, he assumed a more coherent manner and sat down.

"If we were twenty seconds earlier, I would have been killed," Shayhidi bitterly complained while he stared at the remains of his burning plane. Firefighters were working feverishly to quell the inferno. "I would have been in the plane."

The excruciating reality cascaded through his mind. The Americans will hunt me down. What do I do? Where do I go?

He turned to his senior managers. "Get a chartered jet in here and dont use my name — move!"

"Yes, sir," the threesome said in chorus. Like lemmings, the hollow-eyed men rushed off to comply with the order. The rumors about their boss's connections to terrorist groups enveloped them in a cloud of doubt. Was Shayhidi involved in the ocean liner disaster? If so, would this attack mean the end of their lucrative jobs, their luxurious lifestyles? Their boss was an unpredictable man when he was angry. Either way, they understood their future was suddenly at risk.

Still dumbfounded by the precision missile attack, Shayhidi forced himself to breathe slowly. Fear began to fade as feelings of utter hostility swept over him. Raising both hands to wipe his face, he became aware that his hands were shaking. He crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to appear calm and collected.

A pattern of illogical thoughts began consuming him. The American president is going to rue the day he did this to me. I will show him what it is like to provoke Saeed Shayhidi.

Operating in the depths of the eastern Mediterranean Sea, the Los Angeles-class attack submarine Hartford turned on course to the U. S. Naval Base at La Maddalena, a small Italian island located off the northern coast of the island of Sardinia. The submarine s actual destination was Santo Stefano, a rocky, uncultivated island that was the home port of the U. S. Navy submarine tender USS Emory S. Land.

La Maddalena was a tourist resort, and the crew of the Hartford was looking forward to a few days of liberty while their submarine was serviced and replenished. They had just completed a successful operation, one that greatly pleased their commander in chief. In a message to the crew, President Cord Macklin assured the submariners he would provide them with a replacement Tomahawk cruise missile.