By Order of the President

Chapter XIX

[ONE]

Tomas Guardia International Airport

Liberia, Costa Rica

1415 10 June 2005

Major C. G. Castillo, now wearing a black flight suit with subdued insignia that included the wings of a master Army aviator and identified him as CWO-5 B.D. SHINE, lay beside a small concrete-block building hoping he was further concealed by a fifty-five-gallon drum full of aromatic waste. His face was streaked with brown, black, and green grease. He had binoculars to his eyes and wore a headset, putting a small receiver in his right ear and a microphone at his lips. A CAR-4 lay on the ground beside him.

Immediately to his left, the other side of the reeking garbage drum, was Sergeant First Class Paul T. Orson, who was armed with a dull black bolt-action rifle based on the Remington Model 700. 308 Winchester caliber hunting rifle. About the only things that hadn't been changed were the caliber-known in the Army as "7.62x55mm NATO"-and the action. It now had a carefully chosen and tested barrel and, in place of glossy walnut, a matt black stock made up of fiberglass, Kevlar, and graphite. A dull black 10x42 Leupold Ultra optical sight was mounted on top.

Immediately behind them-literally, behind the garbage drum-and also armed with a CAR-4, was Colonel Jake Torine, USAF, now wearing a black flight suit whose subdued insignia identified him as CWO-3 P.J. LEFKOWITZ, a senior Army aviator.

A good deal was about to happen-Sergeant Orson thought of this as all hell was about to break loose -but there was no indication of this on the tarmac in front of them.

Another open-bodied Ford one-and-a-half-ton truck was pulled up close to the 727. A man on the truck handed down, four at a time, long, thin cardboard boxes to two men on the ground. They carried the boxes to the movable stairs rolled up to the front door and to the lowered rear stairway of the airplane. There they were passed to men wearing short-sleeved white shirts with captain's and first officer's shoulder boards and quickly carried up the stairs into the airplane.

Castillo had recognized the face of one of the aircrew as the guy had run up and down the stairs. He had seen his photographs in Philadelphia. He had not seen the second Philadelphia mullah nor had he recognized the two men who had also carried flowers into the aircraft up the rear stairs. But they had intelligent faces and he wondered if he had been wrong, that everybody was a pilot.

How the hell can you calmly load an airplane – with flowers, for Christ's sake – knowing you're going to die in it?

"Five: four: three: two: one," General McNab's voice said in Castillo's earpiece. "Showtime!"

"Heads up," Castillo said softly and, a moment later, realized it was entirely unnecessary. Sergeant Orson had his eye to the Leupold scope and the rifle was trained on the rear stairs of the 727.

The first thing to disturb the peace and tranquillity of Tomas Guardia International Airport was that of artillery simulators detonated near a small concrete-block building, painted in a red-and-white-checkerboard pattern, to one side of the runway. The simulators were intended to sound exactly like that of a 105mm howitzer shell coming through the air and detonating on contact. And they did.

At precisely that moment, two Little Birds popped up past the end of the runway where Castillo, Sherman, and Torine had fallen down the hill. Rocket fire exploded from the left Little Bird and a stream of 40mm grenades from the other. The rockets struck a fuel truck parked out of line of sight of the 727, causing an immediate explosion, and the grenades exploded in a line parallel to, and a few feet the other side of, the runway.

The face of the man near the bottom of the rear stairway was familiar to Castillo through his binoculars.

"Take him," he ordered.

There was an immediate crack as the sniper rifle fired.

There was no question in Castillo's mind that Orson would hit his target.

I have just killed that guy as surely as if I had pulled the trigger myself.

This philosophical observation was immediately challenged when the man in his binocular view, though obviously disturbed and surprised by what was happening-he was now looking up the stairs-was obviously still very much alive.

I'll be a sonofabitch, he missed!

Castillo looked over at Sergeant Orson just as the rifle fired again.

Castillo hastily put the binoculars to his eyes again.

The man on the rear stairway was now sliding, facedown, down the stairs.

"There was another one, farther up on the stairs," Sergeant Orson said. "I figured I'd take him first."

Four unarmed Little Birds now suddenly appeared, from four different directions, and rapidly approached the 727. There were six Gray Fox soldiers on the outside platforms of each, all dressed in black outfits topped with black balaclavas.

The Little Birds had made a "fly the needles" approach to the 727. Their onboard computer directed navigation systems, knowing within six feet both their position and that of the 727, had provided the pilots with indicators-"the needles"-on the control panel. So long as the pilots kept the needles where they were supposed be-increasing or decreasing airspeed, changing direction or altitude caused the needles to move-all four of the Little Birds were able to arrive, from four different directions, at a little better than seventy-five miles per hour, within seconds of one another.

The Gray Fox soldiers dropped nimbly from the benches before the skids of the Little Birds actually touched down. Some of them fired close to-not at-the security personnel, which caused the defending force to immediately raise their hands, fall to their knees, or both.

One special operator dashed to the flower truck, somewhat rudely removed the driver from behind the wheel, got behind the wheel, started the truck, drove toward the Central American Aerial Freight Forwarding building, and then jumped out, leaving the truck on a collision course with a Peugeot sedan parked in front of the building, which, in fact, occurred some thirty seconds later.

During those thirty seconds:

Two four-man teams of Gray Fox men rushed to the forward stairs. One man ran halfway up the stairs, from where he threw a Whiz Bang grenade through the open door. A Whiz Bang goes off with a great deal of noise and a blinding flash but does not produce shrapnel. Those in close proximity to a detonated Whiz Bang, however, usually have trouble hearing and seeing and generally appear confused.

As soon as the Whiz Bang went off, the man who had thrown it rushed the rest of the way up the stairs, closely followed by the three other members of what General McNab had dubbed the "Front Door Team." To get into the aircraft, it was necessary for the Front Door Team to step over the bodies of two men on the stairs.

Fifteen seconds after they entered the fuselage, two of the Gray Fox men came back out the door, went to the fallen men, and unceremoniously dragged them into the airplane.

As soon as they had cleared the door, the "Moving Stairs Team" of four Gray Fox soldiers started to push the stairs away from the aircraft.

Meanwhile, four Gray Fox soldiers-the "Tug and Chocks Team"-had approached the tug. One of them climbed aboard while the other three detached the tug's link to the front wheel of the aircraft and removed the wooden blocks from the aircraft's wheels. As soon as that was done, the tug started to move off. The Gray Fox driver set it on a collision course with the Peugeot and jumped off.

At the same time, the "Ground Auxiliary Power Team" went to that generator. One of them fired it up while a second made sure the cord was properly plugged into the aircraft. The other two made a hasty examination of the aircraft to make sure it was not connected in any unexpected other way with the ground. It was not.

And, simultaneously, the "Rear Stair Door Team" rushed to the rear stair doors. One of them, stepping over one body, climbed as far as he could-he encountered another body-and threw a Whiz Bang into the passenger compartment. It went off within two seconds of the one thrown through the front door.

The grenadier, closely followed by his team members, then went into the aircraft and twenty seconds later came out again.

He spoke to his microphone.

"Clear. No apparent damage. This fucking thing is full of flowers. What the hell is that all about?"

The team who had entered the aircraft through the front door began to descend the rear stairs. Master Sergeant Charles Stevens, who was in overall charge of both the Front Door and Rear Stair Door teams and had accompanied the latter, suggested to them that assisting in taking the bodies on the stairs aboard would be a nice thing for them to do.

He didn't use those words but they took his point.

As Castillo and Torine ran toward the aircraft, they saw a half-dozen brilliant yellow vehicles of the Tomas Guardia International Airport fire department racing across the field toward the blazing fuel truck.

So far, no one seemed to be paying much attention to what was happening near the 727, not even to the four Little Birds sitting there with their rotors slowly turning.

"APU's up and running, sir," Master Sergeant Stevens said to Colonel Torine. "We'll stick around until you get it moving."

"You stick around until I get one engine running," Colonel Torine said. "Then disconnect the APU and get out of here. There's nothing more that you can do."

"Yes, sir. Good luck, Colonel. You, too, Major."

He saluted as Castillo and Torine went up the stairs, which were slick with blood.

Colonel Torine got in the pilot's seat, adjusted it to accommodate his long legs, strapped himself in, and then looked around for something he finally found on the shelf over the instrument panel. He handed it to Castillo.

"Checklist, Charley," he said as he reached for the master buss switch.

"One, gear lever and lights," Castillo read.

"Down and check," Torine responded.

"Two, brakes," Castillo read.

"Parked."

"Three, battery."

"On."

"Starting number two," Torine said, which was not the next step on the checklist. Castillo looked over at Torine.

There was a whining sound as the Pratt amp; Whitney JT8D-9 turbofan in the vertical stabilizer came to life.

"You're going to have to go back and close the stair door, Charley," Torine said. "That's supposed to be done before you start the checklist."

"Yes, sir."

"The control's on the left bulkhead."

"Yes, sir," Castillo said and hurriedly got out of his harness and went through the cabin. He had to step over all four bodies again to reach the stair door control panel; his foot slipped in a pool of blood. When he looked down-he had not intended to-the sightless eyes of the man whose death he had ordered looked back at him.

He opened the control panel door, found the raise stair switch, threw it, and waited until a green light came on. He felt the vibration as Torine started the other two engines.

He started back to the cockpit and found himself looking again at the sightless eyes.

He took another step forward, then stopped. The Whiz Bangs had displaced tour or five flower boxes; one or them was ripped open. Castillo scooped out its contents, turned, and laid them, not very gently, on the dead man's face. Then he went as quickly as he could back to the flight deck.

"Pick the checklist up at 'taxi,' Charley," Torine ordered.

"Yes, sir."

The 727 was moving. Charley wondered if you were supposed to move before you started the taxi portion of the checklist.

"One, flaps and runway," he read.

"Flaps, check," Colonel Torine responded. "Runway? That one." He pointed out the window.

Castillo saw a wind cone indicating that Torine was headed in the right direction to make a right turn onto the runway into the prevailing wind.

He also saw the Tomas Guardia International Airport fire department fighting, without any apparent success, the fire on the blazing fuel truck.

And he saw a Little Bird, six Gray Fox operators hanging on to it, fly right on the deck over the runway threshold and then drop out of sight. He looked around and saw no others.

"Two," he read from the checklist, "Takeoff data."

"In a manner of speaking," Torine said, "I already did the max takeoff gross weight figuring on this"-he motioned to his pocket computer and Charley remembered him furiously tapping its keys with his stylus in the hangar at Pope Air Force Base, figuring how far the stolen aircraft could fly-"so all we have to do is line it up with the runway and go." Yes, sir.

The 727 reached the threshold. His hand on the throttles and his feet never touching the brakes, Torine lined the 727 up with the centerline of the runway with a steady roll.

"Call out our airspeed, please," Torine said as he moved the throttles forward.

"Seventy," Castillo called when the airspeed indicator came to life.

"Eighty, ninety, one hundred, one twenty, one thir:"

"Rotating," Torine said.

The 727 put its nose into the air. A moment later, the rumbling of the landing gear on the runway died.

"Gear up," Torine ordered.

Charley found the switch and worked it.

"Gear up and locked," he reported.

"Okay," Torine said. "While I try to recall what all these switches and other stuff are for, why don't you see if you can turn on the Radio Direction Finder and whatever other navigation equipment you find? I'm going to head for the Atlantic."

[TWO]

Aboard Costa Rican Air Transport 407

11.374 degrees North Latitude

81.699 degrees West Longitude

Above the Atlantic Ocean

1505 10 June 2005

"Ah," Torine said. "I wondered how long that would take."

He pointed out his side window.

A USAF F-15 was on their wingtip. A moment later, a second appeared directly ahead and two hundred feet over them. And then a third F-15 appeared on their right wingtip.

"What do you want to bet there's one on our tail, too?" Torine asked.

The pilot of the F-15 on their left held up a hand-lettered sign. It read: "119.9."

"Tune the radio, please," Torine said.

Charley tuned one radio transceiver to 119.9 megahertz.

The voice of the fighter pilot came immediately into their headsets: "Costa Rican Air Transport Four-Oh-Seven, this is United States Air Force Six-Two-Two. Do you speak English?"

"Reasonably well," Torine replied after switching to transmit.

"You are directed to immediately commence a 180-degree two-minute turn and begin a descent to flight level ten. Do you understand?"

"Before I do that, son," Colonel Torine said, "what I want you to do is get on your Abort Mission frequency and relay the following to Central Command: Attention, General McFadden. I am in command of Costa Rican Air Transport Four-Oh-Seven. Regards. Jake.' "

"I repeat," the F-15 pilot said, "you are directed to immediately comm-"

"I'm not going to tell you again, son," Torine interrupted. "Get on the horn to CentCom now. Change the signature block to: 'Jake Torine, Colonel, USAF.' You read me?"

The F-15 pilot didn't respond for nearly two minutes. Then he said: "Sir, what is your wife's maiden name?"

"McNulty," Torine said. "Mary Margaret McNulty."

"Hold one, sir "Sir, CentCom directs that I accompany you to your destination. What is that, sir?"

Switching to intercom, Torine looked at Castillo. "We never thought that far, did we, Charley? Where do you think we should go?"

"MacDill," Castillo said.

"You're anxious to face the wrath of General Naylor? I was going to suggest we go to Gitmo and give McNab and McFadden a chance to tell Naylor what heroes we are before we go home."

"What would we do with four bodies at Gitmo?" Castillo replied. "I'm open to any suggestion, but it looks like MacDill is the answer."

"What are you going to do with the bodies at MacDill?"

"You don't want to know, Colonel. What I would like is a 160th Black Hawk, with two muscular crew chiefs, to meet us there with a couple of stretchers."

"Air Force Six-Two-Two," Torine said after switching back to transmit. "Our destination is MacDill, repeat, MacDill. Advise MacDill that we will require a Special Forces Black Hawk and a stretcher-bearing team immediately on arrival. Acknowledge, please."

[THREE]

The Oval Office

The White House

Pennsylvania Avenue NW

Washington, D.C.

June 2005

"Mr. President," Secretary of Defense Frederick K. Beiderman said, "there's some good news from General McFadden at CentCom."

"That's good, for a change."

"It's fragmentary, sir, but:"

" 'Fragmentary' means you have only a part of it, right? Why does that worry me, Fred?"

"Sir, F-15s intercepted the missing 727 over the Atlantic:"

"Oh, shit, McNab couldn't neutralize it? That's:"

"Sir, Colonel Torine, who went to Mexico with Castillo?"

The president nodded.

"Sir, he's flying it. That's confirmed. The F-15s are escorting it to MacDill, in Tampa."

"I know where MacDill is," the president said. "Do we know-really know-that Colonel Whatsisname is flying it?"

"Yes, sir. That's been confirmed. They should be in MacDill in about two hours."

"Keep me posted," the president said and then changed his mind and picked up a telephone.

"In exactly fifteen minutes, get me General Naylor at CentCom," he ordered, hung up, and turned to Beiderman. "Maybe in fifteen minutes there will be more than fragmentary information. Have you told Natalie or Matt?"

"That's next, sir. Them and the DCI."

"Why don't we let Matt Hall tell the DCI?" the president said. "Tell Matt to tell him after I hear from Naylor." Yes, sir.

"Christ, I wonder how much of Costa Rica is left after McNab pulled this off? That's probably why we only have 'fragmentary' information."

"I asked General McFadden about that, sir. He doesn't know about collateral damage. He's not in contact with Colonel Torine or General McNab. General McNab's having communication problems again."

"I almost wish you'd have waited until you knew more," the president said. "But, of course, if you had, I would be all over you for not telling me earlier. Thanks, Fred."

"Sir, if we have the airplane, it's not going to crash into the Liberty Bell."

"I was just thinking the same thing. What about Major Castillo?"

"Nothing on him yet, sir."

"Yeah, I know. Our information is fragmentary. Tell Matt and Natalie, please, Fred, and then stay available."

"Yes, Mr. President."

[FOUR]

MacDill Air Force Base

Tampa, Florida

1710 10 June 2005

"Costa Rican Four-Oh-Seven, you are cleared for a straight-in approach to runway two-seven. The altimeter is two-nine-niner, the winds are negligible. Be advised there are a number of ground vehicles on either side of the runway. You are directed to stop on the runway at the end of your landing roll and to shut down your engines at that time. You will receive additional instructions at that time. Acknowledge."

"Fuck you," Colonel Torine said to a dead microphone and then pushed the TRANSMIT switch. "Oh-seven, I have the runway in sight."

He pushed the INTERCOM switch.

"I did remember, didn't I, Mr. Copilot, to put the wheels down?"

"Gear is down and locked, sir," Castillo reported.

"Well, then, let's see if we can't get this tired old bird on the ground without too many pieces falling off."

Ninety seconds later, Colonel Torine said, "Well, the thrust reversers seem to work. Now, let's see if the brakes do."

The second half of the runway was lined with vehicles, bright yellow fire-fighting vehicles, ambulances, wreckers, bulldozers, and Humvees-a large number of Humvees-all equipped with. 50 caliber machine guns, all of which were trained on Costa Rican 407.

"I expect this is the modern version of the tumultuous welcome Roman legionnaires got when they returned to Rome after having vanquished the savages in far-off places," Torine said as the 727 began to slow very suddenly.

Torine threw the master buss switch.

"I wonder if it will ever fly again?" he asked. "The last flight of an airplane is always a little sad."

"Why won't it fly again?" Castillo asked, then, "Do you think we should try to get this crap off our face before we go out there and wave to the fans?"

"Jesus, I forgot all about it. Hell no, leave it on. It'll give them something to talk about."

He unstrapped himself and stood up and then gestured to Castillo to precede him from the cockpit.

When Castillo opened the door, now waving Torine ahead of him, movable stairs had been rolled up to the front door. When he stepped onto the platform at the top, he saw that their reception committee consisted of three high-ranking dignitaries: the secretary of homeland security, the Honorable Matthew Hall; General Allan Naylor, USA, the commanding general of Central Command; and his deputy commander, General Albert McFadden, USAF.

Behind them was about a platoon of Air Police, half of them mounted in Humvees.

Colonel Torine saluted as he went down the stairs. Naylor and McFadden returned it.

"Jake, is that thing liable to blow up anytime soon?" General McFadden called.

"It may collapse of old age, sir," Torine replied, "but blow up? No, sir, I don't think so."

Castillo followed him down the stairs. As soon as his feet touched the runway, one of the Air Police, a major, headed for the stairs.

"I don't think you want to go in the airplane just yet, Major," Castillo said and stepped into his path.

The Air Police major gave him a withering look, examined Castillo's flight suit, and snapped, "Please step to one side, Mr. Shine."

Charley remembered that in addition to the grease on his face, he was wearing Shine's flight suit.

Since I was, before this happened, a major (promotable), I probably outrank you, you pompous shit. But fuck it.

He made an After you, Gaston bow to the major and stepped out of his way. The Air Police major ran up the stairs.

Castillo saluted Generals Naylor and McFadden. They returned it.

"I can't tell you how delighted I am that you pulled this off," Matt Hall said. "Welcome home, Charley. Colonel Torine."

"The president has asked me to convey his congratulations to you both," General Naylor said. "He is also concerned with collateral damage to the airport. I therefore think we should go somewhere where you can make a preliminary after-action report and then see about getting you cleaned up."

"A fuel truck, sir, burned at the airport," Colonel Torine said. "That's about the sum of it."

"There were no casualties?" Naylor asked, surprised.

"None on our side, sir," Castillo said. "And none on the bad guys' that we left at the airport."

"I don't understand," Naylor said.

The Air Force major came down the stairs, looking a little pale. He walked quickly to Generals Naylor and McFadden and softly told them, "There are four bodies on the airplane!"

" Sir," Castillo said, "may I respectfully suggest that you get Colonel Torine's after-action report first? I don't believe I will have anything to add to that, sir, and I really need thirty or forty minutes in the Black Hawk right now."

"What for, Charley?" Matt Hall asked.

"I don't think you want to know, sir," Castillo said.

"Yes, I do," Hall said.

"There's a few details I have to clean up, sir:"

"Those bodies?" Hall asked.

"Matt, I don't think you want that question answered," General Naylor said. "Colonel Torine, if you'll come with us, Major Castillo will join us just as soon as he can."

He gestured toward an Air Force Dodge Caravan.

"Major," General McFadden said to the Air Police officer, "I'm sure you were mistaken when you thought you saw bodies on the aircraft."

"Hey, Charley," the pilot of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment Black Hawk said after the helo was loaded and its wheels left the ground, "where we going?"

"Sightseeing, Tom," Castillo said. "How about someplace along Alligator Alley where I could see some really hungry gators? The more, the better."

"I know just the place," the pilot said and banked the bird southeast toward the Everglades.

[FIVE]

Room 14B

Transient Field Grade Officers' Quarters

MacDill Air Force Base

Tampa, Florida

2005 10 June 2005

"Hello," Fernando Lopez said when he picked up the telephone.

"Major Carlos Castillo, please, the president is calling."

"He's in the shower."

"Did you understand what I said before? The president is calling."

"That won't get him out of the shower anytime soon."

"I will call again in five minutes. Please have Major Castillo prepared to speak to the president."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you very much."

Charley came out of the bathroom two minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Anything happen? What was on the phone?"

"The first was Elaine Naylor. We were expected for dinner five minutes ago. All is apparently forgiven by Uncle Allan. So get dressed."

"And the second?"

"That was Isaacson, to tell us he's on his way here to pick us up."

"That's all?"

"There was one more," Fernando said. "Let me think. Oh yeah. It was the president. I said you were in the shower."

"Oh, fuck you. I say that with all possible respect and affection."

"You mean you don't believe me?" Fernando asked, innocently.

Charley gave him the finger and started to get dressed.

The telephone rang again.

"Major Castillo," Charley said somewhat abruptly.

The startled voice at the other end replied, "One moment, please, Major."

"Charley? I understand you were in the shower," the president of the United States said a moment later.

"Yes, sir, Mr. President, I was."

"You'll have to wait until he gets off the phone," Fernando said five minutes later to Supervisory Special Agent Joel Isaacson. "He's talking to the president."

"Okay," Isaacson said. He seemed neither surprised nor impressed, but when Charley came out of the bedroom two minutes later he immediately asked, "So what did the president have to say?"

"None of your fucking business, Joel."

"Okay. If you're going to be a hard-ass, I won't tell you what I know."

"That the world isn't really flat?"

"A new addition to the Secret Service."

"Who?"

"While you two were flitting around the Caribbean, soaking up the sun, the boss sent me to Philadelphia. He was concerned that Betty 'Nice Boobs' Schneider was really going to have her ass in a crack for coming to Washington with us and wanted me to see what I could do."

"Which was?"

"I went to Chief Inspector Kramer-one cop to another-and asked him. He said he didn't think she would have any problems, the mayor was never going to find that out, but he was worried about Ali Abd Ar-Raziq, aka Detective Jack Britton."

"Oh, yeah," Charley said.

"He said there was a very good chance the AALs would try to whack him-and that was before you stole the airplane back, which is really going to piss those people off. Whack him or his family. And could I offer him a job somewhere-anywhere-out of Philadelphia?"

"And you did?"

"I actually had to sell him on the Secret Service, but yeah. And I put a couple of guys in the Philadelphia office on the AALs until we get him and his family out of town. I wonder if he'll spot them?"

"Probably. That guy is one hell of a cop. I'm really glad to hear that, Joel. Thank you."

"He'll earn his keep," Isaacson said.

"I'm sure he will."

"And I figured what the hell, since I was already there, and I know the boss was really impressed with her, I asked Sergeant Schneider if she was interested in moving up in the world of law enforcement."

"And was she?" Charley asked.

His heart jumped.

"Yeah, sure. Once I told her how much a special agent makes. You know how little the cops get paid?"

"That's very interesting," Charley said. "I'm sure she'll be an asset."

"Who the hell do you think you're kidding, Gringo?" Fernando Lopez asked, laughing. "Your nostrils are flaring."