Dead Water

16

President Williams was walking across the lawn toward the waiting helicopter. He was not happy having to go to Baltimore, but he realized that it was one of those courtesy calls that he was required to make from time to time. He was accompanied by Tommy DeLancy, his personal assistant.

"Did my speech get revised?" the president asked DeLancy.

"Yes, sir. The changes exactly as you requested, all set for the teleprompter."

"I'd just as soon have a root canal as do this," complained the president.

"Yes, sir."

"You can also stop saying 'Yes, sir' all the time."

"Yes, sir. Uh, sorry."

The president just shook his head slightly as he mounted the collapsible stairs to board the chopper, saluting his military guards along the way.

"We'll be there shortly, sir," informed the copilot.

The president merely nodded and took his seat.

Two figures were walking down the docks toward a fishing trawler. One was carrying two duffel bags while the other was wheeling three medium-size crates on a dolly. No words were spoken. The vessel was tied to a floating dock that rose and fell with the tide. The ramp down from the main dock was long enough that at low tide the incline was not particularly steep, unlike some areas in the northeast where you had to practically hang on to the handrails to transverse the walkways. Upon arriving, they loaded their gear and quickly stowed the crates out of sight. They set about appearing as though they were performing routine maintenance on the craft. The boat was tied up near Fell's Point, across from the Baltimore Museum of Industry, where the celebration honoring the governor was to take place.

Nazir al-Hadid had been here several times, but it was Sirhan al-Razar's first time aboard. Both set about their tasks. One carefully opened the three crates and readied their contents. The other laid out two sets of dive gear just inside the wheelhouse. More was waiting for them tied to underwater scooters, small torpedo-shaped vehicles with a propeller at the rear that turned via an electric motor. A set of handlebars that could have been taken from a motorcycle were mounted rearward. To control the craft's direction, you either pulled up or pushed down to change depth or pulled left or right to change direction. Both had been modified with extra batteries to provide enough electricity for the approximate twenty-mile underwater trip that faced them. Able to achieve a speed of four miles per hour, not counting the current, which could raise or lower their ground speed, a five-hour journey faced them. They had spare scuba tanks, which would provide seven hours of air. Waterproof GPS units had been mounted to the handlebars to ensure not getting lost on the way to rendezvous with the yacht that would be awaiting their arrival.

Sirhan al-Razar set up a tarp as though he were initiating repairs. In fact, it would be used to hide their departure over the side of the boat.

Finally, all was set, and the waiting started.

With everyone having checked into their rooms at two different hotels, a Holiday Inn Express and a Ramada Inn, Styles and Phillips were on their way to Outdoor Hunting and Recreation Outlet.

"Drop me off just before the parking lot; don't want any security cameras to catch me traveling with you," Styles directed Phillips. "Same when we leave."

"Got it."

Little conversation had taken place. Both knew what they were to do. Half a block away, they saw the large retail outlet. Phillips turned into a bakery parking lot, and Styles got out. Before he shut the door, he said, "Sound check."

"Loud and clear," remarked Phillips, dressed smartly in a black business suit.

"Same," confirmed Styles.

Phillips pulled back out onto the roadway and drove onward to the retail outlet.

Styles started walking and was just entering the parking lot as Phillips was entering the store. Immediately, too much noise was coming in over Styles's earpiece.

"Turn your volume down when you get the chance. Too much background noise," he said.

Within fifteen seconds, the unwanted distraction disappeared, and he listened as Phillips coughed to be sure he could hear her.

"That's good.

Phillips approached the customer service desk and asked to see the store manager.

"I'm the assistant manager. How may I help you?" a younger man, perhaps late twenties, answered.

Phillips, all business, asked, "Is your store manager available?"

"Yes, he is, but he's busy with a supplier at the moment."

Phillips flashed her official badge and identification. "Phillips, Department of the Presidential Office. Get your manger, now!"

The man looked at her badge and ID carefully and then said, "Yes, ma'am." Two minutes later, he returned with a short, chubby man in his midforties with a ruddy complexion.

"I'm Ted Longley. I've never heard of the Department of the Presidential Office."

"I'm Darlene Phillips, and I've never heard of Outdoor Hunting and Recreation Outlet, so I guess that makes us even." She handed him a card with the presidential seal embossed on the front. "There's a number on the front, a direct line to the Department of Justice, even though we're not part of them. They will confirm my identity if you have any questions. This is a matter of national security, and I don't have a lot of time and even less patience. Either make the call or shut up and listen."

Longley studied the card and the badge and then returned them. "How can I help you?"

Phillips held up a manila envelope. "You had a customer in here six days ago who bought some merchandise. I have a copy of his credit card receipt. I assume you have security cameras installed?"

"Of course," Longley replied indignantly.

"Take me to your office where your computer and camera equipment are placed. I need to do a search to try to match a face with this card."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Phillips, but I'm afraid that would be against our store policy to allow that."

Phillips's eyes blazed. "In two minutes, I'm either going to be in that office or you're going to be in the back of a federal agent's car, handcuffed on suspicion of aiding terrorism. You could be in GTMO before sundown. Which do you prefer?"

Longley swallowed hard. "Follow me."

The flight from the White House to the Baltimore Museum of Industry was to take just under half an hour. President Williams was going over his speech with Tommy DeLancy.

"I think you've got it down, sir," commented DeLancy.

"Not that much to get down. I want to be in and out of there in under an hour. I don't care what is going on, at the fifty-minute mark, you are to interrupt and tell me I'm needed back at the White House. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

They were both looking out the windows of the president's helicopter. Off to the right were two identical aircraft, disguising which one the president was aboard. With less humidity than normal, it was a crystal-clear day, and looking out over the horizon, it was as though you could see forever. Four F-16 fighter jets were hovering three thousand feet above the president's craft. The three helicopters droned onward.

The president had returned to studying his speech, leaving DeLancy staring out the window. Suddenly, the helicopter flying the outside of the formation burst into a fireball. Stunned, DeLancy tried to yell to the president. Just as the words began to leave his throat, for a nanosecond, he felt extreme heat. He never had time to hear anything.

President Williams had just begun to look up from the noise of the first explosion, and then everything went black.