Target America

59

“Master Chief, I’m sorry as hell,” the pilot of the Gulfstream V was saying. “I really am, but I’ve been ordered to divert to Creech AFB, and that’s what I’ve got to do.”

“My hearth and home are under attack,” Gil said. “Do you understand what that means? Al Qaeda is on the ground trying to kill my family.”

“I understand,” said the pilot, an air force captain. “But my orders come straight from Colonel Bradshaw, and his orders are straight from the president himself. What can I do?”

“You can stay on course!”

“No, I can’t. I’d be flying straight into a court martial. You may not have a problem disobeying orders, but I’m not wired that way. Besides, the FBI and the Montana State Police are both en route to your ranch. I’m sure everything’s going to be okay.”

Gil knew he had to get to Montana. The Helena office of the FBI didn’t even have a helicopter at its immediate disposal, much less any kind of hostage rescue team. And as for the Montana State Police, they were good guys, but most of their training was traffic related, and Gil knew they’d be no match for a trained Al Qaeda hit squad — especially if they were AQAP operators.

He shifted his gaze to the copilot. “How about it, Lieutenant?”

The copilot pointed at the pilot. “My orders come from him.”

Gil left the cockpit mad enough to shoot somebody, pulling the door closed after him.

Crosswhite was waiting there. “What did they say?”

He shook his head. “They aren’t wired like me.”

“What about John Brux?” Crosswhite suggested. “Think he could help?”

Gil cocked his eyebrow. “You got ’im in your fuckin’ pocket?”

“Look, these fuckin’ planes will damn near land themselves,” Crosswhite said. “We’ll just get Brux on the phone, and he’ll tell us how to program the computer.”

“That’s a pretty good idea.” Gil chuckled. “Once in a while, you’re almost worth having around.”

A few minutes later, they had John Brux on the sat phone, and Gil broke the situation down for him. Brux was the former air force pilot who had flown topcover for Gil’s unauthorized mission to rescue Sandra Brux, Brux’s wife.

“We owe you everything,” Brux told him over the phone. “So, yeah. Hell, yeah. If you can get in the pilot’s seat, I’ll tell you how to program the computer.”

“Stand by.” Gil looked at the rest of the team. “Any of you guys have a problem taking the cockpit if the pilots won’t give it up?”

The SEALs all popped out of their seats.

Crosswhite put his hand on the cockpit door. “Just give us the order, Chief.”

Gil nodded reluctantly. “Take the plane.”

Crosswhite opened the door and stepped into the cockpit. “Excuse me, Captain.”

The pilot looked back at him. “What now?”

Crosswhite placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Well, you can put this plane on autopilot and vacate the cockpit. Or you can try to resist us and probably end up crashing the goddamn thing. Which is it gonna be?”

“Bullshit! You’ll kill us all if you try landing this thing yourselves.”

“We’ve got a G-V pilot on the phone who says he can talk us through the landing. So get outta the goddamn seat.”

The pilot looked at his copilot. “See? I told you these crazy fuckers would pull something.”

The copilot shrugged. “I don’t recommend a fight, sir.”

“No shit!” the captain said bitterly, turning to Crosswhite. “I’ll land in Bozeman, but every fucking one of you is gonna swing for this.”

Crosswhite grinned. “If I had a quarter for every time somebody said that to me.” He kept Brux on the phone so he could tell him how to verify if they were flying in the right direction.

Ten minutes later the radio came to life… “Air Force Flight One Sixty-Eight. This is Nellis AFB. Please advise as to why you have not corrected course.”

Crosswhite put his hand on the pilot’s shoulder. “Don’t give them a reason to shoot us down, eh?”

The pilot gave him a look. “This is Air Force One Sixty-Eight. Nellis, we are continuing to Bozeman Yellowstone International.”

“Standby, One Sixty-Eight.” There was a ninety-second pause. “One Sixty-Eight, that’s a negative. You are ordered to divert to Creech AFB.”

“Tell them we’ve got engine trouble,” Crosswhite said.

The pilot advised they were having hydraulic trouble and that Nellis was too far.

“Um, stand by, One Sixty-Eight.”

Three minutes later… “One Sixty-Eight, you are clear to proceed to Bozeman Yellowstone. Be advised you’ll be catching the tail end of a cold front coming down from the northwest, so expect chop.”

“Roger that, Nellis. Thank you.” The pilot looked back at Crosswhite and smirked. “You think you’ve won, but they’re gonna have every cop in Montana waiting there to greet us. You wait and see.”

Gil cleared his throat from where he leaned in the doorway. “Which is why we’ll be landing ten miles away at a private airfield.” Gil handed him a slip of paper. “Those are the exact GPS coordinates.”

The pilot took the paper and passed it to his copilot. “Enter the coordinates, Lieutenant.”