Scott finished his conversation and sprawled across the bed. "That was Wakefield. It wasn't Farkas or any other terrorist who shot at us."
"Oh, really?" she asked skeptically. "How can he be so sure?"
Scott rolled onto his back. "The terrorists aren't into Miller Beer, Red Man chewing tobacco, or brochures for the local militia."
"Okay, who was it?"
"Wakefield thinks they were local good ol' boys — some drunken moron got trigger happy."
"Great. Can't wait for tomorrow."
Chapter 10
Omar Abdul-Baasit, Servant of the Extender, Creator, and his Saudi Arabian copilot, Uthman ibn Abd al-Wahhab, had flown the Bombardier Challenger 601-1A into Albany International Airport the previous evening. Like other corporate pilots, Abdul-Baasit chatted with the line service technicians while the copilot installed the engine covers. After the aircraft was secured for the evening, al-Wahhab hailed a taxi to the bus station. He would return to his rented home in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and remain in the sleeper cell until his next mission was assigned.
Abdul-Baasit, along with twenty-two other specially selected flight students from the Middle East, had spent eleven months at various flight schools in Arizona, Texas, North Dakota, and Florida. They collectively terminated their training on September 6, 2001, and went to work for Shayhidi-controlled charities and businesses in Florida, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, New York, New Jersey, and Maryland.
More experienced and knowledgeable than the suicide pilots who destroyed the World Trade Center and damaged the Pentagon, Abdul-Baasit and his fellow sleepers would not have to rely on hijacking airplanes to complete their missions. Besides, the possibility of commandeering U. S. airliners after September 11 was substantially diminished, if not all but eliminated.
Shayhidi paid over $3.4 million for the in-depth aviation training, including housing, essentials, and generous periodic stipends to the flight students. To Shayhidis great delight, the time had finally arrived to begin capitalizing on his considerable financial investment. Abdul-Baasit and others like him were ready to carry out their missions.
Following explicit instructions direcdy from Khaliq Farkas, Abdul-Baasit slept in the corporate jet. Minutes before sunrise, Abdul-Baasit would file his flight plan with the FBO and order all the jet fuel the airplane could hold.
This particular Challenger 601 (N301EP) was quite different from standard versions of the twin-engine jet. Like many large transports once used by U. S. airlines and later sold to Latin American airlines and cargo operators, used corporate jets found homes in South America. Aircraft sales south of the U. S. border, and the modifications made to those airplanes, received little or no scrutiny.
During the past seventy days, 301EP was transformed into a flying armored tank. The radical change was not noticeable from the exterior, but the interior was unlike any other Challenger in the world. The inside of the jet was gutted, and heavy steel braces were welded together in a strong latticework. A sturdy bulkhead at the entrance to the airplane disguised the contents of the large cabin.
Combined with the seven barrels of fuel oil and the array of explosives on board, the myriad beams were so heavy the jet weighed only slightly less than its maximum gross weight of 43,100 pounds. With full fuel, the Challenger would weigh approximately 57,700 pounds.
Abdul-Baasit, having never flown the reconfigured plane with a full fuel load, was going to be a test pilot in the next thirty minutes. Would he need every inch of the 7,200-foot runway to get airborne, or would he need a lot more room to take off?
Feeling supremely confident, he went into the FBO, filed his instrument flight plan to Philadelphia, and ordered full fuel for the Challenger. The suicide bomber removed the engine covers while he oversaw the fueling. When 1,800 gallons had been pumped into the aircraft, the tires and landing gear were beginning to show the strain.
Abdul-Baasit thought about stopping the fueling at 1,900 gallons, but Farkas had made it clear: The jet must carry every ounce of fuel that could be squeezed in and not a drop less. The Challenger was going to be a huge bomb with wings, the "wings of death," as Farkas stated so strongly on many occasions.
When the fueling was completed, Abdul-Baasit paid his bill, started the powerful engines, and listened to the ATIS. He called Clearance Delivery, received his instrument clearance to Philadelphia International Airport, called Ground Control, and taxied toward Runway 19.
No one noticed that he was flying the jet single pilot, a major violation of FAA mandates. Seven tons over maximum gross weight, the Challenger felt sluggish and required more power than usual to taxi.
He keyed the radio. "Albany Tower, Challenger Three Zero One Echo Papa, ready for takeoff."
"Challenger Three Zero One Echo Papa, taxi into position and hold."
"Position and hold, Zero One Echo Papa."
While he waited for a twin-engine Piper Navajo to clear the active runway, Abdul-Baasit aligned his jet with the runway centerline and came to an abrupt stop.
"Challenger Three Zero One Echo Papa cleared for takeoff."
Abdul-Baasit read back the clearance. He held the brakes and added 60 percent power, released the brakes, and shoved the throttles forward. The airplane slowly accelerated while the engines howled at full thrust. Abdul-Baasit knew an aborted takeoff would be disastrous, but the lack of acceleration was alarming.
He would have to make a critical decision in the next few seconds. Live or die? Succeed or fail? With only 3,000 feet of runway remaining, and the speed still creeping upward, he had a moment of doubt. Can t fail — won't fail. Committed to flight, Abdul-Baasit stopped looking at the airspeed indicator.
He waited until the last 300 feet of runway to rotate the nose to its normal takeoff attitude. The Challenger staggered into the air, touched down briefly, and then slowly climbed away from the ground. Abdul-Baasit snapped the landing gear up and coaxed the jet to ascend at 400 feet per minute, an anemic performance for an airplane of its caliber.
Watching the takeoff, the tower controller knew something was wrong. "Challenger Three Zero One Echo Papa, are you experiencing a problem?"
"Zero One Echo Papa is having a pressurization problem," Abdul-Baasit lied. "Well have it corrected in a minute or two."
"Roger. Contact Departure Control on one-one-eight point zero-five."
"Eighteen point zero-five, One Echo Papa."
Abdul-Baasit contacted departure, let the airspeed build, and slowly increased the rate of climb. The departure controller soon handed off the Challenger to the en-route controller. Approaching 14,000 feet, Abdul-Baasit requested a level off to allow the airspeed to increase. He finally nursed the struggling airplane to 22,000 feet and requested to maintain that altitude. The controller granted his request.
A few minutes later, Abdul-Baasit reported smoke in the cockpit. Following his well-rehearsed plan, he turned the radio volume down, tuned his transponder to 7700 (Emergency) for one minute, and then changed the code to 7600 (Communication Failure).
Abdul-Baasit had flown this same route four times in light planes, and he was extremely familiar with the landmarks. He passed his final checkpoint and began a fairly steep descent, accelerating to Mach 0.85, the maximum Mach number for the airplane.
Flying the heavy Challenger by hand, Abdul-Baasit spotted his target dead ahead on the bank of the Hudson River. He continued to tweak the jets nose lower and lower until the planes attitude was 45 percent nose down. He ignored the chattering Mach "knocker" as the Challenger quickly accelerated to Mach 0.89.