The cocaptains, Bob Carpenter and Nick Jablonski, refueled the flagship of their growing charter operation. A fast, roomy, and comfortable jet, the plane was stocked with a wide variety of quality snacks and refreshments. Current magazines and newspapers were aboard, along with fresh coffee, assorted juices, breakfast meals, and a luncheon entree. The only thing missing was their company flight attendant, who had called in sick at the last moment.
A few minutes before 8:30 A. M., a limousine approached the ramp near the spotless G-IV. A clean-cut young Filipino man in a well-tailored dark-blue suit emerged from the Lincoln with a wide smile and firmly shook hands with the pilots. His three associates remained inside the limousine.
"Are we set?" Emilio Zamora asked in a friendly voice. His English and diction were impeccable, as would be expected from the son of an English-born mother who was a professor of history at the prestigious University of Cambridge. Zamora's father, Benigno, met his mother when he was a visiting professor at Cambridge for three years.
Jablonski maintained his easy smile. "Well, we're set to go, but the FAA has instituted a ground stop, like they did on nine-eleven. They've grounded all flights until further notice."
Zamoras disappointment was visible, but he showed no irritation. "Do you know why or how long this will last?"
Carpenter shrugged. "We dont know how long the delay will be, but it has something to do with a couple of planes that crashed. We just heard about it a few minutes ago."
The agreeable smile remained on Zamoras face. "I hope the problem can be resolved soon. We have an important meeting today."
"We 11 hope for the best," Carpenter said.
The unexpected development jeopardized Zamoras plan, but he could deal with the sudden change. That's why he was the senior leader of the special-action cell.
Zamora studied the impressive Gulfstream for a moment. "Well, if we have to wait, do you mind if we take a look at the airplane?"
"No, not at all," Jablonski said, with open enthusiasm. "Come on aboard. We'll give you the grand tour."
"Okay, let me get my business partners."
"Sure."
Carpenter entered the roomy cockpit while Jablonski waited at the bottom of the air-stair door. After the FAA-mandated ground stop and the news of mysterious crashes, both pilots were having reservations about taking this trip. Neither showed any outward signs of concern, but the feeling was rooted in the backs of their minds. They exchanged glances while keeping their smiles as natural as possible.
Emilio Zamora proudly led his three smiling associates to the G-IV, greeted Nick Jablonski, and climbed the stairs. Zamoras cleanshaven colleagues were as well dressed as their leader, all in fashionable business suits and shined shoes. Like Zamora, two of the men were Filipino. The third man, Rajiv Mukherjee, was born and raised in Calcutta, India. While everyone gathered around the cockpit, Carpenter explained the workings of the different items in his "office."
"Would anyone care for coffee?" Jablonski asked, from the front of the passenger cabin. "It's fresh and hot."
"That sounds good," Zamora said, as he shoved a handgun with a silencer deep into Carpenter's side and fired twice. In one quick motion, the other three terrorists jumped out of the way and Zamora turned and fired three rounds into Jablonski. The pilot stumbled backward and then dropped to his knees before Zamora shot him again, this time in the head.
Emilio Zamora stepped aside to allow the other men to carry the bodies of the dead pilots to the back of the passenger cabin. While Zamora and two of his fellow murderers returned to the limousine, Rajiv Mukheijee remained inside the airplane.
After the limousine drove away, Mukheijee casually walked down the air-stair door, quickly removed the chocks, and returned to the blood-soaked cabin. He closed the air-stair door and removed his coat and tie.
Having compiled the best overall grades of all the foreign students attending U. S.-based flight schools, Mukheijee had been chosen for the ultimate special operation. His dedication to Islamic extremism and his ability to speak English well were factored into the decision to allow him to be the "honored" pilot.
With eighteen hours of training time in the Gulfstream G-IV simulator and seven hours of intense instruction in the actual airplane, Mukheijee was supremely confident of his ability to accomplish his important mission. After setding into the left seat, Mukheijee started the engines and called Ground Control to request a high-speed taxi test to check a nose-wheel shimmy. Reluctant at first, the supervisor/ground controller finally gave him permission to taxi but expressly cautioned him about the recently invoked FAA ground stop.
Mukheijee calmly acknowledged the instructions and carefully taxied to Runway 34-right. With permission from the control tower, Mukheijee aligned the big Gulfstream with the runway centerline, checked to make sure the transponders were turned off, and smoothly moved the throttles forward. The powerful G-IV rapidly accelerated. When it was still gaining speed two-thirds of the way down the 5,700-foot runway, the tower controller almost had a fit.
"Gulfstream Three Three Kilo Tango, abort! Abort your takeoff! Abort — abort — abort!" He knew there was no way the airplane could stop in the remaining distance, but he had to try to prevent the takeoff. "Three Three Kilo Tango, you are in violation of an FAA NOTAM immediately grounding all civil flights in this country."
The stunned controller watched the corporate jet lift off and accelerate close to the ground. There goes my career.
After the G-IV was airborne, Mukherjee kept trimming the nose down while he raised the landing gear and flaps. Barely 120 feet in the air, he banked the airplane steeply to the right and set his course straight for the White House, home of the infidel leader of the great superpower.
Mukherjee had memorized the heading, distance, and time to his target. He would be there in less than five minutes — four minutes and some odd seconds to eternal glory. His name would be forever treated with reverence in his adopted homeland of Iran, perhaps as well known as that of his hero, Osama bin Laden.
All hell broke loose when the controller at Manassas made contact with the FAA command centcr. Shocked by the unthinkable flaunting of the rules, the tower controller explained that the low-flying jet was on a straight course to Washington, D. C. Heads would roll all the way up the chain of command at the "Tombstone Agency."
The FAA instantly contacted NORAD headquarters near Colorado Springs. The vice commander of CMOC immediately scrambled more fighters on the East Coast. At the same time, a Boeing E-3 AWACS surveillance and control aircraft flying high above the Chesapeake Bay located the ground-hugging jet on its radar.
Two Air Force F-16s patrolling southeast of the University of Maryland were given a snap vector to intercept the intruder. Both fighters were armed with two AIM-9 Sidewinder infrared-homing air-to-air missiles, four AIM-120 AMRAAM active terminal radar missiles, and one multibarrel cannon with a full load of 20mm high-explosive ammunition.
Turning southwest, the fighter pilots from Langley AFB tapped their burners and quickly went through Mach 1, sending powerful sonic booms reverberating across D. C. and the surrounding terrain. The shocking noise sent many people running for cover.
As the Gulfstream continued to accelerate, Rajiv Mukheijee climbed another 100 feet to keep from scaring himself. He had never flown this low at such a fast speed. One sneeze or hiccup and the plane could hit the ground. Seconds later, Mukheijee eased the power back when the G-IV reached 405 knots. Trees, homes, golf courses, schools, and roads were flashing past in a frightening blur.
Air Force Major Alan Kenner and Captain Stacy DAngelo were frantically searching for the low-flying bogey With all the ground clutter, it was much more difficult to spot the low-flying aircraft.