She gazed at the screen for a few seconds. "You're right, most likely one of the zealots slated for a rendezvous with the vestal virgins."
"That would be my guess."
"Look at that," Jackie said, pointing to the television. A Fox News White House reporter appeared on the screen. Behind him on the South Lawn, Marine One lay heavily damaged, with myriad debris scattered across the scorched lawn. The Secret Service was out in force and two companies of heavily armed marines were taking up positions around the perimeter of the White House grounds.
The demolished G-IV was still smoldering while a group of NTSB investigators began exploring the wreckage. The animated reporter was trying his best to reassure the viewers that President Macklin was safe. However, it was obvious that he didn't have a clue as to where the commander in chief was.
Jackie reached for her watch. Til bet the president is headed for the flying command post or already on it."
"No doubt."
"Where Hartwell is concerned," Jackie said, and paused to catch a sound bite, "we re probably really on our own."
"True. He has bigger problems on his scope."
Jackie walked to the window and stared at the soft, diffused light from the early morning sky. "I dont know about other Americans, but I'm beginning to feel pretty damn vulnerable."
"We've seen it coming for years, ignored our own borders while we ran around the world trying to save everyone else from harm."
Jackie turned around and crossed her arms. "They're invading our country with low-tech weapons, and no one knows what's coming next or where. All we can do is react, fire-fight."
"We need to be aggressive, go after them on their own turf," Scott said, standing up to stretch. "Let's have breakfast and then concentrate on finding Farkas."
"Uh… you're forgetting something."
He gave her a blank look and then the synapse took place. "We're grounded. Terrific."
"The terrorists win in more ways than one," she conceded, with a dismissive shrug. "They paralyze our ability to track the perps."
"Then we have to get ungrounded." Scott's voice was full of determination. "I say it's time to saddle up and hit the trail."
She shook her head. "You've been watching too many old Westerns."
"Take the initiative, be a self-starter."
"You need to double up on your medicine," Jackie said and then gave him a brief smile. "You shave, and I'll see if I can get in touch with Hartwell — like he needs another problem." She reached for the satellite phone. "Little Bighorn."
"What?"
"General Custer showed a lot of initiative, too."
Prestigious Andrews AFB is the port of entry for many foreign dignitaries and the home of the 89th Airlift Wing, the proud unit that operates the worlds most famous plane, Air Force One.
President Macklin delayed his departure to address the American people. He spoke calmly and reassuringly for sixteen minutes. The president explained what the government, the military, and the law enforcement agencies were doing to protect the American people and the United States. He assured the nation that his administration would prevail in the fight against the terrorists.
After a short delay to repair a mechanical problem, the E-4B National Airborne Operations Center, a modified Boeing 747–200 airliner, taxied to the runway. The E-4B, based at Offutt AFB in Omaha, Nebraska, was one of four sister ships that operated from various bases around the world. At least one NAOC "doomsday plane" was always on fifteen-minute alert with a full battle staff.
With President Cord Macklin on board, the airplane was automatically designated Air Force One. However, under the current circumstances, the flight crew of the airplane would use a different call sign once they were airborne.
Security at the legendary base was always a priority, but it was extremely tight this morning. Most people who worked at Andrews, civilians and military personnel alike, were not smiling today. They were deeply concerned about the shocking events and fearful of what might follow.
Before the Boeing reached the end of the 9,700-foot runway, the plane was cleared for immediate takeoff. Once airborne and climbing through 12,000 feet, the E-4B was joined by four F-14D Tomcats flown by VF-102 Diamondbacks stationed at NAS Oceana, Virginia.
Other air force, navy, and marine corps fighter squadrons would rotate around the clock to provide blanket protection for the command post. The E-4B was capable of remaining aloft for seventy-two hours with aerial refueling. The seventy-two-hour limit was based on the length of time it takes for the engine oil to begin breaking down.
Depending on the threat assessment, the airplane s route of flight could be changed on a moments notice. At any given time, the E-4B might be over the middle of the Atlantic or high above the wheat fields of Oklahoma and Kansas.
Hartwell Prost was discussing the target list with the president, Secretary of Defense Pete Adair, and General Chalmers when Jackie s call was received. He had anticipated the communication and quickly solved the problem. Their LongRanger was exempt from the grounding order.
"What was the squawk again?" Scott asked, as he reached for the transponder. "Something-something-six-six?"
"Let s see," Jackie said, as she pulled a slip of paper from her pocket. "We — three-four-six-six and center is waiting for us."
He donned his sunglasses. "Okay, were ready."
She started the engine and took her time completing the checklist. The sun was above the horizon when the LongRanger lifted off and turned south. Scott and Jackie were wearing their standard uniforms.
She checked in with Seattle Center and found the controller to be tense but friendly and helpful.
Scott had their grid chart on his lap, circling small out-of-the-way airstrips. "We 11 stick to our basic search pattern, check anything that looks out of place."
He picked up the binoculars and studied the unsullied terrain. "I expect they 11 use anything flyable… if its big enough or fast enough."
She gave him a slight nod. Tm going to use two thousand feet above the ground as a basic altitude."
"Sounds good,"
As the sun rose higher, they carefully scanned the ground along their flight path. After twenty minutes, Scott held the chart in front of Jackie. "Ill take it for a while, give you a chance to pick out the places you think we should check."
"You'll take it?" She gave him a look laced with suspicion. "I thought you said you didn't fly helicopters."
He took the controls and glanced at her. "I said I didn't fly helicopters, didn't say I don't know how."
"You flew jets; were you cross-trained?"
"No, I had a few rotary-wing lessons while I was still in college."
She grinned good-naturedly and smoothed the chart. "That was long before you had your head examined, right?"
"You said it, I didn't."
"Did you finish your training?"
"No, but I did solo before another student crashed the machine. He really trashed it, but walked away with only minor injuries."
"So, all this time you've been sandbagging me, huh?"
"Hey, you're the helo expert. I'm just an innocent victim along for the ride."
The stately Principality of Monaco, one of the crown jewels of the lush Riviera, was the latest home port for Evening Breeze, a 242-foot megayacht owned by Saeed Shayhidi. Hoping to outflank the crafty Americans, Shayhidi secretly passed the word via his personal messenger to have his yacht stand out to sea as soon as practical. He planned to helicopter aboard the grand vessel and take an extended vacation while his jihad against the United States continued.
Having known Shayhidi for many years, the Greek captain of Evening Breeze was always prepared to get under way in two hours or less. Konstantinos Theotokas routinely had the chef replenish the perishable food every three days, dividing the "spoiled" groceries evenly among the crew of eight. The canned goods and the frozen supplies were replaced on a monthly basis. Topped with fuel and water, the freshly cleaned yacht sailed on the tide.