A few seconds later the Mark 48 torpedo penetrated Evening Breeze's hull and exploded in the engine room amidships. The effects of the horrendous blast blew the stately yacht apart, sending fire and flaming debris hundreds of feet into the air.
The concussion knocked Shayhidi and Pelletier out of bed. In shock and panic, Shayhidi scrambled up the stairway leading to the main deck. What happened? Did the Americans do this?
"This way," an injured crewman yelled, and ran toward the life rafts on the outer deck. Barefoot and frightened, Shayhidi sidestepped shards of broken glass, fractured mirrors, and other sharp obstacles as he followed the young assistant chef. Left on her own, Danielle Pelletier trailed Shayhidi up to the main deck. The yacht was rapidly flooding and the sea was ablaze with burning diesel fuel.
Another crew member joined his friend in launching the eleven-man life raft. There was no time to launch the twenty-two-foot Boston Whaler attached to the transom. The older man pulled the exposed lanyard that automatically ejected the raft from its case. The raft quickly inflated and they lowered it over the side of the yacht, and then helped Shayhidi into it. After the owner scrambled to the aft section of the raft, the two men helped Danielle down and then jumped into the raft.
Using their hands, the crewmen frantically paddled the raft away from the rapidly spreading flames. In less than five minutes, Evening Breeze slipped beneath the sea as the flames slowly subsided. It was obvious the rest of the crew had perished in the powerful explosion.
An eerie quiet settled over the raft while the shivering men and Danielle tried to warm themselves. In the distance, a ship with a spotlight shining on them raced toward the raft.
Knowing help was on the way, Saeed Shayhidi calmed down enough to think rationally. They're trying to kill me. Macklin's trying to assassinate me. How did they know I was on my yacht!"
Shivering uncontrollably, Danielle hit Shayhidi on the arm with her fist. "You are, without a doubt, the most despicable, cowardly person I've ever known. You're worthless!"
Incapable of being embarrassed, even in front of his employees, Shayhidi ignored the stinging rebuke.
Three hundred yards away, Commander Nettleton lowered the search scope. The USS Toledo quietly left the scene and set course for her operating area in the Eastern Mediterranean.
Twelve miles above the raft, Global Hawk captured the entire event, and the images were now in front of President Macklin. Clearly, there were four survivors in a life raft, but it was impossible to determine if one of them was Shayhidi.
Chapter 13
While the LongRanger was being refueled, Jackie and Scott used the fixed base operators courtesy car to drive to Oskers Restaurant for a late-afternoon lunch. After filling the car with gas, they returned to the airport and learned the FAA was beginning to lift flight restrictions in most areas of the country. Large metropolitan areas, including Washington and New York, were still suffering from restraints and limitations, but general aviation planes were gradually returning to the skies.
Scott took his turn at the controls of the helicopter. Following Highway 95 south, they passed Gospel Peak on the left and Hells Canyon on the right. The mountains and peaks made for magnificent viewing in the late-afternoon sunlight.
When they approached the Brundage Mountain Ski Area, Jackie took the controls of the LongRanger. A few minutes later, Scott trained his binoculars on an isolated grass airstrip. He could see a hangar and a dilapidated home beside it, but something wasn't computing.
"Jackie," he said, taking the controls, "I have it for a second. Take a look at that strip at twelve to one o'clock, about a mile or so."
She reached for the binoculars and focused on the primitive airstrip. The valleys were in total shade, making it difficult to distinguish many details. "Yeah, I see it."
"You've got it," he said, relinquishing the controls. "Let's drop down and have a closer look."
She began a descent and slowed the helicopter. "The hangar looks nice, looks new."
Scott stowed the binoculars. "Too nice to be sitting next to a decaying cabin with an outhouse."
"The rusted Jeep Cherokee on blocks adds a nice touch," Jackie observed, leveling the helicopter 120 feet above the ground. "Want to land or make a low flyby?"
"Let's just continue on," he said, focusing his attention on the open hangar doors. "I'll be damned."
"What?"
"They have a B-25—they're closing the hangar doors."
"Want to land?" she asked again.
"Yes."
"Sure seems odd." She began her flare to land in front of the hangar. "Check out the new pickup."
"And the Harley Davidson motorcycles, expensive ones."
Jackie darted a look at the run-down residence. "Kind of incongruous to own a warbird and live in a shack like that."
"Uh-huh."
"Better leave our weapons in the helo," Jackie suggested.
"Probably should."
"What's our story?" she asked.
"We're delivering this to a tour company over at Sun Valley."
"And we're having a slight mechanical problem," she added. "Needed to make a precautionary landing."
"Spot on."
Jackie gently set the LongRanger on the ground and shut down the engine. "Are you sure it was a B-25?"
"I've seen Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo enough times to know how to build a B-25 Mitchell."
"Well," Jackie said with a raised eyebrow, "let's get ready for curtain call — see what we have."
They climbed out of the helicopter and walked innocently toward the hangar. When they were about thirty feet away from the entrance door on the right side, a grim-faced woman rounded the corner of the building.
Dressed in faded, baggy denim jeans, scuffed lace-up boots, and a sleeveless black leather jacket, she was a real showstopper. Tall and grossly overweight, the forty-something woman was missing a front tooth. She had an overbleached rat's-nest hairdo and sported a variety of tattoos on her flabby bare arms.
"Hello," Scott said with a friendly smile. "We—"
"You re trespassin on my propertee," she interrupted, in a cigarette-hoarse voice. "This here's private propertee, private airfield."
"We dont mean to intrude," Scott said, noticing a slender middle-aged man and his bulldog walk out on the front porch. They took a seat on a weathered couch, and the man laid a sawed-off shotgun across his lap.
Scott maintained a pleasant persona. "We re having a minor mechanical problem and we were wondering if we could borrow a few tools, happy to pay you for your trouble."
She folded her arms across her ample breasts and frowned. "We ain't got no tools. You best git back in that thang and git on outa here."
Jackie spotted someone looking out the window of the cabin and had an immediate reaction. "Uh, I think we can make it to Boise if we take it easy," she said to Scott, with a new urgency in her voice. "Lets move on."
"Yeah, okay." He glanced at the man on the porch and then faced the woman. "Sorry to bother you, ma am."
Jackie and Scott turned and walked toward their helicopter.
"Let's get the hell out of here," Jackie said, under her breath.
"What's the deal?"
"I'll tell you when we get airborne," she mumbled.
When the engine came on line, she quickly brought the LongRanger to a hover and accelerated down the grass strip. "Did you see the guy looking out the window?"
"No, what guy?"
"Farkas or his twin brother."
"You're serious?"
"Serious as a heart attack." She began a gradual climb, heading south. "I wonder why he didn't try to take us out?"
"Probably because he has bigger plans: the B-25. He didn't want to take a chance on having something go wrong."