Scott grabbed the satellite phone and called Frank Wakefield, told him what happened, and gave him the specific GPS coordinates for the grass airstrip. After consulting with someone on another phone, Wakefield confirmed that he would organize and direct an FBI raid in the wee hours of the morning.
Scott signed off and placed the satellite phone down. "Well, the ball is rolling. Frank is familiar with Khaliq Farkas. Whatever is going on in that hangar, they sure dont want any attention."
Jackie made a minor heading change to go directly to the Boise Air Terminal. "I think we should keep an eye on the place until the FBI gets there, refuel, and watch the place from a safe distance."
"That isn't a bad idea, except for two things."
"Farkas and the black of night," she guessed.
"Yup," he said, noting the grass airstrip was not on their chart. "If that was Farkas, we've already tipped our hand."
"I'm ninety-five percent sure it was Farkas."
"I don't doubt you," he said evenly "Echelon Two tracked his e-mail to the Idaho-Utah area."
"Yes, and we know he has a penchant for warbirds." She leveled the LongRanger and adjusted the power. "Location, a door hurriedly shut on a B-25 bomber, the cold reception, and the face of Farkas or a lookalike." She turned to him and removed her sunglasses. "Seriously, what if it is Farkas and we allow him to get away?"
"Uh, let's see. I believe it was none other than the president's national security adviser who told us not to act unilaterally." He glanced at her and smiled. "Correct statement?"
"Yes, that's right."
Scott tuned the radio to Boise Approach Control. "The FBI has been notified. That's precisely what we're supposed to do."
"Follow orders," she said, with a chuckle. "That's a unique concept."
Having recognized Jackie Sullivan and Scott Dalton, Khaliq Farkas was in a near panic. The realization that his mission might be compromised before he could carry it out was unthinkable. A lot of time and money had gone into setting up the operation.
Saeed Shayhidi was adamant about this particular aspect of the jihad against the United States. It was the centerpiece of his entire plan, the idea Shayhidi had so strongly endorsed. He could not fail in his mission, no matter what obstacles he might face.
"Hurry up!" Farkas said to the two mechanics. "Get the airplane out of the hangar. Move it!"
Farkas barked a succession of orders to the men and then hurriedly climbed aboard the bomber while they were positioning it on the small ramp. As soon as the tug was disconnected from the B-25, Farkas started the powerful Wright Cyclone radial engines. Each 14cylinder air-cooled power plant started with a belch of grayish-white smoke and then settled into a rhythmic loud rumble.
Although he wanted to get airborne as quickly as possible, Farkas knew it was essential to warm the engines and stabilize the oil pressures and temperatures. Unlike turboprops or turbofans, which could be started and immediately shoved to full power, the old radials needed tender loving care and understanding. Farkas could not afford a blown engine, not this close to executing his plan.
Once he was satisfied the engines were ready, he taxied to the end of the grass strip. He carefully ran through the before-takeoff checklist, made sure the transponder was off, then came up on the power and released the brakes. Much earlier than he planned, Farkas was on his way to the forward operating airport.
Airborne, he raised the landing gear and retracted the flaps. He set the power at a conservative level and began a slow climb, preferring to keep his speed up. As the minutes ticked away, he began to breathe normally, though he was not completely relaxed. Farkas had never flown the Mitchell at night and he had never flown to this particular airport. I have to get this right My reputation — my life — is on the line.
Twenty minutes after the stroke of midnight, an unlighted helicopter dropped three high-powered explosives on the Citgo refinery six miles southwest of Lake Charles on Highway 108. A steady series of explosions rocked the countryside, and a firestorm quickly enveloped three-quarters of the 600-acre refinery.
Windows were blown out for miles around the complex, and huge plumes of dense smoke eclipsed the moon. Most people, still reeling from the deadly Queen Mary 2 assault and the terrorist attacks on the nuclear power plants and the White House, did not doubt this was another massive assault by the terrorists.
The series of ground-shaking blasts and secondary explosions destroyed the plants self-contained firefighting system. Chaos ruled at the refinery while firefighting units responded from Lake Charles, New Orleans, and Lafayette, Louisiana. Other teams were dispatched from as far away as Port Arthur and Beaumont, Texas.
In an ironic twist, the initial blast had been so powerful it literally knocked the low-flying helicopter out of the air, killing the Iranian pilot and his accomplice.
During the next eighteen minutes, similar attacks were carried out at Valeros Texas City refinery located on the Texas City Ship Channel and Chevrons refinery near El Segundo, California.
In all, U. S. petroleum production was instantly and violently reduced by approximately 950,000 barrels per day, a severe blow to the energy industry and to the American economy.
The E-4B flying command post known as Night Watch was being refueled by a USAF KC-135 tanker when President Macklin received the disheartening news about the refineries. Angry and frustrated by having to react to events instead of attacking the enemy, the president had Hartwell Prost and Pete Adair awakened to join General Chalmers and himself.
Fresh coffee and juice were being served when the men gathered in the conference room. The mood was somber, with anger boiling just below the surface.
Chalmers gave his boss and Prost a thorough update on the refineries and the efforts being made to bring the fires under control. Then he sadly updated them on the situation at the Indian Point Nuclear Power Plant in New York. Thousands of people had been evacuated from the area. Reactor experts expected to be able to contain the leaking fission products in the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours.
The president was red-faced. "Gentlemen," he said impatiently, "we know they used helicopters to bomb the refineries. We have scores of eyewitnesses and a crashed helicopter containing the bodies of two foreign nationals. How in hell did this happen when we Ye in such a high state of readiness?"
No one had an answer.
"Where were the AWACS?" Macklin asked. He was growing more irritated by the minute. "How can we have so much air cover and these people aren t detected?"
Chalmers took the hot seat. "Sir, I believe the helicopters, transponders off, were moving slow and low to the ground. Un-lighted, they could have followed the interstate, blending in with the traffic. They can mimic ground vehicles, make right-hand turns, and follow the roads instead of flying a straight line that would give them away."
The president was not convinced.
"He's right," Pete Adair interjected, aware they were being tested. "If you re flying a helo directly over heavy traffic in nighttime conditions, at the same speed, its practically impossible to determine what s rolling and what s flying — unless you have eyes on it."
Macklin raised a hand, palm out, fingers spread. Tm not going to debate whether it can be done or cannot be done. It happened, and I'm damn teed off about it." He slammed his fist on the table. "Fm tired of reacting!"
The president paused, took in a deep breath, and lowered his voice. "First on my list is immediate and complete protection for our refineries, same as with the nuclear power plants. I dont care if we have to double or triple the CAPS, have combat air patrols swarming over every priority."