The president glanced at Prost and Adair. "I know we have a helluva lot of operating refineries and this isn t going to be easy, but we have to use every resource available — redouble our efforts."
"We 11 get it done," Prost said, as an aide brought him a briefing folder and quietly left the cabin. He skimmed over the contents and closed his eyes for a moment.
"What is it, Hartwell?" Macklin asked.
"Reliable sources in the French media saw Saeed Shayhidi being helped ashore after his yacht sank. They even have pictures of him in his wet pajamas. The growing speculation among European and Arab newshounds is that the U. S. military was direcdy involved."
"They're going to have a lot more to speculate about." The president tapped the end of his pen on the table. "I want recommendations. How do we get this asshole Shayhidi?"
As he usually did, Prost assumed the lead, thinking out loud. "He has a fleet of thirty-seven cargo ships and oil tankers. If he wont respond out of fear for his life, maybe hell respond when we hit him in the wallet."
Macklin raised an approving eyebrow.
Prost handed the president a briefing folder. "Here is a list of all his ships: their names, classification as to cargo or tanker, and where most of them are located at the present time."
"Impressive. You've really been doing your homework."
"Actually, my staff has been doing it for me. The information just arrived about twenty minutes ago."
Prost waited until Macklin thoroughly perused the data. "Sir, I recommend we immediately begin reducing his ship inventory and keep reducing it until he caves in and calls off his terrorists."
"Or," Chalmers said dryly, "until Shayhidi has np assets to continue funding the attacks: terrorism in general."
Adair nodded his consent. "I would also add freezing his accounts at the financial institutions on our list. And while we're at it, let's go after his vacation homes, his primary residence in Geneva, and his office building there."
Prost looked at the president. "We have the coordinates of his residences, all of them."
"How current is your data?" Macklin asked, remembering the Chinese embassy blunder.
"Less than six hours old. But Shayhidi isn't at any of them at the moment. I think we should accomplish these goals from the ground. We don't want to risk a Tomahawk or two going off course and hitting a nursing home or elementary school."
"Les?" the president asked.
"I agree with Secretary Adair, and Mr. Prost is right on target. But we don't want to peck away at Shayhidi. This has to be a concerted, organized effort to bring him to his knees quickly — or kill him — before we have massive casualties in our country."
Prost gave a nod of approval.
Chalmers reached for his coffee cup. "We have to use every available asset we have, including our special ops forces: Army Rangers, Green Berets, Pathfinders, Delta Force, and Navy SEALS. They did an outstanding job in Afghanistan and Iraq."
Macklin saw Prost cock his head. "You have a question?"
"No, sir," Prost said. "I just want to underscore what General Chalmers has suggested. We must conduct these operations as covertly as humanly possible. Keep them under the radarscopes, especially the scopes on Capitol Hill."
Pete Adair piped up. "Jesus, Hartwell, our homeland is under siege. We cant be worried about what other people think. We didnt throw the first punch, but we can damn sure throw the last one."
"What I'm saying" — Prost went on calmly—"is that we dont have to overcompensate and use a sledgehammer on a gnat. We re going to be deep-sixing unarmed civilian ships. Lets do it in a surgical way to save as many lives as possible. Nor can we afford to sink oil tankers and pollute the oceans. We'll have to sabotage them in port so they cant get under way — SEAL teams, gentlemen."
"Hartwell is right," Macklin said, contemplating the titillating aspects of destroying Shayhidi's assets. "We have to be smart, we have to be quick, and we have to do it right the first time."
Prost removed his glasses. "Sir, can you give us a couple of hours to put together a specific target list and decide how to best carry out the operations?"
"You have it," the president said. "Operation Stopgap. Get back to me when you're ready."
"Yes, sir."
Chapter 14
Luggage in hand, Scott and Jackie were about to leave their room at the Grove Hotel when the satellite phone rang. Scott picked it up and stared out the window while he talked.
Jackie sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the short but lively conversation. Scott was clearly agitated when he signed off.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"When Wakefields team went in early this morning, there was no trace of the B-25, zip'point-nothing. The hangar was empty, and no one was around except Ma and Pa Kettle."
"Well, we shouldn't be surprised," she declared. "Farkas offered the charming couple a pot of cash to erect a hangar and set up shop to continue his assault on our country."
"Then we showed up and he bolted," Scott said in frustration. "I should've stressed the immediacy of the situation to Wakefield."
"Look, we did what we were supposed to do." She rose from the bed and walked over to him, taking his face in her hands. "Remember, you're the one who gave me the lecture about following Hartwell's instructions."
"Yes, and Farkas got away." Scott buttoned his shirt. "This will come back to haunt us. I have a gut feeling."
"Next time, we act swiftly," she reassured him.
"If there is a next time."
Jackie reached for her luggage. "Somehow, I'm sure there will be a next time. There always is when we're dealing with Farkas."
They checked out of the hotel and drove their rental car to the Boise Air Terminal/Gowen Field. Passing through the Western Aircraft FBO, Jackie loaded their luggage and completed a preflight on the LongRanger while Scott turned in their rental car. He soon joined Jackie in the helicopter.
After the engine was started, she checked with Clearance Delivery and received a new transponder code. Things were getting back to normal in the world of general aviation.
She called the control tower and received permission to take off from the joint-use civilian/military airfield.
"You ready?" Jackie asked.
Scott tightly cinched his straps. "All set."
She added power and pulled up on the collective. The main rotor lift overcame their weight and the LongRanger slowly rose from the ramp. Seconds later, at a height of nine feet, the helicopter went violently out of control.
Jackie aggressively fought the controls, but it was too late to salvage the landing. "Hang on — were going in!"
The helicopter rotated horizontally and tipped over at the same time, ripping the two main rotor blades to shreds. The LongRanger crashed on the ramp and beat itself to pieces while Jackie frantically worked to shut down the engine.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the loud scraping and grinding sounds ceased and the machine came to a quiet halt. Stunned by the sudden teeth-rattling crash, Scott unstrapped from his seat and helped Jackie out of the twisted wreckage.
Both had minor scrapes and bruises, but the helicopter had taken the brunt of the crash. It was strike damage, totally destroyed except for a few components. From all directions, people were running toward the crumpled LongRanger. In the distance a crash truck was heard barreling down the taxiway toward the downed helicopter.
Scott looked at the crumpled wreckage and stepped away from the growing pool of jet fuel flowing across the ramp. "What went wrong?"
Before she could answer, the senior line service technician from the FBO rushed up to them. "Are you okay?"
Jackie and Scott assured him they were fine.