“General, I’m afraid we’ve spoken with the personnel at Fend Aerospace, and they insist that they are unable to regain control of the aircraft.”
Via his aircraft radio, Max said, “I’m still about ten minutes out from our location of interest. I’ll be able to tell you more once I get there.”
Flynn looked at the radar picture. “General, a question. You said they diverted and grounded all the other flights.”
“That’s correct.”
“Sir, we’re looking at the air traffic screen here at Fend Aerospace. We can see most of the Eastern United States. It looks like there is still one aircraft headed towards the Maryland-Virginia area.”
A few hundred miles to the northeast of the Fend 100, there was another aircraft track. It was still several hundred miles away, but the Fend 100 was closing fast.
“Hold on,” the general said, “I’m trying to find out which aircraft that is. Everyone should have diverted away from the Baltimore-Washington area.”
After a momentary silence, the general said, “They said it’s a head of state plane.”
“Which country?”
“The Russian Federation.”
Max tried to listen carefully to the conversation over his headset as he flew his plane towards Amelia Island. Had he heard that correctly?
The Russian president’s plane?
What was it Morozov had said to Max? A man like me wouldn’t go through all this trouble just to exact revenge upon your father. I have a much grander vision than that.
And all at once, Morozov’s plans snapped together.
Max said, “The Fend 100 isn’t headed to Camp David. Tell the interceptor not to shoot it down.”
Flynn sounded irritated. “But you said… what the hell, Max? What are you saying?”
“Gentlemen, I think Pavel Morozov is trying to assassinate the Russian president. I think we’re witnessing a coup.”
Max excused himself from Flynn’s relayed phone call — he needed to give this his complete attention now. He checked his altitude. One thousand feet. That was as low as he felt he could comfortably go, considering what he was about to do.
He glanced back at his passengers. “Okay, folks. We’re two miles out. I’m slowing down. Once I get on airspeed and set up for wind drift, I’m going to pull the chute.”
He brought back the throttle, and the engine lowered in pitch and intensity.
“I’m going to try and get us as close to the house as possible. But frankly, I have no idea how this is going to go.”
Renee’s voice was shaky. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Couldn’t we just land at the airport?”
“No time. Now remember the body positions for impact. And while I doubt they’ll be expecting anything like this, my guess is they’ll probably notice the plane parachuting from the sky. So be ready to fight as soon as we touch down.”
One of the FBI men said, “Once we’re down, you two follow us. We’ll get you in safely and let you take it from there.”
Max began sharp S-turns, bleeding off speed until the plane got to below one hundred and forty knots. He moved the stick so that the aircraft was straight and level.
“That’s the house, straight ahead, right?”
“I think so, yes,” Renee said. The mansion was right next to a beach, and adjacent to a golf course.
“Okay, here goes nothing.”
He reached up and pulled down hard on the red metal grip. They heard a loud pop from the rear of the aircraft, and then everyone was jolted forward in their seats. Renee let out a yelp. The two FBI men were grunting and swearing as the aircraft decelerated.
The aircraft pitched down violently, and Max’s stomach fluttered as he felt them falling. It took about eight seconds for the plane to slow from one hundred and thirty knots to almost zero.
Max’s face was turning red, the blood collecting in his head due to the downward-facing angle. Then the parachute swung them like a pendulum, and the aircraft was once again level with the ground. They were falling, but at a manageable speed. Each of them looked outside.
“Where are we going to land?” Renee said.
“It looks like we’ll end up on the golf course. Pretty damn close to the house. Do I get points for that? We’ll need to be ready for his security men as soon as we get out.” Each of them was armed and wore Kevlar vests.
Max watched the altitude wind down. Five hundred feet. Four hundred. The ground began rushing up to meet them. Three hundred. The descent didn’t feel slow anymore. He remembered reading that the impact would feel like they had dropped from four meters in the air.
That sounded a lot higher now that he had pulled the shoot.
“The seats are supposed to take the brunt of the impact,” he said aloud, trying to convince himself as much as anything. That was the last thing he said before the big crunch.
They slammed into the green on the golf course. When the plane finally came to a rest, the golf tee flag stood right in front of them.
“Oh, damn, that was hard. My back…”
“Come on, we need to get out.” Max’s back was aching too, but he forced himself to open his door and tumble out onto the low-cut grass. The others were doing the same, weapons drawn. Each of them was in pain, but they looked to be okay.
Max looked up at the house. “I don’t see any security. Are we sure this was it?”
“As sure as we can be,” Renee said.
“Oh my God, are you guys alright?” came the surprised voice of someone in a golf cart several yards away.
None of them answered. The two HRT men began running towards the mansion, their HK416s pointed ahead. Renee and Max were close behind, their pistols aimed at the ground as they ran.
Flynn looked at Wilkes, exasperated by their continuing conversation with the NORAD general.
The general’s voice, coming out of the speakerphone, was also noticeably agitated. “Gentlemen, that is unacceptable. I’ve got maybe five minutes before I need to give the order to shoot that plane down. Tell those engineers at Fend that they need to turn that plane around now!”
“We’re doing the best we can, General. We have multiple potential fixes at work.”
“I understand, but I can’t be sure that your theory is correct. How am I supposed to know if the target is the Russian president’s plane or other VIPs on the ground at Camp David? Hell, it’ll fly right over D.C. to get there. Maybe it’s headed for the Capitol Building. I have to call SECDEF in one minute. He wants an answer. I’m sorry, gentlemen, but we have that temporary flight restriction up for a reason. It’s time to enforce it.”
The FBI men were fast. Even Max, who considered himself to be in excellent shape, had trouble keeping up. They flew along the lawn of the mansion. Max noted several large antennae protruding from the roof. A custom job.
The first Russian security man they saw looked shocked to see them. He poked his head out of the double doors of the basement. He was holding a gun, and it got about halfway up before he took two bullets in the chest from one of the HRT men.
The FBI men didn’t break stride. One opened the door and entered, scanning the finished basement with his carbine. The second HRT man followed closely behind. Max and Renee took up the rear. The room was very large. A pool table, rows of couches and a full bar. Two big-screen TVs on the wall.
No one spoke. But the other Russians must have heard the gunshots, because two men came running down the basement stairs. They fired a burst from a small automatic weapon, and the assault team took cover.
Max had one of them in his sights when the Russian spun around, hit by a burst of gunfire. The other Russian security man met the same fate. Two more down courtesy of the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team. They were good.
Max looked to his side. Renee was hunkered behind a couch. “We need to find the room they’re controlling the aircraft from,” Renee said. She winced as another round of gunfire erupted from the stairway.
Max took Renee by the shoulder. “Listen. You go back outside the door. Get under the back deck and hide under the stairs. I don’t want to risk them hitting you. Once we’re clear, I’ll come right back down and bring you up. Okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.” She looked scared. Max didn’t want to risk her getting hurt, both for personal and professional reasons. Renee hurried outside the door through which they had entered, then hid off to the right, under the back deck staircase.
Max turned around and scanned the room. The FBI agents had cleared the basement and were now advancing up the staircase.
His pulse racing, Max followed. He looked up the staircase at a closed door, wondering what was on the other side.
The HRT men were fearless. The first man opened the door and fired several rounds, then recoiled as a barrage of bullets ripped through the wall next to him.
The second HRT man grabbed a concussion grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it through the open stairway door.
The sound was deafening.
Max felt it in his chest, and his ears rang.
The two HRT operatives disappeared beyond the top of the stairs. The sound of automatic weapons screamed through the stairway.
Max bolted up the stairs, aiming his pistol forward and scanning the room.
There were three bodies on the floor. The first HRT member was on the ground, gasping for air. He’d been hit in the Kevlar vest. The second HRT operative was spread eagle — Max couldn’t see where he was hit, but blood was seeping out from under his uniform and onto the tile flooring.
They were in a large open kitchen, but the center table was covered with computers, wires taped down along the floor and running up the wall.
The third body was a dark-haired young man of about twenty. He was slumped over in front of one of the computers, dead.
Maria sat in front of the other computer, looking dazed.
Max pointed his weapon at her. “Fix it, Maria. Give control over to the Fend 100 pilots right now.”
She looked like she was trying to focus on his face. Trying to read his lips. He realized she was probably deaf. Wisps of smoke flowed through the air — remnants of the concussion grenade.
Max was about to go downstairs and get Renee when he caught Maria glancing behind him. He turned, weapon raised toward a dark figure in the next room.
The figure moved awkwardly from the second-floor deck through an open screen door. Flowing white curtains partially masked him and his prisoner.
Pavel Morozov stood behind Renee, a gun to her temple.
“Stay there, Mr. Fend.”
Max wrinkled his brow, making calculations in his head. His gun was aimed at Morozov’s forehead, about a fifteen-foot shot. Doable on the gun range. But not with a hostage…especially one that he cared about.
Max sidestepped behind Maria, keeping his pistol trained on Morozov.
Seeing this, Morozov nodded at Maria. “You think I won’t shoot her too?”
“She’s been working for you.”
“Is that what you think?”
Max frowned, confused.
Morozov shrugged. “Fine. More fake CIA propaganda, I think. But whatever you may think of her, she is the only one who will be able to turn the plane around for you.”
Maria was looking up at Max. A tear ran down her cheek.
A voice from a radio in front of her said, “Fend 100, Air Force armed F-16. Can you do me a favor? I can’t read the sign that the pilots are holding up. Can you tell me what it says?”
Maria glanced at Morozov and then began to reach for the radio transmit button.
“Wait,” said Max. Her hand froze. “He thinks you’re on the plane. Why?”