“This is Swanson. Go ahead.”
“Sir,” an excited voice began, “we have a line of vehicles at the front gate of NAS-Two demanding to get in and saying they’re under Italian authority.”
“What kind of vehicles, Yeoman?”
“Ah… sir, two are military jeeps, there’s a Suburban-type vehicle, and two of what appear to be APC’s, armored personnel carriers.”
“Who’s making the request?”
“Mr. Campbell in your office, and the front gate guard is relaying the same thing.”
The captain stood in thought for a second, remembering the words of the Assistant Secretary of State. He lifted the radio.
“Okay, listen up. Have a Security Police Humvee join up with them at the front gate and escort them over to NAS-One and to the same parking lot by my office. They are to go nowhere else. First, however, inspect for weapons, including any troops in the APC’s. Any weapons they’re carrying must be unloaded.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
He lowered the radio and stepped onto the top of the air stairs, motioning to a lieutenant who bounded up the stairs.
“Jerry, how tall are you?”
“Five nine, sir.”
“Good. Stay put.”
He hurried back to the President’s seat. “Sir? How tall are you?”
“Five ten, Captain. Why?”
“I want to run a quick test. I need to borrow your suit coat.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Not yet.”
“What’s happening out there with those vehicles?” President Harris asked.
“I’m not sure, sir,” Swanson replied. “But this may be more than a casual show of force, and that’s what I’ve got to find out.”
FIFTEEN
Stuart Campbell stood in the corner of Captain Swanson’s office looking out the window toward the flight line several miles away as he talked on his GSM phone to the managing director of EuroAir Airlines in Frankfurt.
“No, Herr Niemann, I am not attempting to tell you how to run your airline, but you have a distinct problem. You need to order your pilots to empty that aircraft right now and warn them against protecting a man who, as of this moment, has become a fugitive from justice, largely because of the actions of your crew.”
The call to Frankfurt was a long shot, but any pressure would be helpful. Obviously the EuroAir crew had elected themselves John Harris’s guardians.
“There isn’t time, Herr Niemann. You need to order them to comply by phone right now from Frankfurt. Coming here will be too little, too late.”
This is getting nowhere, he decided, ending the conversation as amicably as possible and turning toward the office door as a Carabinieri officer came inside.
“Signore Campbell?” the officer said in Italian.
“Si. Stuart Campbell,” he responded, noting the absence of Giuseppe Anselmo’s deputy.
“My instructions are to assist you, sir,” the man said, quickly running down the list of men and equipment that were waiting at the gate of the airfield. “My men are being told they must come over here, rather than go to the airfield side.”
“Major, I need for you to instruct your vehicles that they are to move slowly and steadily into NAS-Two, regardless of Navy protests, and go to the flight line. Just ignore any Naval resistance. They will not actually fire on you, I can assure you of that. If you have to roll through a fence, go ahead.”
“Very well.”
“There will be some sort of gate at the flight line itself. Do not go in, but line up there and stay ready, and…” He handed the major a second cell phone from his briefcase. “Please answer this if it rings. It will be me with further instructions.”
The major nodded and left as a grim-faced man in a well-tailored pin-striped suit reentered the room.
“What was that, Mr. Campbell?” Giuseppe Anselmo’s first deputy asked.
“Why, Mr. Sigerelli, I have asked the Carabinieri personnel to force the issue, refuse the Navy’s request that they come over to this side of the base, and position themselves instead next to the flight line, not to enter.”
“Mr. Campbell, are you aware that I’m talking in another office with my government?”
“Yes, sir, I’m aware of that. I had Giuseppe in my office this morning. I know he’s calling the shots from Rome.”
“Do you also know that the determination that the flight line of this base is inviolable comes from Mr. Anselmo and the highest levels of our government?”
“I do, and I have no intention of violating that interpretation until I can convince all of you that your reading of the lease with the United States is entirely incorrect. You own this base, and the flight line.”
“That is not the current position of the Italian government, Mr. Campbell. Please give no other orders to Italian units without my approval.”
“As you wish. But if you don’t mind, I think I should speak to Giuseppe myself at this point.”
“Please!” Sigerelli said, pointing to the hallway. “By all means.”
Just as the temptation to call the Situation Room had become almost irresistible, the phone rang. Jay yanked it up, relieved to hear Sherry Lincoln on the other end.
“Mr. Reinhart, I’m on with Sergeant Jones from the Situation Room. General Davidsen was summoned to the Oval Office and we’re just waiting. Sergeant Jones will keep the line open and I’ll stand by if you’ll keep your line open there.”
Fifteen minutes had crawled by with only the news of the Navy commander’s arrival at the aircraft and a news helicopter’s arrival in the Sigonella area to break the tension.
Jay reached over to a small TV on the counter and flipped it to CNN, startled to see the Sigonella flight line on the screen.
There were voices in the background noise of the phone.
“What’s happening there, Sherry?” Jay asked.
“The President is still talking with the commander of the base, and they’re moving the aircraft that was between us and the C-17. They’re towing him out of the way.”
Jay glanced back at the television monitor, feeling slightly disoriented to see the P-3 Orion begin moving as Sherry Lincoln had described.
“I’m watching it on television,” he said, leaning forward. “Sherry, I’m seeing something else. The cameraman is zooming in on a line of… vehicles of some sort waiting just to one side of the flight line. They’re not on the flight line, but it appears… they’re at a gate.”
“What kind of vehicles?” she replied. “I’m looking out the window here, but I can’t see them.”
“They’re off toward the, ah, one o’clock position from your pilots’ perspective. Armored personnel carriers, jeeps, and several others. Has anyone been trying to convince the President to leave the plane and go to the visiting officers’ quarters or anywhere else?”
“No.”
“I can’t read their markings, but I’m sure they’re not there to help get him on that C- 17.”
“I still don’t see them.”
The cameraman aboard the news chopper zoomed to a tighter shot, and Jay could see several soldiers working with what appeared to be the lock to the gate separating them from the 737, the C-17, and the President.
“Okay, Sherry, this is getting very serious. I’d recommend getting him aboard that C-17 right now, before they move onto the flight line.”
“Stand by,” she said. He could hear the receiver being placed on her lap or against a cloth surface. She returned just as quickly.
“The Navy commander wants to wait for confirmation from the White House. He says his men are guarding the perimeter of the flight line.”
“Sherry, if anyone is guarding that flight line, they’re invisible in the TV shot. No one’s interfering with that group at the gate. What I’m looking at may well be preparations for an assault, and if that happens, they could either storm aboard and pull him off or surround the plane and make it impossible for John to get to the C-17. But if he’s already aboard the C-17, they won’t interfere. Please! Get him moving!”