“Okay, Admiral. You have my authorization. Do what we need to do to pull Magadia out of there.”
“Aye, aye, Mr. President.”
Bogor, Indonesia
1:15 a.m.
Gentlemen,” Captain Noble announced in the dark of the night, once again seeming to forget that Diane was in the group. “Huddle around. We’ve got new orders.”
Like a football team in a huddle on offense, the black-faced SEALs gathered around their leader, who was at the far end of the group. Diane stepped into the huddle beside Zack, who at the moment seemed far more focused on Captain Noble than on her.
“The good news is that we’ve come to the end of our march. We stay put here, and in approximately thirty minutes, a couple of Seahawks from the Reagan will be here to pick us up.”
Some of the SEALs gave a thumbs-up into the night, as if relieved that a ride home was on the way. Diane breathed a sigh of relief.
“But we’re not going directly back to the Reagan.” This got the men’s attention. “The president has a job for us to do.” A quick pause. “Commander Colcernian?”
“Yes, sir?”
“You’re the naval attaché to Indonesia, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell these men who Muhammed Magadia is.”
“He’s the vice president of Indonesia, sir.”
“That is correct. And right now, we’ve got intel that the vice president is being held hostage against his will by gunmen loyal to this madman General Perkasa at the presidential palace in Bogor. That’s about ten minutes’ flight from here by chopper, if even that.
“The XO’s on his way right now with other members of the SEAL team. We’re going in, and we’re going to rescue the vice president and give him a ride to the USS Ronald Reagan.”
Cheering and whoops and hollers.
“We don’t have much planning time. The XO, however, is getting an intel briefing, and he will lead the other guys in the palace to pull the vice president out. Our job will be to secure the top of the building and the perimeters while our shipmates go in and pull the man out. Should be a piece of cake.”
The distant roar of a jet engine came from the direction of the sea. The roar grew louder. Then another.
“Gentlemen,” Noble announced, “the sound of freedom. Our guys are on the way. In a few minutes the only sound of jets that you will hear will be the sound of F-18s and F-22s from our carrier air wing. We will own the skies over this country, and we will have plenty of air cover for our operation. Any question?”
“Let’s go!” one of the SEALs shouted.
“Let’s do it, baby!” another said.
“Rock and roll!” Zack said, pumping his fist in the air.
Diane shook her head in the dark. The love of her life was becoming Rambo.
Beechcraft Bonanza Aircraft
Above the Virginia-Maryland border
2:30 p.m.
Salaam banked the plane to the left, almost directly toward the bright overhead sun. No point in flying any further to the north. Not now anyway.
The FAA had closed the airspace around Philadelphia, and word had come that all non-military traffic headed into Washington was being vectored away.
The airspace over the Potomac River was as close as he needed to go, he had decided. No need to arouse their suspicions, especially when there was no reason to do so.
Still, as the plane turned to the west, into the bright sun, Salaam craned his neck to the right, in the direction of Philadelphia, hoping, somehow, to see the glorious mushroom cloud on the horizon.
But from here, there was nothing but a haze just over the earth’s curvature in the distance.
Still, the thought of what had happened brought shivers all over his body. And despite this most glorious day for Islam, Salaam felt both envy and resentment. He had trained for this day too. He had been ready. They had told him to be ready, to be prepared to use his plane on a moment’s notice. He was prepared for martyrdom.
Yet the honor for this mission had been bestowed on others. But who was he to question Allah? He had been prepared to give his all. What more could he give?
He circled the plane further to the left, now headed to the south. The buildings of the small city of Winchester were coming into sight. The small, private airstrip would be off somewhere to the right.
Salaam scanned the landscape to the right of the town. A red and white water tower appeared in the distance. The runway would be just across the road from there.
A slight push of the yoke to the right brought the nose of the Beechcraft in line with the water tower.
In a few minutes, he would be on the ground. From there, he would rush home to watch more live feed coverage from Philadelphia, then fall to his knees and pray that his phone would ring.
F/A-18 Super Hornet (“Hornet 1”)
Over Philadelphia
2:35 p.m.
Have mercy on us!” These were the only words Lieutenant Commander Billy Belk could muster as he looked out the cockpit of the F/A-18 Super Hornet and saw it for the first time.
The mushroom was rising, towering, now perhaps five miles into the sky, over the City of Brotherly Love. Belk was a veteran combat pilot with nerves of steel. The veteran naval aviator had even seen combat over Kosovo, outdueling a Russian MIG-27 before shooting it down and then flying back to the USS Nimitz on patrol in the Adriatic.
The steel nerve of an ace fighter pilot was unflappable. At least that was the theory. And that was how Commander Belk had seen himself.
Until now.
Hiroshima had come to America.
He had once dated a girl from Philly. Was she down there? Somewhere? Had she been vaporized?
An unnatural silence pervaded the cockpit as the F/A-18 made a broad, swooping circle. Lieutenant Commander Billy Belk, USN, had turned to a teary mush in his own cockpit. Thank God no one was looking, he thought, except God himself, who surely understood.
“Hornet 1, Pax River Control.”
Pull yourself together, Commander. “Hornet 1. Go ahead, Pax River.”
“Hornet, turn to course two-three-two degrees and contact Reagan Control. We need you over the capital for a few minutes until we can get your relief in the air. Then be prepared to return to base, refuel, and get back in the air. It’s going to be a long evening, Commander.”
“Pax River Control. Hornet 1. Roger that. Turning to course two-three-two degrees,” Riddle said, beginning a sweep to the south southwest. “I’m headed back to Washington, then back to base at your order for refueling.”
“Keep your eyes peeled, Hornet 1.”
“Hornet 1, roger that.”
Bogor, Indonesia
2:45 a.m.
The last Super Hornet from the Reagan had swooshed across the Indonesian skies about five minutes ago, leaving the quiet, confident assurance that the mighty, steel-clenched fist of the US Navy was steaming closer by the moment.
In this peaceful interlude, Diane was lying in the rocks along the ridge, in between Captain Noble and Zack. The SEALs had for the most part gone silent, and were now in a waiting mode.
The stirring beauty of the star-draped tropical sky, along with the occasional gentle touch of Zack’s hand on her back, made her forget that she was in the midst of a virtual war zone. Her fearlessness at the moment amazed her. Shot down in a foreign land, soon to be hunted by troops that could possibly kill them all.
Yet she had faced death before, when she had been kidnapped and held hostage in Mongolia two years before.
Tonight, her fear had vanished, at least temporarily, after the chopper went down. The fear might return, she knew. But for now, the fact that she was with Zack, the most self-confident man she had ever known, along with a team of rugged, handsome, and brave SEAL warriors, all brought a placid calm in the eye of the vicious storm surrounding them.
The faint sound of chopper blades in the barely audible distance began to pollute the serene darkness.