“Jake. We’ll talk to Mr. Kaplan, then we’ll mobilize.”
The air stair door lowered and Kaplan climbed onboard the Lear and took an empty seat. Wiley introduced himself.
Kaplan stared at the old man. “Hey, don’t I know—”.
“No.” Wiley interrupted.
Kaplan turned to Jake. “No screw ups this time, Jake. Isabella’s life is at stake.”
“No problem, Gregg. Let’s just get Isabella out of there.”
“You boys shut up and listen. We don’t have time to waste on any issues between the two of you.” They both nodded. “We have less than thirty minutes. Our timing must be dead on or we’re up the proverbial creek. We get one shot at this. Mr. Kaplan, did you get a thorough briefing on the sailplane and its systems?”
“Yes, sir. Your man was very informative and his briefing quite thorough.”
“Are you comfortable flying solo?”
“I think so, sir.” Kaplan said. “I wish I had an opportunity to practice my landings but it’ll come back to me.”
“Who is flying the other glider?” Jake asked.
Wiley ignored him. “Mr. Kaplan, you’re flying the number two aircraft. When the sailplanes release from the aero tow, you’ll release first, then number one will release and drop the towline. All you have to do is follow the leader. Stay right on its flight path or slightly above it. The lead glider will set up the proper approach angle. You just do what it does and go where it goes and you should have no trouble. Understand?”
“Yes sir.” Kaplan sounded confident.
“Who’s flying the lead glider?” Jake interrupted again.
Wiley looked at him, then turned to Kaplan. “A walk in the park it won’t be. There are still a couple of issues getting up to Hajjah, but we’ll handle those on a real-time basis.”
“We?” Jake said. “Are you flying the lead glider?”
“I am.” Wiley said. “I have over a thousand hours flying sailplanes. Do you have a problem with me going along? I did plan this mission by the way.”
“No sir. I’m glad you’re going.” Jake stuttered. “No disrespect, but aren’t you a little—?”
“I hope for your sake you weren’t going to say ‘old’.”
“Jake’s right, sir. This is a dangerous mission. There could be shooting.” Kaplan said. “We don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“You boys don’t get it.” Wiley said. “That’s exactly why I’m going along. There can be absolutely no shooting. This is silent running. Someone has to keep you two in line. We have a strict timetable. In and out, no screw-ups or we’re all dead.”
Ian Collins stepped out of his rental car and tossed the keys to the valet. The Renaissance Concourse valet grabbed the keys mid-flight.
“Welcome to the Renaissance.” The valet handed Collins a ticket stub.
“Thank You.” Collins spent many determined hours eliminating his Irish brogue. Other than his size, no other feature about him could stand out. He needed to be just another tall man.
He grabbed the ticket, stuffed it into his back pocket, and headed to his sixth-floor room. Everything had fallen into place. His plan was ready for execution.
People were creatures of habit. Most people never varied their daily patterns. They became predictable.
Old people were the worst. They had routines. Routines they didn’t want to change. Routines that kept them in their comfort zone.
Routines that made them vulnerable, something he was counting on.
Routines that got them killed.
As expected, when he arrived at the mansion earlier in the day, it was empty, the servants sent home for the day. The wealthy owners wouldn’t return home for several hours, which allowed him all the time he needed to rig the incendiary devices. A setup he knew would guarantee results.
Effective, failsafe, and totally untraceable.
How much easier could these old fools have made it for him?
Every night before bedtime, a glass of milk and a handful of old people pills. Then off to bed.
While he was in the home rigging the device, he put the sedative in the milk, enough to make them sleep through an earthquake.
Collins collapsed on the hotel bed. A quick nap, supper at Spondivits, a seafood restaurant three blocks from the hotel, and then a quick drive down I-85.
The assassination was planned with detailed precision, but this time he wasn’t getting paid. No funds secretly deposited in his Cayman account or his Swiss account. No one to notify once the deed was done.
This job was personal.
CHAPTER 25
Jake still couldn’t believe Wiley was going on the mission. The man was over seventy and had no business putting himself in harm’s way. The success of the mission was critical and he didn’t need an old man slowing him down. He and Kaplan needed to get in quick, locate and secure Isabella, and get the hell out of there.
But something else was eating away at Jake and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Was it because the old man was Kyli’s grandfather? Or was it something else? Wiley’s take-charge demeanor was both annoying and comforting. The man was smart enough to plan it, even control it from a distance, but was he capable of executing the plan if things went wrong?
Somehow Jake had a hunch Wiley could handle it. With all his eccentric behavior, the old man did seem capable of the physical challenge, not that it mattered. Kaplan and Wiley were the only ones capable of flying the gliders. They were both required for the mission.
The Delta recon team, the funny platoon Kaplan called them, had done their job. Chase left as soon as Jake and Wiley arrived. He told Jake he was returning to Sana’a and planned to pack up his squad for the return to Oman where another special assignment awaited their special skills.
Wiley signaled for Jake and Kaplan. “We don’t have much time so let me fill you in on what’s about to happen.”
Four crewmen from the C-130 started hand-towing the two black gliders toward the end of the runway. The darkened end of the runway abutted a road that ran along the waterfront. Very few cars traveled the road at this hour. With the exception of the approach lights to Runway 8, that end of the airport was a black void.
“If you’ll look to the north you can see an approaching aircraft.” Wiley pointed to the white light in the distant sky. “That’s our tow pretending to be on a training flight with a student pilot and a flight instructor. The plane will land facing us, turn around on the runway, and takeoff in the opposite direction. When it does, we’ll be in tow.”
“What about the tower?” Kaplan asked. “They’ll see us. They’ll see the gliders go right past the tower. We’ll be made.”
“Got it covered.” Wiley said. “When the aircraft turns around, we have less than three minutes to be in the air and out over the water where it’s dark. So when I tell you to move, move fast. Get strapped in and ready to roll. My men will handle the hook-ups. Jake, you’re with me. Understood?”
“Understood.” Jake said.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Kaplan said.
“Oh ye of little faith.” Wiley grinned. “Watch and learn.”
Two air traffic controllers in the control tower at Aden International Airport watched the small single engine training flight enter a right downwind leg for a landing on Runway 26. The request made, for training purposes was to roll out at the end of the runway, turn around, and takeoff in the opposite direction. It was not the norm, but neither was a training flight in Yemen. Training flights routinely asked air traffic controllers to accommodate out of the ordinary requests, traffic permitting, for the purpose of flight training.