Order of Succession: Getting Away with Murder (Brian Sadler Archaeological Mystery Series Book 5)

by Bill Thompson

  He put on the clothes he'd worn for two days – the only ones he had – as the story about missing fugitive Jeremy Lail came on the news. Authorities believed he was still in Greece. He had not used his credit cards or passport since his arrival yesterday morning, and every means of departure from the country had been secured. The man would be found soon, the director of Interpol promised.

  Thank God I got out when I did, he thought as he watched a clip showing policemen combing the very dock from which his ship had left. With so much traffic it would take a long time to check out every vessel that had departed from the port, and he knew his wasn't one that carried passengers anyway. Maybe the authorities in Cyprus wouldn't be on the lookout for a man who was supposed to be five hundred miles away.

  It was time to move. He pulled his ball cap down low and walked out into the street. He had two days' growth of beard, and that helped change his appearance a little. The nearby square was full of people, many speaking English. Tourists. He was grateful for the anonymity afforded by blending in with others like him.

  It was a pleasant evening and he wanted to sit outdoors. He entered a sidewalk café, took a table away from the crowd and ordered a beer, then another. At last he began to relax and he asked for a menu.

  An hour later he strolled the quaint old town and found a pharmacy and a men's clothing store. He bought everything he needed and went back to his hotel for a long soak in a real bathtub. He didn't shave; the beard was now part of his disguise.

  He got the first night of rest he'd had in two days.

  The next morning he was met by the same driver, taken to the airport and put aboard an old twin-engine Cessna 402. He and the pilot were the only ones on the plane. They took off, flew across the water for about an hour and descended for landing.

  "Where are we?" he shouted over the noisy engines as they prepared to land in a large coastal city.

  "No English."

  He pointed down and shrugged as though he didn't understand.

  The pilot nodded. "Latakia."

  "Turkey?"

  The pilot shook his head.

  "No Turkey. Syria."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Cessna taxied to a stop next to two men standing in front of a dilapidated building. Jeremy ducked out and turned to get his duffel.

  Suddenly one of the men grabbed his arms and the other threw a cloth bag over his head. His hands were cuffed behind him and he was pushed roughly into the backseat of a car.

  "What the hell's going on?"

  "Shut up," one of the men said calmly in English. "You belong to us now."

  Six hours later Jeremy had posed for dozens of still photos and videos. He had stated his name, rank and serial number, he had confessed to his crime, and he had denounced Americans as evil, lying, hate-filled murderers of Muslims.

  At first he refused to speak against the United States, but a few well-placed blows to his kidneys changed his mind. He wanted to be brave, but all this was so far beyond belief, he capitulated quickly. He was forced to stand up straight and tall for the pictures, even though he had been doubled over in pain from the beatings. His captors looked to him like stereotypical terrorists. Seeing them on the video, Americans would be reminded of Jihadi John, the shoe bomber or the 9/11 hijackers. The men wore ski masks and carried automatic weapons. They laughed and mocked and spat on him.

  One of them spoke excellent English. Jeremy was forced to kneel, and the man stood next to him, facing the camera and explaining that the Air Force master sergeant had done an excellent job for the Falcons of Islam. He had been a loyal servant and Allah would bless and receive him.

  A fleeting thought flew through Jeremy's mind. I guess I'll find out about those seventy-two virgins.

  Jeremy wasn't afraid anymore. He was past afraid. He knew exactly what was coming.

  He had seen one man standing behind the others and holding a saber. Even that didn't scare Jeremy. It was all over, and he was resigned to what was coming.

  They took pictures right all the way to the very end. As Jeremy heard the long sword begin its swish through the air, the cameras were rolling and the terrorists laughed and pointed at him.

  Afterwards they sent the footage to the Western news media. On the seventh day after the planes disappeared, the missing senior line operator from Andrews was executed. The world saw the grisly scene and grew afraid once again.

  It took investigators almost no time to connect Joe Kaya to the missing line chief. Jeremy's boss had told FBI agents about the Saturday night card games at Jeremy's house, and everything fell into place. By now Ali and Mo, the men from the mosque who'd recruited Joe, were long gone. Agents would never learn their real names or where they went, but finding Joe was as simple as going to the salvage yard and arresting him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  During the six months prior to the disappearances of the planes, the crew on Air Force One and Two had experienced a subtle but critical change. The pilots and chief engineer were the same seasoned veterans, but the support staff positions – the people on each aircraft who served as cooks, stewards, secretaries and the like – had turned over one hundred percent. Every single one had been replaced by someone new.

  Although there was no discernible difference between the new staff and the ones before, there was, in fact, one thing the new crew had in common. Each of them was a trained military professional skilled in a particular craft, and none had close family. They were loners who were recruited for Operation Condor and required to sign ironclad confidentiality agreements. Divulging even a single word about their mission would land them in a federal prison for the rest of their lives. There would be no trial, no judge or jury to hear evidence and learn what they knew. They had waived every right traditionally guaranteed to persons charged with a crime in the United States, and violators would be prisoners within their own nation.

  Only six people knew what Operation Condor was about. Three of them – the President, Vice President and Secretary of State – had agreed to it in the most top-secret meeting ever held. The others who knew were the director of the CIA, the Senate Majority Leader and the chief justice of the Supreme Court.

  For six months the CIA chief and President Harrison had met weekly to develop an unprecedented plan. It was so fraught with danger and uncertainty that others who would ordinarily be included in such an operation – the FBI director, the head of the National Security Agency and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff – were excluded. Meetings were held in the White House Situation Room, a five-thousand-square-foot bunker in the basement of the West Wing that was typically used by the President and his advisers to deal with worldwide crises. It was the most secure room in the world.

  No records were kept of the meetings, and no emails, texts or phone calls would ever reference what was being planned. On the rare occasion when they had to discuss something outside the Situation Room, they used the code word Condor.

  When the CIA director learned that the operation might be implemented soon, it was time to share the secret with four more people. Vice President Martin Taylor was an old friend of Harry's, selected by him to fill the VP role when Harrison assumed office two years ago. He'd been head of the Senate Intelligence Committee, and the President respected and trusted Marty implicitly. Taylor had been divorced twice and had no close family. There had been no children and his parents were long-since deceased. He had given his full support to Operation Condor the moment he was briefed. He thought it was brilliant.

  Secretary of State Aaron Clancy was a native of California and another appointee of Harry's. They had been fellow senators and good friends for ten years. The implementation of Condor would be most difficult for Clancy to accept, given his personal situation. Unlike the Vice President, the sixty-year-old widower had a married daughter who was forty. Although there were no grandchildren, this mission would put a burden on him for a time. Even as the President explained how Clancy's involvement in Condor was essential, he empath
ized with Clancy's situation. He had the same issue, he explained, since neither of his elderly parents would be aware that the mission existed.

  Travel schedules for the President and Vice President were typically made public several weeks in advance. Even though military intelligence was picking up more and more alarming chatter from Syria, that public disclosure continued. Although incredibly risky, it was required for Operation Condor's success.

  Over the next few weeks, intel out of the Middle East skyrocketed. Intercepted transmissions from the al-Nusra Front revealed that something really big was about to happen and it was aimed at the United States. At last they got just enough of the jihadist group's plan to understand. The sworn enemies of the Great Satan had created a brilliant maneuver that would result in worldwide chaos.

  Finally came the day when all the chatter went silent. The team went over everything one last time. They were ready to implement Operation Condor.

  President Harrison, Vice President Taylor and Director Case sat in the Situation Room as the Secretary of State, the Senate Majority Leader and the chief justice were admitted by the sentry outside. Once the airlock on the door was sealed, the President explained that only the six of them – plus a group of people who would be a part of the mission itself – would know about Condor. You all are my team, he said as he explained what was going to happen. As bizarre as it was, as remarkable and terrifying as Condor would be, it was the only solution. And everyone agreed it was perfect – if it worked.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The day of the disappearances

  "Air Force Two, you are cleared to taxiway 34 right."

  "Roger 34 right."

  At ten a.m. Vice President Taylor and Secretary of State Aaron Clancy settled back in their plush seats as the engines on the huge Boeing 747 powered up. The plane moved slowly at first, then at a steadier clip. There were thirteen people on board. In addition to the VIPs, there were two pilots, a flight engineer, two Secret Service agents and six cabin crew – a chef and five attendants.

  The plane made a turn at the end of the taxiway and idled at the head of the 11,300-foot western runway at Andrews Field. The copilot performed his final check, the pilot revved the engines, and the enormous plane strained against its brakes until it was freed. It quickly increased speed as it roared down the runway, lifting off gracefully into the skies and heading west towards Honolulu.

  The almost-new 747 was usually in service as Air Force One, transporting the President. Since Harry and the Vice President would be on separate trips at the same time, the decision was made to swap planes because the 747 could fly greater distances without refueling. The President and his family had left two days ago on a Gulfstream G650 to attend a conference in Bridgetown, Barbados. Today Taylor and Clancy were heading nonstop to Honolulu, where they would refuel and continue to Hong Kong. It made better sense to use the bigger plane for the long-haul itinerary, and the Gulfstream was perfect for the President's short trip to Barbados.

  The attendants aboard Air Force Two served coffee shortly after takeoff. Two hours later there was lunch and a California Merlot for the Vice President and the Secretary of State. Afterwards the cabin lights were dimmed and the men dozed. Although both knew exactly what to expect, they grabbed a nap before the unprecedented twenty-four hours ahead of them.

  Five thousand miles away, Air Force One sat on the tarmac at Grantley Adams International Airport in Bridgetown, Barbados. Night had fallen, and the words United States of America running down the Gulfstream's gleaming fuselage were bathed in floodlights.

  First Lady Jennifer Harrison and her daughters, twelve-year-old Lizzie and nine-year-old Kate, were on board, awaiting the President's arrival. Chief of Staff Bob Parker sat at the back in the President's tiny office, on the phone to his assistant in DC. The pilots ran through preflight checks in preparation for departure within the hour. A Secret Service agent sat with the President's family as two stewards served coffee and soft drinks. A contingency of agents had guarded Harry Harrison during the Barbados conference; all but one would fly back to the States on commercial planes tomorrow.

  As soon as the President arrived, they would begin the four-hour flight to Dallas. His itinerary called for landing at Love Field around ten. They would spend the night at the Crescent Hotel, where Brian and Nicole would join them in their room tomorrow morning for a private breakfast. At noon the family would attend a fund-raiser and luncheon benefitting Republican candidates, then head back to Washington.

  The trip to Barbados had been a combination of pleasure and business. Jennifer and the girls had enjoyed three days in the sun at a private villa where the presidential party had stayed at the invitation of his friend the Prime Minister. While they had a relaxing time swimming and surfing, the President had attended a conference of the Organization of Central American and Caribbean States, or OCACS.

  Usually the President would have sent someone else to this type of meeting – the Secretary of State or perhaps the Vice President. But this had been different. Eight heads of state and a half dozen senior officials of territories and protectorates were gathering to discuss the increasing problems of human trafficking, drug smuggling and the impact of lifting the trade embargo against Cuba. President Harrison's senior advisors believed he should attend in person to emphasize how high a priority the United States government placed on these topics. Tonight Harrison was at the closing dinner, where he would deliver the keynote address.

  As they watched out the window, the girls saw flashing red lights and a motorcade approaching the Gulfstream. They yelled, "Daddy's coming!" The agent on the plane moved to block the doorway, his hand casually resting on his pistol, as two SUVs pulled to the plane's stairway. A contingency of local police officers lined up as six more agents whisked President Harrison and a man with a metal briefcase up the stairs and onto the plane. Another agent climbed aboard; tonight there would be three Secret Service personnel accompanying the presidential family. The man with the briefcase was an agent code-named Quarterback. He was carrying the "nuclear football" that was always close to the President when he was out of his office. The case held the nuclear codes that allowed the President to order the implementation of nuclear weapons. Tonight during dinner, the agent stood behind a curtain ten feet from Harrison. It was the same every time the President traveled.

  At 8:30 p.m. local time, 7:30 in Washington, Air Force One soared into the starry night, heading northwest toward the Gulf of Mexico. As it left Barbados, the Vice President's plane had already departed Honolulu after refueling for the long haul to Hong Kong. President Harrison walked through the sitting area, kissed his wife and girls, and said, "Okay, everyone. Ready for an adventure?" He went back to the plane's small office, where his Chief of Staff had Vice President Taylor on the phone.

  Harry said, "All set, Marty?"

  "Yes, sir, Mr. President. We left Honolulu forty-five minutes ago. We'll keep you advised."

  "Same here, my friend. We'll say prayers on this end for Condor. You do the same for us. God knows we need prayers, and God willing I'll see you soon."

  Twenty-five minutes later, at 9:17 p.m. Eastern time, the phone on the President's desk rang. Bob Parker picked it up, listened for a moment and handed the receiver to his boss. Harry heard the director of the National Security Agency say, "Mr. President, is Quarterback with you?"

  This was always the first question in an emergency. And this was the first time Harry had ever been asked it. Knowing what was coming, Bob Parker had summoned the agent with the briefcase. He joined them in Harry's office.

  "He's here."

  "Thank you, sir. I am with the Defense Secretary in his office."

  Neither of those men was part of the Condor team.

  "I'm afraid I have some very bad news, Mr. President. Air Force Two disappeared from radar five minutes ago. Their last position was six hundred miles south of Honolulu over open seas. Secretary Vernon is dispatching a squadron from the 15th Wing at Hickham to begin a
search where the plane was last picked up on radar."

  Clark Vernon, the Secretary of Defense, took the phone. "I recommend going to DEFCON 3 now, Mr. President." Raising the level to DEFCON 3 meant security would be significantly heightened worldwide, putting the Air Force on alert for mobilization upon fifteen minutes' notice.

  "That's approved, Mr. Secretary."

  "And, sir, in the interest of national security . . . uh . . ." On completely unfamiliar ground, the usually stolid and unruffled Defense Secretary stammered for a moment.

  The President interrupted. "Clark, get to the point. What do you want me to do?"

  "I think you should divert to Naval Air Station Key West. We're sending a squadron of fighters to accompany you."

  "That's approved."

  "We'll be here all night, Mr. President. As soon as we know more, I'll be in touch."

  Across the room the President glanced at a wall TV. He heard the frazzled CNN newscaster say, "We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news."

  Harry turned on the intercom and pressed a button. The pilot answered immediately.

  "Has Defense instructed you to divert to NAS Key West?"

  "Yes, sir, I made the course change a moment ago. They've dispatched a squadron of F-22s to bring us in."

  "How much time until the fighters get to us?"

  "We're eleven hundred miles from Key West. If they leave now, they'll be here in forty-five minutes."

  "Implement Condor. Repeat, implement Condor."

  "Roger that, Mr. President. Implementing Condor."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  As soon as he heard the president’s order the pilot disengaged the plane's autopilot and requested permission to descend to twenty-five thousand feet due to turbulence. ATC okayed his descent, but once the plane reached that altitude it kept going down and down. Then the pilot turned off the radio. The air traffic controller in Marathon, Florida, who was following Air Force One picked up the altitude change immediately and radioed the aircraft, but he got no response.