Dale Brown - Storming Heaven

by Storming Heaven [lit]

  I wish I had taken him out. I won't miss next time." As the group headed toward their cars to take them to their first meeting, Lam Wilkes turned and noticed Admiral Hardcastle talking with the F-16 pilot involved in the previous night's incident, along with his group commander. She excused herself from the former Vice President and the Senator and walked back to them.

  Hardcastle ignored her as she approached. "I hope you get the chance, Colonel," Hardcastle said as Wilkes got closer, a grim, angry expression on her face, "but I rather doubt you will.

  We'll meet again. No matter what the press says, remember you've got someone on your side--

  "Excuse me, Admiral Hardcastle," Wilkes said testily, standing several paces away from the group. "Can I have a word with you, please?" Hardcastle closed his notebook, shook hands with both Vincenti and Gaspar, clasped Vincenti reassuringly on the shoulder, and moved aside with Wilkes until the crowd passed her by, with just a few of Wilkes' aides remaining. The press had left, and they were alone.

  The veteran Coast Guard flier extended a hand to Lam Wilkes and said, "It's very nice to see you again, Judge Wilkes." Wilkes put her hands on her narrow hips, sliding her jacket open and slightly exposing a shoulder holster with a small automatic pistol as well as a slender waist and a firm bosom. With her sunglasses now in place against the hot summer sun, her lips red with a touch of lipstick, it was hard not to notice that this tough lawmaker and civil rights activist was a very beautiful woman. But, like Sandra Geffar, his partner and co-commander of the old Border Security Force and other good-looking female public figures, Hardcastle knew that a very tough woman still lurked under that beauty.

  "Listen, Admiral," Wilkes said testily, "let's get something straight.

  I'm going along with this charade only because I've got you and Martindale and Wescott in my face in front of the press. Your Senate subcommittee charter is a joke--it'll be nullified by the Vice President before the day's out, and they might even pass a law banning all such charters by the gavel.

  You may not realize it, even Martindale may not know it, but all this is a sham. I know it and Wescott knows it. After that, you'll be off this base and out of the picture-permanently." "That remains to be seen, Judge." Hardcastle smiled.

  "So what is it you want, Hardcastle?" Wilkes asked. "Is this just another publicity stunt?" "No more of a stunt than trotting Colonel Vincenti out here in front of the press, accusing him of screwing up the mission, and then letting the press feed on him," Hardcastle snapped. "I heard your press conference, Judge, and I think you're wrong: Henri Cazaux is not just "a merchant of death," he is a homicidal maniac. He will kill anyone to escape, including himself He has no conception of the sanctity of life." "Spare me. We have a full psychological profile on him, Admi "Then you haven't read it, Judge--because it would say that trying to apprehend Cazaux would be a waste of lives," Hardcastle continued. "He will slaughter anyone within reach before taking his own life." "The Bureau has dealt with homicidal personalities before, Admiral, and Cazaux is no different." She sighed, rolling her eyes.

  "He's different, Judge, because he's got access to aircraft, special weapons, and sophisticated military expertise," Hardcastle said.

  "He can begin a reign of terror the likes of which this country has never seen before." "Listen, Admiral, I'm sorry, but I don't have the time for your pro-military speeches-- I've got an investigation to run," Wilkes said impatiently. "We will deal with whatever he throws at us--and we'll do it without using the military, without big, expensive tilt-rotor aircraft loaded with machine guns and guided missiles, without one-hundred-million-dollar oil platforms which are now gathering barnacles and rust out in the Gulf of Mexico, without blimps with radars on them, and without weird robot helicopters that crash-land every time you turn around. Unlike former so-called law enforcement agencies, the FBI doesn't feel as if we have to harass and scare half the law-abiding population just to find one slimeball." Her indirect jab at the Hammerheads, Hardcastle's high-tech drug interdiction and Border Security Force, was fully intentional and heartfelt: Wilkes had always believed the military had no place in law enforcement, and that the rights of all individuals--the accused as well as the innocent--needed to be protected at all times.

  "But let me remind you of a few things, Admiral," the FBI Director went on. "This is my investigation. I am running the show here. I will not hesitate to throw your tail off this base and into a federal lockup if you try to interfere with my investigation while you're part of this Senate probe.

  You are not to talk with the crews, you are not to talk with the commanders, you are not to talk with the press about anything you see or hear. Charter or no charter, I'll have you arrested for interfering with an FBI investigation. I may not be able to hold you for long, what with David Brinkley and Larry King, your good TV talk-show buddies, on my ass, but it'll be long enough to disrupt your TV schedule. Is all that clear, Admiral?" "Yes, it's very clear, Judge," Hardcastle replied. "But I've got one thing to say to you.

  I've seen this once before. Agusta Salazar Pablo Escobar, Manuel Noriega--they all thought they could take on the United States and win.

  Henri Cazaux will hide behind the Bill of Rights and use it to get what he wants. Don't let it happen now.

  Use all the forces you have available." "You're paranoid, Hardcastle. Why don't you run for office?

  You'd fit right in." She spun on a heel and stepped away from Hardcastle as quickly as she could.

  The former Vice President's limousine was waiting for Hardcastle, and he joined up with them a few moments later. "Well, how did it go, Ian?" Martindale asked Hardcastle as he sat down opposite the Vice President, beside Senator Heyerdahl.

  "I don't think she's going to cooperate." Hardcastle sighed.

  "We're going to have to battle her every step of the way." "Too bad," Martindale said.

  Hardcastle said, "I think I scared her a bit, and that pissed her off." "Well, she's certain to go to the White House and vent now," Heyerdahl concluded. "Our charter will be history by the end of the day, after the press has gone to bed for the night." She turned to Hardcastle and said, "Wilkes is a very powerful and very dangerous opponent." Hardcastle said, "She's tough, and strong, and beautiful.

  The press loves her. But as tough as she is, Henri Cazaux is tougher.

  And in a battle of wills, his is superior." "How do you know this Cazaux so well, Ian?" Wescott, seated next to the former Vice President, asked. "You chase him when you were with the Hammerheads?" "We'd received a bit of intelligence about him," Hardcastle replied.

  "We thought he might begin working with Salazar's Cuchillos pilots, using military hardware to protect drug shipments. Cazaux was trained to fly everything from Mirage fighters to Huey helicopters, and he was one of Europe's top commando instructors.

  Cazaux never moved in, and I lost track of him when the Border Security Force was disbanded. But I know a few Henri Cazauxs, Congressman Wescott, and a few Agusta Salazars." "I have no doubt that you'd like to see every one of these sleazoids in prison, or better, at the bottom of the deepest ocean you can find," Kevin Martindale said. "But let's keep our ultimate objective in mind--to call attention to the current Administration's piss-poor military utilization and lack of military planning. But we don't want to look like armchair quarterbacks to the press.

  "We're here to observe, yes," Martindale went on, affixing a stern glare on all of those around him in the limo, "but our attitude should be that we've got a better way. So the question facing us all during our trip here is simple: if we were in the driver's seat, what would we be doing better?

  Faced with the threat from Henri Cazaux ourselves, what would we be doing that the current Administration isn't?

  We shit in Lam Wilkes' cornflakes by crashing her press conference, but in fact the President is doing pretty much what I'd expect--call for a massive manhunt, order the FBI Director to set up a command center in the area and personally coordinate the investigation. So far, we'd be doing th
e same thing as the current White House residents.

  "We need a specific plan of action, something we can point to and say, "The President should be doing this," and the American people lean forward toward their TVS and respond, "Yeah, the dipshit, he should be doing that, I'm voting for Martindale in ninety-six." Everyone got the picture?" There were nodding heads and "Yes, sirs" all around. "Okay, good.

  Comments?" "Judging by Wilkes" attitude, I'd say the Administration is treating this as a random, isolated, one-in-a-million incident," Hardcastle surmised. "Focus of the FBI'S investigation will be the coordination of the federal agencies involved--actually, their lack of cooperation.

  Wilkes has already tipped her hand by trotting Vincenti and Gaspar out in front of the press--no doubt Vincenti's record in Europe will be "leaked," and everyone will make the same conclusion-- that Vincenti screwed up. The federal government, and the Air Force in particular, will tolerate deaths, simply to avoid a general panic." "You mentioned something about him on the way out here," Martindale said. "What was it again?" "Vincenti was flying F-4 Phantoms up in Iceland--this was just before Gorbachev came to power," Hardcastle explained. "He scrambled on a Badger bomber that he found flying low-level across the ice pack.

  The Defense Early Warning radars were out, but he did the pursuit on his own and shoots the damned thing down." "You're kidding! I never heard about that." "Hardly anyone did," Hardcastle explained.

  "Turns out the bomber was a rogue--a crew of fliers sympathetic to Andropov wanted to start World War Three by bombing U.s. bases in Iceland.

  They had nukes on board, but they say they never would have gone "But Vincenti's not a hero in this story, right?" "Yes, sir. Problem was, Vincenti never got clearance to shoot-no communications between the controllers and the plane.

  Vincenti just went ahead and did it, much like the incident last night.

  He gets a reputation as a hero with the crew dogs, but a wild-dog reputation with the brass. The Badger shoot-down is highly classified--" "But the Pentagon's recollection of Vincenti isn't," Martindale finished for him. "Vincenti can't follow orders. Vincenti likes to shoot first and ask questions later. Question, Ian: is he a wild dog?" "No, sir, he's not--but my reputation is not exactly fresh and clean either," Hardcastle said with a wry smile. "In my opinion, putting on my pundit's hat for a moment, I think it would be ill-advised for you to openly support Vincenti.

  But I want to consult with him on a regular basis. He knows his shit, and he will be very valuable to us and the Air Force when Cazaux tries to take on the authorities again." "Wait a minute, Ian... So you don't think this is a random incident?" Martindale asked Hardcastle. He was getting nervous already--his high-profile military guy was thinking in a totally unexpected direction, and with more press conferences scheduled for that day, he had to be brought up to speed immediately. "Just bad luck that Cazaux hit that terminal with a cargo plane and killed several hundred people... ?" "Sir, I can't explain it, but talking with Colonel Vincenti, the F-16 pilot that chased Cazaux's cargo plane, I wonder if this is the last we'll hear from him," Hardcastle said.

  "Cazaux is not going to dive underground." As enthusiastic as they were about pointing out the inadequacies of the current White House Administration's military policies, the others in the limo were not at all ready to agree with the former Coast Guard and Border Security Force officer. The former Vice President ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "Jesus, Ian," Martindale exclaimed, giving him a tired smile, "I pray you're wrong." There was no more time for discussion, because just then the limousine pulled up to the aircraft hangar turned investigation center, and the members of the Senate subcommittee task force began to step out. The line of twelve hangars on the parking ramp at Beale Air Force Base once housed the SR-71 Blackbird spy planes, which were the fastest air-breathing aircraft in the world before the advent of the still-classified SR-91 Aurora. "A minute, Mr. Vice President," Hardcastle said. Martindale let everyone else out, and the Secret Service agent closed the door again.

  "Spit it out, Admiral." "Sir, you know that I believe in your campaign," Hardcastle said easily. "No one was happier than I to see you at our board of directors meeting, getting involved, helping to raise money for the Task Force, all that. I know publicly you haven't announced if you're going to run in ninety-six, but I feel you will, and I'm one hundred and ten percent behind you all the way." "I hear a big "b"' coming..." "Yes, sir. Bt, after speaking with Vincenti, I realized that we are not faced simply with gathering ammunition to use against the current Administration-- we need to formulate a policy to make sure that attacks like last night don't happen again." "Attacks? They weren't attacks, Ian, it was the act of a madman trying to escape pursuit," Martindale scoffed. "The odds of Cazaux blowing up another airport in this country are... well, hell, they've got to be astronomical." "I don't think so, sir," Hardcastle said. "I think he'll strike again.

  I think we need to set up a program to defend this country's major airports from attack. With all due respect, sir, I need to know if you're serious about responding to the threat, or if this is just a way to make some political hay until you're ready to throw your hat in the ring." "Christ, Hardcastle, ease up a bit with that rhetoric--and the threats," Martindale said, motioning with his body that he was ready to get out of the car. "First of all, whatever use I have for my activities with you and the Project 2000 Task Force is part of my campaign.

  You and the membership agreed to spearhead my campaign. Like it or not, I'm in it, and I'm calling the shots. You know I'm serious about national defense, Ian. When I joined forces with the Task Force, you agreed to my terms. You and the other Task Force members fall in line with me or I walk-- it's as simple as that.

  Understand?" "Yes, sir." "I'm Kevin to you, Ian," Martindale said.

  "Both now and when I'm in the White House. And I am going to the White House, my friend, let there be no doubt about that.

  "As for my thoughts on Cazaux: So far I haven't seen any evidence indicating the beginning of a wave of terrorism. We start creating fear like that, and we'll look bad. Hell, even if we're right, we'll look like doomsayers. I don't want to start putting Patriot missiles on the front lawn of the White House, Ian--all I want to do is point out to the people of this country that the current President's got his head up his ass when it comes to the application of military force and his support for the military." Martindale paused for a moment, then seemed to decide to go ahead and say what was on his mind--Kevin Martindale never had any trouble keeping his feelings to himself: "Frankly, Ian, your alarm-ringing reputation is well known in town.

  I'm not saying you're wrong, but I feel a lot of people might be turning you off. It's been less than twenty-four hours since the attack.

  Let's not come to any really dire conclusions until we get some more concrete evidence. Okay?" "That's fine, sir," Hardcastle said. "I'll stand by my reputation and my opinions." "Don't get me wrong, Ian," Martindale added. "I consider you a valuable asset, and your thoughts mean a lot to me. But let me make the decisions and the public announcements, okay?" "Yes, sir," Hardcastle said. He exited the limousine, but turned to face Martindale just before the former Vice President stepped out.

  "But think about this, sin-what if Henri Cazaux strikes again?

  Then what will you be prepared to do to stop him?" Martindale had already been psyching himself up to get ready to speak with the press that had assembled outside the hangar being used to headquarter the FBI'S investigation, so he really wasn't fully listening to Hardcastle--until that very last sentence. If Cazaux did return, if this was only the beginning and not the end of a horrible nightmare, then what could be done to stop it?

  "Damn it, Hardcastle..." the former Vice President of the United States muttered.

  Ignoring Admiral Ian Hardcastle was never an option.

  Newburgh, New York Later That Day The sleepy little town of Newburgh, about an hour's drive north of New York City, was the perfect place for an American terrorist b
ase of operations. The small city of twenty thousand was easily accessible to New York City by Thruway, train, overland, or even via the nearby Hudson River, but it was much smaller and much more rural than a typical New York City bedroom community, offering lots of seclusion and privacy. Newburgh's first-class airfield, Stewart International, had direct flights to La Guardia; Chicago; Washington, D.c.; Raleigh-Durham International; Hartsfield-Atlanta; and even Toronto and Montreal, but it had fewer than a dozen arrivals and departures a day. The U.s. Military Academy at West Point was just a few miles away, and the resorts and ski areas of the Catskills were just a few hours away.

  Passengers liked Stewart International Airport because it was so easygoing and efficient-- Henri Cazaux liked Stewart because security there was relatively lax, which made the little airport the perfect place to run a small-scale smuggling operation, or smuggle weapons into the commercial air system. Cazaux had often smuggled a fully loaded Uzi right through security in a briefcase by partially disassembling it and packing it in a candy or gift box with a gold foil wrapper--the wrapper shielded the contents from the X rays, and the guards never bothered to hand-check, especially during the early morning rush-hour confusion of commuters on their way to New York, Boston, or Washington.