Covenant Of The Flame

by David Morrell

  'Board?' Craig asked in surprise.

  'You mean you weren't told?' Kelly sounded equally surprised.

  'Our only instructions were to come to Andrews Air Force Base as soon as possible.'

  'I wondered why you hadn't brought luggage. Don't worry. You won't have to rough it. We've got plenty of overnight kits - tooth brushes, shampoo, razors.' Kelly glanced politely toward Tess. 'More personal items. And a bathtub-shower. Whatever you need.'

  'But.' Tess hesitated, aware of the miniature radio transmitter built into her shoe, conscious that Father Baldwin would be listening, that he'd be as anxious to know the answer to her question as she was. 'Where are we going?'

  'Spain.'

  The word made Tess feel light-headed.

  Spain. Where Father Baldwin had said that the heretics, fleeing France, had found a new home after the attack on Montsegur in 1244.

  Spain! Did that mean Gerrard was her enemy?

  Or was her destination merely a coincidence?

  Tess felt frozen. At once, regaining control of her muscles, she braced herself. All of her instincts made her want to turn and run.

  But to where?

  And howl The sentries would stop her. She'd never be able to get off the base.

  She fidgeted.

  'Is something wrong?' Kelly asked.

  'No.' Tess tried to recover, to seem natural. 'I'm just surprised is all. Everything's happening so fast. Two hours ago, I didn't expect to be coming here, and now you tell me I'm flying to Spain.'

  'I understand what you mean about feeling surprised,' Kelly said. 'Until just after midnight, I wasn't aware we'd be having visitors.' He checked his gold Rolex watch. 'We'd better hurry. In ten minutes, we're scheduled to be air-borne.'

  Tess pivoted toward Craig, keeping her face calm but knowing that her eyes revealed her panic.

  Craig squeezed her hand, his eyes communicating. We're stuck. We've got to go through with this.

  Kelly gestured, leading them onward toward the brightly lit jet.

  They reached a tall boarding ramp on wheels.

  Tess climbed, counting twenty-six steps, and entered an open hatch behind a massive swept-back wing.

  Once inside, sickened by her speeding pulse, she realized that there was no turning back.

  Behind, below her, on the tarmac, air-force personnel pulled away the boarding platform. Inside the jet, a uniformed flight attendant shut the hatch and secured it.

  She was trapped on Air Force Two.

  FIVE

  As she studied her surroundings, Tess noticed that the cabin's width was emphasized by its reduced length. Ahead and behind, bulkheads with doors restricted the space. The seats - she counted seventy - resembled first-class airline accommodations, except that they were even larger, more comfortable looking, and the aisles seemed wider than usual. Numerous phones were attached to the fore and aft bulkheads.

  This must be where the press and the president's - in this case, the vice president's - team stayed, Tess thought, although she was puzzled that the cabin was empty, except for the uniformed flight attendant.

  'We'll be taking off soon,' the attendant said, 'but I think you have time to enjoy a glass of champagne.'

  'Mineral water will be fine,' Tess said.

  'Same for me,' Craig said.

  'What are you serving?' Kelly asked the attendant.

  'Dom Perignon.'

  'I'll have some.'

  'Very good, sir.'

  'In the meantime,' Kelly said, 'I'd better tell the vice president that his guests have arrived.' He walked toward the front of the cabin, knocked on the door, and waited.

  A discreet pause later, he knocked again.

  The door opened.

  'Sir, they're here,' Kelly said.

  'Excellent,' a sonorous voice said. The door swung quickly farther open.

  Alan Gerrard stepped through.

  Although Tess had seen Gerrard often at receptions at her parents' home, and sometimes at less formal get-togethers, she hadn't met him since he'd become vice president.

  As he approached her, smiling, he looked the same - movie-star handsome, with a perfect tan, glinting teeth, photogenic features, and magnificent hair. The only difference was that six years had made him look more responsible, more wise, more seasoned, despite his reputation for caring more about tennis than he did about politics.

  No matter. Regardless of her suspicions about him, Tess couldn't help responding to his aura of achievement. The vice president. In her mind, the words had magic. She almost surrendered to his influence.

  But didn't.

  She had to keep reminding herself that he was very possibly her enemy.

  Gerrard wore casual but impressive clothes - hand-sewn loafers, finely pressed linen slacks, a custom-made Sea Island cotton shirt, greens and browns. Coming nearer, he held out his arms. 'Tess.' He embraced her, kissing her cheek with affection, reassurance, and sorrow.

  'Your mother.' He shook his head. 'She's a great loss to everyone, to every politician, including me, who ever enjoyed her gracious hospitality. But most of all, she's a loss to you. She'll be a legend of strength, of generosity, in this jaded community that needs every example of excellence they can possibly find to show them the proper way.'

  Tess stepped back, rubbing her tear-stinging eyes. She resolved that the best, least suspicious, most natural thing to do was to treat him the way she had before her father had died. 'Thanks, Alan, but don't you think the rhetoric's a little extreme? You're not campaigning, after all. Your sympathy is appreciated. Really. But a simple, straight-forward "I'm sorry" will do.'

  Gerrard studied her, evidently not used to irreverence. At once, his eyes twinkled, blue, Tess noticed, although the one on the right looked irritated, streaked with red. 'Good. I'm glad to see you're keeping up your spirits,' he said. 'Still as feisty as the last time I saw you.'

  'I guess I can't help it. I got it from my parents.'

  'And God bless both of them. They're sorely missed. Lieutenant Craig, I understand you've been a tremendous help to Tess in her danger and her grief. You're welcome here.'

  'Thank you.'

  The uniformed attendant brought glasses of mineral water to Tess and Craig, Dom Perignon for Kelly.

  Gerrard seemed slightly self-conscious while they sipped. 'Well' - he rubbed his hands together - 'before I explain, before we strap on our seatbelts for take-off, why don't I show you the rest of the plane? I'm very proud of it.'

  Tess desperately didn't care, but she acquiesced. 'Lead the way, Alan.'

  She hoped that her voice didn't tremble.

  'It'll be a pleasure and a privilege.'

  With gracious movements, Gerrard proceeded toward the forward bulkhead and revealed his quarters. Tess, in spite of her fear, was amazed by the luxurious accommodations: electric window curtains, a lavatory, a shower-tub, a vanity, closets, twin beds, a TV system capable of receiving eight channels simultaneously including images from on-board remote-control cameras so

  Gerrard could assess waiting crowds before he left the aircraft. and two unusual hooks on the bedroom ceiling.

  Tess pointed toward them, confused.

  'Those. Yes, those. They sometimes keep me awake at night,' Gerrard said. 'Their implication. I don't like to think about them. They're hooks for intravenous lines in case I'm - to put it delicately - injured. This jet also has a minihospital.' He paused, somber. 'And a place for a coffin. But' - his expression brightened - 'let's not be morbid. There's a great deal more for you to see.'

  He escorted them back through the central cabin toward the rear bulkhead's door, and beyond it, Tess became even more impressed.

  She'd wondered why the seats in the central cabin weren't occupied. Now she understood. In a conference room that looked as if it belonged in a Fortune 500 corporation's headquarters, a dozen men sat in high-backed upholstered chairs along a large rectangular table.

  Secret Service agents, Gerrard explained. They were double-checking
their tactics to protect him when he arrived in Spain. Phones and computers allowed them to coordinate their plans with the Spanish equivalent of the Secret Service.

  Spain. Again the word sent tremors through Tess. She struggled urgently not to show her fear.

  In a farther room, she saw another dozen men, vice-presidential aides using more phones and computers as well as printers and copying machines to polish speeches, verify itineraries, and prepare news releases. TV monitors flanked one bulkhead.

  Leaving his aides to their work, Gerrard took Tess, Craig, and Kelly back to the central cabin. 'There's more. Much more,' he said. 'A press room, although on this trip I'm not allowing reporters. Two galleys with gourmet cooks who can serve us Trout Almandine or anything else we want. Enough food for a week. A missile avoidance system. Special shielding to protect the jet's controls from electromagnetic bursts from nuclear explosions. Eighty-five telephones. Fifty-seven antennas. A six-channel stereo system. Two hundred and thirty-eight miles of wiring. A crew of twenty-three. Their quarters are above us. Here, I know that Tess doesn't smoke, and Lieutenant Craig, my researchers tell me you wisely gave it up, although I can still hear the congestion in your lungs, but as souvenirs, why don't you take these?'

  Tess gasped and stared down at a packet of matches. They were labelled ABOARD AIR FORCE TWO. As well, she received napkins, memo pads, and playing cards with the same inscription.

  'I don't know what to say.' Craig shook his head with apparent gratitude. 'I'm honored. I've never been much for collecting souvenirs, but I'll treasure these.' He pocketed the objects.

  The next instant, he abruptly swung his attention toward the increasing shriek of the jet's four engines.

  'It seems that we're about ready,' Gerrard said.

  A servant took their glasses.

  'Your attention, please,' a voice said through the intercom. 'We're cleared for take-off. All passengers be seated.'

  Ten seconds later, the Secret Service agents as well as Gerrard's aides came through the aft door, chose seats, and buckled themselves securely.

  Tess and Craig did the same.

  'I usually stay in my cabin during take-off, but with the two of you on board, it's a special occasion. If you'll allow me.' Gerrard took a seat beside them. As a flight attendant explained the exits and the escape procedures for this Boeing 747, the vice president leaned toward Tess.

  'Obviously you're curious,' he said. 'Why did I send for you? You must be wondering, Why are you here, en route to Spain?'

  Tess resisted the drop in her stomach as Air Force Two moved smoothly across the tarmac toward the take-off strip. She knew that the jet's special shielding prevented Father Baldwin from hearing the transmission from the miniature radio built into the heel of one of her shoes. All the same, she had to know.

  'That's right, Alan. What are we doing here?'

  The jet reached the runway, its four engines gaining power, roaring now instead of shrieking, propelling the aircraft with such force that Tess was shoved back against her seat.

  At once the nose tilted toward the sky. Now the pressure Tess felt was downward again as the 747 gained altitude. At the same time, from beneath the fuselage, she heard a whir and thump as the wheels retracted into the wings and undercarriage. Craig had the window seat, but Tess was able, by leaning across him, to peer out. Amazingly soon, the lights of Andrews Air Force Base became glowing specks far below. Cities blazed to the right and left. Then the night enveloped the aircraft.

  'The reason I'm here,' Gerrard said, 'the reason I'm flying to Spain is that the Spanish president died this morning. A heart attack. A tragic loss not only to Spain but the European Economic Community. I'm being sent as America's official representative at the funeral. But you and Lieutenant Craig are here because I can't think of any place safer for you than aboard this plane. If Air Force Two can survive a nuclear war, the two of you certainly don't need to worry about being attacked while you're with me. All these Secret Service agents - I've instructed them to make sure you're not harmed. Until we sort out this mess, your protection is guaranteed.'

  The logic was attractive. If Tess hadn't felt ambivalent toward Gerrard, if she hadn't been worried that he was an enemy, her fears would have been subdued. In theory, in the present circumstances, she was absolutely protected, as safe as possible.

  'Since your mother's home was attacked last night,' Gerrard said, 'I've had my investigators working overtime. I've learned about the death of your friend in Manhattan last Saturday night. Burned.' He shook his head, appalled. 'I've also learned that you and Lieutenant Craig have been trying to determine why he was killed.'

  Tess debated, then nodded in agreement.

  Gerrard continued, 'You flew to Washington to see your mother in Alexandria yesterday evening, which makes me suspect that you planned to use your father's contacts to help you investigate, and which in turn also makes me suspect that the attack on your mother's house and the attack on your friend are related, that you're the common denominator. More, I believe that Brian Hamilton's death has something to do with this. My investigators found out from his secretary that you called Brian at his office yesterday and that he missed a reception for the Soviet ambassador last night so he could visit your mother - translation, to visit you. After you spoke with Brian, he was killed in a freeway accident while en route to see the FBI director. I know that Brian phoned from his car and asked for that appointment because the FBI director told Kenneth Madden at Arlington Cemetery this afternoon, and Madden later told me. Finally an attack similar to the one at your mother's house occurred in Washington this afternoon. The owners of the house are missing, but one of them, Professor Richard Harding, taught you art history at Georgetown University. Again you're the common denominator. The coincidence troubles me. Were you there, Tess? No, don't look away. This is too important. Tell me. Be honest. Were you at Professor Harding's home this afternoon?'

  Tess slowly, reluctantly, nodded again, inwardly flinching at the memory of the nightmare.

  'The pattern is obvious. Tess, to be blunt, who's so desperate to kill you and in the process to kill the people you've recently contacted? Why ? It almost makes me nervous to be in touch with you myself.' Gerrard's latter remark was obviously somewhat exaggerated, given the presence of the Secret Service. No matter. The vice president continued to look intense.

  'Your investigators are very thorough, Alan.'

  'That's why they work for me. They're the best.'

  'Then maybe they've figured out why I'm in danger.'

  'No. Otherwise I wouldn't be asking you. Is it the heretics? Do they want to kill you?'

  Tess felt her cheeks turn pale. 'The heretics.?'

  She hadn't expected.

  She couldn't believe.

  Straining to keep her breathing steady, she managed only to stare.

  'Your friend who was burned in Manhattan? My investigators conducted an in-depth background check. He was a heretic,' Gerrard said. 'We've known about them for some time. At first, there were merely rumors. International gossip. But then a pattern began to be evident. Unusual diplomatic decisions. Puzzling changes in the policy of foreign nations, especially in Europe. Assassinations. Unexpected deaths of foreign diplomats, perhaps even the death of the Spanish president. Something - we don't know what - is happening. Blackmail. Extortion. Votes are controlled. Politicians are subjected to irresistible pressure. Major industries are afraid because several top executives have been murdered. It's not the Soviets. That system's collapsing. It's something else. A new threat looms now that the cold war seems to be over. All because of a group of fanatics who somehow survived from the Middle Ages and decided to preserve their religious theories by disguising themselves and burrowing into the mainstream of international corporations and major governments. We have trouble identifying the heretics - they've had centuries of practise in hiding - but we recognize their trail, and we know that they're determined to destroy both democracy and capitalism. They might be a greater thr
eat than the Soviets - whom I still think are raising a smoke screen and trying to conceal their true aggressive intentions - ever were.'

  'The Evil Empire,' Tess said. The Reagan administration was obsessed with that idea. Don't tell me this administration also believes that the Soviets-'

  To hell with the Soviets. For all I know, I'm wrong to think they're trying to deceive us. It could be that the heretics have taken charge over there and are responsible for the downfall of the Communist Party. What I'm talking about is-'

  With a mighty thrust, then a slight change of tone from the engines, Air Force Two stopped rising, settled, and maintained a level altitude.