by AJ Tata
Peyton sped the Sherpa along the centerline of the runway, tracers screaming past the fuselage and disappearing into the darkness beyond.
“It’s tough to hit a moving target,” she said under a forced breath, voicing more of a hope than a fact.
“You did pretty well back there with the admiral,” Matt said.
“Yeah, but I’m an expert marksman. Shot expert in basic,” she said.
Bullets were pinging off the Sherpa as they began to gain altitude. Suddenly they felt a shudder and heard an explosion to their rear that ricocheted through the cockpit.
“What the hell was that?” Matt said, hoping they had not elevated too early and hit the roof of the shell.
He looked back and saw the Chinese sailors running from a fireball that had blown off the doors of the stairwell and was seeking the oxygen of the bow opening.
“Fireball moving this way. Step on it, Peyton. Step on it!”
“I’m full throttle,” she said, focused ahead. The plane began to lift again.
“Not yet!” Matt shouted. “We’ve got a roof over our head.”
“Damn it, I’m doing the best I can,” she said, wrestling with the controls.
“Okay, here it comes,” Matt said.
“I’ve got it!”
Matt watched as she pushed forward on the controls to fight the aircraft’s natural tendency to lift at these speeds. As they approached the bow opening, Matt saw the fireball on their tail and then, looking skyward, something that made his heart stop.
“What the hell . . . ?” Matt yelled.
“Don’t say that. We’re almost there,” she said. The Sherpa popped into the clear. Matt watched the incoming missile as Peyton pulled back on the steering column, providing maximum lift to the light airplane at the same time it shot from the elevated bow. The billowing flames reached out for them, licking at the tail of the Sherpa as the Maverick screamed past them at supersonic speed, slamming into the bow of the ship.
Peyton struggled against the turbulence created by the second explosion.
“What was that?” Peyton shouted.
Matt looked to the rear as Peyton fought to keep the Sherpa above the waters of the Chesapeake.
“You don’t want to know. Keep flying this mother,” Matt said.
Peyton stayed low, fighting the airplane, pulling back on the controls and trying to cut the trim at the same time. “Are we okay?”
“I think so. How are your flaps? Flaps okay?” Matt said.
“This piece of junk doesn’t have flaps!” Peyton shouted.
Suddenly she leveled it about thirty feet above the water. Peyton found the right combination of speed, altitude, lift, and pitch, and there it was.
They flew for another few seconds.
“Okay, okay, we’re good to go,” Matt said. “I’m going to put on the headset and try to make comms with somebody, because I’m sure anything that flies will get shot down quickly. Then I’ll check on Zachary.” He cast a glance at his brother, who he could see was breathing, eyes heavy with sedation, barely conscious. Then he looked down at Ballantine, who was a sharp contrast to Zachary.
He was dead.
“Fine, but where do you want me to go?” Peyton asked.
“Head up the Chesapeake Bay to the north. I think we’ve got one more bad guy to get before this thing is over.”
“Hellerman?”
“Right. Hellerman,” he said.
“If you say so, but this could get interesting,” she said.
Matt looked at her. “Get?”
Peyton paused. “Well, I guess, it’s already pretty interesting.”
He put the headset on and began to conduct radio checks.
Chapter 61
MH-60 over Chesapeake Bay
“Great shot, Tomcat one six,” Rampert said.
“Hey, sir, you see that?” Hobart said, pointing.
Rampert looked where Hobart’s finger was directing his attention. He saw a small airplane just beat Tomcat one six’s Maverick missile into the bow of the ship. They watched the airplane wobble in the wash of the explosion and dive toward the water, then recover and dive again until it finally leveled out.
“That’s Ballantine,” Rampert said.
“Roger that. We can’t let him escape.”
“Radar control, this is Delta six. I need you to track a small white airplane flying low over Chesapeake Bay near the Fong Hou.”
“Wait one.”
“Standing by.”
“Roger, Delta six, we’ve got a small single-engine aircraft doing about 150 miles an hour banking north up the Chesapeake Bay. We will continue to track, but the signal is very weak. If it slows down, we might lose it.”
“Roger. Continue to track. Let me know if you lose it.” Rampert switched to intercom and looked at Hobart. “How long until the F-15s are available?”
“They’ll have two F-15s airborne in twenty-five minutes, loaded with Mavericks and chain guns,” Hobart said.
“Good. We’ll send Tomcat one six after the Predator and launch the F-15s after Ballantine’s Sherpa with instructions to destroy on contact. Radar control should be able to vector them in quickly.”
“Sir, you sure you want to do that?”
“No option. If Tomcat one six doesn’t go now, he’ll be too late. There’s about thirty minutes of flight time left before the Predator hits the command center. It’s an hour flight for the Sherpa up to D.C. We have to take the chance. It’s been on-again and off-again on the radar. We have to get it now.”
“Roger. I agree,” Hobart said.
Rampert looked at the burning hulk of the Fong Hou. Two missiles had destroyed it, but there was still one rogue nuke heading toward Fort Bragg and one Sherpa loaded with bad intentions heading to the nation’s Capitol.
Still, he wasn’t convinced that this was everything the bad guys had to offer.
Chapter 62
Chesapeake Bay
“Good job back there, Peyton,” Matt said.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Keep trying to make contact. I’m going to check on Zachary. Stay low. Don’t get over 500 feet above ground level.”
“You know they probably think we’re Ballantine, going to attack the Capitol,” Peyton said.
“I know, but if we don’t stop Hellerman, he’ll get away with this. And that is totally unacceptable.”
“I agree, but if we get shot down in the process, then he’ll definitely get away with it,” Peyton said.
“You have the tape, right?” Matt asked.
“I thought you had it,” she said, forcing a smile. She reached into her bra and pulled out the small cassette tape.
“Double Top Secret hiding place?”
She managed a weak smile.
“Yeah, he would have never thought to look there.” Matt grinned, stepping over Ballantine.
He bent down on one knee and placed his hand against Zachary’s neck. He felt a steady, strong pulse. “He’s okay,” Matt said.
“I’m glad,” Peyton said, softly.
“Zachary, can you hear me?” Matt asked.
“What . . . ?” He struggled to open his eyes. “Matt . . . ? Where you been?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Zachary said. “I’m okay, Matt.”
Matt held back a wave of emotions. It had been nearly a year since he thought he had lost his brother. In between kicking himself and mourning his brother’s death, he had rendered himself dysfunctional. Now Zachary was safe. They were safe.
Well, almost, Matt figured. Even if something were to happen to them in the next few hours, he would cherish those words, I’m okay, Matt.
Matt ran his hand along his brother’s face.
“Thanks, man. You did great.” Zachary’s voice was weak but clear.
Matt pulled the knife from Ballantine’s chest and cut the ropes on Zachary’s wrists, then unscrewed the shackles on his legs, rubbing each area to get the circulation back
.
“But it’s not over.” Zachary turned his head to the rear of the airplane.
Matt stopped what he was doing and followed Zachary’s gaze.
“It’s a nuke.” Zachary’s voice was clear.
Matt’s heart froze. He could see a small timer with flashing red letters counting down from thirty-five minutes. Now thirty-four minutes and fifty-nine seconds.
“Peyton?” Matt said.
“Yes?”
“Where are we, and how long until we get to Hellerman’s Middleburg mansion?”
“We’re over Tappahannock right now and about thirty minutes out,” she said. “Why?”
“How long would it take us to get out to the Atlantic Ocean?”
“About the same amount of time,” she said. “What’s up?”
He looked at Zachary, who met his gaze. “We need to de-rig that thing, man, or drop it over the ocean.”
Matt inspected the black box. Whoever had installed the bomb did so by drilling screws into the floorboard of the airplane and countersinking them through the housing of the bomb. Three-and-a-half-inch screws locked down each side of the box.
“If we dump it, we dump with it. This thing ain’t going anywhere this plane doesn’t go,” Matt said.
Zachary looked at him with a clear countenance. “If that’s what we have to do, that’s what we do, Matt.”
“It’s not what we have to do. I’ll de-rig it. We can have somebody talk us through this.”
“If you don’t make comms in a couple of minutes, I want you to take us out to sea, Matt. And I mean it,” Zachary said.
Matt momentarily wished his brother were a bit more drugged.
“I’ve got him, I’ve got him!” Peyton waved her hand.
“Who, who do you have?”
“It’s some radar control guy at Oceana.”
Matt scrambled to the front seat and grabbed the headset from Peyton.
“What’s going on back there?” she asked.
“Oh, that. There’s a live nuke on board, that’s all.”
She stared at him for a moment in disbelief and then said, “Well, it finally got interesting.”
“Radar control, this is Matt Garrett.”
“Matt Garrett, this is radar control. State type of aircraft and intentions.”
“This is Matt Garrett flying in Ballantine’s Sherpa aircraft. We just launched from the deck of the Fong Hou about forty minutes ago. We are headed to a small dirt airfield in northwestern Virginia for a landing.”
“I am tracking your aircraft. Stand by.”
“Two other things you need to know about this aircraft are that we have Ballantine on board. He is dead. And there is a live nuke on board.”
“A live nuke?”
“Yes. I need you to contact Colonel Jack Rampert and get a bomb specialist to talk me through neutralizing this thing. We have thirty minutes.”
“I have communications with Colonel Rampert. Stand by.”
Matt felt a surge of hope.
“Matt,” Zachary said, sitting up. “If we can’t shut it down, I’m telling you we need to turn east and get over the water.”
Peyton looked over her shoulder at the man that had been Matt’s obsession for the past year. She understood what Matt had been going through, having lost her parents when she was younger. And now, hearing Zachary tell his younger brother that they both might need to die to serve the greater good was about all she could handle. She was a tough woman, but she was a sap for nobility. She didn’t know Zachary well, but she did know Matt, and she would set the plane on a course for a remote portion of the Blue Ridge.
Matt felt the plane bank just a bit. “What are you doing?” he said to Peyton.
She looked at him. “You know exactly what I’m doing.”
They locked eyes for a long moment, each reflecting on the dynamics occurring on many different levels. Matt and Zachary. Peyton and Matt. The nuke. The right thing to do. Hellerman.
How would it all end, Matt wondered, waiting for radar control to contact him again.
As they waited, the hum of the plane’s engine droned along, Peyton steering the Sherpa on a new azimuth that would give her the option of getting them over the Chesapeake.
Just in case.
Chapter 63
Middleburg, Virginia
“Sir, we’ve got Ballantine’s Sherpa flying north right here,” Zeke Jeremiah said, pointing at a large map of Virginia, his finger touching an area just northwest of Fredericksburg, Virginia. “And there’s a Predator armed with a nuclear device, we believe, about fifteen minutes out from Fort Bragg, just south of Raleigh, North Carolina, down here.” Zeke’s long, black finger circled an area on a North Carolina map about fifty miles north of Fort Bragg. “They both have primitive stealth technology, but we are getting intermittent signals. This is why we never tracked Ballantine coming out of Canada.”
Vice President Hellerman stood staring at the maps. Jock Evans tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a phone.
The operations center was a humming machine of activity. At least thirty staffers were manning phones, fax machines, and computers. They updated slides and moved markers on maps. There was a high level of noise that accompanied the activity, allowing Hellerman to take this phone call directly in the middle of the command center.
Bandit’s voice was firm. “Rawlings, I’ve got the pictures and hard drive. Miss Morris will not be joining us. It appears she had a falling out with a lover. Out.”
The vice president flipped the phone shut and pursed his lips. A huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The pictures and his hard drive were on their way back to him, Meredith was no longer an issue, and now he might have Ballantine flying to his airfield to deliver the tape. Pretty ballsy move, Hellerman thought, but things are way out of control. The question was, should he just order the Air Force to shoot down the Sherpa and destroy everything that could implicate him? That was probably a good idea, he surmised.
“Zeke, get me the secretary of defense up on VTC,” he said, turning toward the video teleconferencing camera next to the operations map.
“Roger, sir. He’s up,” Jeremiah said, pointing at the screen.
“Secretary Stone, can you hear me?” Hellerman said into the camera, looking at the screen that was projecting the secretary of defense and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
“Yes, Mr. Vice President, go ahead.”
“The president is monitoring from his quarters right now, and I have control. I am going to take control of the F-15s coming out of Langley. Are they ready to go?”
Hellerman watched as Stone traded curious looks with Shepanski, then turned back to the camera.
“Mr. Vice President, right now Langley has launched a flight of two F-15 Eagles with a mission of finding the Sherpa airplane in which we believe Ballantine is traveling. Their communications are with Colonel Jack Rampert, the special operations commander. He is controlling the operation.”
“Yes, Mr. Stone, let me say this a different way. That Sherpa is bearing down on my location. I will best be able to direct the F-15s, not Jack Rampert hovering over Chesapeake Bay. So switch command of the aircraft to me immediately. Do you understand that this is an order and not a request?”
After another exchange of looks with Shepanski, Stone turned to the vice president and said, “Yes, sir. The F-15s are on UHF frequency two-zero-five-two. Call signs are Eagle six and Eagle five. They are armed with four AIM-120 missiles and 20mm machine guns. They are under your operational control.”
Hellerman clicked the remote, muting their conversation, and turned to Jeremiah. “Get me Eagle six and five up on the UHF net.”
Within a minute, Jeremiah gave the radio handset to Hellerman, saying, “Here you go, sir.”
“Eagle six, this is the vice president. Over.”
“Vice President, this is Eagle six. We are a flight of two F-15s currently on afterburners moving to locate a Sherpa with new instructions to o
bserve and monitor.”
Hellerman looked at Jeremiah, who shrugged his shoulders.
“Your instructions are to destroy the Sherpa,” the vice president said into the radio handset.
“Negative. Prior to being moved to your control, we were told friendlies are on board the Sherpa. We are in monitor mode.”
Hellerman looked at Jeremiah again and said, “Call Rampert and find out what the hell is going on, what kind of games he’s playing.”
“This is Eagle six. Also, was told that a nuclear bomb is on board the aircraft, and we are to avoid firing at all costs.”
“Eagle six, you are under my operational control, and you will take all orders from me. Do you understand?”
“This is Eagle six. Roger. I understand that I will follow all lawful orders you give me.”
Smart ass, Hellerman thought to himself.
“What have you got from Rampert?” Hellerman asked Zeke.
“Sir, can’t reach Rampert, but Oceana radar control said he talked to one of the people on board, and the rumor is, get this, Matt Garrett is on board.”
The noise level in the operations center quickly wound down, and muted television monitors flashed off the dumbfounded faces of the operations crew.
“I say again, Matt Garrett might be on board the Sherpa.”
Hellerman looked stunned. He had assumed Matt and Zachary Garrett had both perished. The news that the pictures had been retrieved and that Meredith had been killed was welcome. His only concern now was the tape, the last remaining shred of evidence that could be used against him.
Ballantine had played the tape for him one day over the phone and then had sent him a copy during the early months of Desert Shield. He remembered listening to it and recoiling at the sound of his voice, so very clear and convincing, talking with May Sandford, the U.S. ambassador to Iraq at the time. It was clear evidence of conspiracy thirteen years ago. It would only circumstantially contribute to a case made regarding today’s activities. He doubted, until now, that there was anyone who could implicate him in any foul play.
But now he had Matt Garrett out there, the man that Ballantine should have killed several days ago. That was the deal, to get Matt Garrett up to Lake Moncrief so that Ballantine could kill him. In trade, Ballantine would provide Hellerman the original tape. It seemed like good sport, and Hellerman benefited from Ballantine’s organization of attacks on the country.