by Tom Hansen
As Norma turned away to protect the baby, Sheryl wagged a forefinger at her. “That child of yours. Well, there’s something you should know. Brett -” Sheryl stopped suddenly while everyone waited on pins and needles to hear what she was going to say.
Not telling Norma the truth would be Sheryl’s revenge.
CHAPTER 88
Monday, March 15, 1982
4:00 p.m.
C IA Director Bill Knutson vacillated for some time, but made the decision at 4:00 p.m. to reveal Classified File Number 6441 to President Layman and his lead administrative team. The executives and the Joint Chiefs of Staff were in a frantic and frenzied emergency meeting in the War Room at the White House. In 1972, President Richard Nixon had boldly handwritten the words Top Secret (CIA Director’s Eyes Only!) on the file and affixed the gold presidential seal. It was to be distributed to high ranking personnel only in the event of a “dire threat to national security.” Knutson had already shared the file with Secretary of Defense Carlyle Liston to ensure the file’s perpetuity in the event of Knutson’s death.
“Bill,” said the president in a serious tone as he opened the meeting with no greetings or salutations. “You have something to say before we begin?”
“Yes, Mr. President. I am holding a top secret document that has been locked in the CIA director’s desk since Richard Nixon gave it to Director Richard Combs back in 1972. None of the subsequent directors have revealed its contents until I shared it with Carlyle a few months ago.”
“Well, get on with it, Bill, we have little time to waste,” inserted Layman.
“Do you all remember NFL football player Bo Yardly?” Every one of the Joint Chiefs and top aides were obviously big fans of the pigskin, as was the president. They all nodded eagerly, reminiscing in their minds the touted running back out of Alabama.
“Sure we do,” responded Secretary of State Walter Cletes. “He was killed in Nam. Pretty sad loss for sports fans.”
“He’s alive, Walt. And working for us.” The words landed with a thud on the ears of all those listening. Everyone was in a state of shock and disbelief. “His death was faked in order to transfer him into a special operations force that would seek out and destroy corruption in our own department. There are three men in that clandestine task force who spent the last ten years probing and scrutinizing malfeasance within the CIA. To their families and friends, they are dead. It’s a long story that I will tell you all about later, but for now I need to get to the nuts and bolts of this file. I believe it could affect what we all decide in the next few minutes.”
“Get on with it, Bill,” urged the president.
“Bo and his team were provided an F-4 Phantom fighter jet and a Huey chopper to have at their disposal. They carried presidential orders allowing them to refuel and stock up on ammunition at naval air bases throughout the world, and the billing would go straight to the CIA director himself. Imbedded into their radar tracking system was a clearance code giving them carte blanche access to worldwide air space, both in the United States and that of our allies around the globe. The fighter jet and chopper have a tracking beacon so we know where they are at all times. Both are currently sitting at the Gainesville Municipal Airport in Florida.”
Director Knutson paused for a moment so others could begin to understand where he was going with this. “Coincidence, perhaps, that Bo’s task force would be in Gainesville at the same time the University of Florida campus gets destroyed? I seriously doubt that. Carlyle and I both believe Bo had been tracking Harfield and was close to disposing of him and revealing his mission when Harfield accelerated his plan.”
“So you think Bo’s team could help us?” asked Cletes.
“I know you’ve stated that we won’t negotiate,
Mr. President, so I think Bo could be a viable option. I suggest before we make any further decisions today that we locate him and find out what he knows.”
Just then, the door to the War Room opened and General Ross Clifton entered with a folded piece of paper between his fingers. He apologized for interrupting, walked over to Director Knutson and handed him the note. “Sorry, sir,” whispered Clifton to Knutson, then walked back out. All eyes were on the CIA director while he opened the paper and read it.
“We won’t need to locate Bo Yardly,” stated Knutson. “Seems he has located us. He’s on hold on the phone over at my office.”
“Patch him through to the War Room,” ordered President Layman. “Make it quick!”
* * * * *
For one hour, Bo briefed the president’s cabinet with key details of Oliver’s masterplan and his involvement for the past decade. When grilled by Walter Cletes on why he hadn’t come forth to authorities earlier, Bo explained his orders from President Nixon had specified that his special ops team of three was to take all measures necessary to liberate America from any dangers posed by CIA corruption, and then to terminate all persons involved in such perilous activities. Nixon was very blunt when he told Bo off the record, “Spare American taxpayers the cost of lengthy courtroom trials for any bastards you catch red-handed.” The ops team was ready to take out Harfield when the bomb went off in Gainesville.
Before Defense Secretary Liston could call Kitsap Naval Base, word came from his office that the USS Halibut had been commandeered by unauthorized personnel led by Admiral Inman and had entered the Puget Sound. There was confirmation that two nuclear long-range missiles were on board. Liston ordered all available ships to follow the sub, but not to take any measures to stop or detain it. He didn’t want a nuclear explosion ripping across the Pacific Northwest. But Admiral Inman had given all his unsuspecting sailors stationed at Kitsap a three-day shore leave, leaving the base staffed with only military police and the officer who was second in charge. When he sliced the throat of that officer, the entire unit of MP’s were in a state of chaos. Trying to get a fleet deployed to chase the sub would be impossible.
Bo knew the USS Halibut would be in the Pacific Ocean within an hour and then cruise undetected in deep waters. Timing was now at a critical stage and Bo wished he had completed the mission on his own and not involved the president. It was now five in the afternoon in our nation’s capital.
“Do we evacuate Los Angeles and Washington, Mr. President?” asked Chief of Staff Brubaker.
“First we need to ground all air traffic,” inserted Vice President Matthews. “That’s a no brainer.”
Layman paused for a few moments and looked closely at the stupefied faces of each man in the room. The air was thick and all showed deep concern as reality set in. His next decision would determine his presidential legacy.
The choice to alarm or not alarm American citizens weighed deeply on each of their minds. Panicking a nation of 232 million people by grounding air traffic was one thing, but the inevitable trauma caused by the evacuation of two major cities would be even worse. It could lead to unnecessary casualties as people trampled over one another to get out of Los Angeles and Washington. The other option was to pay the ransom, but trying to keep that secret from the American public would be impossible.
Although Bo could not see what was happening in the War Room, he could hear and feel the tension through the telephone lines. So many times in his football career at a critical point in a game Bo would enter the huddle and ask for the ball on the next play. Now it was his time to take the ball and run with it for his country.
“Gentlemen, I have a solution for you,” announced Bo over the speakerphone. “I’m standing next to a fully loaded F-4 Phantom fighter jet. My orders from President Nixon are still in effect and I need no permission, but I would like your blessings. Mr. President, members of the cabinet, I am going to take out the Halibut myself.”
* * * * *
“Bo, the ammunition aboard the F-4 cannot penetrate ocean water at a velocity needed to do any damage to the sub,” said Barney Watkins. He and Ben Smith were both Air Force majors who were selected to the special operations team of three along with Bo.
&nbs
p; “I think he knows that,” stated Ben, then looked at Bo. “What’s our plan, Buddy?”
“I need you and Barney to fly these folks back to Seminole Bend in the chopper,” said Bo as he motioned to Willy, Tyrus and the others who were listening intently inside the hangar. “Then take out Jackson’s ranch. They must be heading back there because they know we’ve got the Homestead base swarming with Fibbies. Roy’s office is next to the barn. Light it up good, but be careful. There’s two teenagers living in the house. They’re innocent.”
“You need someone in the second seat of the F-4 running radar navigational guidance,” stated Barney bluntly. “Ben can handle the Huey by himself. I’m going with you.”
“No, Barn, I’ve got a different idea. I’m in charge and you’re to go with Ben. That’s an order, friend.” Ben and Barney looked at each other with a deep level of concern that was easily detected by all the rest.
“I’ll go with you then, Bo,” stated Tyrus. “You need some company up there.”
“You need to go back to Seminole Bend and be with Abby and your son, Ty. It’s been way too long. You and Willy need to do some fishing too. Now, I don’t want no arguments, you hear me?” Bo’s voice was cracking and moisture was clouding up his eyes.
Willy knew his best friend well enough to know there was nothing he could say that would change Bo’s mind either. He stepped at him and embraced him with all his might. Bo responded in kind. The tendons and tissues from those four biceps could lift an elephant! Finally, Bo broke first and pushed his friend gently backwards. “It’s time to go.” He then saluted and walked up the portable steps to the cockpit.
The F-4 Phantom was airborne and out of sight within minutes. Flying twice the speed of sound, Bo would reach the Strait of Juan de Fuca as the sun was setting over the Pacific Ocean. However, the sonic boom blast emitted by the fighter jet was muted by the sounds of fire engines and ambulances circling the city of Gainesville.
Meanwhile, President Layman decided he would wait to see if Bo was successful in his mission before making a pronouncement that would put America in a state of hysteria and fear. The fate of the nation now rested in the hands of Seminole Bend’s gridiron hero.
CHAPTER 89
Monday, March 15, 1982
5:15 p.m.
F ollowing a plane crash, the flying public is hesitant to board an aircraft, especially in a city where the last major aviation disaster just occurred the previous week. It’s human nature, no matter how brave the appearance of the seasoned traveler seems to be. Pending the outcome of the initial investigation into the Heartland Lakes and Sky Tropic Airways midair collision, Tampa International Airport had shut down operations. Today, the NTSB lead investigator, Jake Tassett, had given the thumbs up for flights to start again. The first flight would be Coastal East 561 departing at 5:55 p.m. That flight along with every other one leaving tonight from Tampa had a big list of cancellations. Seems this evening most people would rather drive seven hours to Atlanta where they would have complete control of their Ford or Chevy cockpit.
Jake Tassett met the customers that decided to brave the airways, mainly businessmen who needed a good night’s rest before their early morning meeting, at Gate 14A. He said he would personally check out the cockpit and controls to ensure everything was in proper working order. Then he boarded the aircraft to make sure Connor Herman had the video, remote receiver and jammer installed correctly. Connor and his twin brother, Casey, had maintained and repaired satellite equipment for NASA’s Space Shuttle missions until one night at a Titusville bar they got drunk and beat up two astronauts in training. A short time later they needed a job and Jack Tassett needed them. Jack opened a duffle bag with $200,000 inside in various denominations and explained what their job description would be if they accepted his offer. He would fly them to various airports to rig up the videos, remote receivers and jammers, and then pay them very handsomely for doing so. Connor and Casey never knew it, but had they turned down this incredible opportunity, they would have found eternal rest and peace in the dented dumpster out back.
WTSP was the highest rated local news channel in Florida, with in-depth coverage stretching from Tallahassee to Naples. The station’s newest reporter was Dustin Royce, a recent graduate of Florida State University’s School of Communications. His first assignment was to cover the reopening of Tampa International Airport following the midair collision last week.
“The National Transportation Safety Board’s lead investigator, Jake Tassett, has assured restless travelers that it’s safe to take to the skies again following the disaster over Lake Okeechobee last Wednesday. As you just heard, Mr. Tassett will personally perform a preflight check on Coastal East 561 here at Gate 14A. Flight 561 is the first flight out of Tampa since the shutdown, and Tassett wants to demonstrate the serious nature that the NTSB takes when it comes to ensuring safety for all passenger planes within America’s air space. The Coastal East flight is scheduled to depart in a few minutes. Let’s ask a passenger here at the gate his feelings about flying tonight.
“Excuse me sir, are you feeling any apprehension about boarding tonight’s flight in the wake of two midair collisions in the past month?”
“Not at all, son,” replied Ed Knowles, a senior executive for Florida Sugar Company. “I fly in and out of Atlanta every week to visit our biggest client, Coca Cola, and I can tell you after driving down the I-75 speedway that flying is still the safest form of travel.”
“Well, there you have it,” concluded Dustin as he turned to face the camera. “Reporting live for WTSP from Tampa International Airport, I’m Dustin Royce.”
Meanwhile, back at police headquarters in Gainesville Agent Tecka had just arrived on an FBI helicopter from Homestead where his colleagues were still gathering evidence from Governor Daughtry’s vacation home. In the conference room, the FBI and police were laying out a strategic plan of action to investigate the campus bombing. WTSP was being broadcast on a thirty-two-inch television in the corner of the meeting room. Police in many cities monitored news events in order to pick up leads in unsolved cases. Agent Tecka noticed the live feed coming from the Tampa airport and he rose from his seat as if he had just sat on a tack.
“Jack, look!” said Tecka as he pointed to the screen.
Agent Jones glanced over to the television, then quickly got out of his chair and walked over to the corner. “Well, I’ll be damned. There’s Jake Tassett. We’ve got an APB out on him all over the country and instead he miraculously appears right before us!”
“Jack, that flight. Coastal East 561. He said he’s ‘personally’ going to prepare the preflight check. I don’t like this.”
“That’s it, Tom! He’s rigged the flight deck. We can’t let that plane leave the ground! Get on the phone to FBI headquarters in Tampa. Now!”
Everyone in the room sat in stunned silence. The police had not been briefed on Oliver Harfield’s masterplan, but they could infer from Jones’ and Tecka’s conversation that another jet was in imminent danger and that the NTSB’s chief investigator was involved.
While Tecka was calling the Tampa FBI headquarters, Agent Jones was calling the head of operations at Tampa Saint Pete airport. He was waiting very impatiently on hold, pounding his fist on the desk. “Come on, damn it! Pick up!”
At six o’clock, Operations Supervisor John Duerty answered. “John Duerty. How may I help you?”
“Mr. Duerty, this is Agent Jack Jones of the FBI. I need you to ground Coastal East 561 immediately. The flight is in grave danger!”
“What? Grave danger? What do you mean? The flight rolled back five minutes ago. It should be airborne any minute now.”
“Call the tower! Stop it from taking off!” Just then an enormous cheer could be heard in the background. All airport employees were whooping and hollering, celebrating things finally getting back to normal in their workplace. Coastal East 561 had just lifted off.
“Sorry, Jones, but the flight is airborne. And I don’t have the author
ity to bring it back. Once in flight, only the FAA can do that.”
Frantically, Jones pulled out a piece of scrap paper from the wastebasket under the desk. “Please check who performed or signed off on any maintenance to Coastal East 561 the past few days.”
“That will take a few minutes. I need to pull the file in the next room.”
“I can wait. Please hurry!” While on hold, Jones yelled across the room to Agent Tecka who had just hung up his call to the Tampa FBI. “Tom, call the FAA. Fill them in so they can notify the pilot. Fast, please!”
Five minutes later, Duerty came back on the line. “Well, this is strange, Mr. Jones, very strange.”
“What is it, Duerty?!”
“Normally, Coastal East has a maintenance supervisor that signs off on all their jets. But this time an NTSB employee gave the okay. His name is Connor Herman.” Agent Jones scribbled the name on the scrap of paper, thanked Duerty and hung up.
A Gainesville police sergeant typed the name Connor Herman into the computer database and within seconds his picture appeared on the screen. Below the picture was a brief bio and a statement that caused Agent Jones to pound his fist through the thin sheetrock wall in front of him:
Connor Herman was arrested and booked on two charges of assault and one disorderly conduct. Charges dropped at the request of National Transportation Safety Board Chief, Jake Tassett.
CHAPTER 90
Monday, March 15, 1982