by S. L. Menear
“Right, we’ll hide behind the aft airstairs while Sam and Carlene trick the guards and the rest of our group waits up here.” Jack checked his pistol and holstered it.
Lance looked at Carlene. “Are you sure you can pull the trigger? Have you ever shot anyone?”
“I shot my first husband when I caught him humpin’ Becky Sue Harper. Probably would’ve killed him if the damn Glock hadn’t jammed. Never seen anybody run so fast with a bullet in his ass.” Carlene racked the slide on her sidearm and stuck it in her pants in the small of her back.
“Let’s get moving. If they close the airstairs before we get in position, it’ll be game over.” I checked my pistol and shoved it in my jeans. “Show time.”
I rushed down the mountain with Carlene and the men following me.
Ross landed in the hot-spring pool and swam to the ledge. He pulled himself out of the water and watched as his seven soldiers dropped in and swam to him.
“Right, lads, everyone good to go?”
“Aye,” they said in unison.
Energy-bar wrappers, orange peels, apple cores, wet tissues, and other trash littered the wide ledge. Ross found a gold bracelet with INGA engraved on it.
“We’re close, lads! A flight attendant from Sam’s crew was here recently with several people.” He held up Inga’s bracelet. “We’ll need a bright light to locate the exit. Switch off night vision before I light the flare.” Ross pulled a flare from his pack. “Lighting flare now.”
Solid rock stood before them.
The team searched for a gold symbol or signs of a door.
“Ross, I found something.” Derek stood where the rock walls met at right angles.
Ross jogged over to the far end of the ledge. Derek pointed at the barrel of a weapon sticking out of the corner joint. Smoke from the flare flowed through the tiny opening in the rock.
“Somebody dropped a weapon right when the door closed. Either the tour group has weapons, or they’re prisoners of armed kidnappers,” Derek said.
“If the tour group escaped with weapons, they might shoot at us before they realize we’re here to rescue them. So, as much as you might like to shoot Sam, don’t. She’ll stand down when she hears my voice.”
The men chuckled.
The team placed explosives on the rock door, took cover at the far end of the ledge, and detonated the charges. When the smoke cleared, they entered the circular chamber. Ross recognized the images on the walls and the statues on the center pedestal.
Looks similar to the chamber under Duncan’s castle. Sam must be opening doors like her mother did.
“Ross, there’s a large gold trident set into the wall opposite where we entered.” Derek pointed at a five-foot trident.
Ross studied the room. His team couldn’t afford to waste explosives. How many stone doors remained to blow open?
“Plenty of scuff marks on the rock floor in front of the trident. This must be the door.” Ross rigged the explosives.
The team retreated to the ledge by the pool. When the dust from the explosion settled, Ross led them through the circular chamber into the passage. A few minutes later, they reached a dead end.
Ross found a gold square identical to the one near the holy spring where they had entered the mountain.
“This must be the exit, lads. Be ready for a firefight when we blow the door. Hostiles may be nearby. And remember, don’t shoot my girlfriend.”
After setting the explosives, the team retreated to the circular chamber. The rumble of exploding rock reverberated through the passage.
Ross led the team through the rubble and into the sunlight. He crouched behind boulders and waited for his vision to adjust.
Sounds like jet engines spooling up, but that can’t be happening here. My ears must be wonky from the explosions.
“Ross, there’s a jet down there. Looks like it’s about to take off.” Derek pointed at the 727.
Carlene and I had crouched behind a boulder and waited for the men to get in position under the jet behind the airstairs that descended from the tail.
Our makeup and lipstick had survived the water. We did a quick primp, brushed our hair, and left our backpacks and MP7s behind rocks.
“Do we look good enough to pull this off?” I brushed off my jeans.
“You’re not showin’ enough cleavage.” Carlene unbuttoned three of my buttons. “That’s better.”
“Thanks, now wait until we’re close before you yell for help so they can hear you over the APU.” I reached behind me to check my pistol.
A few minutes later, we stood near the aft airstairs. Lance gave us the thumbs-up signal. I took a deep breath and nodded at Carlene.
“Help! Anybody in there? We’re lost. Help!” Carlene’s high-pitched voice carried well.
Two armed men rushed down the stairs and halted with their AK-47s pointed at us. They wore turbans and looked Middle-Eastern.
“Your names? Where from?” the taller man asked in broken English.
“We’re from America. We escaped our kidnappers in Petra. Now we’re lost. Please, help us.” Carlene acted weak and dizzy.
“Water, please. Very thirsty.” I spoke in a faint voice and pretended to swoon.
With a dramatic flourish, Carlene crumpled to the ground beside me.
When the men slung their rifles over their shoulders and bent over us, we reached up and yanked them down. Off balance, they fell forward as we rolled clear. We sat on their backs and pressed our pistols against their necks.
Lance rushed forward. “Move and you die.” He pointed an MP7 at them while Carlene and I unwound their turbans.
We cut off strips for gags and used the rest to tie their hands behind their backs.
“Wait here with the prisoners while we storm the airplane.” Lance signaled Pete and Jack.
The three men ran up the airstairs with their weapons ready to fire. I heard one shot, then silence. After a few tense minutes, Jack emerged.
“Mission accomplished. I’ll guard the prisoners while you go get the others.” Jack trained his MP7 on the captives.
“Carlene, if you grab the packs and a submachine gun, I’ll climb up and fetch the rest of our group.”
We trotted to the boulder where we left our stuff, and I slung an MP7 over my shoulder.
Carlene put on her backpack and slipped her left arm through the straps on mine. She held her MP7 ready to fire. “Thanks, Sam, see you on the airplane.”
It wasn’t long before I led Inga and Rod up the airstairs. We passed eight tied-up Arabs, including the flight crew, all looking angry. I noted one man had a bleeding shoulder wound.
A few rows farther, I stared into the face of the most wanted terrorist leader in the world.
Oh damn.
Lance walked up to me. “We’ve really stepped in it this time. Even if we fly to safety, his entire terrorist organization will be out for our blood. This isn’t just their airplane. It’s their friggin’ command center, which is why our military couldn’t find it. They keep moving, dang it!”
“They won’t come after us if they don’t know we took it. We’ll land at a U.S. military base and make sure our government takes all the credit and keeps our part a secret. Are the tanks full?”
“Yep, I think we’re good for about a six-hour flight. We could make it to Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany if we can get permission to fly through the airspace of several countries on the way. What the hell do we tell the air-traffic controllers? Maybe we should land in Aqaba.”
“Do you trust an Islamic king to save us and arrest the terrorists? They were hiding in his country.” I jumped when an explosion rattled the aircraft. “Time to go. Close the airstairs. I’ll start the engines.”
On the way to the cockpit, I grabbed a satellite phone.
It took a few minutes to get all three engines running. I transferred electrical power to the number-three generator, shut down the APU, and turned off the transponder so it wouldn’t be as easy to track us.
Lance entered the cockpit. “We’ve got nine prisoners. Inga’s never held a gun before, and I’m not sure about trusting Rod. If it’s okay with you, I’ll play copilot and flight engineer so Pete can help Carlene and Jack with guard duty.” Lance grabbed the checklists.
“All right, let’s get to it. Read the after-start and before-takeoff checklists.” I released the parking brake and started taxiing.
As soon as the aircraft was ready, I picked up the mike. “Everyone sit down and buckle up. We’re taking off now.”
I pushed the throttles up, and the jet accelerated on the dry river bed.
Where the hell do we go?
As we passed two thousand feet on the climb, I hit the emergency button on my watch.
“I want to get out of the airspace belonging to Islamic countries. We’ll head for the Mediterranean Sea.” I turned west when we were high enough to clear the mountains.
“I hope nobody sends their fighters after us.” Lance scanned the sky.
The cockpit door flew open, and Pete rushed in.
“Carlene swears she saw soldiers in desert fatigues shooting at the airplane during takeoff. Couldn’t hear them with the JT9s at full power. What if the king’s protecting these terrorists?”
“Then he’ll send fighters. One missile up our ass and we’re toast.” Lance shook his head.
I glanced over my shoulder at Pete. “How would the soldiers know to shoot at us? And why would they kill men under the king’s protection? Check if a prisoner sent a message.”
“Not possible, they’re all tied up.”
“The Black Sun in Petra wore desert fatigues. Maybe they saw us enter the airplane, but they couldn’t get close enough before we took off,” Lance said.
“Good, the Black Sun doesn’t know where we’re going.” I scanned the bright morning sky.
“Hell, we don’t know.” Lance glanced at the gauges. “What altitude should I set for the cabin?”
“You flew in the military. What’s the best altitude to sneak past the Israelis and Egyptians? I plan to blast through that short patch of Israeli airspace over the desert, then fly north over the Sinai along the border, and head out over the Mediterranean.”
“When we clear the mountains, hug the deck and pray for a miracle.”
Thirteen
“Bloody hell, how did that aircraft get here?” Ross focused his binoculars on the jet.
“Must’ve paid off the right people. Best get a move on.” Derek secured his weapon.
Ross turned to his men. “Double-time it down to that jet.” He ran down the mountain.
The soldiers reached the dry riverbed and ran toward the jet moments before it started the takeoff roll. They were thirty feet from the left wing when the aircraft accelerated.
“Shoot holes in the left wing tank and the belly tank.” Ross opened fire.
The SAS team shot at the fuel tanks before the airplane sped out of range. They could only watch as the aircraft climbed at a steep angle and turned west over the mountains.
Ross made a call on his SATCOM. “Joint Command, this is Highlander. Missing tour group is in a private Boeing 727 that just took off from this location headed west. Track that airliner and arrange transport for my team.”
“Highlander, expect evac in one hour and be advised we received an emergency signal from Sierra Lima Sierra. The signal came from that jet.”
Ross knew SLS was code for Sir Lady Samantha. “Understood. Ask the Jordanians and Israelis not to shoot them down. We put several rounds into the fuel tanks. That Boeing will have to land soon. Highlander out.”
“What’s the word from on high?” Derek asked.
“Sam activated the emergency signal on her DARPA watch as soon as she reached altitude. She’s definitely on that jet and will be in Israeli airspace soon. I hope to God they don’t shoot her down.”
Boeing 727
After we cleared the mountains, I dove for the deck. The roomy seating configuration and low passenger count on the private jet made it far lighter than a standard airliner. The forward section held a communications center with sophisticated electronics.
“According to the flight manual, this little 727-100 is equipped with powerful JT9-17 engines like most of the bigger stretch 200s. I’ll keep up the speed and blow through Israeli airspace before they have time to scramble fighters.” I tried to sound more confident than I felt.
Lance had a map spread on his lap. “I programmed the NAV computer to take us on the shortest route across Israel to the Sinai, then straight north to the Med. This had better work.”
“I’d better keep it at 1,500 feet in case they have radio towers along the way. We probably wouldn’t spot one until it was too late to avoid a collision.” I leveled off over the Israeli desert.
“Avoid populated areas and maybe they won’t consider us a threat.” Lance scanned the sky above us.
“We should stay off the radio. We can’t tell ATC who we are or who owns this jet and risk the information becoming public.”
“Yeah, but then how do we convince their military not to shoot us down? And where can we land?” Lance studied the map.
I had flown to so many airports around the globe, I had a world map stored in my brain. “We’ll land at the U.S. Navy base in Naples. We can avoid other countries and most of their airspace by staying overwater until we get to Italy.”
“Good idea, but first we have to survive Israel and Egypt. Any ideas?”
“Do you remember the radio frequency from your Air Force days for an Airborne Warning and Control System jet?”
Lance’s face lit up. “Friggin’ awesome! Jeff’s secretary said he was doing carrier landings in the Mediterranean. Carrier groups always have an AWACS for recon over the fleet. Let’s hope they’re operating somewhere near us.”
“Is that a secure military frequency? Could we safely tell them the truth?”
“Radios are never 100 percent safe, but we should be okay.”
“Not good enough. When you make contact, ask for a call number on SATCOM.” I handed him the satellite phone.
Lance tried a radio frequency from memory. No response. He tried another.
“Uh, Lance, we’re running out of time. We have company.” I pointed at two Israeli fighters flying forward of our wings.
“Dang it! If we were higher, maybe I could contact the AWACS. Pretend were NORDO and start climbing while I keep trying.” Lance dialed in another radio frequency.
NORDO was the term for no radios operating. I pointed at my ears and shook my head, hoping the Israeli pilot would understand. He signaled for me to follow him. I estimated we were about one minute from the Egyptian Sinai border and pretended not to understand his instructions as we zoomed up to ten thousand feet.
A stern military voice came through the radio speakers. “Aircraft calling AWACS, identify yourself.”
“Hot damn! What do we tell them?” Lance glanced at the fighters. “I’ll have to keep my head down. Can’t let the fighter pilots see me talking into the mike.”
“Say it’s an emergency, and you’re a U.S. Air Force pilot with American civilians aboard. Ask if they show us leaving Israeli airspace.”
Lance replied, “I’m a U.S. Air Force Reserve captain.” He repeated everything I suggested.
“We show you over Egyptian airspace five miles west of the Israeli border at angels ten. Confirm you have Sierra Lima Sierra aboard and state intentions.”
Lance looked at me as I banked the aircraft in a right turn north toward the sea. “Sam, how do they know?”
“I hit the emergency button on my DARPA watch when we left the river bed. Tell him we need to communicate via SATCOM.”
After Lance switched to the satellite phone, he quickly briefed them, asked them to keep it secret, and requested safe passage to the U.S. Navy base in Naples.
The Israeli fighters peeled off and vanished behind us.
Lance pointed. “Either their bugging out or they’ve decided to get
on our six and blow us out of the sky. Dang!” He explained our situation to the AWACS officer.
“Boeing, squawk 0727. What’s your tail number?”
Lance turned on the transponder and entered code 0727. “We’re in an unmarked Boeing 727-100. No tail number. Requesting U.S. fighter escort to Naples.”
“Understood, Boeing. Be advised four Egyptian fighters are headed your way. They’re probably more concerned about the Israeli fighters that violated their airspace, but I’ll relay your request to command.”
“Hurry!” Lance checked the navigation computer and turned to me. “One hundred and thirty miles to the coast. I hope the Israelis are still on our ass so the Egyptians go after them.”
“Not likely. Israel has enough problems without provoking a war with Egypt. You can bet they bugged out. Those Egyptian fighters are coming for us.” I pushed up the throttles.
“Hold it just under the never-exceed speed and say a prayer.”
USS LAWRENCE LEE
Commander Jeff Rowlin, callsign Bücker, completed his checklist and waited for the signal to taxi to the catapult. He heard the air boss in his helmet speaker.
“Bücker, hold for armament. New mission.” The air boss gave Jeff the coordinates and told him to proceed at maximum speed for the intercept. “Expect four fighters to join you on-site at angels ten as soon as we can get them armed and launched.”
In a few minutes, Jeff’s Boeing F/A-18E Super Hornet was loaded with missiles and ready to launch from CAT one. It wasn’t long before he had the Egyptian coast in sight.
“Bücker has the airliner and four Egyptian fighters on target radar. Range sixty miles. Awaiting orders.”
“Provide safe escort for the Boeing 727. Fire if necessary. Help is five minutes out.”
Dang! May as well be five hours. This could be over in less than thirty seconds.
Jeff armed his missiles and prayed he wouldn’t need them. Engaging four fighters alone was not supposed to be part of his carrier-currency training.
“Give me a frequency for the Egyptian fighters. I’ll sweet talk ’em while I wait for backup.”