If he died, Macklin had delegated individuals with authorization to launch nuclear weapons. The identities of those people, civilian and military, were being kept classified to prevent them from being targeted. In addition, senior commanders at the NORAD complex had been given nuclear-weapons-release authority.
Macklin turned to his close friend. "Les, Im going to shuffle things around a bit. I want you and Pete with me, the other joint chiefs inside Cheyenne Mountain with the vice president."
"Yes, sir."
"Hartwell, Fd like you to accompany us."
"Im packed and ready"
The president rose from his chair and turned to leave. He spoke over his shoulder to his aides. "I'm going to take a shower. I'll meet you at Marine One in twenty minutes and we'll go over the suggestions for targeting Shayhidi.'
"What about addressing the nation?" Prost asked.
Macklin stopped and turned around. "Set it up for Andrews, before we take off."
"Yes, sir."
MANASSAS REGIONAL AIRPORT, VIRGINIA
Located twenty-eight statute miles southwest of the heart of Washington, D. C., Manassas Regional Airport was a busy general-aviation destination for people with business inside the Beltway Shortly before 7:30 A. M., a pristine Gulfstream G-IV landed to pre-position for an 8:30 A. M. charter flight to San Diego, California. The trip had been arranged by an engineering consulting firm based in Chula Vista, California.
The cocaptains, Bob Carpenter and Nick Jablonski, refueled the flagship of their growing charter operation. A fast, roomy, and comfortable jet, the plane was stocked with a wide variety of quality snacks and refreshments. Current magazines and newspapers were aboard, along with fresh coffee, assorted juices, breakfast meals, and a luncheon entree. The only thing missing was their company flight attendant, who had called in sick at the last moment.
A few minutes before 8:30 A. M., a limousine approached the ramp near the spotless G-IV. A clean-cut young Filipino man in a well-tailored dark-blue suit emerged from the Lincoln with a wide smile and firmly shook hands with the pilots. His three associates remained inside the limousine.
"Are we set?" Emilio Zamora asked in a friendly voice. His English and diction were impeccable, as would be expected from the son of an English-born mother who was a professor of history at the prestigious University of Cambridge. Zamora's father, Benigno, met his mother when he was a visiting professor at Cambridge for three years.
Jablonski maintained his easy smile. "Well, we're set to go, but the FAA has instituted a ground stop, like they did on nine-eleven. They've grounded all flights until further notice."
Zamoras disappointment was visible, but he showed no irritation. "Do you know why or how long this will last?"
Carpenter shrugged. "We dont know how long the delay will be, but it has something to do with a couple of planes that crashed. We just heard about it a few minutes ago."
The agreeable smile remained on Zamoras face. "I hope the problem can be resolved soon. We have an important meeting today."
"We 11 hope for the best," Carpenter said.
The unexpected development jeopardized Zamoras plan, but he could deal with the sudden change. That's why he was the senior leader of the special-action cell.
Zamora studied the impressive Gulfstream for a moment. "Well, if we have to wait, do you mind if we take a look at the airplane?"
"No, not at all," Jablonski said, with open enthusiasm. "Come on aboard. We'll give you the grand tour."
"Okay, let me get my business partners."
"Sure."
Carpenter entered the roomy cockpit while Jablonski waited at the bottom of the air-stair door. After the FAA-mandated ground stop and the news of mysterious crashes, both pilots were having reservations about taking this trip. Neither showed any outward signs of concern, but the feeling was rooted in the backs of their minds. They exchanged glances while keeping their smiles as natural as possible.
Emilio Zamora proudly led his three smiling associates to the G-IV, greeted Nick Jablonski, and climbed the stairs. Zamoras cleanshaven colleagues were as well dressed as their leader, all in fashionable business suits and shined shoes. Like Zamora, two of the men were Filipino. The third man, Rajiv Mukherjee, was born and raised in Calcutta, India. While everyone gathered around the cockpit, Carpenter explained the workings of the different items in his "office."
"Would anyone care for coffee?" Jablonski asked, from the front of the passenger cabin. "It's fresh and hot."
"That sounds good," Zamora said, as he shoved a handgun with a silencer deep into Carpenter's side and fired twice. In one quick motion, the other three terrorists jumped out of the way and Zamora turned and fired three rounds into Jablonski. The pilot stumbled backward and then dropped to his knees before Zamora shot him again, this time in the head.
Emilio Zamora stepped aside to allow the other men to carry the bodies of the dead pilots to the back of the passenger cabin. While Zamora and two of his fellow murderers returned to the limousine, Rajiv Mukheijee remained inside the airplane.
After the limousine drove away, Mukheijee casually walked down the air-stair door, quickly removed the chocks, and returned to the blood-soaked cabin. He closed the air-stair door and removed his coat and tie.
Having compiled the best overall grades of all the foreign students attending U. S.-based flight schools, Mukheijee had been chosen for the ultimate special operation. His dedication to Islamic extremism and his ability to speak English well were factored into the decision to allow him to be the "honored" pilot.
With eighteen hours of training time in the Gulfstream G-IV simulator and seven hours of intense instruction in the actual airplane, Mukheijee was supremely confident of his ability to accomplish his important mission. After setding into the left seat, Mukheijee started the engines and called Ground Control to request a high-speed taxi test to check a nose-wheel shimmy. Reluctant at first, the supervisor/ground controller finally gave him permission to taxi but expressly cautioned him about the recently invoked FAA ground stop.
Mukheijee calmly acknowledged the instructions and carefully taxied to Runway 34-right. With permission from the control tower, Mukheijee aligned the big Gulfstream with the runway centerline, checked to make sure the transponders were turned off, and smoothly moved the throttles forward. The powerful G-IV rapidly accelerated. When it was still gaining speed two-thirds of the way down the 5,700-foot runway, the tower controller almost had a fit.
"Gulfstream Three Three Kilo Tango, abort! Abort your takeoff! Abort--abort--abort!" He knew there was no way the airplane could stop in the remaining distance, but he had to try to prevent the takeoff. "Three Three Kilo Tango, you are in violation of an FAA NOTAM immediately grounding all civil flights in this country."
The stunned controller watched the corporate jet lift off and accelerate close to the ground. There goes my career.
After the G-IV was airborne, Mukherjee kept trimming the nose down while he raised the landing gear and flaps. Barely 120 feet in the air, he banked the airplane steeply to the right and set his course straight for the White House, home of the infidel leader of the great superpower.
Mukherjee had memorized the heading, distance, and time to his target. He would be there in less than five minutes--four minutes and some odd seconds to eternal glory. His name would be forever treated with reverence in his adopted homeland of Iran, perhaps as well known as that of his hero, Osama bin Laden.
All hell broke loose when the controller at Manassas made contact with the FAA command centcr. Shocked by the unthinkable flaunting of the rules, the tower controller explained that the low-flying jet was on a straight course to Washington, D. C. Heads would roll all the way up the chain of command at the "Tombstone Agency."
The FAA instantly contacted NORAD headquarters near Colorado Springs. The vice commander of CMOC immediately scrambled more fighters on the East Coast. At the same time, a Boeing E-3 AWACS surveillance and control aircraft flying high above the Chesapeake
Bay located the ground-hugging jet on its radar.
Two Air Force F-16s patrolling southeast of the University of Maryland were given a snap vector to intercept the intruder. Both fighters were armed with two AIM-9 Sidewinder infrared-homing air-to-air missiles, four AIM-120 AMRAAM active terminal radar missiles, and one multibarrel cannon with a full load of 20mm high-explosive ammunition.
Turning southwest, the fighter pilots from Langley AFB tapped their burners and quickly went through Mach 1, sending powerful sonic booms reverberating across D. C. and the surrounding terrain. The shocking noise sent many people running for cover.
As the Gulfstream continued to accelerate, Rajiv Mukheijee climbed another 100 feet to keep from scaring himself. He had never flown this low at such a fast speed. One sneeze or hiccup and the plane could hit the ground. Seconds later, Mukheijee eased the power back when the G-IV reached 405 knots. Trees, homes, golf courses, schools, and roads were flashing past in a frightening blur.
Air Force Major Alan Kenner and Captain Stacy DAngelo were frantically searching for the low-flying bogey With all the ground clutter, it was much more difficult to spot the low-flying aircraft.
"Sterno," the AWACS crew member excitedly radioed, "I have a primary target--repeat primary target--at your eleven o'clock--nine miles--on the deck, four-hundred-plus knots."
"Were cookin and lookin," Kenner replied in a tight voice. "Stacy, let s take it down, stand by to arm em up."
"Roger," she said tersely, as they began a steep descent. We only have a few seconds, make it good.
Mukheijee was gripping the control yoke with both hands when he blasted low over the highway interchange of Beltway 495 and Little River Turnpike.
Many cars and trucks pulled off the road after the jet thundered overhead, barely above the trees. Some of the motorists, fearful of another massive terrorist attack, began praying for divine intervention while they used their cell phones to call family members.
Reacting on visceral instinct, D'Angelo keyed her radio. "Sterno, you might want to start a left turn to intercept. Ill continue on for a couple of seconds."
"Concur--hang in." He began his turn and lowered the nose.
"Sterno," the AWACS air defense systems operator radioed, "bend it around hard, nine o'clock in the weeds!"
"Sterno is coming around," Kenner said with a low groan, as he pulled more Gs. "Say posit--target."
"Ten--low!"
"Copy--
Booming across the northern finger of Lake Barcroft and then over Jeb Stuart High School, the howling Gulfstream was setting off scores of car alarms. To make matters worse, the sonic booms from the screeching F-16s were shattering dozens of windows. The deafening noise added one more ingredient to the turmoil and fear that was gripping the city.
When the hijacked jet streaked over Arlington Boulevard, Major Kenner caught a glimpse of the ground-hugging G-IV. "Sterno has a tally, have the Gulfstream in sight." He quickly reduced power and pulled heavy Gs to intercept the intruding aircraft.
"Sterno, you have permission to fire--bag him!" an excited voice said from the AWACS.
"Arm em up, Stacy," Kenner said crisply
"Copy," DAngelo replied, already pulling 7 Gs to align her fighter in trail of her flight leader. She was closing on Kenner at the speed of heat and eased the throttle back.
Sterno keyed his radio. "He's really in the weeds."
Sucking oxygen, Captain DAngelo spotted the G-IV. "I have both of you in sight--get him."
"Have to."
DAngelo rechecked her master arm switch and eased the throttle forward.
Freshly showered and shaved, Cord Macklin was tying his tie in the presidential living quarters when an aide and three Secret Service agents barged through the main entrance.
"This way, Mr. President!" the senior agent said, in the command voice of a marine corps drill instructor. "We have an imminent threat. Follow us now!"
"Lead the way," the startled president said, as he was pushed through the main door. Without asking a single question, Macklin ran between the men as they headed for the nearest shelter. He knew something big was about to happen and it was probably going to involve the White House. He was thankful the first lady was in a safe, secure place.
The Gulfstream was rapidly approaching Arlington National Cemetery when Major Kenner fired the first Sidewinder missile. It wavered a moment and then flew straight into the rear of the G-IVs left engine. The explosion almost ripped the engine from the side of the fuselage.
Rajiv Mukherjee felt the impact and panicked when the cockpit lit up with warning lights. The left engine was destroyed, but the airplane was still flying and controllable. Need a few more seconds. He gripped the yoke with all his strength and stared straight at the White House.
Kenner fired the second AIM-9 missile when the smoking G-IV reached the western perimeter of the historic national cemetery. He saw the missile undulate and then explode in the exhaust of the right engine. The concussive force of the detonation severely damaged the T-tail of the airplane.
Blocking everything from his mind, Mukherjee ignored the cockpit warnings and glanced at the Potomac River. I'm going to make it, have to make it, won't fail
Switching to guns, Kenner had a malfunction that prevented him from firing the cannon. "Stacy, take him out!" he said as he pulled his F-16 straight into a vertical climb and continued pulling until he was on his back going the opposite direction from DAngelo.
Without hesitation, she fired a Sidewinder missile that hit the Gulfstream in the heavily damaged right engine. The burning Rolls-Royce turbofan departed the G-IV, taking the tail of the airplane with it.
DAngelo fired another 'winder at the same instant the corporate jet pitched down. She flinched when a shoulder-fired surface-to-air missile slashed past her fighter. Time to exit She simultaneously stroked the burner and reefed the F-16 into a punishing vertical climb. Hold your fire, guys--I'm on your side.
Pulling back on the useless yoke with the strength of a man who knew he was going to meet Allah, Rajiv Mukheijee glimpsed the White House a split second before the Gulfstream slammed into the intersection of E and 17th Street. The deafening explosion blew out windows and rattled china in the executive mansion.
The Secret Service agents pulled the president down in a White House corridor and covered him with their bodies. Seconds later, they yanked him to his feet and continued running for safety.
The bulk of the G-IV fuselage crashed into the southwest gate of the White House grounds, and then careened across the South Lawn, hitting Marine One a glancing blow before smashing into the visitor entrance and the security fence. The crushed, burned aircraft and the remains of Rajiv Mukheijee and the two Gulfstream pilots came to rest on East Executive Avenue.
The marine flight crew of the VIP helicopter survived the collision with only minor injuries, but the Sikorsky VH-3D was heavily damaged. The exterior of the White House and the lawn sustained extensive damage. Flaming jet fuel sprayed the mansion, and flying chunks of the left engine and the fuselage carved deep furrows in the manicured lawn.
In a matter of seconds, the president was hustled off to Andrews AFB in a caravan of Secret Service vehicles. Pete Adair, General Chalmers, and Hartwell Prost followed a few minutes later in a separate convoy crammed with agents. Steely-eyed veterans, the Secret Service troops were spring-loaded to kill anyone who tried to interfere with their mission.
Chapter 12.
COEUR D'ALENE, IDAHO
Awakened at 6:15 A. M. Pacific Time Zone by a cheerful recorded voice, Jackie and Scott were overwhelmed when they turned on the television. In stunned silence, they assimilated the breaking news about the aerial attacks on the nuclear power plants and the White House. All civil air traffic had been grounded and combat air patrols were being flown over all major U. S. cities. Marine helicopter gun-ships were orbiting over the White House and the U. S. Capitol Building.
The three-hour time difference between Washington, D. C., and Coeur dAl
ene left Scott and Jackie with a lot of information to absorb. They watched a series of videos from the first live reports near the power plants. The destruction at the nuclear facilities was immense, and the list of casualties was growing. Firefighters were still trying to contain the flames at the plant adjacent to St. Petersburg, Florida.
FAA officials, who followed the flight of the Challenger jet on radar, easily traced the airplane to the FBO in Albany, New York. The FBI was currently interviewing employees and had confirmed the pilot was of Middle Eastern lineage.
"Farkas?" Jackie asked.
"I dont think so." Scott turned the sound down a notch. "Its not his profile. Besides, he's much too valuable to Shayhidi."
She gazed at the screen for a few seconds. "You're right, most likely one of the zealots slated for a rendezvous with the vestal virgins."
"That would be my guess."
"Look at that," Jackie said, pointing to the television. A Fox News White House reporter appeared on the screen. Behind him on the South Lawn, Marine One lay heavily damaged, with myriad debris scattered across the scorched lawn. The Secret Service was out in force and two companies of heavily armed marines were taking up positions around the perimeter of the White House grounds.
The demolished G-IV was still smoldering while a group of NTSB investigators began exploring the wreckage. The animated reporter was trying his best to reassure the viewers that President Macklin was safe. However, it was obvious that he didn't have a clue as to where the commander in chief was.
Jackie reached for her watch. Til bet the president is headed for the flying command post or already on it."
"No doubt."
"Where Hartwell is concerned," Jackie said, and paused to catch a sound bite, "we re probably really on our own."
"True. He has bigger problems on his scope."
Jackie walked to the window and stared at the soft, diffused light from the early morning sky. "I dont know about other Americans, but I'm beginning to feel pretty damn vulnerable."
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