"Hop aboard."
Jackie looked at the small tires protruding from the giant-sized floats. The main gear on each side had two wheels, while the bow of each float had one caster landing gear. "I can see where this could lead to major problems."
"You just have to remember to raise the rollers to land on water and put them down to land on a runway--not that cerebral."
She grinned and climbed into the cockpit. "I guess not--if a marine aviator can remember to do it."
He glanced casually over the rims of his sunglasses.
"Start the motor," she said, with a demure expression.
Scott settled into his seat, turned the battery and fuel boost on, engaged the start switch, and eased the fuel-condition lever into low idle when the gas generator (NG) speed passed through 15 percent.
The big 675-shaft-horsepower Pratt & Whitney turboprop smoothly came to life. Scott checked ATIS and called Ground Control. He taxied to the beginning of Runway 10-Right, contacted the tower, and took off, heading southeast toward Twin Falls. As the fully fueled Caravan gained altitude, he moved the large gear lever up to stow the wheels inside the floats and then raised the flaps.
The huge floats brought the normal cruise speed down from 186 knots at 10,000 feet to 162 knots at the same altitude. With the flaps extended, the plane could loaf along at 75 to 80 knots for optimum viewing.
"This is a really great airplane," Jackie said, as she began exploring the wide well-engineered cockpit.
Scott leveled at 800 feet. "Its a simple, rugged, reliable, go-anywhere-and-haul-a-crowd airplane."
"I'm convinced." She was especially impressed with the straightforward systems, the redundancy of a twin-engine plane, and the same avionics and four-color radar found in the Cessna Citation Jet.
"What do we have here?" she asked, noticing a small box lying on the floor next to her right foot.
"That's a handheld VHF marine radio."
Jackie reached down for the box.
"Go ahead, open it. The guy who checked me out strongly recommended having one on board."
"To communicate with boaters?" she guessed.
"Right. Let them know our intentions before we land or take off."
"Makes sense." She examined the radio.
"The guy said this was a top-of-the-line totally submersible model that does it all."
"Okay, we're set for air and water," she said, reading the instructions for the Raytheon 106 radio. "This is an interesting toy"
"See if it works."
She turned it on. "What channel do we monitor?"
"The common marine channel is sixteen."
Jackie selected 16 and turned up the volume.
Scott adjusted the rudder trim. "You call other operators on sixteen and ask them to join you on another channel, to keep sixteen free for emergencies."
"Got it," she said, listening to a distant conversation between a marina operator and a boater who was having engine trouble. They switched channels and Jackie followed, monitoring the call. "I can see how this could come in handy out in the middle of nowhere."
"A lifesaver, like our sat phones." Scott eased the power back for long-range cruising. "We have to have a call sign for the radio, like the name of a boat or something."
Jackie thought for a few seconds. "How about Water Bird?"
"What?" Scott said with a slow grin.
"Water Bird, like Sky King's Song Bird."
"That'll do."
They surveyed several airfields, searching for the B-25 or anything else that looked suspicious. After passing Burley, Scott flew northeast to Idaho Falls and Rexburg. With the sun dipping well below the mountains, he removed his sunglasses. "Have you had enough for today?"
"Actually" she admitted, "Fd had enough when we crawled out of the LongRanger."
"Fd have to agree." He turned south and landed at the Pocatello Regional Airport. "It s been quite a day, one for the books."
"That it has." She sighed. "Are you as sore as I am?"
"At least. Feels like I took a ride in a clothes dryer."
After they secured the Caravan for the night and rented a Chevy, Scott started the car s engine and turned to Jackie. "What s for dinner?"
She smiled and rested her head on the seat back. "I always like to celebrate my crash landings with a thick, juicy filet mignon, baked potato swimming in butter, crisp, cold salad, and a good Merlot--lots of Merlot."
"I believe we can handle that."
Chapter 15.
VALERO REFINERY, HOUSTON, TEXAS
Located directly on the Houston ship channel, the massive 250-acre refinery had deepwater access for off-loading heavy, sweet crude oils. Extra security personnel were in place inside the busy facility, while members of the Texas National Guard patrolled the perimeter of the refinery.
Moored in forty feet of water alongside the ship channel frontage, the 1,112-foot Gulf Courier was in the process of off-loading her crude oil. Owned by Saeed Shayhidi, the behemoth supertanker carried 74 million gallons of oil.
Rain was coming down in sheets at 9:17 P. M. when six hand-picked members of SEAL Team Four approached the Gulf Courier. Wearing the LAR V rebreathing apparatus that allows them to swim underwater without leaving surface air bubbles, the divers carried satchels of high explosives. Only the team leader raised his eyes above water to take a final bearing on the ship before the six submerged to a deeper depth. Minutes later, they reached the stern of their target.
The men attached most of their specially prepared explosives to the rudder of the tanker. Working in total darkness, they hooked the other explosives to one of the massive propeller blades. The charges were designed to destroy the rudder and propeller without penetrating the ships hull. They set a timer that was connected to both packages. It would allow them thirty-five minutes to return to their entry point, board their innocent-looking thirty-two-foot fishing boat, and be miles away when the charges detonated.
Two U. S. Army AH-64 Apache Longbow multimission combat helicopters were circling the Houston refinery, one at 900 feet and the other at 1,500 feet. The two-man crews from the 1-227th Attack Battalion stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, were responsible for protecting the facility from ground or air attacks.
The veteran aviators had been secretly briefed about the SEAL operation. Along with the members of the Texas National Guard, the flight crews knew the approximate time the 4 event" would happen.
Gulf Courier was finished off-loading when the quiet evening was shattered by a huge blast of water shooting straight into the air. Small waves rippled across the ship channel while security personnel hurried toward the tanker.
In the water before 10:30 P. M., scuba divers with powerful underwater lights discovered the extensive damage done to the Gulf Courier. The huge rudder was almost twisted from the shaft connecting it to the ship, and one propeller blade was lying on the bottom of the channel.
The supertanker would have to be towed to a dry dock large enough to accommodate a ship of her size. Unfortunately for Shayhidi, there was not an abundance of those facilities available. In addition, shipyard work of this magnitude generally needed to be scheduled well in advance. Another of Shayhidis revenue spigots was now turned off. The money-draining liability would be idle for an extended period of time.
POCATELLO, IDAHO
After a great dinner and a relaxing drive to Idaho Falls and back, Scott and Jackie were turning into the Best Western motel when the satellite phone rang. Jackie answered the call. From the sound of the conversation, Scott could tell it was Frank Wakefield. She told the special agent about the sabotaged helicopter, the subsequent crash landing, and the Cessna Caravan floatplane.
When she hung up, Scott reached for the door handle. "Farkas?"
"Yes. He was in the shack next to the hangar," she said, and opened her car door. "Let's go inside and I'll fill you in on the details."
"Sounds good." Scott picked up the fresh botde of Merlot on the seat and followed her to their room. He shut t
he door and headed toward the bathroom. "I'll get the wine glasses."
They kicked off their shoes, pulled two straight-back chairs up to the bed, and propped their feet on the bedspread.
Jackie reached for a pillow and shoved it behind her back. "Following the raid on the hangar compound, Wakefield conducted an interview with the charming couple. When they began hedging their answers, he showed them a picture of Farkas. The couple identified him as the person who negotiated the hangar deal and ran the show."
"Did Wakefield tell them who Farkas is?"
"Yes, and after they came out of shock they were singing their hearts out. They thought Farkas was just an eccentric, wealthy recluse who restored old warbirds."
Jackie glanced at Scott. "Farkas and his crew, the two who worked on our LongRanger, had one heck of an operation going and two unwitting stooges for cover."
"Did they acknowledge the presence of a B-25 bomber?"
She smiled and stretched her long, shapely legs like a contented cat. "Oh, yes. And Farkas was flying the plane by himself."
"I don t suppose they knew where he was going?"
"No, but they did mention the two mechanics and their Ford pickup and the fact that they disappeared shortly after Farkas departed."
Scott rolled his head toward Jackie. "Any chance they remembered anything about the bomber, paint scheme, numbers, et cetera?"
She smiled serenely. "What do you think?"
"I know, a stupid question."
"At any rate, the good news is we know who we're dealing with and we flushed Farkas out of his base of operation."
Scott looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Ah, we just happened to stumble over it, not like we solved some age-old mystery."
"Hey, I'll take a win any way we can get it."
Scott reached for the remote and turned on the television. "What's Wakefield going to do about Farkas?"
"He said the FBI and local law-enforcement agencies are going to search every airport west of a line from Chicago to New Orleans. He said the Washington brass--read Jim Ebersole--put a major priority on finding the bomber and Farkas, like right now."
"Did he have any advice for us?"
"No, but he wants an update if we discover anything else of interest."
"Well," Scott said, "I think we follow our instincts, see what happens."
"I'm with you."
He thought for a moment. "I dont think Farkas went very far. The bomber would attract too much interest, especially when so many people are looking for it."
"Yeah, he has to have a hangar not too far from here." "Or the bomber could be camouflaged," Scott replied. Their conversation came to a halt when a breaking-news logo appeared on the television screen. Seconds later, a tired Pentagon correspondent faced the camera. The anchor welcomed her.
Christine.
Bob, senior Pentagon officials and a spokesperson for the ATF have confirmed new intelligence that indicates Islamic terrorists have smuggled surface-to-air missiles into the United States. The weapons have been identified as shoulder-fired antiaircraft missiles. They are believed to be Russian-made SA-7S with a range of approximately three miles. Our experts tell us they can hit aircraft flying as high as thirteen thousand five hundred feet.
The other missiles are reported to be U. S.-made Stingers with a range of five miles and the ability to destroy aircraft up to ten thousand feet. The missiles, approximately four hundred of them, were obtained covertly in Afghanistan and Pakistan, said a senior Pentagon official, who spoke on condition of anonymity.
She glanced at her notes.
The missiles, which Im told are fairly lightweight, are easy to obtain on what the official called the gray market. According to our source, a senior al-Qaeda commander has admitted the missiles were sent to the United States in shipping containers from Hong Kong and Shanghai. As of now, the port or ports of arrival are still classified and the hunt for the missiles continues. Bob.
Thank you, Christine. In related news, U. S. customs inspectors found three Iranian and two Saudi Arabian stowaways inside a shipping container at the port of Charleston, South Carolina, today. The stowaways had thin foam-rubber mats to sleep on, food, water, a makeshift toilet, counterfeit documentation, and seven AK-47 assault rifles. They have been taken into custody for questioning.
Scott hit the mute button. "That's comforting news. Hundreds of portable surface-to-air missiles inside our country, and we don't have a clue where they are."
Jackie's gaze was fixed on the silent television. "Well, if we don't find the missing nukes, we're gonna have bigger problems than the SAMS."
RAMSTEIN AIR BASE, WEST GERMANY
Two hours before sunrise, a Lockheed C-5B Galaxy slowly descended out of low gloomy clouds on an instrument approach. With the glaring landing lights on, the U. S. Air Force strategic airlift transport looked like a huge prehistoric archaeopteryx, a flying reptile from the Jurassic period. The "aluminum overcast" came to earth in a surprisingly soft touchdown on its sturdy twenty-eight-wheel landing gear. The aircraft rolled most of the way down the runway while the aircraft commander spared the brakes and tires.
After the Galaxy taxied to a remote area at the home of Headquarters, U. S. Air Forces in Europe, members of the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment Delta, or Delta Force, met the transport plane. The Delta Force contingent had arrived on a C-17A Globemaster only minutes before the Galaxy landed.
Stationed in a secluded site at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, the 1st SFOD-Delta is made up of recruits from the U. S. Army's Special Forces Green Berets and Rangers. Delta Force is one of the Federal Government's CT, or counterterrorist, groups and performs a wide variety of covert missions, including hostage rescue, seizure and retrieval of hostile personnel, and direct action.
When the C-5BS huge nose was fully open, the soldiers from Delta Force greeted the helicopter pilots and support personnel from the army's 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (SOAR). Along with the helicopters inside the Galaxy, additional helicopters from the 160th Nightstalkers had arrived earlier that morning.
Based at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, and Hunter Army Airfield, Savannah, Georgia, the 160th uses specially modified helicopters and skilled pilots to fly special warfare teams to the mission through inclement weather or hostile environments, day or night.
The Nightstalkers fly the versatile MH-60K/L Blackhawk, the AH-6 Little Bird, and the MH-47D/E Chinook tailored for clandestine operations. Classified as medium transport helicopters, the big Chinooks are configured for in-flight refueling, thermal/night imaging, and crew armor, and they are equipped with 7.62mm Gatling miniguns.
For the upcoming classified operations in Switzerland, the SOAR unit was using six handpicked pilots from its "black" battalion. Other select teams of special operations forces and Nightstalker aviators were working together in France and Spain.
USS MONTPELIER
Commander Art Schweitzer and his executive officer had officially identified the cargo ship Stephanie Eaton shortly after sunrise. They tracked the civilian vessel for fifty minutes before reaching a spot where there were no other ships on the horizon. The CO gave the order, and the Mark 48 was soon en route to its target.
After Schweitzer fired the torpedo, he watched the Stephanie Eaton and photographed the horrific detonation. Blackish-red smoke and water shot skyward, and the stricken ship immediately began slowing. Schweitzer snapped several more photographs.
Less than three minutes later, the crew of fourteen began abandoning their ship. When the lifeboats were clear of Stephanie Eaton, the attack submarine descended to 200 feet to wait for the cargo carrier to sink and break up.
Nearly an hour later, after sonar detected other ships in the vicinity, Schweitzer became impatient and gave the order to come to periscope depth. Two ships, one a large containership and the other a small freighter, had come to the aid of the torpedoed crew.
Stephanie Eaton was still afloat. Schweitzer was sorry he had not fired a second Mar
k 48 after the crew cleared the vessel. As he was silently cursing his situation, a secondary explosion blew a gaping hole in the side of the ship. Schweitzer ordered Montpelier to again level at 200 feet.
A few minutes later, the sonar operator detected the sounds of a ship breaking apart. Another Saeed Shayhidi asset was descending to the bottom of the Atlantic.
Montpelier turned on course to her home port at Norfolk Naval Base, Virginia, the largest naval installation in the world. The mood aboard the submarine was unusually subdued. The men were not proud of sinking unarmed civilian ships, but they carried out their orders without question.
GSTAAD,SWITZERLAND
Overlooking the Bernese Alps, the magnificent Grand Hotel Park stands alone on a quiet hill only moments away from world-class alpine skiing and a charming village center. The Swiss Forest-style resort hotel has an interior dominated by natural stone, solid wood, and ceramic tiles.
The Grand was playing host to a large group of Hollywood celebrities, including movie stars, well-known producers and directors, and a handful of top-tier agents. In addition to its glitzy guests, the world-famous resort had another celebrity in residence. However, Saeed Shayhidi was not seen at Le Grand Restaurant or Le Salon Montgomery hobnobbing with the elites from the American film industry.
Sitting morosely in his two-bedroom suite with a trusted aide and two heavily armed bodyguards, Shayhidi was riding an emotional roller coaster. One moment he was hostile and illogical, the next moment paranoid, sullen, and withdrawn. He would go through a calm period for an hour or so and then repeat the cycle.
The loss of his prestigious Boeing corporate jet and the sinking of his yacht had had an adverse effect on Shayhidi. He had become extremely nervous and sometimes paced the floor, no longer the confident, assured international businessman.
The terrorist leader was clearly the person now being terrorized. The feeling was one of agonizing fear and total hopelessness. With no avenue to buy his way out of his predicament, the hefty fortune he inherited and continued to build was useless to him. He was trapped by his own arrogant cleverness and his feeling of intellectual superiority.
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