Both mentally and financially, Shayhidi was relentlessly and methodically being destroyed by the United States. His assets were being used against him and his freedom had been taken away. He was a hunted man; his life was in ruins. The irony did not escape him. It was a maddening, horrible feeling to have to live like a caged animal.
The familiar Fox logo suddenly flashed on his TV with more breaking news about the jihad against America, accompanied by a recent photo of Shayhidi.
Shayhidi stared intensely at the screen; an attractive, unsmiling woman looked up from her notes.
Fox has learned that financier and reputed terrorist leader Saeed Shayhidi, believed to be the mastermind behind the deadly attacks on the United States, has himself become a target.
Shayhidi froze in his chair, starring at video footage of one of his containerships sinking in the Pacific. An uncontrollable, panicky feeling swept over him, and he shuddered momentarily.
State Department officials have confirmed that Shayhidis ship, shown here in this amateur video taken from another cargo ship, was destroyed by an unknown source. The entire crew was safely rescued and the accident is under investigation.
"It wasn't an accident!" Shayhidi blurted through clenched teeth. "Macklin had it blown up--He's trying to destroy me!"
In addition, Shayhidi's yacht reportedly sunk in the Mediterranean Sea off the coast of southern France after an onboard explosion.
"Liars, liars!" Shayhidi shouted at the television. "You filthy bastards are going to pay for this! Macklin is going to pay! The American people are going to pay!"
Were receiving initial reports of other Shayhidi-related news from our White House correspondent, Wesley Herman. Wes.
Sharon, senior White House sources have told Fox that two of Shayhidis cargo ships have mysteriously disappeared, believed to have sunk in the Atlantic during the last day or two. A senior administration spokesman denied the U. S. military had any involvement in the incidents. He pointed out that Mr. Shayhidi has made dozens of enemies all over the world.
Shayhidi's eyes bugged out, and he hurled an empty ashtray at the television, barely missing the screen and impacting the wall. "Macklin, you're dead! As good as dead!"
His aide and the two bodyguards exchanged concerned glances. How long would it be before their boss snapped?
"They will pay--he will pay!" Shayhidi yelled at the top of his lungs. "Macklin has underestimated me!"
The seasoned correspondent continued in his clipped manner.
Mysteriously, two other vessels belonging to the shipping magnate, both believed to be petroleum tankers, suffered serious mechanical failures while in port. They are reported to be inoperable, one at a Houston refinery and the other at the port of Valdez, Alaska. Sharon.
Shayhidi leaped out of his chair and kicked the television screen in, cutting his leg in the process.
"They are going to pay," he bellowed. "Send an e-mail to Farkas. I'm changing the plans. Macklin has to pay for this! The American military has to pay for this. The American people have to pay!"
The aide attempted to reason with him. "Mr. Shayhidi, I don't think you should jeopardize your--"
"Get in touch with Farkas or get out of my sight, forever!" The adviser cast his dark eyes down. "Yes, sir, I'll contact him." "Now!" "Yes, sir."
Ashen-faced and shaking, Shayhidi turned to his two bodyguards. "We're leaving--going to Saint Moritz."
They nodded silendy.
"Macklin is going to pay!"
NATIONAL AIRBORNE OPERATIONS CENTER
The E-4B was humming at 4:35 A. M. Pacific Coast Time when Hartwell Prost received the CIA briefing from Langley, Virginia. The president and his advisers had retired early in the evening during a lull in the events. Refreshed and relaxed after a light breakfast, Prost checked his wristwatch and closed his leather folder. It was time to bring President Macklin and his closest advisers up to date on world events.
Prost entered the E-4B s conference room, chatted with an aide, and turned to greet Macklin. "Good morning, Mr. President."
"Morning, Hartwell."
Prost hesitated when Pete Adair and General Chalmers walked in and sat down. After exchanging pleasantries, Prost began his summary. "We have disabled two more of Shayhidis tankers, the Gulf Trader in the Corpus Christi ship channel and the Gulf Patriot at a California terminal. Dont have the details yet."
"Great," Macklin said energetically. "Who gets the credit?"
"SEAL Teams Three and Five. Were just now getting confirmation and a situation report on the Corpus Christi mission."
"How about those guys." The president smiled. "As we expected, a professional job." He looked at Chalmers. "See to it that they receive my personal thanks for a job well done."
"Will do," Chalmers said, with a slight nod.
A senior military aide entered the room and spoke quietly to the national security adviser. Prost thanked the army colonel and faced the group. "More good news, gentlemen. Shayhidi can chalk up another containership loss. The Cape Moundville had a fender bender with a torpedo from Charlotte about fifteen minutes ago. Her crew is safe, but the ship is on her way to the bottom of the South Pacific."
Macklin methodically added the latest information to his growing list of Shayhidi's assets that had been destroyed. "Let's keep the pressure on him--even intensify it, if we can do so safely."
"Yes, sir," Prost said, with a feeling of satisfaction. "We have a number of things in the planning stage."
"Good," the president declared. "No matter where he's hiding, Shayhidi has to know by now what's happening to his fleet."
"And to his fortune," Prost quietly added, slipping his briefing page under a synopsis from U. S. Central Command headquarters at MacDill AFB, Florida. "On a different but familiar topic: the Middle East."
"What now?" Macklin said, half question, half recognition.
Prost cleared his throat. "Since were immersed in stabilizing Iraq, other factions have decided to take some unusually aggressive stabs at us."
The presidents eyes hardened. "Lets have it."
"During the past nine hours, multiple surface-to-air missiles and antiaircraft artillery have downed two drones over the Middle East. Both were Predators conducting surveillance."
"Where, exactly?"
"One was over Iran; the other was over western Afghanistan. During the last few days they've taken dozens of shots at us from a variety of locations throughout the region. It's as if they're taunting us, daring us to engage them."
"Have we lost any manned aircraft?"
"No, sir, but an F-16 was damaged over northern Iran two hours ago. That SAm site no longer exists." Hartwell reached for his coffee cup. "One of the pockets of resistance in Afghanistan damaged a British jet, but the pilot, who was seriously injured, nursed it back to base."
Macklin turned to Adair. "Pete, I don't care where these antiaircraft sites are located. I want random retaliatory strikes at all sites that fire, or have fired, on coalition aircraft. If the site is near a military airfield, destroy the runways and hangars. Flatten the place."
"Yes, sir."
"Stagger the raids round the clock. Keep them on guard day and night and hit them hard; really do it big."
"Will do." Adair glanced at General Chalmers and then looked the president in the eye. "We'll start by pounding their air defense sites with Tomahawks and fighters, including carrier-based assets. If the sites are close to a military airfield, we ll use B-52S and B-1s to carpet-bomb the bases."
"That should be a good start."
Chalmers spoke up. "I recommend we use a combination of manned and unmanned aircraft to keep the pressure on, potential strike packages and recon assets constantly overhead."
"That's up to you," Macklin said evenly. "Just make sure each manned strike package has more than adequate support aircraft and SAR helos to retrieve any crew members who might get shot down."
"You can count on it," Adair said firmly. "We cant afford to have anyone captur
ed."
The president frowned. "Yeah, we've been damn lucky."
Adair turned to Chalmers. "I'd like to coordinate all our mission planning with the British."
"I'll see to it," Chalmers said to Adair and Macklin. "We need to concentrate on air defense sites from all quadrants. Washington just arrived in the Gulf this afternoon. We'll take advantage of her air wing plus their combat rescue capability."
"Les, handle it any way you and Pete want to, but keep the pressure on. Don't give anyone time even to use the latrine."
"Yes, sir," Chalmers said, anxious to set his plans in motion. "We'll keep them at the ready day and night."
Macklin leaned back in his chair and faced Prost. "The word is out on Shayhidi's assets going south. Every leader in the Gulf region wants to talk to us. They know we're behind this operation; we can't hold them off much longer."
"I'm aware of that, sir."
"Where are we on the Brad Austin situation?"
"He has accepted the position."
"Outstanding, glad to hear it."
"Sir, I took the liberty of asking him to meet us at Dyess so we can brief him. All you have to do now is sign the order."
"Consider it done."
"Yes, sir." Prost paused for a moment. "Austin will be a strong addition to your team."
"I have every confidence--want him headed to the Persian Gulf as soon as practical."
"New subject?" Prost asked.
"Sure, what s up?"
"Speaking of the British, we could sure use their help if you approve of my suggestion."
A faint smile creased the president s face. "At this stage, I'm open to almost anything, almost anything."
Prosts voice was emotionless. "Consider it a diplomatic gesture to a true and trusted ally."
Chapter 16.
HMS TRAFALGAR
The nuclear-powered British attack submarine submerged into the depths of the Gulf of Mexico after launching a U. S.-built Tomahawk cruise missile on a test flight. Closely followed by U. S. Air Force chase planes, the unarmed missile made a perfect flight across a section of the Florida Panhandle. Arriving precisely over its target coordinates, the upgraded weapon made an uneventful parachute landing on the spacious grounds of Eglin AFB.
The Royal Navy submarine crew was working closely with the U. S. Navy on a joint U. S./U. K. version of the Advanced Tomahawk Weapon Control System software. The ongoing classified tests in the Gulf of Mexico were designed to promote commonality and interoperability between the two navies. Today was the last day of testing for Trafalgar, and all hands were extremely pleased with the final results. In the near future, the submarines sister, HMS Torbay, was scheduled to continue the testing.
Late in the morning, with the eighty-seven-foot coast guard cutter USCG Bomto providing security, Trafalgar neared the surface of the tranquil gulf to receive routine satellite communications. The first message, routed through several high commands, including the U. S. E-4B National Airborne Operations Center and No. 10 Downing Street, was a shocker for the submarine s skipper.
Clearly taken by surprise when he read the communique, Commander Douglas Thornton-Williams, the captain of Trafalgar; was puzzled and requested a verification of his highly unusual orders. He promptly received confirmation directly from the British prime minister. Still, Thornton-Williams and his second in command were uncomfortable.
The cargo carrier Savanna Lorenzo, one of Saeed Shayhidis newest vessels, was departing the deepwater port of Pascagoula, Mississippi, at 2:43 P. M. Central Time. The specialized ship had taken on a wide variety of perishable items from the cold storage warehousing. Bound for the port of Boston, the spotless cargo ship was only ten miles from the blue waters of the gulf shipping lanes.
The highly experienced master of Savanna Lorenzo, along with everyone else in the maritime shipping business, had heard what was happening to the dwindling fleet owned by suspected terrorist Saeed Shayhidi. Speculation was running wild, and many of Shayhidi's ships were hurriedly making their way to the nearest port.
Reports from their corporate headquarters confirmed that three of Shayhidi's masters and their crews had abandoned their cargo ships, one at Grays Harbor, Washington, another in Singapore, and the third in New Bedford, Massachusetts. Their employer was offering huge salary bonuses to captains and crew members who stayed with their ships.
The captain of the Savanna Lorenzo, Enrico Antonellia, a crusty Italian with thirty-eight years of command-at-sea experience, was not the least bit worried about the cruise. The old sea dog calmly assured his faithful crew that nothing could happen to them in the benign Gulf of Mexico.
As a final assurance to any doubters, the master explained that he was going to remain in close proximity to the East Coast of the United States. No one in a submarine, American or otherwise, would dare risk coming that close to land.
Unfortunately, the skipper was wrong, but not dead wrong. While the crew of the cargo ship Savanna Lorenzo was being rescued by a U. S. Navy frigate, the fragmented vessel and most of its cargo was settling to the bottom of the gulf. A few tons of the floating perishable goods were providing a feeding frenzy for thousands of fish.
Twenty minutes after the picturesque sunset faded from the Gulf of Mexico, the officers and crew of HMS Trafalgar were beginning their long voyage home to the United Kingdom. All hands agreed they would certainly have one hell of a sea story to tell their grandchildren.
SOUTH OF LANCASTER, PENNSYLVANIA
Sam Bertorini, founder and CEO of Bertorini Development Corporation, was flying his company Raytheon Beech C-90B King Air from State College, Pennsylvania, to Millville, New Jersey. He had stopped to pick up a close friend, Pennsylvania State University business professor Arnold Pezzella. Whenever Bertorini s company was considering a new construction project, in this case an upscale apartment complex, Pezzella acted as a trusted consultant and sounding board.
Flying VFR at 15,500 feet on a star-studded night, Bertorini requested flight following from the New York Air Route Traffic Control Center. Although the controller was busy with IFR traffic, he accommodated Bertorinis request.
A self-made multimillionaire, Sam Bertorini was accustomed to bending the rules and getting away with it. A multiengine-rated private pilot with no instrument rating, Bertorini flew with a professional pilot whenever the weather was questionable. If the forecast looked reasonably good, he took pride in flying his twin-engine turboprop himself.
His aircraft insurance clearly stated that a professional, instrument-rated C-90 simulator-trained pilot had to be on board every time King Air N44SB left the ground, but as his former flight instructors could attest, minor details like rules and regulations never slowed Sam the Man Bertorini.
Pezzella, who had been in the passenger cabin studying a pro forma balance sheet, joined Bertorini in the cockpit.
"Sam, I want to go over these numbers with you, make a few suggestions I think will help."
"Sure. Think we re going in too light?"
"Want to wait and discuss this over dinner?" Pezzella asked, buckling his restraining harnesses.
Bertorini glanced at him in the soft light of the cockpit. "No, always open to fresh ideas."
"Well, it s not the retroactive effect of the financing that concerns me." Pezzella opened his spiral binder. "It's the unknown quantity of renters available at these prices."
"What do you mean?" Bertorini turned down the volume on the aircraft radio and pushed back the headset over his right ear. "There are masses of renters in that area."
Pezzella studied the numbers. "You're on the borderline between renters who can afford this kind of apartment complex and people who can afford to get into a new home, a starter home."
"You think we're overpriced for the amenities?"
"I won't really know until I check the demographics and some other data. Being that close to Delaware Bay could be a problem."
The men continued their conversation while the King Air approached the dividing li
ne between New York Center airspace and Washington Center's area of responsibility.
Sitting at his radarscope in the faintly lighted room at New York Center, Dwight Moffitt was getting more nervous by the minute. "King Air Four-Four Sierra Bravo, New York Center."
A new father of less than three hours, Moffitt was trying to concentrate on the task at hand. He waited a few seconds and spoke slowly and deliberately. "King Air November Four-Four Sierra Bravo, New York Center, do you read?"
Moffitt swore to himself. He tried again and then waited a few seconds. "King Air Four-Four Sierra Bravo, do you copy?"
Silence.
Becoming more concerned, Moffitt called one more time. "Four-Four Sierra Bravo: If you read Center, ident."
There was no return from the King Air's transponder.
"King Air Four-Four Sierra Bravo," Moffitt said, in a tight voice. "You are about to enter restricted--prohibited--airspace! Turn left to zero-two-zero now--left zero-two-zero!"
No reply.
God, don't let this happen to me, not tonight! Moffitt contacted Washington Center on the landline and quickly explained the situation. The Washington controller frantically tried to establish contact with the King Air. Time was running out and there was nothing he could do. The distraught controller continued to call the wayward aircraft until a supervisor relieved him.
"Thumper Zero-Eight;' the controller radioed to a marine corps AH-1W Super Cobra attack helicopter, "we have a situation. Traffic at your nine o'clock, passing left to right, about to penetrate prohibited airspace! No radio, no comm!"
"Thumper has the target," Captain Humberto Chavez said, as he armed his weapons. "How far, how soon, will he break the cone?"
"Approximately twenty seconds."
"Confirm traffic at my ten o'clock is the target?"
"That's correct--that's the target. Now at your eleven o'clock!"
"Zero-Eight."
Immersed in his conversation with Pezzella, Sam Bertorini suddenly realized he needed to begin his descent. He programmed the autopilot to commence descending at 500 feet a minute. Feeling pressured to get down as expeditiously as possible, Bertorini looked at the enroute Low Altitude Chart his professional pilot used for instrument flying.
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