"Where?"
"The Amtrak Cascades near Portland and the Empire Builder near Libby, Montana. There are a number of casualties at both sites."
The president glanced at General Chalmers and then Prost. "Any suggestions?"
Hartwell swore to himself. "Attack helicopters, army and marine gunships, from the Rocky Mountains throughout the entire Northwest."
"I like it," the president said. "Let's have them on site ASAP."
Prost continued with a sense of urgency. "We could use Civil Air Patrol units to help watch the tracks."
"Good idea!" Chalmers exclaimed. "The more eyeballs we have in the air, the better our chances of catching them in the act. We can use our A-10 Warthogs and F-15 Strike Eagles to supplement the attack helicopters."
The president finally lit his cigar. "Let's get on it, coordinate this well so everyone knows where the other players are. We don't want any midair collisions while we're trying to save lives on the ground."
"Constant communications," Prost said firmly. "And mandatory radio calls at designated checkpoints to keep things orderly."
General Chalmers looked first at Prost and then at the president. "I'll have it operational by early morning. Well use night-vision equipment, keep the bad guys honest day and night."
"Go to it," Macklin said, and then paused. "By the way, how are our ordnance stockpiles coming along at our bases in the Middle East?"
Chalmers had the numbers memorized. "We have an almost continuous stream of aircraft arriving at al-Udeid and our bases adjacent to the Red Sea. In addition, we have eighteen cargo ships shuttling weapons. We have enough on hand now to sustain operations for twelve to fourteen months."
"Excellent." The president looked at Pete Adair. "With the air strikes were planning in Iran and Afghanistan, whats the status of our munitions production rate?"
"We have more than doubled the production rate of laser-guided bombs and boosted production at three ammunition factories to their highest levels in seventeen years. They've increased the output of precision-guided bombs from one thousand a month to over three thousand. These increases have tripled the lethality of our carrier battle groups."
"Well," Macklin conceded, with a trace of a smile, "at least something is going well. What about Tomahawks?"
"They've added a third shift and production has nearly doubled. We believe the Tomahawks, supplemented with the precision-guided bombs, can last for at least six to seven months."
A pleased look spread across the president's face. "On that note, I think I'll rest before dinner."
SALT LAKE CITY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
After a delay caused by inclement weather, Scott and Jackie checked out of the Airport Hilton and had breakfast at a local Denny's, having dispensed with their wings and epaulets in favor of denim shirts and fishing vests. They drove their rental car to the Million Air FBO, loaded their supplies and fishing gear into the Caravan, and departed for beautiful Lake Mead.
With CAVU weather--clear and visibility unlimited--Scott leveled off at 1,000 feet. "While we re going in the general direction of the lake, lets check all airports with runways longer than four thousand feet. See if we find anything interesting." "Okay, 111 circle them."
Scott engaged the autopilot and poured each of them a cup of coffee. Following Interstate 15, they proceeded southwest over the Fishlake National Forest. Scott descended into valleys to check the airports and then climbed over the mountains to the next valley. They found nothing suspicious.
The low-flying Caravan was burning a lot of jet fuel, and by the time they reached the Dixie National Forest, Jackie was ready to land and stretch her legs. "Let's check the Bryce Canyon airport and then land at Cedar City for fuel."
"Sounds good."
Taking in the view of the scenic national park, they circled high above Bryce Canyon Airport. Jackie raised her binoculars and surveyed the airfield and the parked aircraft while they made two wide 360-degree turns. "I dont see anything interesting, except the canyons."
"Then we're off to Cedar City."
She placed the binoculars down and folded the chart. "Step on the accelerator every chance you get."
Standing in the shade of the camouflage nettings, Khaliq Farkas watched the big Cessna amphibian circle the airport and head west. His antennae were on full alert. It was unusual to see a plane loiter over an airport and then simply fly away.
Farkas could feel it in his gut: Someone was looking for the B-25. He couldn't wait much longer. The noose was tightening on the terrorist cells and he had to make his move soon--that or abandon the project and go back into sleep mode. The satellite phone rang, signaling another tirade from Saeed Shayhidi.
Leaving Cedar City, Jackie and Scott again followed Interstate 15 while they checked more airports. When they reached Mesquite, Nevada, they began banking to fly over the Lake Mead National Recreation Area, and Jackie took in the spectacular vista of the setting sun and cobalt-blue sky
"Its going to be dark soon," she observed, stretching her legs. "Lets go to Boulder City and get a fresh start early in the morning."
"Yeah, were ready for a break."
Minutes later, they landed at Boulder City Municipal Airport. After topping the fuel tanks and securing the Caravan at the Air Excel facilities, they hailed a taxi and headed to the Railroad Pass Hotel Casino.
NATIONAL AIRBORNE OPERATIONS CENTER
Orbiting in a racetrack pattern high above Mobile, Alabama, the E-4B Night Watch was flying under a bright, silvery moon. President Macklin and Hartwell Prost were visiting in the conference room when SecDef and General Chalmers entered with a CIA update on the hunt for Saeed Shayhidi.
Pete Adair was upbeat for the first time this evening. "Between the CIA and our special ops people, we re steadily gaining on Shayhidi."
"Dont keep us in suspense," Macklin prompted.
"The four penthouses he leases, one each in Hong Kong, London, Paris, and Sydney, are empty and under constant surveillance by the Agency."
"Where does that leave us?" Hartwell asked.
"Delta Force is preparing to visit Shayhidi's home in Aspen. We dont expect him to be there, but were ready."
"Unbelievable," Chalmers said, with undisguised irritation. "The guy buys a palatial multimillion-dollar home--six bedrooms, no less--in an artsy mountain town and then secretively backs a terrorist organization in a holy war against the United States."
"You know," Adair said, quickly formulating a plan, "like his bank accounts, we should seize Shayhidi's home in Aspen, sell it, and use the funds to help offset the cost of the war."
SecDef looked at the president. "What do you think, sir?"
"I think it's a great idea--the taxpayers will love it. Get in touch with Delta Force and tell them not to destroy the place."
"Well take care of it." Pete Adair nodded to Chalmers, who immediately went to the communications center.
Adair continued. "The CIA is getting ready to check a hotel in Beaulieu-sur-Mer, France. Shayhidi maintains a suite at the hotel and is known to spend a lot of time there."
"Where in France?" Macklin asked.
"Beaulieu-sur-Mer. It's on the Mediterranean coast fairly close to Nice. They're watching the airport too, the one Shayhidi uses when he stays at the hotel."
"Sounds good," Macklin said, his gaze narrowing. "Maybe we'll get lucky and snatch him at the airport."
"I certainly hope so," Adair replied. "The Agency is also checking a suite in the Hotel Seiyo Ginza in Tokyo, another city he is known to frequent. He has to turn up somewhere. He can't stay hidden forever."
Macklin nodded, disguising his frustration. "Stay on it until we find him. The longer he's out there, the higher the risk of more major tragedies."
"We'll find him," Adair said, in a convincing voice. "We've frozen a number of his assets, including charity funds in the Philippines, the Sudan, Egypt, India, Pakistan, and the States. Huge bank accounts have been frozen in Germany, France, and the Sudan. The same with h
is primary businesses in Germany, Uganda, Switzerland, Pakistan, and Sudan."
Adair couldn't resist a smile. "It has to really be hurting him financially, hemorrhaging money all over the planet."
"To say the least," Prost quietly chimed in. "Like others who have attacked the United States, Shayhidi grossly miscalculated the resolve of our country."
"And the reach of our influence," the president added.
General Chalmers walked back into the room. "A message just came in a few minutes ago. The Agency found out how Shayhidi slipped through our fingers in Saint Moritz."
"Let's have it," the president said, in a voice that was becoming raspy.
"He had a built-in escape route, a tunnel that surfaced in a storage shed in his backyard. Delta Force didn't consider the small storage shed when they planned the raid. He probably has something similar in his other homes."
"You can bet on it," Prost said. "Hes been working on this jihad for many years.
"Let s keep that in mind," Macklin said, absently rubbing his right shoulder. "No more egg on our face."
Silence prevailed.
"Well, gentlemen, I believe Fll turn in for the evening. See you bright and early in the morning."
"Yes, sir," the men said, rising with the president.
Macklin paused at the open door, "By the way, Doc Fortenberry thinks--healthwise--that it would be better for us to go to Cheyenne Mountain than stay airborne for extended periods in this pressurized cabin."
Eyebrows raised around the table.
"Just think about it. Well discuss it tomorrow."
Chapter 19.
BEAULIEU-SUR-MER, FRANCE
Feeling more confident and secure, having arrived at La Reserve de Beaulieu, Saeed Shayhidi was having breakfast in his splendid Florentine suite when the phone rang. Hotel manager Jacques Debroux, Shayhidis only close friend from their days at Princeton, was in a full-blown panic. His chief of security had just reported that several men were canvassing the hotel and its grounds. The frightened manager assumed the clean-cut men had to be members of the famous U. S. CIA.
Shayhidi froze for a moment before responding. "We have to put our plan in motion," he said excitedly. "I have to get out of here!"
"I'll be there shortly," Debroux said, in a hushed voice.
"Is everything in place?" Shayhidi asked.
"Yes." Debroux glanced around the lobby. "There are two agents here already--inside," he urgently whispered.
"I'm counting on you," Shayhidi growled. "Don't lose your nerve, don't let me down."
Debroux cupped the phone while he kept his eyes on the suspected agents. "I won't. I promise."
Shayhidi hung up and quickly dressed in black slacks and a white polo shirt. How are they doing this? How are they finding me? He grabbed his wallet, jewelry, and attache case and then ventured a peek out the window overlooking the tranquil Mediterranean Sea. Three unsmiling men in business suits were standing by the pool. They must surely he guarding against an escape attempt along the coast. I have to do something... unpredictable. I have to disappear--now!
Less than three minutes later, the hotel bell captain arrived with a large trunk on his luggage cart. Debroux quickly followed him into the suite. Shayhidi scrambled into the trunk and his friend closed and latched it. The two men strained to lift the container onto the luggage cart. Debroux placed a suitcase on the cart while the bell captain hung most of Shayhidis wardrobe on the overhead rack.
Accompanied by the nervous manager, who acted the part of a guest checking out of the hotel, the bell captain wheeled the cart through the lobby to a waiting limousine. Debroux went through the motions of clearing his account while the bell captain and his assistant loaded the heavy container into the trunk of the limousine.
The two CIA agents sitting in the elegant lobby watched as Shayhidi's friend picked up his faux copy of the hotel charges, walked to the limousine, and calmly and deliberately stepped into the back of the car. The chauffeur shut the door and slid behind the steering wheel as three more agents entered the hotel lobby.
After the limousine drove away from the entrance, Debroux's nerves failed him and he almost became physically ill. Ten minutes later, the driver pulled into a secluded section of a village and stopped the car. Debroux jumped out and freed Shayhidi from the steamer trunk.
When the limousine again entered the road, Shayhidi picked up the car phone and called a Paris-based jet charter company. He used his corporate account to secure a jet but gave a different name for the passenger list. While Debroux fretted and drummed his fingers, Shayhidi made other business and travel arrangements as they continued the long drive to the Aeroport de Lyon Bron, France.
When the limousine arrived at the Transair FBO, a Falcon 900EX corporate jet was waiting on the ramp. While Shayhidi's luggage was being loaded into the Falcon, he brushed past the pilots and boarded the plane. He gave the attractive young flight attendant a sardonic smile and took a seat in the back of the luxurious jet.
He did not bother to pay for the leased limousine or to thank his friend from Princeton. For Shayhidi, life was all about himself. Nothing and no one else mattered, especially the expendable people who stood in obedient readiness, awaiting his command or wish.
BOULDER CITY MUNICIPAL AIRPORT
Promptly at 6:30 A. M., Jackie and Scott took a taxi to the airport. They loaded their things in the Caravan and took off for nearby Lake Mead. The day was clear and the morning sun rising high above the mountains provided a breathtaking view.
The Lake Mead National Recreation Area, twice the size of Rhode Island, is where three of Americas four desert ecosystems meet. The Great Basin, the Sonoran, and the Mojave come together where one of the Wests most powerful rivers, the mighty Colorado, was stopped by one of the largest dams ever built.
Completed in 1936, Hoover Dam is a national historic landmark that can hold back 9.2 trillion gallons of water. The 727-foot dam is a concrete arch-gravity type, in which the water load is carried by both horizontal arch action and gravity. Located an hour's drive southeast of the Las Vegas strip, the dam straddles the Arizona-Nevada border.
Its mission is to control floods, improve navigation on the Colorado River, store and deliver water for reclamation of public lands, and provide hydroelectric power. Hoover Dam also contains 28.5-million-acre-foot Lake Mead, the largest man-made lake in the United States.
Since September 11, 2001, security at Hoover Dam had consisted of roadblocks and vehicle searches of all automobiles, boats, motor homes, and trucks. Except for open-bedded trucks, big rigs and buses were banned from the dam's narrow Highway 93. They were detoured to a bridge near Bullhead City, Arizona.
The heightened alert status also brought a change to Hoover's previously modest police force. Park rangers and personnel from other federal agencies were brought in to augment the force. Metal detectors were installed at the visitor center, camouflaged machine-gun posts dotted the hilltops, marksmen were stationed in concealed areas, and individuals with shoulder-fired surface-to-air missiles guarded the supplier of water and electricity for the vast Southwest.
Flying at 1,200 feet above Lake Mead, Scott slowly eased the power back for a relaxed cruise speed to save fuel. "Can you believe the constantly changing blues of the water?"
"I've never seen anything like it."
Scott stared off into the distance. "This is a spectacular setting, rugged mountains in the background and sheer cliffs jutting out of the water."
"What a beautiful place." Jackie shaded her eyes. "Since the glare is so bad at this time of the morning, maybe we should fly up to the neck of the lake, make a one-eighty, and have the sun at our backs."
"That would make it easier."
They flew straight to the Temple Bar Marina in Arizona, made a descending turn, lowered the flaps, and cruised at 90 knots 600 feet above the pristine lake.
Jackie glanced at Scott. "Its nice to be this close to the water and not have to worry about losing the only engine you h
ave."
"I know what you mean."
She raised the binoculars and scanned a wide array of boats. "Lots of people out here today"
"Its Saturday."
"And the weathers perfect," she added. "No wind and no waves."
They checked dozens of large houseboats, some in secluded coves, others in open waters. Many of the boaters waved, including a few who radioed the Caravan in the blind. Jackie chatted with a couple of the friendly people. One elderly gentleman even offered a refreshing Bloody Mary if they wanted to land. Soon, the Water Bird moniker became familiar to the boating crowd.
At half past noon, they circled Callville Bay Marina. Boasting over 600 slips, Callville Bay is one of the largest inland marinas in the United States. Scores of houseboats were carefully lined up in neat rows, beckoning their owners or renters to step aboard.
"See anything?" Scott asked.
"No, not a sign of number thirty-one."
"Want to go around again?"
"Sure, one more wide turn will do it."
They circled again and headed toward the western end of the huge lake. Another thirty minutes, now over the southern area of the lake, and Jackie figured it was time for a stretch, physiological relief, fuel, and food.
She placed the binoculars in the carrying case and removed her sunglasses. "How about a break for a juicy cowburger, some nutritional onion rings, and a big thick malted milk?"
Scott loudly groaned in disbelief. "How do you manage to stay so trim and thin?"
"Excellent genes. Step on it."
He smiled to himself and then added power and raised the flaps. "Cellulite City, here we come."
They were turning toward the airport when Jackie spotted a large houseboat about four miles northwest of Hoover Dam. There weren't any other houseboats in the vicinity and the craft was cruising toward the basin leading to the dam.
Jackie reached for the binoculars. "Keep the turn coming another twenty degrees or so--okay, hold what you have." She studied the top of the houseboat and saw the number 31 in bold black paint. "That's it! That's the one we've been looking for!"
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