The stunned sergeant major had his men immediately reload in the event of another sneak attack. He watched as panicked drivers and pedestrians jockeyed to get off the dam.
"What the hell," he said to himself and lit a cigarette. It's way too late to run now.
Scott saw the smoking B-25 distance. It was low, heading south, and then it began a shallow turn to the southeast followed by a heading change to the east.
Jackie and Scott were unprepared for what was about to happen. When the nuclear bomb detonated, it sent a shock wave radiating from the plume of water and mist.
Jackie gripped Scott's lower arm and stared in disbelief. "That was a nuke, no mistaking that."
"Yeah, up close and in your face."
"Oh, my God," Jackie said, as the plane was buffeted by the shock wave. "Those people on the dam ..." She trailed off.
"They're not with us anymore."
Appalled, she watched the rising mushroom cloud. "All those innocent people gone--vaporized."
For a moment, Scott was speechless. "Incredibly twisted people-sick."
Jackie was too shocked to respond.
Scott searched for the B-25. "Farkas has four more nukes. We have to nail him and find them."
It was a replay of the Glen Canyon disaster, but the damage to the Hoover Dam wasn't as severe. The center and a portion of the east side of the structure had been shattered, but the dam was still standing. However, hundreds of thousands of gallons were pouring through unchecked. The question was on everyone's mind: How would the dam react when the water from Lake Powell was added to Lake Mead?
Scott strained to see the departing B-25 an<^ caught sight of it low to the ground. "We have to go after Farkas."
"We cant catch him in this plane, dont even see him."
"He's at our eleven-thirty, extremely low and trailing smoke." Scott banked to the left to intercept the bomber at an angle. "See it?"
"Not yet . . . okay, got him."
Scott glanced at the instruments to make sure the Pratt & Whitney turboprop was producing maximum power. "His right engine is trailing smoke. If it fails we'll have a good chance of catching him, or at least keeping him in sight."
"Let's call center and get some fighters on him," she suggested.
"Go ahead."
Jackie called the controller and tried to coordinate an intercept. With both dams being overrun by airplanes and news helicopters, the controller was busy sorting out traffic. A constant stream of radio calls blocked other transmissions while everyone tried to talk at the same time.
She shook her head. "Looks like we'll have to take a number."
"We'll stay on him," Scott said, as they slowly gained on the B-25.
They remained silent while the distance between the two planes continued to decrease.
"There it goes," she said as they watched clouds of black smoke pour out of the right nacelle. "The engine just cratered."
"Did it ever."
In less than twenty-five seconds, the propeller was feathered and the engine was shut down.
"No more smoke," Scott said as they slowly closed in on the limping bomber. "I want to fall in trail about a thousand yards behind him and come up his six."
"You might want to stay slightly below him. Better chance that no one sees us coming."
"Well give it a try."
They watched for other traffic while the Caravan gained on the bomber. Scott eased the power back as they grew closer.
"They're on to us," Jackie said quietly, watching through the binoculars.
"What?"
She handed him the binoculars. "Someone is eyeballing us from the tail gunners position. You look; I have the airplane."
"You have it." Scott relinquished the flight controls and surveyed the tail of the crippled bomber. "Damn."
"New plan?" she calmly asked.
"Yeah, new plan." He took the controls again, maneuvered the Caravan to the left side of the B-25, anc^ slowly added power. "It looks like someone has put a number of rounds through the wings and fuselage."
"Maybe that's what happened to the engine."
"Who knows? Just glad it slowed him down."
"We have to have some fighters," Jackie said, and again keyed the radio. "Los Angeles Center, Caravan November Three-Two-Three Fox Lima."
The wooden-voiced controller was going nonstop. When he paused for a fraction of a second, she tried again. No reply. He kept stepping on her radio transmissions. "Well, I'll try someone who isn't so busy, see if we can relay our message and position."
"Have at it."
She called Las Vegas Approach Control and explained their situation. Shaken by what had happened at Hoover Dam, the controller promised to send the message immediately.
Jackie placed the binoculars on the floor. "The guy just left the tail gunner's hangout."
A few seconds later, the man reappeared at the waist gunner's opening in the left side of the fuselage.
"Well," Jackie said hesitantly, "let's see if Farkas is at the wheel, what do you think?"
"Why not?" Scott said, as he carefully eased the big Cessna even with the cockpit of the B-25.
Khaliq Farkas turned and looked at the Caravan for a long moment, staring at the cockpit.
"Thats him," Scott announced. "No doubt about it!"
"Let s ease back," Jackie suggested. "We need some maneuvering room in case he tries to ram us."
Scott inched the throttles aft at the same moment the crewman in the bomber opened fire with his AK-47. The high-powered rounds ripped through the Caravans right float and passenger windows, shattering the interior of the cabin.
Chapter 23.
EAST OF LAS VEGAS
Hugging the terrain, Tohir Makkawi carefully advanced the throttles as the silver B-25 southwest of the Muddy Mountains. His potential targets were easy to distinguish with the morning sun at his back. During their briefing before takeoff, Khaliq Farkas had left the final decision to Makkawi. He could choose any of the hotel casinos to crash his bomber into, but Farkas suggested one of the larger complexes in the heart of the famous gambling strip.
From a distance, Makkawi studied the Aladdin, Bellagio, Mandalay Bay, and a few other well-known landmarks. He particularly liked the tempting hotel casino known as Caesar s Palace. Makkawi had heard fascinating stories about Caesar s Palace from Saudi princes who vacationed at the hotel during their frequent visits to the United States. As he gazed at his choice of targets, a smile creased Makkawi s face. The rich and arrogant scions of wealth would have to evaluate new lodging accommodations.
Spying two F-16s flying 1,000 feet above the Las Vegas strip, Makkawi decided to make a wide circle to avoid the fighters.
The crewman/gunner sitting in the back of the plane was wistfully smoking a cigarette and looking forward to getting back on the ground. Why are we going around in circles? After the scary moments during the takeoff run, he was anxious to get through the landing phase of the mission. He had "enjoyed" all the flying he cared to experience for the rest of his life, especially with novice pilots.
Due to a hydraulic pump failure in the scheduled AWACS, an Airborne Warning and Control System aircraft was not yet covering the airspace over Lake Powell and Lake Mead. Air force fighters had been scrambled when the news about the Glen Canyon Dam reached Nellis AFB. Along with four F-16s from the New Mexico Air National Guard, the four Nellis-based F-16s proceeded to Lake Powell. They rendezvoused over Page, Arizona, with a KC-135 tanker and then split up in four sections to hunt for the illusive B-25S.
With the help of controllers who occasionally picked up a primary radar return from the bombers, the ANG fighter pilots from Kirtland AFB, Albuquerque, were first on the prowl. Continuing reports from eyewitnesses in the air and on the ground matched what the controllers were observing.
Three other F-16s were now patrolling the skies over Nellis AFB and the nearby city of Las Vegas. The fighter pilots cast occasional glances at the jammed highways and streets, where panicked vacati
oners and gamblers scurried to get out of town. Dozens of emergency vehicles and law enforcement cruisers were racing to various accident scenes.
A large number of sport utility vehicles had gone off-road to get around the growing traffic jams. McCarran International Airport was in total gridlock, with nothing moving on the ground or in the air. Local law-enforcement agencies were providing the front line of security for the airport and its support facilities.
Although he didnt know it, Tohir Makkawi had been discovered. His bomber was being pursued by two New Mexico Air National Guard F-16s in afterburner--full blower and supersonic. Known as the Tacos, the ANG squadron was blessed with an abundance of talented aviators. The pilots chasing the B-25 were airline captains who had many years of experience in fighters.
Makkawi, in his quest for more speed, intentionally overboosted the radial engines. The heavily vibrating Wright Cyclones weren't going to last much longer, but Makkawi was not concerned. He only needed two more minutes of maximum power and his mission would be accomplished. The infidels remaining in Caesars Palace were in for the shock of their lives. The majority of the decadent sinners did not have long to live. Makkawi would soon be with Allah, and Khaliq Farkas would be proud of his successful trainee.
The crewman in the rear of the plane was wondering why they were flying so low and why the engine noise had increased so much. He guessed it was an evasive maneuver and lit another cigarette. They would soon be on the ground. He was looking forward to going back into sleep mode.
Makkawi s B-25 was making a heading change when Lieutenant Colonel Clay Yeatts, leader of the ANG section, screeched into position at the bomber's six o'clock. Taco One used his M61 20mm Vulcan cannon to blast the right rudder completely off the bomber's horizontal stabilizer.
Another barrage of shells ripped the right engine cowling to pieces, sending a thick stream of black oil flowing from the wing. The engine caught fire as Yeatts swung smoothly over to the left side of the plane and worked the left engine over. It lasted only a few seconds before a blazing streak of fire erupted from the cowling.
The right landing gear dropped out of its wheel well as the B-25 began a steep bank to the right. Yeatts continued to pour cannon fire into the burning plane as it slow-rolled onto its back and crashed nose first near the southern boundary of the Desert Rose Golf Course.
A foursome that heard the three planes approaching ran for cover and spread-eagled with their hands over their heads. They were only slightly injured by the flying debris that hurtled over them. They unanimously decided to adjourn to the nineteenth hole and have a round of Bloody Marys.
The fiercely burning wreckage of the bomber was lying in a crater seven miles from Caesar's Palace. The Tacos had come through with a grand slam, saving the lives of many unsuspecting tourists and hotel workers.
The news about the B-25 cras^ on the outskirts of the Las Vegas strip flashed through the city in a matter of minutes. With black smoke still rising into the sky, a second wave of visitors scrambled to check out of their hotels and leave the city. Only the hard-core gamblers remained. Most of the city's 128,000 motel and hotel rooms were now vacant.
NORTH AMERICAN AEROSPACE DEFENSE COMMAND
The massive command center was a beehive of activity as hundreds of military aircraft filled the skies. General-aviation airplanes and airliners were again ordered to land at the nearest suitable airport. Sanitizing the airspace was a major priority for NORAD and the FAA.
With the surprising efficiency gained after September 11, there were soon hundreds of fighters, tankers, and surveillance aircraft airborne to protect the U. S. heartland from other deadly terrorist attacks. The tankers were quickly assigned to predetermined refueling tracks at strategic locations around the United States. No one had any idea where or when the next assault would take place. The frontline military aircraft were given whatever priority they needed to be in a position to protect the nation.
Navy E-2C Hawkeyes, air force E-3 AWACS, and U. S. Customs P-3 Orions were pressed into the surveillance role to detect, monitor, and assess anything airborne that might constitute a threat. They also helped to streamline the around-the-clock combat air patrols over major cities. The fighters were constantly cycling off and on the tankers until they returned to their bases to switch crews. Many other fighter aircraft at strategic locations were on ground alert.
Fifteen military transport planes were assigned to fly to various civilian airports to collect stranded airline pilots and return them to their military air guard units. During the interim, many guard pilots were flying double shifts or volunteering for duty at the nearest base. A host of retired military personnel of all ranks began showing up at bases to help in any way possible.
President Macklin was receiving the latest brief on the twin disasters in the Southwest. The U. S. director of homeland security, the head of FEMA, and many other directors of federal and state organizations were swinging into action. Macklin gathered his top advisers in a private conference room at NORAD. The mood was somber.
"Have a seat, gendemen," the president said. That he was outraged was clearly evident by the set of his jaw. "Pete, you and Les plan for multiple strikes on our primary terrorist targets, military targets first. Suppress enemy air defenses, airfields, tactical aircraft, triple-A sites, SAMS, weapons storage and assembly facilities, and command-and-control centers. Thoroughly neutralize them with cruise missiles first."
Hartwell Prost caught Macklins attention. "We should use carpet bombing to flatten every terrorist training camp on our list, including the new ones under construction and the ones they're currently rebuilding. The message for the terrorists and the leaders of the countries that support them has to be stunning--paralyzing."
"I agree," the president said. "The next phase needs to include the states' infrastructure--power plants, major dams, bridges, petroleum storage facilities, and main highways and roads. We are literally going to bomb them into submission. No peace talks, no compromises, no settlements, no bullshit--period!" The president turned to General Chalmers. "Les, which carrier do we have in the North Arabian Sea?"
"Stennis, sir."
"How soon can we have a second carrier in place?"
"Four days, maybe five. Washington has left Singapore, probably in the Strait of Malacca as we speak."
"Good. Start hitting them with air force and carrier assets as soon as possible. We'll step it up when the second carrier is on station. We'll use whatever we need to get a handle on this problem. Everything is on the table--theater nukes if we have to go that far."
APPROACHING RED LAKE
Khaliq Farkas remembered seeing the rare float-equipped Caravan circle the Bryce Canyon airport. He was certain it was the two American operatives. They were like a plague, continuing to torment him. While Farkas tried to think of a way to escape his pursuers, he coaxed the bomber to climb at 150 feet per minute. With only one engine operating, he didn't want to get too slow and lose control of the airplane.
Farkas pressed the intercom button to talk to his crewman in the back. "Where's the plane, can you see it?"
"It's directly above and behind us."
"Can you get another shot at it?"
"I cant lean out far enough to take a shot. The wind blast is too strong to aim precisely."
Farkas knew his time was limited. "If they try to pull alongside again, shoot at their engine."
"Fll try my best."
"You better do your best," Farkas growled. "These people will kill us."
Knowing Farkass explosive personality, the crewman remained silent.
They were nearing Red Lake, an isolated dry lake, when Farkas made radio contact with the helicopter pilot waiting to fly them to safety. They quickly decided on a course of action. The helicopter would land next to the B-25 an(^ ^ ^ people in the Caravan attempted to interfere, the gunner in the helo would shoot them down. That seemed like a reasonable solution, but Farkas had another plan. The timing had to be right, but he knew the risk
y idea could work.
"He turned the float into a sieve," Jackie said, and looked into the passenger cabin. Two windows were shattered, and the interior was riddled with rounds from the AK-47. "That definitely eliminates a water landing."
"That's why we have wheels too--options, lots of options."
"If they aren't damaged," she countered.
"Remember the word optimistic?"
"That's not exactly the word that comes to mind at the moment."
Scott glanced at the bomber. "I believe we need some firepower, take out the guy in the back."
"The MP-5?"
"Yeah, that should do it."
She handed him the compact submachine gun.
"You have the airplane."
"I've got it," she said.
He lowered his seat to make himself more comfortable.
"Don't shoot through the prop," she warned.
"Not a chance." "Right."
Scott opened the small triangle-shaped vent window in the forward section of the pilot's door window. "If you come up on his right side, say about a forty-five-degree angle, 111 have a clear field of fire if he shows himself."
She smoothly added power.
"Easy, looking good." Scott checked to make sure the weapon was in the full automatic position and then stuck the short muzzle through the vent. He braced the submachine gun against the back of the small window.
Jackie moved into position and stabilized the Caravan close to the bomber. She kept one hand on the yoke and the other on the thrust lever, constantly making small corrections.
After a few seconds, the unwitting man appeared with his AK-47 braced against his shoulder. Before the terrorist could take aim, Scott squeezed the trigger and the man staggered backward and fell over. He tried to get up, but only managed to get to his hands and knees before he collapsed next to his assault rifle. Jackie maintained position for another minute, but no one else appeared at the opening.
"Okay, let's move back," Scott said as he kept the submachine gun trained on the B-25.
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