It was too windy to attempt to raise the canopy. Cold and dripping wet, they would have to huddle together until the storm system moved on. The swells were gigantic and they were concerned about capsizing. After a couple of failed attempts, Scott managed to deploy the sea anchor. It helped stabilize the raft.
"Wouldn't it figure," Scott said after taking inventory of the equipment bag. "No emergency radio and no ELT." The emergency locator transmitter transmits simultaneously on 121.5 MHz (civilian) and 243.0 MHz (military), the search-and-rescue homing frequencies.
"Well, let's look on the bright side," Jackie said, in a relieved, upbeat voice. "We re not injured, and someone is going to be looking for us fairly soon, if not already."
Scott looked at her sheepishly. "There's a lifetime of lessons to be learned from this--from my unmitigated bonehead move."
"Don't worry, you won't do it again. Trust me."
Scott nodded quietly and lowered his head. So much for superior judgment to avoid having to use superior skills.
Chapter 33.
THE WHITE HOUSE
Completely redecorated with donated funds, the elegant state dining room was surrounded by English oak paneling and highlighted by crown molding around the ceiling. The room was designed to seat 130 guests comfortably, but this evening President Cord Macklin and Maria Eden-Macklin were entertaining 80 of their close friends and family members.
The president and the first lady were greeting their dinner guests, many of whom were long-standing friends from their military days. The occasion was their quarterly dinner party, always known to be lively and replete with colorful stories. After the gentlemen and their ladies gathered in the elaborate dining room, Hartwell Prost discreetly approached Macklin.
"Mr. President," he said in a barely audible voice, "may I have a brief word with you in the family dining room?"
Macklin could tell from Hartwell's solemn expression that something was amiss. "Sure, lead the way." The president maintained his casual smile as they left the room.
When Macklin closed the door to the private dining room, Prost sadly shook his head. "Jackie and Scott are missing, overdue in London."
"What happened?"
"I don't know," he said grimly. "They would've been out of fuel a couple of hours ago. There were no distress calls, nothing; they just vanished between Gander and London."
The president was visibly shaken. "Has this been verified?"
"Yes, the plane was registered to their aviation consulting company The FAA contacted their secretary and she called my home.
They had given her my number in case of an emergency My butler relayed the news to me about fifteen minutes ago." "What about a search?"
"Its under way. The weather along their route was bad-horrendous would be a better description. How about using some of our military assets to help in the search?"
The president nodded. "Anything you need. Take charge and pull out the stops."
"I will, Mr. President."
U. S. COAST GUARD AIR STATION ELIZABETH CITY, NORTH CAROLINA
Less than an hour and twenty minutes after the conversation between the president and Hartwell Prost, two coast guard HC-130H Hercules departed from Elizabeth City to look for the missing aviators. Another coast guard C-130 on a training flight from San Juan, Puerto Rico, to the Azores had changed course and would soon be assisting in the search. In addition, a marine corps KC-130F from MCAS Cherry Point, North Carolina, would be joining the growing rescue effort.
Two coast guard cutters, the Hamilton-class WHEC 721 Gallatin and the Famous-class WMEC 907 Escanaba, would be supplemented by three U. S. Navy ships and an E-2C Hawkeye early warning aircraft from the aircraft carrier USS Harry S. Truman. Civilian airplanes and ships in the general search area were also notified to be on the lookout for the downed pilots.
NAVAL AIR STATION BRUNSWICKMAINE
Four P-3C Orion land-based maritime patrol aircraft from squadrons VP-8 and VP-26 were tasked to join in the search for Jackie and Scott. The long-range four-engine turboprops would be joined by two P-3CS from VP-64 at NAS Willow Grove, Pennsylvania. Each aircraft would be assigned to a particular search pattern by the E-2C Hawkeye.
THE RAFT
The raging, icy seas were becoming less violent by the time Scott noticed the first hint of daylight. Numb from the cold water and gusty winds, he could barely move his stiff limbs. He turned on the flashlight and struggled with the canopy poles. Awakened by the beam of light darting around the raft, Jackie opened her eyes and blinked a couple of times. 4Tm frozen solid. How can you possibly move?"
"Trust me, it isnt easy." Scott extended the flashlight to her. "If you'll hold the light, I'll see if I can get the canopy up."
"Happy to help. Ready to start the oven and fix breakfast."
It was an unwieldy wrestling match^ but Scott finally placed the water-activated strobe light on top of the canopy and closed the flap to the entrance. The wind chill factor immediately dropped to nil. He arranged the whistle, signal mirror, dye marker, bailing bucket, first-aid packet, and flare kit by the water and rations kit.
"Here," he said, handing Jackie an emergency space blanket. "Crawl under this and warm yourself."
"Thanks."
She curled up under the blanket and Scott draped another blanket over her legs. Jackie accepted a tropical chocolate bar and then had a long drink of water from a plastic canteen. 14Well, one thing's for sure, it's nice and cozy with the canopy up."
Still shivering, Scott managed a half smile. "Yeah, spending quality time together in the great outdoors."
She swallowed another drink of water. "The alternative could've been a lot worse: lying on the bottom of the Atlantic."
They remained lost in their thoughts while the life raft bobbed up and down in the choppy waves. Late morning saw the beginning of the end of the downpour. When the sun began peeking through occasional holes in the low overcast, Scott picked up the bailing bucket. He opened the canopy flap and methodically began scooping water out of the raft. What a stupid and dangerous thing I did.
Finally, he used the sponge to drain the last of the water out of the raft and then shut the flap. "Home sweet home."
She stared at him thoughtfully "If you could be anywhere right now, where would it be?"
He looked up, his eyes quizzing her. "That's a loaded question. I'd choose to be in Gander yesterday and stay on the ground."
"I said right now, not yesterday."
Scott's voice was even and matter-of-fact. "Under the circumstances, I'd say in the Rowes Wharf Bar at the Boston Harbor Hotel, thinking about the dumbest thing I've ever done--not counting yesterday."
She smiled and shook her head. "Even though I think you walk on water, pun intended, I have a couple of other suggestions for the dumbest category"
He looked at her suspiciously. "You have a mean streak."
"Let's see: for starters, parachuting onto a Chinese Communist ship in the middle of the night in the middle of the Pacific Ocean."
"I was trained to do that."
"You were trained to fly, too. A naturally gifted pilot who successfully flew jets from the decks of aircraft carriers."
Scott didn't blink an eyelash. "New subject?"
Feeling a sudden pang of guilt, Jackie nodded in agreement. "Sure." He has to live with this for the rest of his life.
"Let's set up watches," he suggested. "Four hours on, four off."
"Sounds fair." Jackie glanced at the two collapsible oars. "We can sit next to the open hatch and slowly rotate the raft."
He reached for an oar. "An unrestricted view of the ocean and the sky."
"Yup, we sure don't want to miss anything."
Scott raised the flap and glanced at the horizon. "And we don't want to be sunk by some ship we didn't see coming, spoil our vacation."
"Just keep the flare gun handy."
He unfolded one oar and locked it in place. "I'll take the first four and you try to get some sleep."
&
nbsp; "I won't argue with you." She made herself a comfortable lair and curled up under two space blankets. "Wake me if a cruise ship stops by."
"Count on it." Scott mindlessly paddled the raft in a slow circle, scanning the horizon and the sky. My flaw is being too mission-oriented, too eager to press on under any circumstances. There wasn't any timeline--no need to rush to Geneva. A night in Gander would have saved a lot of grief. Fortunately, no one was killed or injured.
Scott allowed Jackie to sleep an extra hour before he began dozing off. Reluctantly, he woke her and waited until she was fully roused. He consumed some chocolate and water before stretching out and closing his eyes. Although he was exhausted, Scott was tormented and embarrassed by his serious lapse in judgment. Finally, after twenty minutes, the gentle undulation of the raft rocked him to sleep.
Jackie settled into a slow, methodical routine of paddling and searching. The low overcast began to dissipate and the sun was appearing more often. By late afternoon, Jackies eyes were playing tricks on her, or so she thought. Is that an airplane low on the horizon? She scanned back and forth. That has to be a plane, but there isn't any sound--probably a turboprop with the power pulled back.
"Scott, wake up!"
Startled awake, he rubbed his eyes. "What is it?"
"Its a plane--look! It's just under the overcast!"
He scrambled to the opening and took one look. "Damn!" He reached for the flare gun. "Watch out."
She rolled out of the way and looked over his shoulder.
Scott pointed the flare gun up at an angle and squeezed the trigger. The bright flare quickly reached its apogee while Scott reloaded the gun. He fired the second flare and they stared at the plane.
"It's a P-3 Orion," he said, as the sun suddenly bathed them in its warm glow. "They're either hunting subs or searching for us."
"Let's hope it's the latter."
They watched for fifteen seconds as the aircraft continued on course.
"Come on," Scott said impatiently. "Hell-o, is anyone awake?"
After another ten seconds, their hopes were dashed.
"Well," he said, meeting her gaze, "we know people are look--"
"It's turning, banking toward us!" She grabbed the dye marker and tossed it to Scott. "Might as well use it."
He quickly deployed the vivid yellow dye and watched it spread over the sea. "Between our international-orange canopy and the dye, I don't think they'll have any problem locating us."
Jackie raised a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sun. She could barely hear the low deep-throated sound from the four turbo-props. "Question is, how long before a ship or helicopter arrives?"
Scott held his answer while the antisubmarine-warfare plane flew low past the raft. They waved at the crew of the P-3C as it pulled up in a gentle climbing turn to the left.
"Who knows? It shouldn't be too long."
"I hope you're right."
The big maritime patrol plane slowed and began a wide holding pattern around the raft. Thirty minutes later, the tall mainmast of a vessel under sail appeared on the horizon. The gleaming ninety-two-foot crewed charter yacht was headed straight for the raft.
Scott smiled reassuringly. "Things are going a lot better today than they were yesterday evening."
A sixth sense compelled Jackie to look beyond Scott. Another aircraft was approaching from the southwest. "And we have more good news," she announced, pointing to a low-flying C-130.
Even at a distance, Scott immediately recognized the white aircraft. "The coast guard is here."
Low on fuel, the navy P-3C rolled wings level and departed to the southwest. The sound of the engines became louder as the airplane climbed through the broken overcast and disappeared.
The coast guard HC-130H slowed and passed close to the life raft. A crew member standing on the open aft ramp tossed a bright orange object into the ocean. It landed within ten yards of the raft.
"A radio," Scott said excitedly. He reached for an oar and plopped on his chest at the entrance to the raft. With long smooth strokes he propelled the raft to the orange container.
"Got it," he said, unwrapping the survival radio. It was already tuned to the emergency channel. "Coast guard, it's good to see you guys!"
"What's your condition?" the pilot asked.
Scott keyed the radio. "We're in great shape."
"Excellent, stand by."
"Roger."
The C-130 began a wide left-hand orbit before the aircraft commander again keyed his radio. "The good Samaritans in the approaching yacht have graciously agreed to host you until our helo arrives. Recommend you keep your raft for the helo pickup, easier than lifting you close to the mast. Copy?"
"Roger that," Scott said, and then laughed with Jackie, relief in their voices. He rubbed the stubble on his cheek. "From a life raft to a sailing yacht, cant beat it."
With the tension now subsiding, Jackie turned sober. "We had an extremely close call, but the real fun begins when we visit with our insurance company."
"Yeah, that's going to be ugly."
When they were helped aboard the luxurious yacht, Scott and Jackie were surprised to see a Union Jack ensign. The British crew and their Italian passengers were friendly and hospitable to the two Americans. During their short visit, Jackie and Scott were given dry clothes, food, and all the bottled water they could consume.
They were escorted on a tour of the impeccably maintained teak, brass, and mahogany vessel. When they reached the dining room, highlighted by bird's-eye maple panels and oriental carpets, the ship's skipper gave a champagne toast in celebration of their rescue.
Minutes later an HH-60J Jayhawk helicopter from the coast guard cutter WMEC 907 Escanaba arrived over the yacht. After profusely thanking their hosts, Jackie and Scott boarded their life raft and cast off. The helicopter crew quickly plucked them up. The captain of the yacht recovered the raft, deflated it, and stowed it belowdeck.
Scott and Jackie were flown to the cutter and greeted warmly by the commanding officer. Following explicit directions from coast guard headquarters in Washington, D. C., the captain made arrangements for the pair to have privacy in order to contact a government official.
Hartwell Prost was thrilled to hear from them as they explained what happened. As usual, he came right to the point. "Let's be thankful you're safe and on your way home. What happened is in the past, can't do anything about it. Look to the future, and don't worry."
Prost was cheerful. He told them to take a few days off and then contact him. He had been in touch with Mary Beth and she was deeply relieved to know Jackie and Scott were okay. After their call to Prost, the friendly skipper insisted on bunking them in staterooms. Jackie and Scott were reluctant to ask the officers to give up their quarters, but the captain insisted.
Unable to shake the memories of the accident, the couple spent the following two days discussing their aircraft insurance options. The morning of the third day, when Escanaba was drawing close to the East Coast, they were flown to Washington, D. C.
GEORGETOWN
Once home, Jackie instinctively turned on the television and stepped into the master bath to shower. She was rinsing her hair when she heard howling and clapping coming from the family room. Next, there was banging on the bathroom door and muffled shouts of elation. Jackie turned off the water and reached for a towel. What is wrong with him? She opened the door to find Scott holding a bottle of champagne and two flutes.
"Hes dead--they killed him!"
"Who?"
"Farkas. Its confirmed; he's in a morgue."
Jackie was skeptical. "What happened?"
"He tried to run a roadblock outside of Prescott--they nailed him on the spot!" Unusual for him, Scott let out a wild shout. "Hell, it's on Fox so it has to be true!"
Jackie threw her arms around Scott's neck, almost dislodging the champagne bottle. They celebrated the news and decided to follow Hartwell's advice: to take a few days off to enjoy one of their favorite getaways for re
laxation and privacy. Scott, who had been planning a surprise for Jackie's birthday, was especially excited about the respite.
Chapter 34.
WEQUASSETT INN RESORT & GOLF CLUB
Located on Cape Cods picturesque Pleasant Bay in Chatham, Massachusetts, the secluded waterfront Wequassett Inn was one of Jackie and Scott's cherished hideaways. The twenty-two wooded acres offered a relaxing atmosphere in a quaint and intimate setting. The resort was well known for its wide variety of facilities and services. The main dining room, for example, was constructed in the early 1800s and featured a view of the bay.
After checking into their preferred suite the evening before, the couple played a sunrise round of golf on the eighteen-hole course. Refreshed by the exercise, they enjoyed a light breakfast and then decided to go sailing.
Repairing to their suite, Scott and Jackie changed into nautical attire and Topsider boat moccasins. They packed their mesh boat bag with supplies and headed for the dock.
"What a beautiful morning," Jackie noted, as she studied the puffy clouds and blue sky. "The temperature is perfect and the water is calm."
Brimming with anticipation, Scott gave her a brief smile. "Couldn't be better, a Chamber of Commerce day."
After lounging and sightseeing under the warm sun, Scott anchored the sailboat in a small, quiet bay guarded by dozens of curious seagulls. The resorts kitchen staff had supplied a sumptuous picnic for the sailing excursion. Jackie and Scott enjoyed the fare at leisure and relaxed with a glass of wine.
Scott took in the scores of moored sailboats in the small harbor across from their location. He locked his fingers behind his head and stretched out on his back.
Jackie placed her wineglass in the picnic basket and propped herself up on one arm beside Scott. "I want to capture this picture in my mind and be able to recall it anytime I feel insecure and need to be in a peaceful place."
Scott took in a deep breath of sea air and slowly let it out. "I know what you mean."
Assurred Response (2003) Page 38