by L. D Beyer
“What do you recommend, Colonel?” Thomas asked as he scanned the menu. “I wouldn’t have a clue what I was ordering.”
“You all okay if I order for the table?”
“Sure, why not.” Lewis said closing her menu and handing it to the waiter. “I guess if you can tolerate my choice in theater, the least I can do is let you choose the meal.”
McKay half listened as the Colonel ordered. He had been feeling anxious and queasy since his trip to the mall. Secretly, he had been hoping that the storage locker would be empty, or that the key wouldn’t work. He should have declined the dinner invitation. Ever since the trip to the mall, he felt like a freight train was speeding towards him and he couldn’t jump out of the way. He took a sip of his soda and told himself to calm down. Everything was set. It was only pre-game jitters. He just had to focus on getting through the evening. Thankfully, no one noticed his growing anxiety.
____
It was 9:45 p.m. when the president returned to his suite. Agents Richter and Sartori took up their posts in the hall outside his room. Richter glanced at his watch. Fifteen more minutes to go before his shift ended. He hadn’t eaten yet and considered asking Stephanie to join him for a sandwich in the hotel restaurant. He only wanted dinner and a chance to sit and talk; he wasn’t interested in anything more. Or so he kept telling himself.
But would she say yes? Stephanie was driven and very serious about her job, but she had a human side too. She could be playful at times. Not quite flirting with him, but what? He wasn’t sure. Maybe she felt at ease with him, the way many people do when they worked together, especially after sharing some intense and challenging moments. But every time she began to let her guard down, to show him she might be interested, she seemed to catch herself.
She’s only being friendly, he chastised himself. Forget about her and do your job.
The trouble was, he couldn’t.
____
Colonel Zweig turned on the TV when he got back to his hotel room. He burped twice as he undressed and got ready for bed. I’ll need to work this dinner off, he thought, as he set his alarm clock early so he could go to the gym.
His thoughts were interrupted by the TV.
“A series of Pacific storms will hit the western half of the U.S. over the next few days and we can expect to see near blizzard conditions and dangerous if not impossible travel conditions in much of the northwest.”
“Blizzard conditions? This is a little unusual for this time of year, isn’t it, Katy?”
“Right you are, Wayne. And this is going to be a big one. The National Weather Service has issued a winter storm warning for several western states effective this evening through Sunday morning.”
Colonel Zweig studied the weather map on the TV.
“This will affect parts of Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana. The brunt of the storm front is expected to pass through northwestern Oregon and southwestern Washington between 2:00 a.m. and 10:00 a.m. and southwestern Idaho between 7:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. on Friday. And Wayne, check this out. Portions of Idaho and Montana could see two to three feet of snow above four thousand feet and three to five feet of snow above seven thousand feet. In some areas, we can expect wind gusts up to eighty miles per hour.”
“Three to five feet? Sounds like a good idea to stay home, Katy.”
“That’s right, Wayne. Travelers should expect delays and possible road closures along Interstate 15, Interstate 80, Interstate 90, and along the many state and county highways in the region. The Montana State Police have advised us that some mountain passes will be closed. Travelers are urged to use extreme caution and avoid travel if at all possible. If you do need to travel, carry chains, a shovel, blankets, and a winter survival kit.”
“Thanks, Katy. We suggest that you stay tuned throughout the weekend as we continue to update you on this storm.”
The colonel reached for the room phone when his cell phone rang. Dropping the receiver back in its cradle, he answered his cell. “This is Colonel Zweig.”
“Colonel, this is Major Nelson from McCord Air Force Base. Sir, the National Weather Service has issued winter storm warnings for the Pacific Northwest and surrounding states.”
“I’m watching the news right now, Major.”
“Yes, sir. I’m sending you the details. At this point, it looks like you should be fine getting out of Seattle tomorrow. The forecast calls for freezing rain and winds of ten to fifteen miles an hour at Sea-Tac. The heavy snow will be concentrated further east from Spokane down through southwestern Oregon, throughout much of central and southern Idaho into Montana about as far as Bozeman.”
“Thanks, Major. Anything changes call me ASAP.”
Colonel Zweig hung up and dialed Major Lewis’s room. She answered immediately.
“Major, I want to meet one hour earlier, let’s say zero four thirty. It looks like we’re going to have to earn our pay tomorrow.”
____
Richter pushed the button for his floor. As the doors began to close, Stephanie stepped in.
“Gee, thanks for waiting for me.” She playfully punched him in the arm.
There it was again.
“Sorry, Stephanie, I didn’t see you.”
“Oh, yes you did. You were trying to get away. Had too much of me for one day, did you?”
Richter didn’t hesitate. “Okay. You caught me. How about I make it up to you and buy you a sandwich? There’s a great deli around the corner.”
“Agent Richter?” She feigned surprise. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“A date? Who said anything about a date?” He smiled then hesitated a moment before continuing. “I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet, and neither have I.”
“You know, you’re cute when you’re embarrassed.” She smiled then paused, uncertain, as she studied him for a moment. Then she smiled again. “I have a better idea. How about I order some sandwiches from room service?”
Richter was surprised. “That sounds great.”
The elevator door opened and Stephanie stepped out. “Okay. Why don’t you come by in thirty minutes?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Friday, April 23
It had been snowing for the last twelve hours, and Jack was not happy. Derek watched him in the flickering light of the small candle lantern. The lantern, a tube no bigger than a roll of quarters with a retractable, reflective dome on top, swayed gently above their heads. Shadows danced on the walls of the tent.
“Let’s at least wait until its light out, Jack. It’s five-thirty in the morning for Christ’s sake.”
Truth be told, Derek wasn’t happy either, but he was not about to admit that to Jack. What made it worse was that Jack was right. They didn’t have the gear for this weather. Without ice gear and snowshoes, it would be foolish to continue their planned route. They didn’t even have the right clothes, Derek realized, at least not for the blizzard outside.
Jack had been packing his gear since returning from a morning nature call. Thinking he was overreacting as usual, Derek had unzipped one of the window flaps and peeked outside. Although he knew it was snowing—sleeping in a tent, he never had to guess the weather—he was surprised at how much snow had fallen already. There appeared to be at least a foot on the ground, and it was still coming down.
“Look, Jack. I agree it doesn’t make sense to continue in this weather.”
Jack glared over his shoulder.
“We have two choices. We can pack our gear and head back. Right now. In the dark. In this storm.” He let that thought sink in. “Or we can wait until its light out and see if the weather breaks.” Derek reached into his pack and pulled out a small coffeepot. “I can make some breakfast in the meantime.”
“A cup of your lousy coffee and a frozen granola bar.” Jack smiled for the first time that morning. “Actually, that sounds pretty good.” The tension inside the tent eased.
Derek smiled back. “Why don’t you set up the stove? I’ll g
o fill the pot up with snow.”
“Just make sure it’s not yellow,” Jack joked as Derek crawled outside.
At least he’s in a better mood, Derek thought as he tried to orient himself in the darkness and the swirling snow. They were going to have trouble enough finding their way today.
____
“You haven’t said much this morning, Lieutenant. Are you okay?”
It was still dark as the shuttle bus drove over to the Air Cargo section of the airport, where Air Force One was under heavy guard.
McKay grunted. “Dinner tasted much better last night than it feels right now.”
“So that’s why I didn’t see you in the gym this morning,” Captain Thomas responded. “I thought studs like you liked spicy food.”
“Give him a break,” Major Lewis ordered. “Lieutenant. Here….catch.”
McKay caught the package of Pepto Bismol. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing slowly. He didn’t feel well, but it had nothing to do with last night’s meal.
____
Richter woke, and it took him a couple of seconds before he realized where he was. He cursed silently.
He got out of bed, careful not to make any sound. Grabbing his clothes, he tiptoed to the bathroom, silently closing the door. He started to put on his pants then hesitated. He felt conflicted. Part of him was upset. He knew he had broken a professional code. He told himself that it was a mistake. That it would never work.
Then another part of him said, So what? You need to enjoy life more! He had one leg in his pants when he realized that this was the first night in a long time when the nightmares and bad dreams hadn’t invaded his sleep. He had slept well.
He sat on the edge of the tub for a few moments. Then he took his pants off and tiptoed back to bed.
He lay down and pulled the sheets up, trying not to make any noise.
Stephanie rolled over into his arms.
“I was hoping you’d come back.”
____
Four hours before the scheduled departure of Air Force One, an E-3 Sentry Airborne Warning and Control System, or AWACS aircraft, took off from Tinker Air Force base in Oklahoma and headed northwest. The plane, based on a Boeing 707-320B airframe, had a flight crew of four in the cockpit with eighteen AWACS officers operating the highly sophisticated electronic systems in the rear. In addition to assisting in the monitoring of all commercial, civilian, military, and private aircraft in its sector as part of the North American Aerospace Defense Command, or NORAD, whenever Air Force One was in the air, the E-3 provided surveillance and threat detection and coordinated the communications with and control over other Air Force assets assigned to defend and protect the president.
Two and a half hours later, when the E-3 reached its station over central Oregon, it began to fly an oval pattern.
____
Air Force One sat on the tarmac at Seattle Tacoma International Airport, waiting for clearance from the control tower. Unlike commercial aircraft, which had to wait in a queue, Air Force One was always given priority clearance by Air Traffic Control. They didn’t have to wait long.
“Air Force One, you’re cleared to taxi to runway Three Four Right via Bravo.”
Colonel Zweig stowed the flight plan while Major Tammy Lewis keyed her mic.
“Roger Sea-Tac Ground. Air Force One taxi to Three Four Right via Bravo.”
Zweig eased the throttles forward, the four engines instantly responding. Eight hundred thousand pounds of metal, instruments, fuel, and people began to move down the taxiway as the ground crew, standing at attention in the freezing rain, saluted.
As Zweig entered the runway, Lewis glanced again, for the third time, at the preflight checklist. Despite the fact that she, Thomas, and Zweig had completed the pre-flight over one hour earlier, she found herself checking again. Double, triple, even quadruple redundancy was the norm. She glanced at Zweig and gave a thumbs-up, signaling that they were ready to depart.
“Air Force One, you’re cleared for takeoff on Runway Three Four Right. Have a pleasant flight and do come back and see us again real soon.”
“Roger, Sea-Tac Tower. Cleared for takeoff on Three Four Right. Thanks for the hospitality.” Lewis shared a quick grin with Zweig and then turned her attention to the numerous control gauges and warning lights on the instrument panel as Zweig gently pushed the throttles forward to full power. The aircraft began to accelerate down the runway.
Once airborne, Colonel Zweig began a slow turn to the east. The flight plan called for a route across the state of Washington, into Idaho and then Montana. They would pass over South Dakota, Iowa, and Illinois, where they would fly south of Chicago and follow a direct path to Washington, DC.
And so, the fateful flight of Air Force One had begun.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lieutenant McKay checked his watch. It was time. He keyed his radio. “Colonel, I’ve got to hit the head.”
“Last night’s dinner still bothering you?” Zweig joked.
“A little, sir.” He let out an audible breath. “I’ll confirm when I’m back on station. Out.”
Brandt glanced up from his magazine. “You okay, LT? You don’t look so good.”
“Something I ate yesterday. I’ll be fine.” McKay walked to the restroom. Compared to a commercial airliner, the lavatories on Air Force One, even in the press section, were spacious. McKay removed a plastic garbage bag from the cabinet below the sink and stuffed it in the toilet. He folded the top of the bag over the rim. It took him several minutes of pushing to force the soft plastic container out of his colon. Not a pleasant experience by any means, but it foiled the security screens that the Secret Service made everyone, including the flight crew, pass through. The container dropped into the plastic bag in the toilet.
McKay retrieved the plastic container, gently washed it, then stuffed it into the pocket of his flight suit. He cleaned up the bathroom and returned to his seat.
“Colonel, I’m back on station.”
“Roger, Lieutenant. Do you need someone to relieve you?”
“No, sir. I feel much better now. Out.”
____
As the door to the president’s office opened, Sartori stood then followed the president as he limped over to the medical facility. Major Diane Camden frowned.
“Your knee again, sir?”
Kendall nodded. “Flying always seems to make it worse. Got any Tylenol?”
Camden returned with two capsules and an ice pack.
“Sir, you really should put this on it. Keep it elevated.”
Kendall shook his head as he took the pills. “I’ll grab some ice on the way back. I need to speak to the press first.”
____
Twenty minutes later, the president was back in his office with Howell and the White House Counsel. He had an ice pack on his knee. Sartori sat at her post outside the door. Richter, wearing his usual on-duty mask, took the seat next to her.
He glanced into the cabin. The National Security Advisor was discussing something with an aide. The Secretary of Commerce and the Press Secretary were leaning over a table reviewing papers. A handful of people were watching C-SPAN. Everyone was engrossed in something.
Richter turned to Stephanie, unable to hide his grin. As he struggled to put his mask back on, he leaned toward her, speaking softly.
“Listen, I can’t stay long.”
Stephanie nodded, fighting to hide her own smile.
“I just wanted to say that last night was wonderful.”
“You’re turning red again, Agent Richter.” She patted his arm, but he could see that her face was red also.
“It was wonderful for me too,” she whispered.
He coughed, made a show of checking his radio, then glanced into the cabin again. Thankfully, no one was paying them any attention.
“I better go. But first, I wanted to ask you out on a real date. What are you doing after work tonight?”
____
Major Lewis began anoth
er scan of the instrument and warning indicators, a process so well ingrained from thousands of hours of flying that it had become second nature. The fuel gauges caught her attention. The starboard wing tank registered one hundred and thirty-eight thousand pounds of fuel remaining, while the port wing tank had one hundred and forty-four thousand pounds. The imbalance, some six thousand pounds, was beyond the acceptable margin. Normally, the plane’s engines pulled equally from both tanks to maintain an even weight distribution across the airframe. She scanned the panel. All four engines were running within specifications, and they didn’t appear to be dumping fuel. Something was wrong.
“Colonel, the fuel gauges indicate we’re out of balance.”
Colonel Zweig glanced at both gauges and frowned.
“Do you want me to pump fuel from the port tank to the starboard?”
“No,” the colonel responded. “I don’t think the gauges are right. Have McKay check the level capacitors and the transfer pumps for both tanks. Reset them if necessary.”
“Yes, sir.”
Zweig glanced over his shoulder at the Flight Engineer. “Captain, was there anything in the service record that indicated clogged or leaking fuel lines or other problems with the fuel management system?”
Thomas already had the binder open. “The system was reset, and they replaced the fuel relay switches.” Thomas looked up. “Looks like routine maintenance.”
“Okay. Do a manual calculation and let me know how much fuel we should have. Also, check the computer. The flow rate could be miscalibrated.”
“Roger, sir.”
Major Lewis keyed her microphone. “Lieutenant?”
In the rear of the aircraft, McKay checked his watch and took a deep breath. Showtime.
“Yes, Major?” He listened as Lewis described the problem.
“Lieutenant?”
“Ma’am?”
“Are you feeling well enough to do this?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
McKay unbuckled his seatbelt, stood, and grabbed his toolkit from the storage bin over his seat.
In the cockpit, Zweig turned to Lewis. “Maybe Brandt is right.”