by C. G. Cooper
Zimmer grinned. "Aren't you the one that's always encouraging politicians to put their money where their mouths are? Well, that's precisely what I'm doing. I sent those two on this mission, and I'm going to get them back. It's not like I'm leaving behind my security protection, and trust me—" His eyes twinkled, like he was thinking of some private joke that Cal wasn't privy to, but Cal wouldn't have thought that anything was very funny at the moment. "Everything is going to work out. I promise. You do what you do best, and I'll do my job. Deal?"
Cal nodded, although reluctantly. "You're still nuts, though. You know that, right?"
Zimmer punched him in the arm. "Looks like you guys are starting to rub off on me then."
+ + +
The peg-legged man waved to the baggage handlers and scooted on to complete his job. There was a small private aircraft up ahead, and he saw men who were obviously some sort of security detail hovering around the plane. They stared him down for a moment and then their eyes moved on.
The cripple took a left turn and soon came to a metal shed. He stepped inside and nearly staggered; it seemed that the small space harnessed the day's heat and multiplied it tenfold. He latched the door behind him, and pulled the cell phone from his pocket. As he waited for the other person to answer, he rubbed his thigh, and he considered taking the fake peg leg off for a moment. Then he remembered the security men around the jet and reconsidered.
He put the phone to his ear and moved to the flimsy wall. That aluminum side sported a crude painting of the ocean which he took off its hanger. He revealed a small hole and peered through it. From his vantage point, he could see the sleek aircraft as well as observe the security detail looking toward the private terminal where a group of men walked toward the plane. He confirmed one target over the phone and was pleased to relay the name of the other man.
The men boarded, followed by half of the security detachment. The men around the plane moved aside and kept a vigilant watch of the perimeter. Once the side door was closed, the plane's engine's pitch changed and off it taxied.
They were on the move, the man said into the phone, after which he terminated the call. He'd done his homework. Now it was time to leave. There was much more to be done.
+ + +
The shooter scratched his nose as he adjusted his eye behind the laser sight. The plane was in view and it was taking its time moving over to the main runway. As expected, all other traffic had been halted.
Then the plane did something strange. Instead of going straight, it turned right, heading straight for a far hangar. He was about to call in the discrepancy when he saw the reason for the diversion. Three heavy fuel trucks were making a direct line for the terminal. The plane had turned to give them the right-of-way. The shooter breathed a sigh of relief. His blood was pumping fast, and he took one quick look around him. He wasn’t in or even near the airport. To be there would be stupid. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.
The plane looped around the hangar, obscuring his view for a good twenty to thirty seconds, he estimated, and then the airplane came out the other side. It continued taxiing but faster now. The shooter knew exactly in which direction the plane would go. He’d been watching aircraft take off and land all morning long. He knew the rhythm of the place and felt his heartbeat quicken. His shot was coming. He flicked off the safety and settled in to watch. He had been selected because he never missed a target.
+ + +
Cal and his friends were standing in the main tower, watching the plane carrying Presidents Zimmer and Farah accompanied by their security details. Cal still thought it was a stupid idea. He'd had a conversation with Neil. Neil was positive it would only be a matter of time before he, or probably one of the American agencies, tracked down General Hachi.
"Why are they turning?" Cal said, looking up from his phone.
"The tanker trucks are coming that way," Daniel answered.
"You'd think they would have had that figured out before they departed," Cal said, annoyed. The Secret Service was supposed to have the entire airport staff under their thumb. To have three tankers divert the president’s plane, and force them to take the long way around, was one more thing to irritate Cal. "We should be on that plane,” Cal said for the umpteenth time.
As if Liberty shared Cal’s exasperation, she growled as she watched out the window, her front paws propped up on the windowsill.
Cal's phone rang. He looked down and noticed the president was calling. He answered quickly.
“Are you having second thoughts?" Cal quizzed.
The president laughed. "No. I just wanted to remind you to hold down the fort while I'm gone, okay? This shouldn't take long. I promise."
"Who are you – my mother?”
"Just be careful, okay?"
"I will."
"And Cal?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for everything, okay? I mean it."
"Yeah, yeah. Just hurry back. I'm ready to go home, and I'm sure Vince and Karl are too."
“Copy that," the president agreed. "I'll talk to you soon."
The call ended, and Cal watched as the plane appeared behind the far hangar. Then it taxied to the end of the runway, picking up speed. It lifted up from the deck, leaving in its wake a stream of dust.
"I told you this was stupid, right?" Cal asked Daniel.
"He'll be fine, Cal. Just let him—" but the word stuck in Daniel's throat. His eyes went wide, and then so did Cal's. A collective gasp and hush followed as they watched a white-tailed missile as it caught up to the launching aircraft. Time seemed to stop. For the first time in a long time, Cal felt completely helpless. The ensuing explosion of the aircraft tore the plane and its passengers into a million pieces.
Chapter 28
A man the world had never seen before stepped up to the podium. He was dressed in a crisp military uniform. As he adjusted the microphone, his medals clinked together. He spoke with a clipped accent. He was trying to be proper, but when he spoke the language, it sounded a little more forced than he would have liked.
"My name is General Hachi. Until moments ago, I was a commander in the army of the Republic of Djibouti. Unfortunately, I bring disturbing news. Earlier today, the president of the United States, President Brandon Zimmer, boarded a small private aircraft with a Secret Service detachment. He was flying to meet me so that I could assist him in brokering the release of two American hostages who had been kidnapped by what we then thought was a terrorist cell. Shortly after takeoff, a short-range surface-to-air missile collided with the president's aircraft. I am sad to report there were no survivors. While it was first thought the culprit terrorists were Islamic fanatics, we have since found the guilty party was none other than the president of Djibouti himself, President Farah. With the support of my fellow generals, I have taken over command of the country and our armed forces. Not only are our intelligence assets searching for President Farah, but we have been given the full support of the American Central Intelligence Agency and their assets in the region.”
"This is a sad day for the United States of America as well as for the Republic of Djibouti. I have no doubt that in the coming days, we will find the men responsible, bring them to justice, and get past this sad chapter in history. My office will release information as it is known, but until then, know that the people of Djibouti are doing everything we can to find the criminals who perpetrated this horrible tragedy. Thank you."
The live feed clicked off, and the man behind the camera gave General Hachi a thumbs up. Only then did Hachi step away from the podium. He ushered everyone out of the room, except one man. Once the others had left, the general spoke to his guest.
"How did I do, Mr. Wiley?"
The CIA station chief had been brooding in the corner during the speech, and Hachi could tell he hadn't heard a word he had said.
"Mr. Wiley?"
They'd had a tense meeting before his speech, and Hachi wondered if he'd have to dispose of the man. It w
ould be a shame, and it would be risky, but he'd already come this far. What was one CIA operative compared to the president of the United States?
"My people aren't going to like this," Wiley said, scratching his stubbly chin. “I’ve already got one man in the hospital, and my boss is breathing down my neck.”
"So find more people,” General Hachi said, walking to the small minibar one of his aides had set up before the news conference. He poured himself a stiff drink and after a moment’s thought, he poured one for Wiley.
Wiley didn't even look up from his contemplation, but grabbed the glass and downed it. "We've got to be more careful," Wiley said. "This could really backfire. Are you sure there's no way that this can be traced back to you?”
General Hachi shook his head and tasted his drink. He preferred Johnny Walker Blue, but all his aide could find was some knockoff. He put the glass down.
"We've been careful. The shooter has already been dealt with, and before he took the shot, his spotter confirmed President Farah was also on the plane."
"What about the remains? Have any been recovered yet?"
"What remains?" General Hachi laughed. "That warhead took out the entire plane. I cannot say I understand how all the technology works, but it works remarkably well. It will be months before any of the bodies are identified."
"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Wiley said, walking to the minibar to pour himself another drink. "It won't be days, but hours, until my government is all over that crime scene."
"Do not worry, my friend. I have already planned for that. It will be as easy as spinning another tale."
"But what if they find Farah in the remains?"
"We will find someone else to blame it on."
"I wouldn't get too cocky about that, General. You've never been on the receiving end of the FBI, CIA, and every other agency with three letters that calls America home. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if half of Europe jumps in to give a helping hand. A lot of people liked Zimmer."
"Did you?" General Hachi asked with a sly grin.
“That is irrelevant. I wish you had consulted me before you did this. You have no idea how much this complicates our plans."
Hachi waved away the CIA man's worries. “Do not forget we still have the Chinese on our side. They've invested too much money and other resources to back away now."
"I wouldn't be too sure," Wiley said, downing his second drink. "Mark my words, General, we only have twenty-four hours to wrap this thing up tight, and if we don't, we're both going to be dead.”
+ + +
They were all in shock. How could they not be? The had just seen their friend obliterated before their eyes. Cal replayed Brandon's last words in his head.
"I should have stopped him," he said. "He was just so damn hardheaded, but I should have stopped him."
"It's not your fault," Daniel offered, his usually placid face smeared with grief.
One of the air traffic controllers was chatting loudly to one of his coworkers. "Come see this."
There was a small TV in the middle of the tower. The ensemble watched as General Hachi told the world how the events had unfolded.
"It had to be him," Gaucho accused.
They'd already driven out to look at the wreckage. The smoldering pieces had scattered for hundreds of yards. It would take an expert team to piece it all together, if they even could.
They’d gone back to the air traffic control tower, hearts heavy, with the simmering taste of revenge on their tongues. To make matters worse, when they tried to talk to the Secret Service agents remaining, not one would say a word.
When they tried to call back to the States, it was like a steel dome had been placed over Washington D.C. Calls weren't being transmitted. The nation's capital was on lockdown. Cal had no doubt that Vice President Southgate had already been whisked away to safety, and at this time, they were probably rustling up a Supreme Court Justice who would administer the Oath of Office.
Cal thought of Marge Haines, his old friend, and President Zimmer's chief of staff. What was she going through? He’d tried her number but could not get through.
"We need to do something," Trent said.
"Yeah," Cal muttered. "We need to find that guy, and we need to kill him," he said, pointing at the TV screen where they had watched General Hachi's address.
Chapter 29
Vice Premier Wang Ling tapped an unlit cigarette on his desk as he waited for the connection to come through. He'd been given generous leeway from the president of People's Republic of China himself. He'd considered it a great honor that the president had given him a free hand. He had been a longtime supporter after all, and had put in his time in some of the worst and most time-consuming government positions. But now, as vice premier, he was as close to the top as he was going to get, and he knew that. So to say that his job, and probably his life, were clinging onto the cliff face was a drastic understatement.
Finally, a voice came on the line. "Ling, are you there?"
"General Hachi,” Vice Premier Ling answered, his words coming out with all the speed of a stalking snake. He had to be careful with this Hachi. Ling had considered him a peasant-like pawn, but he’d proved himself impudent and ruthless. He could approach the man a few ways. He could be subtle and carefully pry information out of the general, or he could just come out swinging. Vice Premier Ling decided on something right down the middle. "That was an interesting show you put on earlier, General."
"It wasn't supposed to be a show, Ling. It was supposed to be a statement of fact."
Ling lit a cigarette and took a long pull, letting the smoke fill his lungs and then expelled it from his nose. "How have the Americans responded?" Ling asked. He was having a hard time getting any information from his American contacts.
"They have not,” Hachi responded.
"They have not?”
"No, Ling. I have had time to think about it. I think it is only natural they are gathering what facts that are available, and in time they'll come up with their own conclusions."
"You do not seem concerned."
"I would be stupid not to be concerned," Hachi said, "but I am a careful man and I am not without my resources."
"How could you do this?" Ling snapped, his patience now boiling over. "Everything we have worked for, every promise that we made, is now invalid. They will figure it out. If you think they will not, you are an imbecile.”
General Hachi laughed. "The Americans will believe what we tell them to believe. If they do not accept the story concerning President Farah, then the CIA man you met on your last visit is already creating multiple contingency plans. What you seem to be forgetting here, Ling, is that President Zimmer flew into an area known for its general instability. We will, of course, apologize profusely and do everything we can to help, but it was not our job to protect their president from some terrorist scum who decided to slither across our border. He came to our country without asking, thinking he could do what America always does, step on us, take from us, and give little back in return. The time for that has ended. Now I must ask you, Vice Premier Ling, is this not the goal we have been working toward? Is this not the partnership that you wished when you first contacted me?"
"You were supposed to frame the president, not kill him."
"Have you ever seen combat, Mr. Ling?"
"You know the answer to that."
“As a soldier, you live with uncertainty every day. You grasp opportunity when you can; I saw an opportunity and I took it."
"How can you be certain America is not preparing air strikes and an invasion as we speak?" Ling asked.
"Because Wiley would have told me. He said there has been no movement and that the politicians in Washington are whispering that President Zimmer flew to his death of his own volition. He took too many chances, and he turned into a renegade cowboy. They are saying that maybe he got his comeuppance. So you see, Ling, the twisted halls of Washington are already working for us. A few more leads planted, dead bodie
s found, and they will have their culprits."
Ling wanted to tell the general that he was insane, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Hachi actually thought he was going to get away with the assassination of two presidents.
"General, I order you to release the prisoners and turn yourself in to the American authorities. Make up some excuse and explain that you were not behind the attack, but that you had received information President Farah had been planning the assassination. However, even with this knowledge, you were too slow to stop it. Maybe they will show you mercy, but maybe they will not."