by Vince Flynn
Late the previous evening, they had met to discuss security arrangements, and Lortch had recommended to the President that the meetings be held at the White House instead of Camp David. Garret had shot the idea down before the President had a chance to think it over.
Garret had said, “Jim, the public needs to see that you’re not confined to the White
House. They need to see you get on board Marine One and fly off to Camp David for the weekend. It will make you look like a leader, and besides, Camp David is more secure than the White House.”
It was debatable whether Camp David or the White House was more secure, but that wasn’t the issue. The real security threat came in flying the President from the White
House to Camp David. Lortch had been briefed by McMahon on the assassinations and was mystified that, whoever these people were, they had been able to kill four high-ra king politicians and not leave a single clue worth beans. He was impressed with the skill and professionalism of the killers and afraid that the President would be their next target.
These assassins had shown their ability to think and plan ahead, and it worried Lortch that, as usual, the President’s itinerary was public information. The assassins would know approximately when the President was leaving the White House and when he would be arriving at Camp David. In Lortch’s line of work he had to assume the worst. For that reason, he was taking extra precautions today. Lortch looked down at the reporters and photographers who were staking out positions on the west side of the South Lawn. Lortch shook his head in frustration He hated the press. If he had it his way, he’d ban them from the White House compound. They did nothing but make his job more difficult. It was
10:48 A.M. and the President’s weekend guests were starting to arrive for the 11 A.M.
lunch and photo op. A large black limousine pulled into the White House compound and drove up the executive drive. Lortch watched his agents perform their duties with their usual precision. He glanced around the roof to make sure his other agents were staying focused on their area of responsibility and not looking at the new arrivals. The back door of the limo opened and Senator Lloyd Hellerman stepped out. Four of Lortch’s tallest agents surrounded the Senator and ushered him toward the White House.
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The media stayed where they were supposed to, but shouted questions as Hellerman was rushed toward the door. The Senator looked toward the media and slowed for a second. The two agents on the left and right grabbed Hellerman by the biceps and kept him moving through the doorway and into the White House. Lortch had given his people specific instructions: “I don’t want anyone standing around outside. As they arrive, get them from the limos into the building as quickly as possible.” The South Lawn of the
White House was secure, but Lortch wasn’t going to take any unnecessary chances. He turned to one of his two assistants. “Joe, how are things going down at Quantico?” The
Secret Service agent put his hand over his earpiece. “They’re going through their preflight briefing right now.”
Lortch nodded his head and asked Sally for her binoculars. He started to scan the rooftops of the buildings to the east. “How are our sniper teams doing?”
“They’re in position,” answered Agent Stiener. Lortch turned to the north and continued to look at the rooftops. “What about the ground teams?”
“They’re ready to move out whenever you want.” Lortch lowered the binoculars and thought about it for a minute. “Move them into position at eleven-fifteen. Remind them, if they see anyone carrying anything larger than a briefcase, I want them searched. And don’t forget to remind them not to look at the choppers as they fly in and out. I need them looking at the street.” Lortch stopped and looked down at the gate as another limo pulled up. The photographers started snapping photos and the reporters started to speak into the cameras.
Lortch looked at the news vans that were parked off to the side and pointed at them.
“Joe, remind Kathy and Jack to do a lockdown on those vans and take them off their live feeds before the first chopper lands.
That’s before, not during.” Lortch turned to Agent Manly. “Sally, what’s the situation with the advance team at Camp David?”
“So far so good. The six Marine recon units out of Quantico were inserted by helicopter about two hours ago. They’ve got the hilltops along the approach route secured, and they’re scouting the valleys for any potential hostiles.”
Lortch nodded his head. “Nice work so far. Let’s stay sharp.”
HMX-1 did not have a briefing room large enough to accommodate all one hundred pilots involved in today’s flight operations, so folding chairs were set up in the corner of the hangar and the maintenance crews were asked to stop all work on the choppers while the briefing took place.
The first several minutes of the briefing were handled by the ODO, or operations duty officer, who briefed the pilots on the weather conditions. The pilots sipped coffee and
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listened respectfully-some took notes on their knee boards while others memorized the details.
With the advent of shoulder-launched, surface-to-air missiles such as the American
Stinger, the Secret Service had been forced to find a safer way to transport the President on board Marine One. In times of heightened security they implemented what the Marine pilots referred to as “the shell game.” This was a tactic developed by HMX-1 during the early years of the Reagan administration. Multiple Marine Ones would land, one at a time, at the White House or wherever the President was, and then take off, every helicopter heading in a different direction.
The intended result was to confuse any would-be terrorist or assassin about which helicopter the President was on. This tactic was used often with only two or three VH-3s.
When the President’s itinerary was known in advance, and there was a heightened terrorist alert, HMX-1 called in the CH-53s for escort duty. Escort was a kind description of the Super Stallions’ job. The pilots of the drab green helicopters knew their real job was to shield the President’s helicopter from a missile. This was accomplished by flying in a tight formation with Marine One in the middle surrounded by four Super Stallions.
Tight-formation flying with choppers as big as the VH-3 and the CH-53 was not an easy thing. Because of this, the Marine Corps saw to it that their pilots were drilled frequently in today’s exercise. The last thing the illustrious group of warriors wanted to be remembered for was killing the President in a midair collision. After the weather briefing was finished, the squadron commander, a Marine colonel, took over. He handed out the flight assignments and got down to the nuts and bolts of the briefing. Ten VH-3s were flying today, and they were designated by their order of takeoff as Marine One, Marine Two, Marine Three, and so on. For training purposes the CH-53s were already split into groups of four. The first four that landed this morning were to escort Marine
One, the second four were to escort Marine Two, and so on. The batting order was announced, and each division, which consisted of one VH-3 and four CH-53s, was given its bearing on which it was to leave the White House. Because it would take almost twenty minutes from the time the first VH-3 took off from the South Lawn to the time the last one did, the divisions were given different flight paths from the White House to
Camp David. If all ten divisions left the White House and flew along the same flight path, it would give a terrorist time to move into position and take a shot at one of the later groups.
The blond-haired assassin was wearing contact lenses that made his blue eyes look brown. Once again his face, neck, and hands were covered with brown makeup, and a short, Afro wig was covering his hair.
He exited George Washington Memorial Parkway and pulled the maroon van into the
Glebe Nature Center. Finding a space close to the edge of the riverbank, he parked the van by a small, stone wall. About a mile to his south was the Key Bridge, and below him and just to the north was the Chain Bridge. Climbing into the back
of the van, he turned on the control board and monitors. The van had been purchased with cash from a
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bankrupt TV station in Cleveland four months earlier. The small satellite dish on the roof pulled in the broadcast signals from the three networks and CNN. He was only concerned with CNN’s and ABC’s broadcasts. He put those two on the top monitors. CNN was giving a live update from the South Lawn, while ABC was still showing its regularly scheduled program. Reaching to his right, he dialed ABC’s live-feed frequency into the receiver. The signal was fuzzy at first, but after some fine-tuning the picture became clear. The White House correspondent for CNN was speaking from the South Lawn, so the assassin turned up the volume and listened. “The President’s guests have been arriving now for the last fifteen minutes or so.” The reporter looked over her shoulder and gestured at another limousine pulling up.
“Security is very tight and tensions seem to be running high. The President is scheduled to sit down for a light lunch with the leaders of both parties shortly. After lunch, probably sometime around noon, they will be boarding helicopters and flying to
Camp David for the weekend.” The anchor in Atlanta thanked the reporter for the story and broke away for a commercial. The assassin checked his watch and leaned against the small back of the control chair. It would be another hour before the action started. The
President and the leaders from both parties were sitting around the large conference table in the Roosevelt Room, while Navy stewards served lunch and photographers from the press pool snapped pictures. They sat in a prearranged order, Republican next to
Democrat, adversary next to adversary. This was done to give the impression of genuine unity within the group. Several reporters stood in the corner and shouted questions that were ignored. The event was a photo op, not a press conference, but as was always the case, the reporters who handled the White House beat asked questions regardless of what they were told to do. The constant flurry of questions and the politicians’ refusal to answer them made for an awkward situation as the cameras continued to flash away. The political leaders sat at the table and smiled at one another, trying to look good for the cameras.
As each question was half shouted at the group, the participants looked to the
President to see if it would be answered. Etiquette dictated that no one answer anything unless the President answered first or gave the approval for someone else to speak.
One of the photographers broke away from the pack and walked around to the other side of the table so she could get photos of the men sitting across from the President.
Stevens noticed this and became uncomfortable. During the last several years, the small bald patch on the back of his head had grown significantly. Stevens had become increasingly insecure about this simple fact of aging and as a result made a conscious effort not to be photographed from behind. Before the photographer could move into position, the President looked up at Moncur and said, “Ann, I think that’s enough.”
Moncur stepped in front of the cameras and reporters and escorted them to the door.
When the door was closed, everyone looked around the room to make sure none of the reporters had stayed behind. Once they were sure they were alone, the mood changed immediately. The fake smiles vanished and the conversation picked up. There were a lot
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of deals to be made before the weekend was over. About twenty minutes later, Jack
Lortch entered the room and asked for the President’s permission to address the group.
Everyone stopped talking while Agents Manly and Stiener walked around the table and handed each person a piece of paper. “Ladies and gentlemen, this sheet lists which helicopter you will be flying on and who you will be flying with. If you’ll notice, the
President is not on this list, and there is no one listed as flying on the last helicopter.
For security reasons we will not announce which helicopter the President will be on until the last minute. If we decide to put him on the first helicopter, all of you will be bumped to the next chopper, and if we decide to put him on the fifth helicopter, those flying on helicopters five, six, seven, eight, and nine will be bumped to the next flight.”
Lortch quickly glanced around the room to make sure everyone was with him. “The helicopters will be coming in at quick intervals, so I would ask that you be ready to go when your helicopter lands. When your helicopter lands, Secret Service agents will escort you to the chopper and a Marine will help you get situated and buckled in …. Do any of you have any questions?”
Lortch again looked around the room and noticed with satisfaction that the mood had become more serious. He turned to the President. “Sir, that’s all I have for now.” The
President thanked Lortch, and the agents left the room. Lortch was walking down the hallway, telling Manly and Stiener several more things that he wanted checked, when Stu
Garret approached from the opposite direction and stopped them. “Have you decided which helicopter the President is flying on?”
“No, I haven’t.”
Garret looked at his watch. “We’re supposed to start this whole show in thirty minutes and you haven’t made up your mind?”
“No, I haven’t decided yet, Stu, and if you’d please excuse me, I have a lot of things to take care of.” The increasingly impatient Lortch stepped around Garret and continued down the hallway. Lortch had decided after witnessing Garret’s unwarranted and childish temper tantrum two evenings earlier that it was time to be more firm with the temperamental chief of staff.
The elderly-looking gentleman parked his rental car by the front gate of Arlington
National Cemetery and got out. He was wearing a tan trench coat, an English driving cap, and using a cane that he didn’t need. On the lapel of his trench coat was a veteran’s pin and an American flag.
He smiled and nodded to the guard at the main gate as he entered the cemetery and started the climb up the hill to the Kennedy Memorial and Robert E. Lee’s house. He looked at the rows of tombstones as he walked up the slope and said a quick prayer for his fallen comrades as he went.
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This national shrine, this place of honor, had an unearthly feel to it.
He did not see his friends die all those years ago so America could be destroyed by a bunch of self-serving politicians. When he reached the front yard of Lee’s house, he turned and looked to the east. Beneath him, across the river and beyond the Lincoln
Memorial, he could see the White House. He situated himself beneath a large oak tree and leaned against its trunk. A short while later, he heard a rumble in the distance and turned to the south. Beyond Washington National Airport, he saw the first formation of helicopters moving up the Potomac. The four large, dull green helicopters surrounded the single shiny, green-and-white Presidential helicopter. As they reached the Potomac
Railroad Bridge, the formation gained some altitude, passed over the Jefferson Memorial, and came to a stop over the Tidal Basin, which sat between the Jefferson Memorial and the Mall. The old man looked back and forth between the five helicopters and the White
House. He saw more movement to the south and turned again. Two more formations were working their way up the Potomac, and the first of these two stopped just on the south side of the Potomac Railroad Bridge. A third appeared farther down the river, and then a fourth and a fifth just where the river started to bend back to the west and out of view.
All five of the formations were holding their positions with about two hundred feet of separation. The noise of their large twin turbine engines and the thumping of their rotor blades echoed throughout the Potomac River Valley. From his perch on the roof of the
White House, Lortch could see and hear the helicopters just to his south. The Tidal Basin, in front of the Jefferson Memorial, was approximately a half mile away, and the five helicopters held their position directly over it, waiting for the order to proceed to the
White House. In the distance
Lortch could see the second group of choppers hovering. He looked toward the Mall and focused his binoculars on a group of Park Police officers who were in charge of securing the area from the Capitol to the Lincoln Memorial. Most of them were staring at the loud choppers hovering over the Tidal Basin. Turning to Manly, he said, “Sally, get on the radio and remind the people on the street that they are to pay attention to what is going on around them and to ignore the choppers. Agent Stiener was scanning the surrounding rooftops with his binoculars, and Lortch tapped him on the shoulder.
“Joe, tell Kathy and Jack to take the networks off their live feed.” Stiener lowered his binoculars and spoke into his mike. Special Agents Kathy Lageski and Steve Hampson were standing by the news vans talking to each other when they received the order from
Stiener. Out of habit, both agents brought their hands up and pressed down on their earpieces as Stiener gave them instructions. Without pause, Lageski and Hampson turned and went to work. Lageski started with the CNN van and approached the producer who was sitting at the control board. “Tony, we have to take you off the air.” The producer nodded to Lageski and then spoke into his headset, “Ann, they’re taking me off the air.
I’m going to tape.”
The producer waited another couple seconds and then started to flip switches. Before shutting down the live feed, he put in a fresh tape and checked to see if it was recording
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properly. Lageski watched over him as he turned off the power on the transmitter that sent out the live signal. After the producer was finished, he stepped out of the van and
Lageski shut the door. “Tony, if you need to get back in there, ask me first.” The producer nodded and Lageski moved on.
Stiener informed Lortch that the networks were off their live feed, and the special agent in charge looked down at the news vans and then up at the first group of helicopters hovering less than a mile away. “Are our guests ready to go?” Stiener raised his mike to his mouth and relayed the question to one of the agents downstairs. A moment later he looked up at his boss.