Scott flared the 727 and pulled the power off as the plane settled toward the runway. He walked the right main gear and then the nose gear on and gently lowered the left main wheels to the concrete as he pulled out the speed brakes and thrust reversers. When it was apparent the left main was holding, Scott let his eyes take in both sides of the runway—and the apparent preparations being made for them in the distance.
“We’ll roll to the end of the runway, Doc.”
“Roger.”
Angry clouds were whipping by overhead with occasional bursts of rain, but the effects of Hurricane Sigrid were just beginning, and the visibility was still good enough to see clearly from one end of the base to the other. Scott slowed the three-engine jet to a five-mile-per-hour taxi speed as the red lights marking the end of the runway surface came under the nose.
The tower controller verbally pointed out the dark blue pickup truck with the lighted FOLLOW ME sign waiting on the taxiway adjacent to the end of the taxiway as Scott transitioned his left hand to the nosewheel steering tiller and guided the jet off the end of the runway, where he braked smoothly to a stop.
The men in the FOLLOW ME truck began moving out ahead, then braked to a halt, obviously confused. After a few seconds, one of them emerged from his cab to wave at the 727 to continue.
But Scott had no intention of moving just yet.
“Seymour ground, ScotAir Fifty. We’re going to remain here for a minute until I get something worked out. Keep all vehicles and personnel clear. Tell your ‘Follow Me.’”
“Roger” was the only reply.
Scott reached for the UHF military frequency radio and keyed his microphone on the same command frequency he’d used while inbound.
“Colonel Peters, you still there?”
There was a moment’s hesitation.
“Ah, roger. Peters here.”
“Colonel, exactly where are you planning to park us?”
“ScotAir, the ‘Follow Me’ will take you there. We’ve prepared a spot in kind of a revetment area to the west side of the field. It’s the hot area for this base.”
Scott could see the area clearly from the cockpit. The site had been selected for one reason, and that was frightening him.
“Colonel, we’re trying to defuse a nuke here, right?”
“That’s correct, Captain.”
“You guaranteed there’d be no attempt to blow up this weapon, right?”
“I said we’d do everything we can to defuse it, Captain.”
“The hell you did! You said I had your assurance that there would be, and I quote, ‘no attempt to burn or explode this thing,’ but now you want me to taxi to an area prepared specifically for the purpose of containing explosives. If the bomb we’ve got aboard goes nuclear, it doesn’t matter where on the base we’re parked, the whole place is vaporized. That means there’s only one possible reason for trying to send us to the hot cargo area: You’ve decided to ignore my warnings and blow it up anyway.”
There was a hesitation before the answer came.
“Those are standard preparations for hazardous material, Captain. I’m told you’re a military man. You ought to understand such things. It should also have occurred to you by now that we need to defuse the damn thing you’re carrying because we need to know what’s inside.”
“You need to know what’s inside? I’ll tell you what’s inside, Colonel. THERE’S A FRIGGIN’ THERMONUCLEAR BOMB INSIDE! We clear on that point?”
“We don’t have time for this, okay? Just understand that your country needs to know how that weapon works.”
“Colonel, you’re not going to be able to defuse this thing or study it. We’ve barely got enough time for you to go dump it at sea!”
“That’s not your choice, ScotAir, that’s ours. If, for some reason, we can’t defuse it, then dumping is an option.”
“Colonel, where is the C-141?” Scott shot back. “I know what a C-141 looks like, and I don’t see one on this base.”
“He’s inbound, Captain. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“You told me he was on the ground already and standing by,” Scott reminded him.
“Ah, I’m sorry about that, Captain. There’s been so much to get done before you got here, I got ahead of myself. Look, time is short. Please follow the truck and get over here so we can get started.”
Linda saw Scott shake his head before he remembered to punch the transmit button.
“I want to talk to the man who’s going to try to defuse this thing.”
There was silence for a few seconds, then a new voice on the radio. The colonel could be heard protesting inches away.
“Captain? This is Special Agent Harold Hanks of the FBI. Your aircraft and all persons in it are under the jurisdiction of the federal government at this point. I have the appropriate warrants. You will follow the colonel’s instructions to the letter, and you will do so immediately.”
Scott wet his lips and glanced at Doc, who inhaled sharply.
“Now it begins, Scott,” Doc said.
“What?”
“We’ve lost control, and God help us if they haven’t been listening.”
Scott pressed the mike button again. “Agent Hanks, I want to know precisely what you want us to do when we reach the parking site.”
“I understand the woman is not in the cockpit with you,” Hanks shot back. “If that’s wrong, if she is up front but can’t hear me, flash your landing lights and put your flaps to full down.”
“Oh my God, I knew it,” Linda said from the jumpseat. “They’re all wrapped around the axle thinking Vivian’s a terrorist.”
Scott raised his right hand for silence.
“No, she’s not in the cockpit, and she can’t hear us, Agent Hanks.”
“Okay. Understood,” Hanks said. “Don’t alert her. If you can open the forward left door as soon as you get parked, our team will come aboard and take her into custody.”
“Hanks, this is the captain. Mrs. Henry is not, I repeat, not the instigator of this. She is a victim. There is absolutely no need to arrest her or treat her as an enemy.”
Jerry leaned forward suddenly. “Tell him we’ve got only one hour and twenty-seven minutes left.”
“Okay.” Scott nodded, keying the microphone again. “Hanks, I want to speak to the man who’s here to disarm this thing. We’ve got less than an hour and twenty-seven minutes to nuclear detonation.”
“Captain, this is Colonel Peters. We can let you talk to him when you’re in the parking place. We don’t have time right now.”
Two staff cars could be seen moving along the taxiway toward the waiting 727’s position. A third vehicle, a Humvee, was following at a distance.
Scott punched the button again. “No, Colonel, until the doors are open and the engines are shut down, I’m in command of this aircraft, and you will listen to me. We’re wasting time. Put on the nuclear technician. Now!”
The voice on the other end was growing exasperated. “Captain, dammit, I’m ordering you to start taxiing and get that crate over here!”
“The technician first, Colonel.”
“Or what, Captain? Are you threatening us?”
Scott held the microphone in his hand for what seemed an eternity as Linda and Doc and Jerry watched him and held their breath. Finally he raised it to his mouth again and punched the transmit button.
“I’m sitting here with a live thermonuclear weapon which can create an electromagnetic wave devastating enough to shut down the nation for months, in addition to killing maybe a million people in the local area and making North Carolina the only state that glows in the dark without benefit of electricity. Even the President, I’m told, is aware of this situation, and you fellows want to sit there and play games with me? You’re going to put the technician on right now! I hold all the cards until this airplane is parked, understood? This is my airplane. Even the federal air regulations confirm that. You guys are nothing but unidentified voices on the other end of the radi
o until I determine otherwise. Now, you want to explain to your superiors that you screwed this up because of some macho-man power play over who’s in charge? I’ll bet you anything there are ears listening to all this at far more distant locations, and they’re going to be second-guessing your every decision. So … stop arguing with me and comply. Now!”
There was a hesitation before the radio came to life again. The speaker was obviously fumbling with the radio. The sound of his hand searching for a grip on the handheld transceiver came through loud and clear.
“Uh, this is Technical Sergeant Bill Clevenger, sir. You wanted to talk to me?”
“What training have you had in defusing nonmilitary terrorist nuclear weapons, Sergeant?” Scott asked.
“Ah,” the voice began, then stopped. The radio went quiet Scott could imagine both the colonel and the FBI agent firing instructions on what to say. Finally the transmitter was keyed again.
“Sir, I’m trained to defuse all types of military nuclear weapons. I have had no specific training in nonmilitary, but I know all the basic equipment, and I’m qualified to defuse any incendiary device.”
Scott keyed his mike. “Good answer, guys. But here’s the problem. This thing is in a stainless steel case that’s welded closed with no seams, and I’ve got every reason to believe it’s completely surrounded inside with heat sensors and other intrusion sensors. In other words, there’s no way to get in to defuse the mechanism. You can’t explode it or burn it because it will trigger a nuclear blast, and that leaves only one thing: Get it off this bird and on a C-141 and dump it at sea. That’s what I was trying to tell you a while ago. Only problem, you lied about the 141, and we don’t have time to manufacture one.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what, Captain.” The Colonel’s voice sounded helpful and thoughtful and cooperative. “We’ve got KC-10’s evacuating from this base and we’ll just hold one on the ground here and use it.”
Doc and Scott both snorted simultaneously as Linda looked on in puzzlement.
Scott jabbed the transmit button. “Colonel, we’re not fools. You can’t dump something out of a KC-10 in flight any more than I can dump it out of this airplane. If you haven’t noticed, the cargo door is on the side, not in the back.”
“Sorry, you’re right. I was just trying to find a solution. At least the 141 is inbound, Captain. I give you my word.”
“Your word is awfully suspect at this point, Colonel. By the way, stop those vehicles from coming any closer to me. NOW!”
There was silence for a few seconds, but the two staff cars and the Humvee suddenly stopped a few thousand feet ahead.
Doc Hazzard looked over at Scott, his voice strained and short. “What’re you thinking, Scott?”
Scott was breathing hard. Perspiration beaded on his forehead.
“I … don’t know, Doc. But I do know what’s about to happen. I know damn well they’re not going to listen to us. They’ll promise me anything, but when they get us out of here, they’ll put Vivian in chains, poke around for a while looking for a hatch in the bomb casing, then blow up the airplane and trigger the bomb and the Medusa Wave. At the very least, they’ll blow themselves, and us, and Goldsboro off the map.”
Jerry leaned forward at the same moment. “Whatever you decide, Scott, I’m with you.”
“Me too,” Doc said.
Scott licked his lips again and glanced at all of them, then looked around at Linda.
“Okay. This is what we’re going to do. Linda?”
“Yes?”
“We’re going to drop the rear stairway. I want you and Jerry to get out of here. Doc, you too.”
“No fucking way. Excuse the language,” Doc shot back.
“Same for me,” Jerry said.
Scott was shaking his head side to side, his eyes almost closed. “Listen, dammit! I don’t see any other way out of this …”
The voice of the FBI agent interrupted.
“Captain, we’re wasting time, and if you fail to comply with appropriate dispatch, we’re going to ultimately indict all of you on charges of felony obstruction of justice, harboring a felon, terrorism, air piracy, jaywalking, and everything else we can possibly put in an indictment. I suggest you move immediately or you’ll end up a permanent resident of Leavenworth.”
Scott inclined his head toward the distant ramp and snorted. “Has a real persuasive way with words, doesn’t he?”
“Arrogant bastard!” Doc interjected. “Air piracy? How can we hijack ourselves?”
Jerry bobbed his head in agreement.
“What are you planning, Scott?” Linda asked, her voice low and steady, an island of calm in a storm, the feminine serenity helping him to focus as he turned to her with the sound of the FBI agent in his ears again.
“Captain, you either respond now, or we’ll physically interdict your aircraft!”
Scott waved his hand at the windscreen. “I’m not interested in suicide, but somehow we’re going to have to do this ourselves. I can’t let them set off a nuclear blast because of their stupidity. Maybe we can negotiate with them if we’re back in the air.”
“ScotAir Fifty, this is Agent Hanks. What, precisely, do you want? If you’re issuing demands, kindly state them.”
Scott jabbed the transmit button down. “You’re damn right I’m issuing demands, Hanks. I want the full assurance of the FBI, the Air Force, the President, and the United States government that no attempt will be made to blow up this device. You understand me? You’ve got to dump it at sea, or you’re going to create a historic disaster! Do you clowns understand what I’m saying? If you try to explode this weapon, it will cause a full nuclear detonation and a Medusa Wave!”
The agent’s voice came back almost instantly in what seemed a snarl. “You’re attempting to second-guess experts, Captain. I believe we know what such a weapon will and will not do.”
“Experts? We’re talking one well-meaning sergeant who’ll need six months just to analyze the casing around this thing. I’m second-guessing second-guessers!”
“I’m not going to give you any assurances, Captain, other than the fact that our man knows what he’s doing, and we’ll take care of it. It’s not your responsibility anymore.”
“That,” Scott said with a verbal snarl, “is where you are sorely mistaken.”
“Stop being a cowboy, Captain. You’re getting in the way, and you’re going to be responsible if we can’t get it disposed of …”
The voice ceased in midsentence, and Doc and Jerry realized that Scott had turned off the radio.
Linda knew Vivian’s position was impossible. She knew the mentality of the men on the other end of the radios, and she knew deep down that Scott was right about any attempt to disarm Rogers Henry’s Medusa weapon.
Quite simply, there was only one choice.
She leaned forward, gripping the back of the seat, and put her lips next to Scott’s ear. “Forget the rear stairs. Let’s get the hell out of here!”
Scott swiveled his head toward Jerry. “Fuel?”
“Enough,” Jerry answered, quickly checking his gauges.
Scott half-turned toward Linda. “I can’t take you with us! I …”
With a fluid sweep of her right hand, Linda reached out and gathered the throttles and shoved them forward about halfway.
“You can and you will.”
Scott jerked his head around to look at her in amazement.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Linda, I don’t know that we’re going to get out of this. You had no responsibility for bringing that thing along. You …”
“Stop talking and GO!”
He hesitated for a moment as their eyes met, then nodded. “Okay. We’re outta here.”
The Humvee had started moving again, passing the two staff cars. It was highly likely they had a machine gun on board and orders to shoot the tires.
Scott’s left hand jammed the steering tiller to the left as the engines began wind
ing up. The nose began moving left, back toward the runway, which was clear ahead. His right hand was on the throttles now, waiting for the aircraft to align with the runway.
“Tell them we’ll taxi down the runway and exit at mid-field.”
“What?” Doc said, startled.
“We’re buying time,” Scott shot back.
Doc grinned. “Right.” He punched the transmit button for the ground control frequency, trying to sound resigned and suppress the excitement and fright that was gripping all of them.
“Okay, Seymour tower, ScotAir Fifty’s going to taxi back down the runway here to go to the parking site. Tell the ‘Follow Me’ we’ll pick him up at the midfield turnoff.”
“We’d prefer you use the taxiway, ScotAir,” the controller replied.
“It’s better if we use the runway, tower.”
“Okay, approved as requested.”
On the taxiway the Humvee suddenly braked to a halt once again. There would be confusion, Scott knew, as messages were passed back and forth and the FBI agent and Air Force colonel tried to convince themselves they had won the battle.
“Set max power. Just estimate the EPR,” Scott said.
“Two-point-one-three!” Jerry called out, having already computed the values for setting the power.
The big Boeing began rolling forward. Scott knew the men on the ground would be caught by surprise. By the time they passed fifty knots, the colonel would figure out they were doing something more than just taxiing.
“Eighty knots!” Doc called out.
Simultaneously, the radio came alive.
“ScotAir Fifty, you are not cleared for takeoff! Abort your takeoff! Men and equipment on runway!”
“Yeah, sure,” Scott muttered.
“Vee One … Vee R,” Doc called as Scott pulled the yoke back and flew the 727 off the runway. There would be a frantic attempt to unsheathe guns, and maybe even some ill-advised small arms fire, but they had the advantage of surprise.
“Positive rate, gear up.”
“Gear up,” Doc echoed as his big hand pulled the gear handle to the up position.
“I’m going to pop into the clouds off the south end, Doc, then come left to almost due east and drop down a little to stay out of radar. Make sure the transponder is off.”
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