Primary Target (1999)

by Joe - Dalton;Sullivan 01 Weber

  Los Angeles International Airport Although the freeways were clogged, the normally bustling airport was unusually quiet this morning. Except for a string of corporate planes and jumbo jets from foreign airlines, few domestic airliners were taking off or landing. Even the smaller commuter airlines were operating less than twenty percent of their flights.

  Tempers were running short as frightened and disgruntled passengers scrambled to get refunds from airlines and travel agents. Hordes of people who were trying to make alternative travel arrangements found that it was an exercise in futility. The demand had quickly exceeded the available seats on buses and trains. Rental cars were almost nonexistent and commanded exorbitant rates.

  Wearing the uniform of a baggage handler who had been murdered a few minutes earlier, Ahmad Quraishi walked to the US Airways Boeing 737. He cautiously surveyed the immediate area while he helped load bags, then scrambled into the cargo hold when the other loader was not looking. He crawled into a corner and covered himself with luggage. Knowing that he was playing an important role in the Islamic revolution, Quraishi was confident that he would be remembered as a warrior.

  Twenty minutes after US Airways Flight 36 departed from Los Angeles for Philadelphia, the deceased baggage handler was found by his supervisor. Every airplane on the ramps at Los Angeles International was grounded, while the few flights that had departed during the previous hour were quickly notified of a potential threat to safety. Two of the planes diverted to the nearest suitable airport while the other flights continued to their destinations.

  After the first officer of US Airways Flight 36 took a stroll through the cabin and didn't see anyone who looked suspicious, the captain elected to continue to Philadelphia. Although there were only twenty-seven passengers onboard, the captain was determined to give them the best service he could provide.

  In the baggage compartment of the 737, Ahmad Quraishi flicked on his tiny flashlight and checked his wristwatch, then made himself comfortable. The "throwaway" had his orders and he intended to do exactly what he had been instructed to do in the name of Allahu.

  As the flight progressed toward Philadelphia, both pilots began to relax. They were evading thunderstorms and discussing the captain's tennis game when the airplane suddenly exploded, raining bodies, anthrax, and flaming debris across the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

  Melbourne, Florida After flying and searching all day, Jackie and Scott were exhausted and frustrated. From Key West to Melbourne, they had seen only two yachts that vaguely resembled the former Bon Vivant.

  With the sun dipping below the horizon, Jackie checked the fuel and reluctantly turned toward the coastline. "That's it--we're too low on gas."

  "We've been too low for twenty minutes," Scott said flatly, then lowered his binoculars and glanced at Jackie. "I can't believe we haven't seen anything that even remotely looks like the yacht."

  "They may have ducked into the Intracoastal Waterway," she suggested, "or found a way to camouflage the ship in one of the yacht basins."

  "I don't think so."

  "Why not?" she asked as she gazed at the setting sun. "They may want to lie low for a while--wait for things to cool off."

  Scott glanced at a large sailboat as it flashed under the helo. "I think this whole operation is organized around a sequence of scheduled events. If that's true, we should overtake them tomorrow."

  "Unless"--Jackie pointed at their sectional chart--"they're steaming a hundred miles or so from the coast." "We can't cover everything."

  "That's why we have the Navy and Coast Guard," Jackie said, then changed course to check out a large yacht. "The Guard's HH-60Js can fly three hundred nautical miles out to sea, refuel from a ship, then search for extended periods of time."

  "I still think they aren't going to stray too far from the coast"

  "You may be right." Jackie turned the volume up on the VHF radio and started to say something, then stopped and listened in shock to the terse message from a controller to a pilot.

  Stunned by the news of the US Airways crash, Scott turned to Jackie. "How are they getting the explosives through security?"

  "I don't know, but this is totally out of control."

  Scott glanced at the last rays of sunlight. "We're in deep trouble."

  "No kidding," Jackie declared. "What's more, we have Farkas on the loose."

  "Oh, yeah. He'll surface again."

  "I don't even want to think about it," Jackie said, then looked at Scott. "Even with all the safeguards they have around the White House, it wouldn't take much creativity to flatten it."

  "That's right, and Farkas knows how to pull it off."

  She pointed out a low-flying airplane, then contacted Patrick Air Force Base Approach Control.

  Unbeknownst to Scott and Jackie, Sweet Life was cruising at eleven knots thirty-two miles northeast of Melbourne.

  Chapter 44

  The Oval Office.

  Maria Eden-Macklin slipped into the Oval Office a few seconds before the president was scheduled to speak. Concerned about the toll the terrorist crisis was taking on her husband, she gave him a smile and a discreet thumbs up. Dressed in a dark blue suit and gray silk tie, Cord Macklin returned the gesture with a slight nod before he looked straight at the television camera. Okay, stay relaxed and calm. Image is everything.

  "Fifteen seconds," the director advised.

  The president took a long, deep breath and forced himself to relax his facial muscles. It was difficult to do since he couldn't stop thinking about the latest tragedies. The American 757 that crashed near Little Rock, Arkansas, after being struck by a portable missile had been devastating, but the Southwest jetliner that was shot down during its approach to Dallas Love Field had left absolute carnage on Hines Boulevard. Both terrorist cells escaped unharmed. A few other potential disasters had been averted by excellent CIA and FBI intelligence, combined with incompetence in the ranks of the militants, but the terrorists were still scoring heavy blows.

  Macklin let out his breath. Speak clearly and slowly. The red light came on.

  "Good evening," Macklin said with a solemn look. He paused to school his voice. Don't frown.

  "My fellow Americans, and our friends around the world, I come to you this evening with a heavy heart. Our nation and our citizens are being attacked by governments that substitute terrorism for statesmanship and anti-Americanism for religious belief."

  Viewers were spellbound. On every continent, in homes, businesses, hotels, resorts, and bars, most conversations came to an abrupt end.

  "The despicable acts of terrorism that have killed and injured so many of our citizens will not be overlooked or forgotten. As we mourn our dead and injured, I want to explain some important facts to those who choose to be our enemies."

  Macklin's eyes were riveted on the camera lens. "Terrorism will not be tolerated," he said with deep passion in his voice. "Not while I'm president of the United States of America. As I speak, the sponsors of these cowardly attacks are paying a stiff penalty for their transgressions. If the terrorist attacks continue, their sponsors will pay even greater penalties. If we apprehend these barbarians, we will prosecute them to the extent the law allows. Make no mistake about my commitment. No one, and no amount of condemnation, is going to dissuade me from the course I have charted."

  An eerie quiet pervaded the Oval Office.

  "We do not have a dispute with the citizens of the countries that support terrorism. However, if your leaders allow these deliberate and murderous acts of terrorism to continue, lives will be lost on your side, innocent lives."

  The president paused to swallow.

  "My fellow citizens, the United States of America is under siege. As long as I reside in the White House, your country will remain safe and secure. Our military, the finest and best-equipped military in the world, stands by to protect each and every one of you. These contemptible acts of violence have shattered our peaceful lives for the moment, but we're Americans, and, we will rise to the challen
ge of vanquishing the terrorists and their backers."

  Macklin's jaw hardened.

  "Before I close my remarks, I must make one thing crystal clear to the terrorists and to their sponsors. We know who you are, and we have you in our crosshairs. If this cowardly assault on our country continues, I promise you that I will punish you round-the-clock. I will punish you until you have no military assets or infrastructure left. You will rue the day you attacked the citizens of the United States of America." The president clenched his jaw muscles. Easy, nothing dramatic.

  "My fellow citizens, I pledge to you that I will stop this reign of terror. Good night, and godspeed."

  Whiteman Air Force Base, Missouri Nine minutes after the president made his promise, the B-2 Advanced Technology Bomber Spirit of South Carolina lifted off the runway and climbed into the moonlit sky. In the space of six minutes, five more stealth bombers from the 509th Bombardment Wing were on their way to the "rogue" nations that supported international terrorism.

  The $2.3-billion warplanes were carrying assorted bomb loads, including the Joint Direct Attack Munition, 4,500-pound deep-penetrating bombs, and the B61 "bunker buster" hydrogen bombs. Two of the front-line aircraft, call signs Darth 66 and Darth 63, were configured to carry eighty 500-pound bombs in the two weapons bays.

  The most survivable U. S. aircraft in the fleet, the sinister-looking "batplane" is virtually undetectable to acoustic signatures, infrared and radar. With the assistance of KC-10 advanced tanker/cargo aircraft from the 60th Air Mobility Wing at Travis Air Force Base and the 305th AMW at McGuire AFB, the B-2 bombers can take part in a battle mission anywhere in the world within twenty-four hours, then return safely to their base at Whiteman.

  Holleman Air Force Base, New Mexico Eight F-117A Nighthawks from the 9th Fighter Squadron of the 49th Fighter Wing were in the process of taking off for the long flight to the Middle East. Another eight warplanes from the "Black Sheep" of the 8th Fighter Squadron were preparing to take off. With a radar cross section of one one-hundredth of a square yard--the size of a small bird--the "Wobblin' Goblin" is an invisible bomber that can hit a target the size of a coffee table.

  The unique design of the single-seat stealth airplane provides incredible combat capabilities. Loaded with laser-guided weapons, the sleek strike fighter can destroy hardened targets with devastating accuracy. The pilots had been given extremely high-resolution KHl 1 spacecraft images of their target areas and specific objectives. Like the B-2s, the Nighthawk aviators would use KC-10 and KC-135 tanker aircraft to complete their mission.

  Dyess Air Force Base, Texas Oh Hard Luck and seven other supersonic B-1B bombers from the 28th Bomb Squadron roared into the star-studded sky and set course for targets that included terrorist training camps, logistics centers, chemical and biological weapons plants, underground command and control centers, and safe houses for international terrorists.

  While the strategic warplanes climbed to altitude, six additional B-1B Lancers from the "Bones" of the 77th Bomb Squadron at Ellsworth Air Force Base lifted into the night and began their long flight to the Middle East. All of the intercontinental planes contained conventional 500-pound and 1,000-pound bombs.

  Four additional B-1B bombers based in Thumrait, Oman, would fly multiple missions to destroy terrorist training centers and weapons-storage facilities.

  Barksdale Air Force Base, Louisiana After one of the B-52 pilots aborted his takeoff because of a faltering engine, five other long-range strategic bombers from the 2nd Bombardment Wing departed for a thirty-six-hour, nonstop combat mission to the Gulf region. With an unrefueled range in excess of 8,800 statute miles, aerial refueling gives the eight-engined "Stratofortress" a range limited only by crew endurance.

  Although the airplane can carry a significant array of weapons, the heavy bombers from the 20th Bomb Squadron were configured with revolver-type launcher systems to carry eight subsonic Conventional Air Launched Cruise Missiles. This arrangement, coupled with worldwide precision navigation equipment, gives the B-52H an incredibly accurate "drive-by shooting" capability.

  Melbourne International Airport, Florida The sun was barely above the horizon when Jackie and Scott donned their life vests and boarded the LongRanger. She quickly brought the ship to life and 'contacted the control tower while he arranged the charts and energized the handheld VHF marine radio.

  Seconds later Jackie lifted the helo into the air and headed straight toward the beach. Scott checked his Sig Sauer before he picked up the binoculars and began scanning the vast ocean. Since few pleasure boats were out at this time of the morning, he was looking forward to covering a lot of water in the next hour or two.

  Jackie gave him a fleeting glance. "Let's try about ten miles out at a thousand feet. That way we'll have a wider reference."

  "That sounds fine."

  "What does your intuition tell you?" she asked with a faint smile. "Will we locate them today?"

  "According to my calculations," Scott said while he searched for large yachts, "we should catch up to them later this afternoon."

  "I hope you're right."

  `Trust me," he said confidently, then smiled broadly. Jackie rolled her eyes as she leveled the helo at 1,000 feet.

  Boeing 99HP

  The first officer of the corporate-owned Boeing 737 listened to the ATIS information for the Chicago-O'Hare International Airport, then contacted the Air Route Traffic Control Center. The controller cleared the flight to descend and maintain 11,000 feet. He cautioned the crew about reported turbulence below 10,000 feet.

  Nearing their assigned altitude, the captain advised the two flight attendants to secure the cabin due to turbulent conditions. One of the young ladies entered the cockpit to collect the pilots' lunch trays, then quickly returned to the plush passenger cabin.

  After the en route controller handed the flight to approach control, the first officer contacted the controller and requested a visual approach to Runway 14 Right.

  "Boeing Nine-Nine Hotel Papa," the controller replied, "expect visual Runway One-Four Right, continue your descent to four thouSand feet. Winds one six zero at two two, gusts two nine."

  "Visual one-four right, down to four thousand, Ninety-Nine Hotel Pop."

  The first officer turned to the captain. "It's kind of spooky, you know, coming in here with no traffic to worry about." "Yeah, it's gotta be killing the 'cattle car' shareholders."

  The faded blue-and-gray Chevrolet Suburban parked adjacent to Landmeier Road looked innocent enough. Up front, the driver and passenger nervously watched for any sign of trouble. Along with the local and state police vehicles and the military Humvees patrolling O'Hare, groups of local citizens were banding together to keep an eye out for suspicious people.

  In the back of the big Suburban, the leader of the terrorist cell used an aviation receiver/scanner to eavesdrop on the O'Hare Control Tower. After hearing the tower controller give Boeing 99HP clearance to land, the the wiry man uncovered a portable antiaircraft missile and opened his side door.

  "Make it good," the driver encouraged as he adjusted an air-conditioning vent. "It's the last one we have."

  The Islamic militant lifted the Swedish Bofors RBS-70 from the floor and stepped outside. Because the airlines had grounded themselves, the civilian 737 became a juicy target. The man took a breath and held it while he watched the airplane approach. As it passed over the Suburban, he patiently waited until the missile was tracking, then gently squeezed the trigger. With a smile on his smooth-shaven face, he watched the missile accelerate toward its innocent prey.

  "Go," he said to the driver, then tossed the missile launcher on the floor. "Let's get on the freeway."

  With the 737 configured for landing, the first officer was about to ask the tower controller for a wind check when both pilots felt a tremendous impact accompanied by a loud report.

  "Shit," the captain swore as the nose of the airplane began dropping. "I can't control this thing," he said as he hauled back on the control yoke.


  "We've lost the right engine," the first officer exclaimed as a "sink rate" warning sounded.

  "Get the nose up!" the copilot pleaded. "Get it up!"

  The ground-proximity warning system activated. "Whoop Whoop, pull up! Pull up!"

  "Get the nose up," the first officer yelled.

  "I can't," the captain exclaimed. "What the hell is goin' on?"

  The copilot was frantic. "Power!"

  The captain firewalled the throttles and pulled the control yoke back as far as it would go. "We're goin' around! Clean it up!"

  As the first officer reached for the landing-gear handle, the nose began to rise, but not enough. They were staring death in the face.

  "Oh, shit," the captain exclaimed, fighting the onset of panic. "We're goin' down, tell 'em we're going in!" "Ninety-nine Hotel Papa is goin' in short of the runway!" "Say again," the tower controller said.

  "Oh, God, no-no-no!" The captain agonized a second before the Boeing slammed into the ground and exploded, killing everybody onboard.

  Darth 68

  After the long flight from Whiteman Air Force Base, the B-2 mission commander and the pilot were tired as they approached their primary target in Libya. Using specific combinations of food, drink, and sleep, the stealth-bomber crews could fly forty-eight-hour missions. It was not an ideal situation, but the pilots were trained and conditioned to operate in that type of environment.

  "You ready to go, Frank?" Lieutenant Colonel John Otterman asked from the right seat of the Spirit of California. The pilot, Major Frank Korecky, took one last look at his four color multifunction displays. The B61 "bunker busters" were ready to go to work. "All set."