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The team leader rushed up.
“Get some men down to Dark Harbor and make sure nobody leaves by boat,” Ki
“Listen,” Kerry Smith said.
“We’ve got to get the chopper in here from Augusta with more men,” Ki
“Shut up and listen!” Smith shouted.
Everybody got quiet.
“Do you hear that?”
“What is it?” Ki
“An airplane engine. Look!”
Just for a moment they caught a flash of moonlight on something climbing away from the island, something with no lights.
“Oh, shit,” Ki
59
KERRY SMITH LOOKED UP in the direction of the parting airplane; it seemed to be making a turn.
“We’re fucked,” he said. “A Cessna i82RG will make a hundred and fifty knots. That’s faster than the helicopter.”
“What direction would you say he’s flying?” Ki
“I’d say he’s headed southwest, along the coast.”
Ki
“White House,” an operator said.
“This is Deputy Director Robert Ki
“He’s asleep, Mr. Ki
“He asked me to call. This is an emergency. Please wake him immediately.”
“Hold, please.”
Ki
“This is Will Lee,” the voice said, sounding remarkably awake.
“This is Bob Ki
“I used to fly one of those,” the president said.
“We now have only one means of catching him, and if we don’t get him tonight, I don’t think we ever will.”
“What means do we have, Bob?”
“You need to call the Pentagon and scramble a couple of jets out of the Brunswick, Maine, Naval Air Station. Maybe they can force him down, but more likely, they’ll have to shoot him down.”
The president was silent for a moment. “Hold on for a minute.”
Smith looked at Ki
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much.”
“Is he going to do it?”
“How do I know? I’m on hold.”
After perhaps two minutes, the president came back on the line. “Bob, I’m going to conference you with the duty officer in the office of the chief of naval operations.”
“All right, sir.”
“Just a minute.” There was a click, then the president said, “Captain, are you there?”
“Yes, Mr. President”
“I have Deputy Director Robert Ki
“Good evening, Mr. Ki
“Ki
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Tell him what he needs to know, Mr. Ki
“Captain, a Cessna 182 retractable took off from Islesboro Airport, in Penobscot Bay, Maine, about ten minutes ago. I’m told the airplane can do a hundred and fifty knots.”
The president interrupted. “A hundred and sixty, if it’s lightly loaded.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ki
“How many aboard?”
“I believe there to be one man aboard.”
“Fuel?”
“As far as I know, the airplane was last refueled at Manchester, New Hampshire, yesterday, before flying to Islesboro.”
The president broke in again. “It will carry eighty or ninety gallons of usable fuel, depending on what year it was built, and it uses about thirteen gallons an hour in cruise.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” the captain said. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“Not I,” the president said. “Mr. Ki
Ki
“Thank you, Mr. Ki
“I know they’ll do the best they can, Captain. Good night. Please report back to me directly when you have news.”
“Good night, Mr. President.” The captain hung up.
“Bob, you still there?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Am I doing the right thing, here?”
“I believe so, sir. There isn’t anything else left to do. He can land that airplane in any farmer’s field and be on his way.”
“You heard the speaker died?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t want Fay to still be at large when his funeral is held.”
“Neither do I, sir.”
“Can I reach you on your cell phone, if I need to?”
“Yes, sir. The White House operator has the number.”
“Whoever hears first should call the other, then. Good night.”
“Good night, Mr. President.” Ki
“He’s going to do it?” Smith asked, incredulous.
“He’s already done it,” Ki
“Right.”
The men melted away from Ki
TED HAD BEEN in the air an hour now, and he was approaching the Ke
He looked down at the Maine coast in the moonlight, and as he did, something roared past him on either side, rocking the little airplane in the resulting turbulence. What the hell was that?
He switched on a radio and tuned it to the emergency frequency.
“Cessna 182 retractable,” a young man’s voice said. “Do you read me?”
Ted thought for a moment, then he answered. “I read you loud and clear.”
“You are instructed to turn on your transponder, your navigation lights, and your strobes, if any, then to make a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn and fly a heading of zero-six-zero degrees until you have the beacon at the Brunswick Naval Air Station in sight, then to land there on runway two. Do you read?”
“Negative, can’t do it. I don’t have the fuel.”
“Then you can land at Portland International on the same heading. You’ll be met there.”
“Negative, Navy. Can’t do it.”
“Listen, pal,” the young voice said. “I don’t give a fuck if you dump that thing in the Atlantic. My instructions are to force you to land or shoot you out of the sky, and those are my intentions. What’s it going to be?”
An excellent question, Ted thought.