John Nance - Headwind

She finished the shorthand transcription of his orders almost as soon as he finished speaking. “Anything else, sir?”

Campbell hauled himself effortlessly to his feet and smiled at her. “That’s all for now. Tell the driver I’ll be down in five minutes. Oh, first, get the American Embassy here in Rome on the line, and ask for the Naval attaché.”

His GSM phone rang and he flipped it open as she turned to make the embassy call.

“Mr. Campbell, this is Captain Perez.”

“Yes, Captain. Where are you, and I trust you’re going to say Sigonella.”

“No, sir,” the charter captain replied, relating the fact that for nearly ten minutes he and Rome Control had lost track of EuroAir.

“So where are you?”

“In holding near Sigonella. They are refusing to let me land.”

“Stand by, Captain. That clearance will come in about ten minutes. Land and park wherever they tell you and just wait. I’m on my way. I’ll be arriving within an hour and a half in a Learjet thirty-five and will park beside you.”

He folded the GSM phone as the secretary reappeared at his side to report the attaché was unavailable.

“Relay the call to the car if you can get the attaché before I take off, Isabel,” Campbell said. He scooped up his briefcase and headed for the door, stopping in the hallway to concentrate on the dilemma rapidly evolving in his mind. The equation, he thought, might well be more complicated than he’d initially estimated. Sigonella was Italian soil, but now he was going to have to navigate through legal difficulties and diplomatic complications raised because he was a British lawyer representing a South American nation trying to assert Italian jurisdiction over a leased American military installation in order to arrest a former U.S. President under an international warrant!

His esteem for his adversary went up a notch.

The aircraft commander of Reach 70042, like all pilots for the Air Force’s Air Mobility Command, had been thoroughly trained on how to handle an unexpected message suddenly received in flight ordering them to divert somewhere other than the original destination. There was always the chance that the message could be bogus, even if the radio link it came in on was satellite-based or otherwise secure. Whoever was sending the diversion order had to stand by to be challenged by the aircrew from an ever-changing code table. If the ground station answered with the right coded response, the aircrew would obey and change course.

The call from the main AMC command post at Scott Air Force Base in Illinois had come as a complete surprise to the crew of Reach 70042. Cruising at flight level four one zero in a brand-new Boeing/Douglas C-17 Globemaster III on a routine nonstop flight from Spain to Daha-ran, Saudi Arabia, Aircraft Commander Ginny Thompson had taken an embarrassingly long time to dig the “secrets” out of her flight suit ankle pocket, and even more time to find the right table and extract the right codes. They were passing south of the southeastern edge of Italy by the time she made the appropriate transmission and received the answering authentication.

“They match,” she announced. “It’s real.”

“And that would mean?” the male first lieutenant in the copilot’s seat asked.

“Punch in the identifier for Sigonella NAS and get us a revised clearance. The orders are to proceed immediately at best speed, and I think we’re only about a hundred miles out.”

“Close. We’re ninety-eight miles,” the copilot said, finishing the task of reprogramming the flight management computer.

When Rome Control had cleared them to reverse course and descend, Major Thompson molded her right hand to the control stick and disconnected the autopilot, smoothly bringing the huge transport around in a left bank as she started the descent and pulled the power back on all four engines.

“Bill, go back and brief the loadmasters,” she told the copilot. “Make sure they’re awake.”

“Did I hear that right?” the lieutenant asked. “Did he say a former DV code 1 pickup?”

“That’s what I thought I heard, but that couldn’t be right.”

“That would be a former President of the United States, right? A ‘DV 1’?”

“Yes,” she said. “Although I don’t think I’ve ever heard the word former used with a distinguished visitor code before. Anyway, we’re supposed to be ready to go instantly. Be sure they understand that.”

“Roger.”

“We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” she added, wondering what the nature of the emergency might be. If there was a former chief executive at Sigonella, was it a medical problem? Were they supposed to fly him out as a medevac? If so, they should have been told. It took time for the loadmasters to set up the cabin. No, she thought, that wouldn’t make sense. More than likely someone other than a former President needed a fast, free ride home.

They obviously got the DV code wrong.

The wait was becoming excruciating by the time John Harris phoned to confirm they were on the ramp in Sicily.

“Great,” Jay replied.

“Now what?” the President asked gently.

“Well, now I talk to the White House. Is anyone trying to leave or come aboard?”

“No,” Harris said, his voice deep and concerned. “The doors are closed, and we have a lot of very unhappy commercial passengers aboard, but right now the engines are still running and we’re just sitting here. No one’s approaching as far as I can see.”

“John, whatever you do, do not get off that aircraft until I tell you, okay?”

“Very well. I think I understand.”

“I’m gambling a bit, but while the Italians might be inclined to come into a leased military installation, they will be very slow to actually invade a foreign flag carrier to remove anyone. Stand by, now. Let me call the White House on the cell phone. If the line goes dead, phone me back at five-minute intervals.”

Jay put the receiver of the house phone back on the counter and picked up the cell phone, punching in the number he’d been given to the White House Situation Room.

“This is Jay Reinhart,” he announced when a male voice answered. “I need to speak to…”

“Stand by, sir.”

There were a few electronic clicks before another male voice filled the earpiece.

“Mr. Reinhart?”

“Yes.”

“This is Lieutenant General Bill Davidsen. I’m Deputy Chief of Staff of the Air Force. I asked that you be put through to me if you called.”

“Thanks, General. I want to let you know that President Harris has landed at Sigonella Naval Air Station in Sicily and is currently sitting in the commercial aircraft on the Navy ramp.”

“Yes, we know, Mr. Reinhart. We got the information just ten minutes ago from Italian Air Traffic Control.”

“General, you need to know that I have President Harris holding on another line,” Jay said. “I’ve advised him to stay on the airplane. I think I need to coordinate with the commander of that Navy facility.”

“Mr. Reinhart, we’re already in motion. We had a C-17 passing less than a hundred miles away and we’ve turned him toward Sigonella. Now, we still need approval from President Cavanaugh, but the plan is to get that C-17 on the ground in about twenty minutes, transfer President Harris from that civilian craft to the C-17, and then get him the hell out of there and fly him nonstop back to the States.”

“Thank God, General!” Jay exclaimed, sighing in relief. “That’s wonderful news.”

“I’d better talk to President Harris directly at this point, Mr. Reinhart. Can you tie the lines together?”