John Nance - Headwind

“Sir?”

He relayed the decision, shaking his head to neutralize the anger and shock showing on her face. “It’s a tough call, Sherry, and he had to make it on a broader basis than just helping me.”

“This is stupid!”

“It’s done.” He handed the receiver to her. “The conference call was through the White House. I’ll have to call Jay back.”

The sound of engines winding up had reached their ears through the open door of the 737. Through the left windows Sherry could see a puff of smoke billowing from the rear of the C-17’s right outboard engine, making her feel like an unseen survivor watching the last chance for deliverance sail over the horizon. Her name would not be found on the warrant. Her passport would take her home at any time. But empathy and loyalty were incarcerating her emotions as effectively as if she were the target. There was a black hole out there labeled “Lima,” and they were being sucked toward it like a leaf in a whirlpool.

Craig Dayton appeared in first class.

“Mr. President, I just heard.”

He nodded. “They’re leaving without me, Captain.”

“What… would you like me to do, sir?” Craig asked in confusion.

John Harris shook his head. “I wish I knew.”

“I… was expecting to let my passengers off when you left,” Craig said as he looked toward the coach cabin.

The Navy base commander reappeared beside Craig Dayton, relaying the same news and asking the same question.

“Mr. President, I have no specific orders from Washington or my commander at the moment. I’m trying to figure out what to do.”

“Are they closing in on us?” Harris asked.

Captain Swanson shook his head. “They’re still respecting the flight line. That one car that came through is mine. I wanted it standing by.”

“I was worried about that,” Sherry said.

“Sir,” the Navy commander said, “the way I see it, right now we have a standoff. Unless the Italians change their minds, they’re going to leave this ramp alone, and this fellow Campbell…”

“William Stuart Campbell, Captain. World-class international lawyer from the U.K., a Knight of the British Empire, and a very substantial adversary.”

“Understood. Unless the Italians cave, he’ll be held at bay as long as you’re out here.”

“In this airplane, you mean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But this is a civilian airliner, and Captain Dayton here needs to get these passengers back to Rome. Is there a place I could safely stay on base?”

The Navy Captain shook his head, looking cornered. “No… sir. I mean, I’d put you up in admiral’s quarters in a second, but the accommodations are not on the flight line, and worse, they’re at the other base, NAS-One. To get you there we’d have to transport you through civilian Italian landscape where we have zero jurisdiction. The only place I can protect you is the flight line. The ramp. Here.”

“Captain Dayton,” Harris said, turning to Craig, “what if I personally paid for transportation for all these passengers wherever they want to go, and chartered this aircraft from EuroAir?”

“ Chartered …” Craig asked, his mind flashing through the probability of Frankfurt agreeing to such a plan.

“Yes. Chartered. At premium rates, so we have a place to stay for at least a few hours. Captain Swanson? If I could charter this bird and the crew, can I leave with them?”

“I… hadn’t thought about it, Mr. President. I guess the question is whether the Italian authorities would try to stop you the moment you taxied out of here.”

“What’s your best guess?”

“I wouldn’t have one, sir, at this point. Not one I’d want you to stake your freedom on.”

Craig turned toward the front of the plane lost in thought. He moved rapidly back to the cockpit, where Alastair was watching the C-17 disappear around the corner of the terminal.

“Get Frankfurt on the satellite phone for me.”

“What? Are we throwing ourselves on the mercy of the chief pilot then?”

“No. We’re going to charter ourselves.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just… make the call and hand it to me.”

The live coverage from Sigonella had included a spectacular shot of the C-17 lifting off and banking immediately toward the west, literally disappearing into a beautiful sunset. The media knew that John Harris had been aboard the 737, and they knew that only a few mechanics and Navy personnel had entered or left the Boeing, but despite the absence of any video of John Harris leaving the EuroAir jet, the anchor in Atlanta was actively mentioning the possibility that John Harris had just departed, escaping whatever threatened arrest had been in the offing.

Jay looked at the phone again, a plan forming suddenly in his mind. He opened the cell phone and punched in the number for the White House Situation Room. They would be formulating a public response, and he might have only seconds.

The telephone some six thousand miles distant was answered on the first ring.

“Mr. Reinhart? Jay? This is Sherry Lincoln.”

“Thank heavens, Sherry. There’s a lot to tell you and I’m holding with the White House right now on another line. Where is the President?”

“Sitting next to me. Why?”

“In first class?”

“Yes.”

“Who on that base knows he’s still there?”

“I… what do you mean?”

“Who knows? Who’s seen him? He hasn’t stepped out the front door, has he, where anyone could spot him?”

“No. I suppose… uh, let’s see. Other than those of us on the aircraft, the Navy commander, Captain Swanson and several of his aides, that’s about it.”

“Is Swanson still there?”

“Yes. He’s talking on his phone.”

“Please ask him not to talk to anyone about the President’s presence on the aircraft. And keep him hidden.”

“Who? The President? I don’t understand.”

“Yes. Keep the President hidden. Do the passengers know he’s aboard?”

“They all did, but… I don’t know.”

“Listen very closely, please. Since the C-17 started engines, have any of the passengers seen him in your airplane?”

“He’s been in his seat the whole time, and the curtain to coach is closed, and there are no other passengers in first class. Why?”

“Please, take the President to the… I don’t know, maybe the forward galley. That’s a 737?”

“Yes.”

“Then get him in the forward galley without the coach passengers seeing him, and pull the curtain, if they have one, then ask the captain to get the rest of the passengers off the airplane, if he will. Also, do you have a cell phone I could reach there while you’re on the ground?”

“Ah… yes, as a matter of fact. I forgot. Let me turn it on.” She passed the number to him while she pulled it from her purse and hit the “on” button.

“Okay, Jay, I’m still not sure what you’re planning.”

“Please, just do what I’m asking, and get the Navy commander on this phone… and make sure the flight crew doesn’t tell anyone he’s still there.”

Sherry took a deep breath and lowered the receiver as she took in John Harris’s puzzled expression and made the decision to act before explaining. She put the phone on the seat and jumped up to find Captain Swanson in the entryway.

“Why?” Swanson asked her when she relayed the requests.

“I don’t know yet, but this comes from his attorney. Wait a sec.” The cockpit door was ajar and she opened it to see Alastair Chadwick handing a telephone handset to the captain, who turned and stopped as she entered.